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February 1st, 2012, Johannesburg.
The morning sunlight streamed through the window of Marcus Keller's apartment. He stirred beneath the soft covers of his bed, yawning as his mental implant buzzed lightly with the gentle hum of a preset alarm. A soft whisper of sound echoed in his ears, reminding him of the news briefing he'd scheduled to read later during his commute. He rubbed his eyes, stretched his arms, and rolled out of bed.
The apartment was modern, a product of its times, outfitted with the latest advancements Hammer Industries had made widely available to those lucky enough to afford it. With polished steel countertops, gleaming white walls, and floating shelves with warm lighting, it exuded quiet sophistication. Even the air smelled purified, thanks to the HammerTech filtration system running in the background.
Still half-asleep, Marcus shuffled toward the kitchen, scratching his head as his bare feet padded across the polished floor. A faint acknowledging beep accompanied his command as he stopped in front of the sleek wall-mounted replicator unit.
"Coffee, black. Bacon, crisp, three eggs over easy, two whole grain toast," He mumbled, stifling a yawn as his implant's interface flickered lightly in the corner of his vision, his schedule for the day popping up, only to be swiped away with a thought.
Later. Too early.
The machine hummed with the faint energy signature of quantum particle manipulation. A flash of light blinked within the replicator's transparent compartment, and a soft chime indicated the meal was ready. Marcus grabbed the steaming cup of coffee and the warm plate, bringing them over to his small dining table as he inhaled the rich aroma.
"Blessed be Justin Hammer," Marcus muttered with a smile of appreciation, taking a sip of his coffee. The smooth bitterness spread across his tongue, waking him up fully. The bacon was crispy, the eggs cooked perfectly, and the toast had just the right amount of crunch. It was too bad the replicators were too energy intensive to be sold to the general public…
One of the benefits of being a valued member of Hammer Industries' more important divisions was getting first access to quality of life improvements like that.
Even as so many things changed, some stayed the same, however. Even with this miracle improvement, unsatisfied peasants quibbled and whined that Hammer Industries was only limiting its availability to keep their market share of the food industry going.
He snorted, shaking his head. Like the guiding light of their savior cared about petty money…
As he ate mechanically, his mind turned elsewhere.
His neural implant worked silently, interfacing with the Hammerweb. Marcus navigated through the daily news casually with his thoughts. Headlines zipped past in his mental display - "Asgard fleet expanding, treaty not being renewed? Trade war on the horizon?"
Ungrateful alien scum, after all that was done to assist them to become more than they were - all with human ingenuity - they dared to complain!?
He shook his head, dipping his toast in the yolk as he mentally swiped to another article, tired of hearing about Asgards gripes, of which there had been so many lately.
"Baghdad completed work on the Basilica of Hammer, joining in the call for acceptance of religious freedom for the one true religion for the Middle East."
About freaking time those uppity Arabs got with the program, he thought with slight disgruntlement, it's ridiculous that they still hold on to silly made up religions when we have a walking divinity amongst us…
"Armed rebellions in Saudi Arabia, Iran and Pakistan have been dismantled by H.A.M.M.E.R." …Thought of that too soon I guess. What's that? The fortieth Rebellion in the last year. He shook his head as he finished his eggs, they just never learn, at least most of them have conformed now.
He chuckled to himself as he scrolled past a headline that sparked mild irritation.
"New York Hammers fire coach, after 22nd straight loss."
Change the name all you want, the team will never fail to fail. He should know, he was a born New Yorker. So he wasn't surprised that even with divinity owning the team, they didn't change their streak. Figures.
With his breakfast finished, he placed the empty plate back in the replicator slot, letting it atomize the dish and recycle some of the energy. He grabbed his work bag from the counter and tapped a mental command to order his Uber. The implant synced with his preferences, and within moments, the status of his ride appeared in his mind - UberAir Executive Class - arrival in 3 minutes.
Marcus got dressed quickly and whistled softly as he adjusted his tie, feeling the hum of satisfaction that came with being successful in a world that favored the bold.
Being an engineer for Hammer Industries was a golden ticket. The salary was fantastic for one. Combined with the perks and benefits, he lived a life of luxury that would have been impossible just a few years ago.
The buzzing sound of his taxi drew closer as his UberAir arrived, descending smoothly onto the designated landing pad outside his building. The glossy black vehicle opened its door automatically as Marcus stepped inside, settling into the plush leather seat. As the door slid shut, the automated flying car gently lifted off the ground and began its flight toward the city.
He looked down at the car-filled streets filled with smugness. He was one of the lucky few able to afford the executive class air taxis. Other than them, (and the super wealthy) all air traffic was solely for use for emergency vehicles, the police and military.
With the soft hum of the repulsors in the background, Marcus returned to browsing the news, flipping effortlessly between updates on technological advancements, geopolitical shifts, and entertainment gossip. The sheer speed and connectivity provided by the implant left him in awe sometimes still. Everything felt so instant, so integrated. With a single thought, he could pull up schematics, review work assignments, or even access archived blueprints related to Hammer Industries space program.
He knew many others had gone even further and replaced their very eyeballs with life-like cybernetic optics, to be able to further digitize their entire life. He'd been pondering it himself.
He glanced out the tinted window, the familiar skyline of Johannesburg stretching out beneath him. The transformation was staggering for such a short time period as only shy of two years. The once vibrant but chaotic streets had been replaced by orderly boulevards, towering skyscrapers, and technological marvels that mirrored cities like New York or Shanghai. Hammer Industries had taken over the city's development, turning it into a beacon of progress and innovation. Even the power grid operated entirely on clean energy from the Arc reactors spread across Africa.
He'd been living in Johannesburg since before the change, and he couldn't help but admire the view everyday. Proof that humanity was heading in the right direction, that the light of Hammer had been the right choice.
"New York is just another city now, nothing special," Marcus mused, smiling smugly as he watched the bustling metropolis below. The vehicle banked smoothly toward the outskirts of the city, heading for the massive HammerTech Space Project Facility known as Spacedome Theta.
The dome was an architectural marvel in its own right, a shimmering domed structure of reinforced glass that glinted under the morning sun. Automated checkpoints surrounded the perimeter, with drones buzzing around in calculated flight paths to monitor incoming and outgoing traffic as well as scanning all that entered.
