----------------------------------------
The shimmering projection of Lady Frejya remained as poised and regal as ever, her presence filling the room with an air of divine authority. Her expression, however, was anything but serene. The faint furrow in her brow and the sharpness in her gaze spoke volumes about her displeasure. Justin met her gaze evenly, his usual charm replaced with a cool, almost indifferent demeanor. Sunil Bakshi, seated quietly at a small table near the corner, kept his head down, doing his best to fade into the background, but wholly attentive.
"You're telling me," Frejya began, her voice calm but laced with steel, "That this… arrangement of yours, includes allowing Hela to roam the galaxy as a marauder? And you do not see this as breaking our accord?"
Justin raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. "That's exactly what I'm saying," He replied, his tone firm. "The spirit of the agreement was to keep her away from Asgard and under control. Sending her out to be a pirate does both, in a way that suits both our needs."
Frejya's eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening slightly. "Under control?" She repeated, her tone laced with polite disbelief. "Hela let loose, will leave a trail of death and destruction wherever she goes. And you think this satisfies the terms of our agreement?"
"It does," He said firmly. "The alternative was keeping her on Earth, where the lack of bloodshed would have driven her mad in record time - or more likely - made her lash out and start a war. You wanted her off Asgard; I want her where she can't endanger Earth, something I made very clear when we negotiated this accord. This solution achieves both."
Frejya's expression darkened almost imperceptibly, her regal facade slipping just enough to reveal the frustration simmering beneath. "And in doing so, you unleash her upon the galaxy, a weapon of chaos with your blessing. Do you not see how this undermines the trust we placed in you?"
Justin's jaw tightened, and his smirk faded. "Trust?" He echoed, his tone taking on an edge. "With all due respect, Lady Frejya, everything we've done - I've done - has been to defend Earth. We have not been the aggressors in this relationship." He told her, reminding her of their invasion, "We struck a deal, it had nothing to do with trust, you simply wished to use us. You've paid for that pleasure, but you did not pay enough to have us suffer through her insanity indefinitely. Earth's defense trumps everything."
Like he'd said, the spirit of the agreement was to keep her off Asgard, and they were achieving that, so Justin wasn't about to let himself be bent over for this - Earth wasn't the weak supplicant of Asgard…
Frejya tilted her head, her sharp gaze never leaving his. "Then explain to me," She said, her voice suddenly as cold as a winter's night, "How Hela's reaving across the galaxy constitutes defense!"
Justin got up and stepped around his desk, closer to her projection, his movements slow and deliberate. "Because Hela needs bloodshed as much as she needs air," He said bluntly. "And if she doesn't get it out there, she'll look for it here. Is that what you want? Hela rampaging across Earth, or worse, finding her way back to Asgard? I'm giving her an outlet that keeps her occupied and far away from places she can do real harm."
Frejya's lips pressed into a thin line, her silence speaking volumes. Justin pressed on, his voice rising slightly. "And let's not pretend she's going to be out there targeting innocents. Pirates, slave traders, scum of the universe. Are you saying you care more for them than the safety of Asgardian citizens?"
Because if Hela was left to languish, she'd definitely return to her goal of conquering Asgard and killing Odin.
Frejya's nostrils flared slightly, but she didn't immediately respond. Her silence was heavy, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Sunil shifted uncomfortably in his chair, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the table in front of him, while Justin kept his cool.
"I understand your logic," Frejya said finally, her tone measured but still icy. "But that does not mean I am comfortable with it. You are sacrificing untold lives with this gambit, this is not what we agreed on."
Justin's expression hardened, his usual charm replaced with a steely resolve. "Then tell me," He said, his voice low and firm, "What's your better idea? If you've got a solution that keeps Hela in check without putting Earth - or Asgard - at risk, I'm all ears."
He already knew she had none, that's why they'd dumped Hela on him, after all.
There was some minute risk to challenging Asgard in this way. But his gut told him Frejya did not want a war. So it limited the amount of pressure she could put on him. Their alliance would be profitable to them both, she wouldn't end it over the death of pirates, not if she believed Hela would stay away from Asgard.
And from her light poking at him over his 'relationship' with Hela, she believed, like he did, that her obsession would bring her back to Earth, instead of seeking Asgard.
Frejya's gaze bore into him, unflinching and unyielding. The room fell into a heavy silence as the two stared each other down, a battle of wills playing out without a single word spoken. Sunil held his breath, feeling as though even the smallest sound might shatter the fragile equilibrium, even as he catalogued Asgards ruler's expressions for her file, for use in future negotiations.
After what felt like an eternity, Frejya's expression softened - just barely. She inclined her head ever so slightly, her eyes glinting with a new, unreadable emotion. "Thor will have your ship within the month," She said slowly, her tone carrying a hint of reluctant respect. "Consider this matter settled... For now. At our next negotiation, I will expect due consideration for this bending of the accord…"
And with that, her projection faded into nothingness, leaving the room feeling emptier than it had moments before.