He'd heard before, the saying about giving up control and freedoms for security, and it was something he knew some rebels still crawled through the muck to proclaim. Personally, with how comfortable and exciting life was, he couldn't care less that such scans took place.
It protected them all from dissidents, those few mentally ill people who couldn't accept a good thing when they saw it.
The UberAir descended gracefully onto the designated executive landing pad. Marcus barely felt the bump as the vehicle touched down. His implant flashed with a notification prompting payment, and with a single thought, he approved the transaction through his HammerDominion bank account. The door unlocked automatically, allowing him to step out onto the landing pad.
It's so much easier now that the banks all merged into one central bank, he thought, his mind still on how much better life had become with all the waste disposed of by Hammer Industries and the Federation.
Marcus glanced around, taking in the sight of the bustling facility. Workers moved like ants, each person fulfilling their role with purpose and efficiency. Large, state-of-the-art teleportation pads dotted the edge of the interior of the building, constantly blinking as civilians and employees alike were beamed up to the orbital spacedock, those that worked on the ground moving past them, further into the building.
He walked past the long lines of civilians waiting their turn, many of them paying thousands of dollars to transport supplies, personnel, and materials into orbit or beyond. Their faces betrayed the strain of impatience, their eyes flashing briefly as they approved payments through their implants.
Marcus smirked, bypassing the public queue entirely. He entered the employee section, where the line was much shorter. His implant synced with the facility's systems, conducting a quick biometric scan to confirm his identity yet again. Once approved, he stepped onto the circular platform.
"Clear for transport," The automated voice intoned. A soft hum of energy enveloped him, and with a brief flicker of light, Marcus was gone.
The disorientation lasted only a second. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in the main atrium of Spacedock Hope - Terra Prime's first orbital construction hub. He took a moment, as he always did, to appreciate the view from the massive observation windows.
Terra Prime hung suspended in the black void of space, its blue and green surface marbled with white clouds. Terra Luna loomed in the distance the other way, connected to the station by a long construction tether, a long snake like structure that was huge in scope.
Dozens of ships floated in the distance, ranging from small cargo haulers to larger capital ships still under construction. Automated drones zipped between them, welding and assembling parts with mechanical precision. The spacedock's structure stretched along the tether, forming a continuous line of interconnected modules that extended toward Terra Luna. Terra's fleet was small now, but not for long. With the rate of production, they would soon rival any force in the galaxy.
Marcus felt a surge of pride as he turned toward his workstation. Today, his team was tasked with finalizing a series of energy shielding system improvements for the new fleet of cruisers being built along Terra Luna's orbit. Tony Stark had spearheaded the early designs, but it was up to Hammer's engineers to refine them and make them practical.
Marcus arrived at his station, a circular workbench surrounded by holographic displays. He pulled up the latest schematics, his mind already racing with ideas on how to optimize the energy flow without compromising the shield's integrity while still meeting budget demands.
Tony Stark was undoubtedly a genius second only to the blessed one, but his ideas tended to stretch further than what the fleet's budget could handle.
As he worked, he couldn't help but think back to how far humanity had come in such a short time. A few years ago, he had been just another engineer working on mundane projects. Now, he was part of something bigger - something that would secure humanity's dominance among the stars. With each passing day, they inched closer to a future where Terra Prime would no longer be at the mercy of alien invaders or cosmic threats.
The Federation was strong, unified under a single vision, and Marcus knew deep down that they were on the right path. Humanity's superiority wasn't just a dream…
It was inevitable.
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February 1st, 2012, Night City, the Atlantic.
Night City, although only finished less than six months ago, was already known for its defiance of nature and law alike, a neon wonderland of sin, vice, and unrestrained freedom.
Suspended in the air above the Atlantic, by advanced anti-gravity engines built from HammerTech and Stark Industries designs, the city was an untouchable haven for anyone looking to escape the rules of society. It thrived on chaos, pulsing with endless energy as neon billboards flickered and distorted advertisements hawked everything from black-market mods to illicit pleasure bots.
Here, there were almost no regulations and oversight, and most importantly - no religion or conformity. Anything went in Night City. That's why people flocked here from across the world, desperate to feel alive and free. It wasn't a place where most thrived, it was a place where you lived fast, wild, and without consequence... Or at least until someone stronger decided otherwise.
The roar of an engine echoed off the neon-drenched streets of Night City. The street glistened from an earlier rainfall, reflecting the flashing signs of strip clubs, casinos, and drug stores plastered haphazardly along the towering metal buildings. In the distance, pulsing lights from the bars and brothels made the whole city glow like a wicked carnival.
A jet-black car - practically a rocket with wheels - sped through the chaos of it all, its engine growling like a beast ready to tear through the night. The car's frame skimmed inches above the ground, outfitted with neon underglow. Haphazard mods attached gave it some protection and additional speed, as an unlucky tourist was left as a splat on the road, too slow to dodge the impromptu racers.
Inside, a bunny-eared driver grinned wickedly, her foot glued to the accelerator. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied back, streaks of electric blue peeking from beneath her ears, and a pair of blonde bunny ears twitched slightly as she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. Tattoos covered her arms - inked memories of her time surviving in Night City, each symbol a badge of glory and madness.
And of course, having bio modded herself as a bunny girl, she had the fluffy poof of a tail to prove it too.
Her name was Jinx, her previous identity thrown away when she arrived, though the locals just called her the Bunny Queen. And right now, her heart raced faster than the speedometer climbing steadily past 180 mph.
Beside her, her girlfriend Roxxy, a fox girl with three fluffy orange tails and fox ears perched atop her fiery hair, popped out of the car's sunroof. Cackling like a madwoman, she threw her middle fingers in the air, aimed directly at the silver muscle car chasing them down. "Suck my tails, Terry!" She shouted, her voice practically swallowed by the rushing wind.
Jinx laughed, her fingers on one hand tightening around her tails to keep her from falling off, while the other hand was on the wheel. "Sit your ass down before you fly off, Rox! I can't afford to scrape you off the pavement."
It would be a total waste of the mods she'd splurged on for her. She couldn't wait to win this race and go flip her girls skirt up so they could both enjoy her new… addition.
God, Hammer fucking sucked, but this one thing he did right.
"I got this!" Roxxy grinned, her tails whipping behind her as she held on to the roof with one hand. "We're leaving that cyborg freak in the dust!"
Behind them, the massive chrome-plated muscle car belonging to Terry "The Tank" Jackson roared like a demon possessed.
Terry wasn't just any racer - he was a cyborg with most of his body replaced by mechanical upgrades, making him faster, stronger, and deadlier on the streets. But no amount of tech could help him win when Jinx had Roxxy as her co-pilot and a car that could outrun a police interceptor.
Her old habits back from when she'd been with SHIELD back in the day gave her an extra edge too.
"Left turn!" Jinx barked, warning Roxxy, swerving hard as her car skidded around a tight corner, tires squealing. The neon-lit street blurred past them, and she narrowly avoided slamming into a food cart whose vendor barely had time to leap to safety. The smell of fried noodles lingered in the air as Jinx grinned, knowing full well that the streets of Night City would erupt with chaos after their little detour.
People would probably die. But then that was a common occurrence anyway.
She preferred this chaos to the orderly world outside. It felt more honest.
Gunfire echoed behind them - pissed off locals taking potshots at the racers. One bullet ricocheted off the back of Jinx's car, but the energy shields they'd rigged from a stolen Uberair taxi absorbed the impact, flickering briefly before holding steady. "Sucks to be them," Jinx muttered under her breath, fully aware of the havoc they were leaving in their wake.
"Nothing like a little target practice," Roxxy said gleefully, ducking back inside the car just as another shot whizzed overhead.
Night City thrived on chaos. And Jinx had made a living off that chaos, first by surviving brutal survival games where participants were thrown into deadly scenarios for sport. It was how she'd made her bread when she'd first arrived, as just another chick, albeit one with some skills that weren't common.
She'd gotten the Bunny mods for free by volunteering as the prey in one of their predator Vs prey challenges. Hunted down by 8 other contestants, surviving to ambush them all and stand the winner.
Of course, after that, a Bunny girl only had one place to earn some scratch really. She wasn't keen on being a hole for cash, so she'd signed up for one of the survival games, meeting Roxxy in it, the two hooking up instead of killing each other, before wasting the competition and taking home the large cash prize, and setting themselves up nicely.
And now she was the owner of a mechanic garage that catered to racers, mercenaries, and misfits. Roxxy ran the attached bar and strip joint, where they spent most nights partying until dawn. Life here wasn't perfect, but it was theirs - no rules, no restrictions, just freedom.
Jinx could see the finish line up ahead, a glowing checkpoint graffitied onto the side of a human chop shop. Hah, Terry is going to owe me soooo fucking much!
Terry's car was shrinking in her rearview mirror, and victory was practically in her grasp. She hooted in triumph, already imagining the celebratory drinks and whatever else the night had in store.
But her excitement was short-lived.
Without warning, the car jolted violently, throwing both Jinx and Roxxy forward into the dashboard. The safety harnesses activated just in time, but Jinx still saw stars as her head hit the steering wheel. She groaned, rubbing her forehead as Roxxy let out a string of curses, her tails flicking irritably.
"The fuck just happened?" Roxxy whined, her ears twitching as she looked around.
Jinx gritted her teeth, slamming her hands on the dashboard. "We're caught in a tractor beam." Good thing I paid for skull reinforcements for both of us last time we saw the doc.
Above them, hovering like a predator, was a thin, metallic drone, its underside glowing with the telltale hum of a tractor beam locking them in place. The car's tires spun helplessly against the ground, unable to break free. Jinx craned her neck to look up, her stomach sinking when she saw who was responsible.
Hovering just above them, in her full android form, was Lian - the Overlady of Night City. One of her anyway, there were like a dozen known versions of the android. This version of Lian was completely purple, with long purple hair falling in ringlets, covering her naked bust, her metallic body gleaming under the moonlight and neon, with piercing red eyes that seemed to glow ominously down at them.
"Oh, come on, miss overlord!" Roxxy groaned, flicking on the car's external speakers. "We only killed, like, four people. Tops!"
That was at like worst a ticket or something.
Lian's cold, robotic voice echoed through the air. "I normally let you have your fun, but one of the people you killed was on the list."
Jinx winced. The list. The one rule of Night City: Hammer Industries personnel were off-limits for permanent deaths. Tourists could be scammed, robbed, have their organs trafficked, even humiliated or have their gender switched on a lark, but killing them dead dead, was strictly forbidden. Breaking that rule came with consequences.
"Ugh, not my fault if a tourist didn't get out of the way," Jinx grumbled, knowing it was pointless. Lian had full control over the city.
At least she usually let them do whatever, unlike those under Hammer's control.
"4.5 million fine," Lian said matter-of-factly, as if it were pocket change.
From behind, she heard Terry laughing hysterically as he drove past them, his victory horn blaring. Jinx clenched her fists, fury boiling inside her. She wasn't exactly broke, but 4.5 million would cripple her business.
Or have her selling her cute bunny ass to make up the difference. Or a kidney or two, with Panacea, the organ trade was more for delicacies, then for medical need anymore anyway.
She'd even tried some herself. Wasn't half bad.
"That's totally unreasonable!" Jinx protested.
Lian remained unfazed. "Your other option is to volunteer for the Night City Classic, your fine would be forgiven."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Roxxy blushed, glancing sideways at Jinx. "It wouldn't be that bad, right?"
Jinx groaned, tugging on her bunny ears. The Night City Classic was a globally broadcast competition that took place monthly, despite the illegality of Night City.
It was a mix of gladiatorial combat and ridiculous, often lewd challenges. Mud wrestling was a fan favorite. The competitors? Scantily clad women who rarely stayed that way for long. It was sex, violence and death all combined together with ridiculous challenges.
"This is cruel and unusual punishment," Jinx muttered. "And those two are competing again this time!"
Luckily they weren't always there, but in the last competition they'd slaughtered their way through. Most competitions didn't even have that many deaths in the Classic otherwise. Only reason she'd even think of entering to avoid the fine.
"Hela and her pet are honorary contestants only, and do not have a license to kill in this competition." Lian clarified.
The Queen of Death Hela had a reputation in this city. Sure, people killed each other all the time. The survival games were made for it.
No one quite enjoyed it the way Hela did.
All of Night City breathed easier whenever she went raiding.
"Sadists more like it," Jinx grumbled, knowing it would be painful, but survivable if that woman and her cyborg pet wasn't allowed to kill.
Jinx didn't mean to brag, but she'd survived the survival games, these little challenges wouldn't kill her or Roxxy.
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She knew she was going to accept. What was some humiliation compared to a 4.5 million fine? The Classic might be embarrassing once Hela started crushing them, but at least it didn't involve death this time.
"Fine," Jinx finally said, her voice dripping with defeat. The tractor beam released their car, and it thudded back onto the street.
"Oooh, we get to mud wrestle again?" Roxxy said, her excitement returning.
"Just keep your medical implant on," Jinx warned. "That Hela bitch always breaks her competitors, even if she won't kill us this time."
Roxxy smirked, her tails flicking playfully. "You love me broken."
Jinx rolled her eyes, revving the engine as they sped off into the neon-lit chaos of Night City, mostly to avoid that smug bastard Terry. Life was never dull here, and despite the setbacks, she wouldn't trade it for anything.
In the rest of the world, people lived dull lives, satisfied with their lot under Hammer Industries' rule. They worked, probably had boring missionary vanilla sex, and drank the corporate Kool-Aid.
But in Night City? Here, life was a gamble, life was free. And Jinx wouldn't have it any other way.
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February 1st, 2012, Terra Luna.
Steve Rogers stood at the edge of the construction zone, his hands resting on his hips as he surveyed the dusty expanse before him. The low hum of machinery echoed across the lunar surface, a constant backdrop to the bustling worksite.
Large mechanical cranes moved with precise, calculated motions, hoisting massive panels of reinforced titanium alloy into place. Men and women in bright orange work suits moved between construction rigs and supply stations, coordinating their tasks with the practiced efficiency of a well-oiled machine.
Above him, the view of Terra Prime hung like a silent observer, its familiar blue and green surface distant, almost alien now. He rarely looked at it these days, finding it difficult to reconcile the image of his home with what it had become. Less than two years ago, the United States of America had been a beacon of democracy, at least in theory. Now, it was just another province in the growing Hammer Federation cum Empire.
Steve let out a long breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he tried to shake off the weight of his thoughts. One people under Hammer. The words echoed in his mind like a funeral bell, a reminder of how quickly the world had changed.
Just days ago, the U.S. government had officially dissolved its national borders, government, constitution and cultural identity, signing its allegiance to the Federation with the same flourish of pen strokes that had once written the country's founding documents.
He shook his head, disbelief still clinging to him like a stubborn shadow. The United States of America. Gone. Not conquered by war, not overthrown by revolution, but signed away willingly.
Only nineteen other nations had followed so far in dissolving, but more were expected to join soon. Politicians who had once been unable to agree on anything now seemed eager to fall in line, their debates drowned out by the promise of prosperity, stability, and the undeniable power that Hammer offered.
Less than two years, Steve thought, shaking his head. And the Federation's already turning into an empire.
He couldn't bring himself to call it anything else. Justin Hammer's vision of unity had started as a promise of collaboration, a way to bridge the gaps between nations and uplift the world together. But now? Now, it felt like the Federation was swallowing the world whole, one country at a time. The promise had always been a lie, one the world swallowed without protest.
And Steve had refused to be a part of it.
Despite Bucky's efforts to convince him otherwise - despite the long nights of heated debates, the pleas to join the new Federation military or even one of the emerging superhero teams - Steve had made his choice. He couldn't fight for something he didn't believe in. Not again. Not after everything that had happened.
So he'd retired. On the spot. No more hero business. The world didn't want him. And he had started to believe it didn't deserve to be saved.
So, instead, he'd taken a job with a construction company, working to help transform the Moon - now Terra Luna - into a livable space. It wasn't glamorous, and it wasn't what people expected from Captain America, but it was honest work. He liked the feel of the tools in his hands, the strain of his muscles as he lifted and carried, the satisfaction of seeing something tangible take shape because of his effort.
Even if the company he worked for was, like everything else these days, just another subsidiary of Hammer Industries.
He of course kept in touch with Bucky. But since his best friend continued to work for Hammer, it was over calls, not personal visits.
Terra Luna had changed dramatically in the last two years. What had once been a barren, lifeless rock had become a hub of human activity, its surface scarred by massive construction sites and transport hubs.
The use of Pym Particles had revolutionized the process, allowing materials to be shrunk down to a fraction of their size for easy transport and then expanded back to their full dimensions on-site. What would have taken decades under normal circumstances had been accomplished in a matter of months.
Most of the settlements so far had been built underground, where the natural insulation of Terra Luna's crust provided protection against the harsh environment. Vast networks of tunnels and chambers stretched beneath the surface, housing everything from living quarters and research labs to hydroponic farms and power stations. The air was recycled through advanced filtration systems, the water supply carefully monitored and replenished through ice mining operations at Terra Luna's poles, as well as delivered through portals from Terra Prime.
But it wasn't all underground. A few surface cities had begun to take shape, each one enclosed within massive protective domes capable of maintaining the proper atmospheric conditions for human life. Inside, artificial sunlight bathed the streets in a warm glow, and carefully controlled climates allowed for the growth of trees, gardens, and even small parks.
Steve lived in one of those domes, a modest apartment tucked away in a residential sector near the city's edge. It wasn't much, but it was enough. His days were spent working on construction sites, and his evenings were usually quiet - sometimes spent reading, sometimes spent walking through the city's small parks to clear his mind.
And sometimes, he spent his evenings with Peggy.
He smiled faintly at the thought, a wave of warmth washing over him. Peggy Carter. The woman he'd loved and lost, only to find her again under the most unexpected circumstances. She was older now, her once-youthful face marked by lines of experience and wisdom, but there was still a spark of vitality in her that reminded him of the woman she'd been during the war.
Hammers drugs had saved her, given her health and vigor back, even if it couldn't turn back the clock.
Their relationship had changed, of course. Too much time had passed, and they were both different people now. But they'd found a new kind of connection, one built on mutual respect and shared memories. It wasn't romantic - not anymore - but it was comforting, like having an older sister who understood him in a way few others could.
He glanced down at the tablet in his hand, having refused a mental implant, its screen displaying the day's work orders and progress reports. The construction of a new residential block was ahead of schedule. With any luck, they'd be able to move the first group of settlers in within the next few months.
A shadow passed over him, and he looked up to see one of his coworkers, a burly man named Dale, waving him over.
"Break time, Rogers!" Dale called out, grinning. "You've been working like a damn machine all morning. Come grab a coffee before you wear yourself out."
Steve chuckled softly and nodded, setting the tablet aside. He made his way to the break area, a small makeshift lounge set up near the construction site. A few workers were already there, sipping coffee and sharing stories about their latest projects.
It was… Nice… To be just one of the guys. No one here cared about who he'd been.
Even if they called him an old man for refusing any mental implants, cybernetics, or the use of the company simulation pod.
As he settled into a chair and accepted a cup of coffee from Dale, his mind drifted back to the news he'd seen that morning. Another country had signed on to dissolve its own very existence, becoming provinces guided by a governor selected by Justin Hammer, rather than an elected parliament. The headlines had been celebratory, hailing the move as a step toward global unity and prosperity.
A dissolution of waste and corruption, removing corruptive influences from the decision making process.
People cheered as every spot of democracy was scrubbed off with vigor.
But Steve couldn't help but feel uneasy. Unity was a noble goal, in a way. But this… This felt different. It wasn't unity born of shared ideals or common purpose. It was unity born of necessity, of nations bending to the will of a single man who held all the power.
He took a sip of his coffee, the bitterness grounding him. Maybe he was being too cynical. Maybe the Federation really would bring about the peace and progress it promised. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't right.
Yet… It wasn't his problem anymore.
"Everything okay, Rogers?" Dale asked, raising an eyebrow.
Steve managed a small smile. "Yeah. Just thinking."
Dale chuckled. "You think too much, man. Sometimes you just gotta go with the flow."
Steve nodded absently, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the domed city met the lunar surface. For now, he'd keep working, keep building. It was the only thing he could do.
He'd always been a man of action. He could do more here on Terra Luna than fighting the impossible yet again.
People wanted this change, who was he to decide it was wrong?
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February 1st, 2012, Cairo.
Ororo Munroe's home in Cairo was a blend of serenity and simple elegance. Soft sunlight filtered through tall windows framed by sheer white curtains, as the sound of a gentle breeze rustling the palm trees outside mingled with the quiet hum of city life beyond the gated villa.
In the nursery, the gentle cooing of her twins filled the air. Ororo sat cross-legged on a plush rug, her daughter cradled in her arms while her son lay giggling beside her, clutching one of her fingers with surprising strength. Both babies had inherited their father's piercing eyes, but their hair was a curious mix - soft curls of dark brown streaked with traces of white.
Her daughter, Amara, was quieter, content to observe her surroundings with wide eyes that sparkled like sunlight on water. Her brother, Idris, however, was a ball of restless energy, constantly babbling and kicking as if he were already ready to take on the world like his father.
"You two are growing too fast," Ororo murmured softly, her voice warm with affection. Amara gurgled in response, her tiny hand reaching up to touch Ororo's cheek.
Ororo smiled and leaned down to press a kiss against her daughter's forehead, savoring the scent of baby powder and innocence. These moments were precious, stolen fragments of time before duty called her away once more. She wanted to imprint every detail into her memory - the softness of their skin, the way they smelled like warmth and purity, the way Idris would always wiggle his fingers until she gave him something to grab.
A soft knock at the door signaled the arrival of the nanny, a kindly older woman with gentle hands and a calming presence. Behind her, three sentinels stood like silent guardians. Their glowing eyes scanning the room as they automatically recalibrated to monitor the environment for any threats.
These sentinels weren't the destructive machines they once were. Now, they were instruments of protection, bodyguards, governed by Nail's direct oversight. Ororo had personally overseen their programming, ensuring that nothing and no one would harm her children.
She rose gracefully, passing Amara into the nanny's waiting arms while giving Idris one last tickle under his chin, drawing a giggle from the baby. "Be good for Mama," She whispered.
As she stepped back, her gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, her heart tugging as it always did when she left them. But there was no room for hesitation. She had made her choice long ago - to ensure that they grew up in a world where metahumans weren't feared, where they could live freely and safely.
Turning away, Ororo moved down the marble-floored hallway toward her bedroom, her footsteps light but purposeful. Inside, her uniform waited for her, neatly pressed and laid out on the bed. It was a testament to the changes she had undergone over the years. Once, she had been a goddess worshipped by villagers in Kenya, a teacher and a mutant hero leader in Xavier's mansion. Now, she was a general in the Hammer Federation Military, wearing its emblem proudly on her chest.
She stripped off her casual clothes, her movements practiced and efficient. Sliding into the uniform felt like donning armor, both physical and symbolic. The dark fabric hugged her form perfectly, tailored for both functionality and elegance. Silver rank insignia gleamed on her shoulders, denoting her position as the highest-ranking officer in the Federation's metahuman armed forces.
Ororo caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair, still white as snow, cascaded down her back in soft waves. Her eyes, once filled with uncertainty, now held a steely resolve. She adjusted the cuffs of her sleeves and squared her shoulders.
Content. That was the word that often came to mind when she thought about her life now. There were compromises, yes - letting metahuman criminals be sent to Helen Cho's labs for experimentation was one of them. But under Justin's leadership, metahumans were protected. They had equal rights by law, and discrimination was practically nonexistent. She had seen the progress firsthand - metahuman children attending schools without fear, families living openly without fear of persecution.
Nowadays, a metahuman could openly use powers in the street and get nothing but a glance.
The sacrifices she had made, practically selling herself, the moral lines she had blurred - they were worth it. She could live with the weight of her decisions if it meant her people could thrive for generations to come.
Ororo moved to the corner of the room, where a round personal teleporter awaited her. The device, a gift from Justin himself, hummed softly as she keyed in her destination. With a flash of light and a faint crackle of energy, she vanished from the room.
When she reappeared, the crisp air of Germany greeted her, with the training facility stretching out before her. One of four dedicated to metahuman forces, this particular facility was home to the shock troops - powerful mutants whose abilities made them ideal for rapid assaults and heavy combat.
The compound was a sprawling complex of reinforced structures, obstacle courses, and simulation chambers. Soldiers in uniform moved with precision, their training exercises echoing across the open courtyards. In the distance, she could see a group practicing their flight maneuvers, streaking across the sky like comets.
Ororo made her way toward the central building, where a large hall had been prepared for her address. As she entered, the murmur of conversation faded, and hundreds of metahumans snapped to attention, their uniforms a sea of dark fabric accented with the silver insignias of their respective ranks.
She ascended the podium, her gaze sweeping across the crowd. These were her soldiers, her people. Each of them had a story, a struggle that had brought them here. Some had been oppressed, hunted, or forced to hide their powers. Now, they stood united, a formidable force that could rival any army on Earth - or beyond.
Perhaps some would die for them all, if the rumblings of displeasure from Asgard, or the reprimands from Xandar bore any fruit. But to her, it would be her honor, and she knew they all felt the same.
Their people were safe, happy, part of the whole. They could do nothing but their best to protect that, in any way they could.
Ororo took a deep breath before speaking, her voice steady and clear. "You've trained hard. You've sacrificed. And you've grown stronger together." Her words resonated through the hall, carried by the weight of her conviction. "Today, we put that strength to the test. The simulation you are about to face is designed to challenge every skill you've honed. It's not just about winning - it's about surviving to continue the fight, to win again and again. About showing the universe that we are not to be underestimated."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "The scenario we've chosen is a mock battle against Asgard. This is not an admission of hostility. But we must be prepared for any betrayal, for any ally to become an enemy. Asgardians are powerful, but so are we. And today, you will prove that."
A ripple of excitement and determination passed through the crowd.
"You are the vanguard of the metahuman race," Ororo continued, her tone softening slightly. "And with that comes responsibility. You do not fight for glory or conquest. You fight to protect those who cannot protect themselves. You fight to ensure that no child, metahuman or otherwise, grows up in fear."
She straightened, her eyes blazing with pride. "Now, take what you've learned and make it count. Dismissed!"
The hall erupted with the synchronized sound of thousands of boots striking the floor as the soldiers saluted and began filing out, ready to face the challenge ahead. Ororo watched them go, a sense of satisfaction settling over her.
They were ready.
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February 1st, 2012, undisclosed location, deep underground.
In the dim underground room, shadows stretched long and deep, the flickering glow of a single oil lamp giving light. The air smelled of damp earth and aged leather, suffused with the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering on Wilson Fisk's tailored suit. A room like this, devoid of electronics, was an oddity in the modern world - deliberate and calculated. Here, secrets could be spoken without digital ears.
Selene Gallio sat languidly at the end of the table, one arm draped across the back of her chair, her body encased in a sleek black dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her gaze swept lazily over the room, her ruby lips curling into a faint smirk as if the gathering was a waste of her precious time. Her patience was already wearing thin.
"Why am I here?" She asked, her voice a melodic hum with an undercurrent of menace. She tapped her fingers against the table, each nail painted a dark crimson. "I could be anywhere else, doing something far more entertaining. What possible reason do you have to bring me here with... Them?"
She gestured with mild disdain toward the others seated around the table.
Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin, sat at the head, his large hands folded neatly before him on the polished oak surface. His hulking frame seemed to absorb the dim light, casting an imposing silhouette against the backdrop of shadows. His expression was calm, measured, the look of a man who was in control.
"I assure you, Miss Gallio," Fisk said, his tone smooth and deliberate, "That your presence here is not without purpose. The stakes are too high to exclude someone of your... Particular talents."
Selene arched a brow, her smirk fading into a faint frown. "Get on with it, then, you're beginning to bore me."
Tiberius Stone, a man that had once worn the smugness of the world's elite, now looked like a hollow shell of his former self. His fingers tapped incessantly against the table, betraying his nerves. "This should have been held in Night City," He muttered under his breath, his eyes darting toward the exit. "We're not safe this close to his city."
Fisk turned his gaze toward Tiberius, his expression hardening with disdain. "Night City," Fisk said, "Is a playground owned by Hammer no matter what is claimed. It's no haven of freedom - it's a trap, one where every crime is seen, recorded, and neatly filed away for future use. A gathering point for all rebels and malcontents. You'd do well to remember that."
Tiberius flushed but said nothing, his fingers continuing their restless tapping.
The various CEOs that had been invited looked uncomfortable. Still rich, even as their companies died around them. Oil tycoons, tech geniuses, even the ridiculed former owner of an electrical car manufacturer. They were all there to hear what Fisk had to say about reinventing their fate.
"I still haven't heard anything worth my attention," Selene said, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "We're all aware that Hammer took the world by storm and left you all scrambling like ants beneath his boot. Why should I care about your little cabal of misfortune?"
After all, her personal delights had not been affected, and she was not afraid of the man either way, no matter that he was a god now, she had more than a thousand years on him.
Fisk cleared his throat, the deep rumble of it echoing through the room. "Because we've all lost something. Our wealth. Our influence. Everything we built has been taken or diminished under Hammer's rule." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. "But the game isn't over. The prize we seek is far greater than anything we've lost."
Selene tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "And what prize would that be?" She said in a voice that made it clear she was simply humoring him.
Fisk didn't answer immediately. He let the question hang in the air, a baited hook waiting for someone to bite. One of the former CEOs, a man with thinning hair and the scent of expensive cologne clinging to him, leaned forward.
"If you didn't think there was a chance to regain it all," the CEO said, "You wouldn't have gathered us here."
"Correct," Fisk said, a thin smile creeping across his face. "I wouldn't be wasting my time otherwise. But this isn't about reclaiming what we had. This is about something bigger. The new world order that Hammer has built offers opportunities for us all, but only to those willing to seize them."
Tiberius scoffed, bitterness coloring his tone. "Seize them? My media empire is a shadow of what it was. I own it still, I suppose, but Hammer controls the message. He decides what the public sees, what they believe. What am I supposed to seize when I'm already on a leash?"
Fisk gave him a cold, assessing look. "Your people still have access. Reporters, technicians - they can go places and see things the rest of us can't. You may be leashed, but you haven't been caged."
Tiberius frowned, his mind visibly working through the possibilities. "I could... I could leverage that," He murmured, more to himself than to the room. "There are still avenues of influence."
Selene tapped her nails on the table again, her patience thinning. "And me? What do I get out of this? I have no interest in reclaiming lost fortunes, money is a pithy thing I hardly have to work for."
Fisk's smile widened, the gleam of predatory satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "You're not here for money, Miss Gallio. My benefactor anticipated your reluctance and offered something far more valuable - tomes from something they called the Dark Dimension. Knowledge that even you haven't acquired."
Selene stilled, her fingers ceasing their rhythmic tapping. For the first time since the meeting began, genuine interest flickered across her face. "The Dark Dimension, you say?" She murmured, her eyes narrowing. "And what would your benefactor want in return?"
"Your cooperation," Fisk replied. "And perhaps a little chaos in the right places. Nothing you aren't already skilled at."
Selene considered this for a moment, her gaze drifting to the shadows that clung to the corners of the room. The offer was tempting, and the prospect of gaining knowledge from the Dark Dimension was enough to pique her curiosity. "Very well," She said slowly. "But if this turns out to be a waste of my time, you'll regret it."
"Understood," Fisk said, inclining his head slightly.
The CEO leaned in again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell us more, Fisk. What's the plan?"
Fisk's smile didn't waver, but the room seemed to hold its breath as he simply studied them all, "It's best that you do not all know, each of you will receive the particulars for your own parts from my servant."
Out of the darkness a man with a pure white face and wearing an impeccable suit stepped forward, before taking on the appearance of Fisk, his face and body seamlessly transforming.
"The Chameleon will easily be able to give you your instructions without anyone being aware something unusual is happening."
Tiberius licked his lips nervously, his gaze shifting between Fisk and the Chameleon behind him. "This benefactor of yours... Who are they, really?"
Fisk's smile sharpened. "Someone with the resources and vision to succeed where others have failed. With their backing, Hammer can be toppled. But we must be smart. Subtle. And we must move quickly when the time comes. This world, without Hammer, will be a smorgasbord for us all."
"Yes, but who is it?" Tiberius pressed.
Before Fisk could answer, a figure stepped forward from the shadows behind him again, their presence marked only by the gleam of teeth catching the faint light. The room fell silent, the tension thickening like a fog as the representative laid a hand on Fisk's shoulder.
"My master," The representative said, their voice smooth and unsettling, "Will reward you all."
"Yet… If you are reticent. I can perhaps convince you of the cause…"
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February 1st, 2012, Savage Lands.
Phil Coulson stood on the observation deck of the administrative tower, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out over the expanse of the Savage Lands. Or rather, what used to be the Savage Lands and was now the Elysium Fields. What had once been a prehistoric paradise, filled with untamed jungles and creatures from another era, had been reduced to a methodical, industrialized engine of progress.
Although he knew some of the dinosaurs had been removed to an island in the Caribbean, where a theme park named Jurassic Park was created for all to enjoy and was currently beating out Disneyland for visitors by a major margin.
Coulson thought Hammer had a twisted sense of humor, as he dropped the thought from his mind and focused on his domain.
A quarter of the land was now dedicated to a massive facility that churned out adamantium, its celestial forge burning day and night, fueled by a process he barely understood and had no clearance to question. Industrial teleporters had been installed at key points, ensuring that every ounce of precious metal was immediately beamed up to the orbital space docks for the Hammer war machine.
The rest of the land, once filled with towering trees and prowling dinosaurs, had been transformed into farmland. Fields stretched endlessly, their precise rows of crops uniform and unbroken, forming a perfect grid visible even from his high vantage point. Produce, grain - both native and alien - were grown and harvested in cycles faster than nature had ever intended. The genetic modifications and advanced nutrient infusions had reduced the growth time to a mere thirty-two hours. A field could be planted in the morning and be fully harvested by the next sunrise.
All of it was fed by a slurry - a biofuel concoction pioneered by Helen Cho. The leftover biomass from failed genetic experiments, executed criminals, and rebels that had been deemed irredeemable. Nothing went to waste. Not even people.
He wondered how many of his friends had fed the soil…
Governor of Elysium Fields… It beat prison, he supposed… That's where he'd been before this, ever since Fury abandoned him.
Coulson tugged at the collar around his neck, a habit he had never managed to shake, despite knowing it was futile. The smooth metal band, cold against his skin, carried the ever-present threat of incineration should he step out of line.
He had tested the limits once - just once - allowing his thoughts to drift too far toward rebellion. The implant embedded in his brain had responded instantly, a searing bolt of pain that had sent him to his knees. He hadn't made that mistake to that extent again, the searing pain from the collar as it inched closer to incineration convincing him it worked just as portended.
For all the grandeur of his title - Governor of the Elysium Fields - he knew exactly what he was. A slave. A glorified monitor for a system that ran itself, a figurehead whose only real purpose was to sign reports and occasionally answer calls from higher-ups who already knew the answers.
Except for the odd tech team transporting down for maintenance, he was the only other human being in the entire continent hidden under Antarctica.
Its natives had long ago become fodder for the earth, thankfully before Coulson's time, saving him the sight.
And yet, was it so bad? This job?
Many of his former SHIELD colleagues had met far worse fates. Some had been hunted down and executed for their perceived crimes. Others had vanished into Hammer's deep black projects, never to be heard from again. Some, like Fury, had been cast out into the void, left to scheme in the shadows like relics of a past that no longer had a place in this world.
By comparison, Coulson had been… Lucky.
He had a stable life. He had books, crosswords, even the occasional phone call from people who still tolerated him. That was more than most had gotten.
He exhaled slowly, watching as the mechanical harvesters moved in perfect unison across the fields below. Drones hovered overhead, scanning for inefficiencies, ensuring that not a single second was wasted. Everything was optimized. Efficient. Perfect.
World hunger was vanishing.
That was undeniable.
With an entire continent dedicated to food production, coupled with Hammer's teleportation network, so limited above, but so total down here… Food was now abundant and practically free in the places that had once known nothing but famine. Nations that had once struggled to feed their people now had surplus stockpiles.
It was impossible to argue with the results.
And yet, results did not equate to freedom.
Coulson turned away from the window, rubbing his temples as a faint warning pulse from his implant reminded him not to dwell too long on such thoughts. He sat down at his desk, flipping open a crossword book. A simple distraction, but a necessary one.
Across from him, the small terminal flickered, displaying a news feed. The world was changing, faster than he could fully comprehend. The military was stronger than ever, filled with soldiers enhanced beyond normal human limits, their minds sharpened by VR training that compressed years of experience into months.
Their recruitment was all encompassing. Support units, infantry, combat engineers. Everything was hiring, and there was room for more everywhere.
Unemployment was nearly nonexistent because of this. Not because every job had been filled, there were always more. Even with the improvements across the world killing entire sectors of work, there were other new ones clamoring for workers.
Those who did not work had become pariahs. Deviants. Seen as mentally ill by the populace.
The system was self-correcting.
It had been weeks since he had seen a single news article about a civilian stepping out of line outside the few countries still raising a fuss. The people had adapted. They had embraced the new order with open arms, not only because they had been forced to, but because it worked.
They were fed. They were safe. They had purpose.
That was all most people had ever really wanted.
And yet, for those like Coulson - those who remembered what the world had been like before with freedom of choice - there was a hollow feeling that never quite went away.
He winced as another zap from his implant jolted through his skull, cutting off his thoughts before they could spiral further.
He sighed, flipping the page in his crossword book.
One across: "A person who betrays their principles."
He stared at the blank squares for a long moment before reluctantly writing in the answer.
Sellout.
His terminal beeped, drawing his attention away. A new update had come through.
"Night City Expansion Approved by its Overlady. Projected Population Growth: 4.3 Million Over the Next Six Months."
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
Of course, it had.
If there was one place left in the world where people could still pretend they were free, it was Night City. What a delicious illusion it was.
Hammer had really outdone himself with that. It probably saved him billions in computing costs to have every malcontent gather in one location for him. For all their 'freedom' likely tracked just as much as Coulson was, their collar just invisible.
He wondered, not for the first time, if he would have ended up there had things gone differently. If he had managed to slip away before SHIELD collapsed, before he had been captured, before the choice had been made for him.
He reached for his pen, only for another sharp jolt of pain to ripple through his skull, forcing him to suck in a breath.
His implant didn't like that line of thinking.
He took the hint.
Closing the crossword book, he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds until the next report came in.
It was going to be a long day.
At least here, he could still get phone calls.
Even if Natasha and Clint were still mad at him.
They still called.
So it was… Something.
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February 1st, 2012, under the sea.
The HammerTech Leviathan drifted silently through the deep, its reinforced hull slicing through the dark waters of the Atlantic trench. Beams of artificial light cut through the void, illuminating vast underwater ridges, jagged volcanic formations, and expansive flat plains where the ocean floor stretched for miles in eerie silence.
Inside the submersible, the command deck was alive with the quiet hum of conversation, holographic displays flickering with real-time data feeds. The crew of five worked methodically, their suits adorned with the Hammer Industries insignia as they monitored geological scans and deep-sea topography for viable locations.
"Depth at four thousand meters and holding steady," Captain Elise Rourke announced, her hands deftly adjusting the controls. She was composed, professional, and unshaken by the crushing pressure that surrounded them on all sides. "Stabilizers are green. Scanners show no seismic instability in this region."
"Temperature shifts are negligible," Confirmed Darius Kent, their lead engineer, his cybernetic fingers tapping along a glowing console. "We're looking at some decent geothermal activity, but nothing excessive. Just enough to make energy extraction viable without the risk of volcanic eruptions."
Mateo Alvarez, their oceanic geologist, let out a low whistle as he examined the holographic map projected before him. "Flat sedimentary plains, stable seafloor, low tectonic activity... This area is prime real estate for an underwater colony. If we can reinforce the structures properly, we could have entire cities down here within a decade."
"A decade?" Joanna Ellis, their marine biologist, smirked. "With Hammer Industries pouring resources into this, I bet we see the first settlement within five years. Maybe less if the birth boom projections hold."
With Hammer Industries incentivizing massive population growth, humanity was on the verge of an unprecedented expansion, hence their mission to explore the ocean, one of many.
They were hardly the only ones, just the only ones for this particular quadrant.
"That's what gets me," Mateo mused. "The way people are churning out kids now… It's insane. My sister has five and says she's only halfway to her target. My cousin's wife just had fucking quadruplets and she's already pregnant again. Ten kids is basically the new upper middle class."
"Not just middle class," Joanna corrected, swiping through a set of data sheets. "If you hit ten or more, you're making executive-level money. Birth subsidies, housing allotments, education credits, and priority healthcare. If you can pop 'em out, you're basically set for life."
Darius let out a low chuckle. "Hell, with those incentives, we'll hit a population of twenty billion before you know it."
"Which is why we're here," Elise said, bringing them back on track. "Lunar colonies can only support so many people. Space colonization is not the only answer, and planetary terraforming is a long-term project. But Terra Prime's oceans? We have the tech to start building now. Once the infrastructure is in place, entire cities can be submerged beneath the waves."
Mateo ran a hand through his dark hair, eyes narrowing as he zoomed in on a section of the sonar map. "And we've got space for them. Hammer Industries long-term projection models show that we could house at least five billion people under the ocean comfortably if we plan the cities right."
Darius nodded. "Pressure-resistant domes, geothermal reactors for energy, oxygen processing from the ocean itself, and the food supply handled with algae farms and aquaponic systems for what we don't simply teleport in. The deeper zones can be used for industrial sites, research labs, and power stations. Residential zones will probably be closer to the surface."
"And since we now control all Talokanian blueprints," Joanna added, "We already have a functioning model to work with. Their city was proof that long-term deep-sea habitation is possible, even if they didn't solve it properly, cheating with alien DNA. They thrived without even using half the tech we have access to though, so we should be able to pull it off."
Elise shifted the Leviathan slightly, maneuvering it over a vast undersea plateau. The terrain was smooth, the rock beneath solid - ideal for a future settlement. The HUD display flickered as scans came in.
"This area's a winner," She said, her voice thoughtful. "Flat ground, minimal fault activity, and plenty of thermal vents nearby to power a colony. Mark this for priority assessment."
Mateo tagged the location, adding it to their ever-growing list of potential sites. "That's the third promising zone today. We're on a roll."
Joanna leaned back in her chair, exhaling. "It's wild to think about. A few years ago, no one would have believed we'd be talking about cities under the ocean. Now? It's inevitable."
Darius grinned. "Hammer Industries gonna make it happen. And in a century, people will look at land-based cities the same way we look at medieval villages - quaint, outdated, and boring."
Elise gave a small smile, keeping her eyes on the controls. "Welcome to the future."
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