Sunil exhaled softly, breaking the silence that followed. "She doesn't see us as quite as quaint as before, sir," He said quietly, his voice carefully neutral.
Justin smirked faintly, though there was little humor in it. "About time they see us as more than slightly evolved pets," He muttered.
Within a year, two at the most. Asgard would be their lesser, not even Odin able to make up the difference.
He'd have to send a message to the Ancient One though…
Heimdall was becoming a problem.
----------------------------------------
Fort Moore, Georgia.
The sound of Bradley Doyle's boots echoed softly in the empty hallway as he walked toward the briefing room. Everything felt different now - different from what it had been just a few months ago, before Justin Hammer had swept in and taken control of not just the military, but the entire country.
Bradley clenched his fists at his sides as he approached the door, his thoughts racing. He'd served for over a decade, disdaining climbing the ranks, remaining as a corporal, as he refused to leave his brothers behind. He was meant to be on the ground, not behind a desk, after all.
He'd seen a lot of changes in leadership over the years. But this? This was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The United States wasn't the United States anymore. The stars and stripes still flew over some buildings, sure, but everyone knew the truth - the country was now a cog in the Hammer Federation.
Their president wasn't even god damn American anymore! Sure they'd slapped a citizenship on him, but that's just not how things were done in good old America, before all this bullshit.
Bradley had resisted the idea, still did, even if he could do nothing but grouse about it. Hammer wasn't elected. He wasn't a general duly appointed, or a president - hell, the man wasn't even a politician - the less said about president Bakshi, the better.
Justin Hammer was the real ruler of America now… He was a tech mogul who had somehow managed to unite the world - Bradley still wasn't sure how that had happened so quickly - tearing down governments and absorbing them into his corporate empire. It was surreal, like something out of one of those dystopian sci-fi movies he used to watch with his buddies during downtime.
Bradley paused outside the briefing room, staring at the Hammer Industries logo etched into the glass door. A sleek "H" in gold stamped on a globe. The symbol of a new world order. His stomach twisted. This isn't what I signed up for, he thought.
But what could he do? He was one man, just a cog in a much larger machine. Resisting wasn't an option - not when the Hammer Federation was already so vast, so overwhelming in its reach. Besides, there were… Benefits. The world was more stable than it had ever been. Crime rates were down. Wars between nations were a thing of the past, barring Russia and China. Poverty and hunger were on the brink of eradication.
So why does this feel wrong? Bradley shook his head, clearing the thought as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
He knew why it felt wrong.
You could put all the lipstick on a pig you wanted - it didn't change the fact it was a pig.
America should not be like this. World peace was not worth their freedoms being taken away.
…
The briefing was short and to the point. They were being reorganized. The military as he knew it was being stripped down and rebuilt from the ground up. Everyone, from the greenest recruits to the most seasoned officers, would undergo retraining. They'd be learning to use Hammer tech, integrating it into every facet of their operations. And it wouldn't be a simple classroom experience - they were introducing a VR program that would immerse them completely.
Bradley didn't understand what that meant at first. He nodded along with his commanding officer's explanation, pretending to follow, but it wasn't until he was escorted to the VR pods that the reality began to sink in. Rows of sleek pods lined the walls of a cavernous warehouse, each one humming faintly with energy. Soldiers climbed inside one by one, their expressions a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
The instructors warned them that the simulations were deeply immersive - time-dilated, they called it - and that they'd feel as though they spent years inside the program.
Some soldiers weren't impressed, recognizing that this was technology used in prisons. But in the end, they were soldiers, and if the brass had signed off on this, all they could do was complete the training to the best of their abilities.
When it was his turn, Bradley hesitated. He stood before the open pod, staring at the padded interior filled with some sort of gel. The tech looked almost alien, with glowing circuits running along the edges and a visor-like mechanism that would cover his eyes once he was inside.
"Doyle," His CO barked. "Get in. It's not optional."
Bradley swallowed hard, nodding as he climbed inside. The pod hissed shut around him, sealing him in darkness. For a moment, he panicked, his heart hammering against his ribs. Then the visor lowered, and everything changed.
…
The first thing Bradley noticed was the sun. It was blindingly bright, beating down on him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. He squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes, and realized he was standing in the middle of a desert. He looked down at himself, startled to see that he was wearing a suit of futuristic armor, the Hammer Industries logo emblazoned on the chest plate.
"What the hell?" He muttered, turning in a slow circle.
The desert stretched endlessly in every direction, but he wasn't alone. A squad of soldiers stood nearby, all clad in similar armor. They looked at him expectantly, their faces unfamiliar hidden by the face masks and visors, but somehow familiar at the same time.
"Doyle," One of them called out. "You good?"
Bradley blinked. He knew that voice. It belonged to Rodriguez, one of his squadmates back in the real world. But this didn't feel like a simulation. The heat of the sun, the grit of the sand under his boots - it was all too real.
Before he could respond, the comms in his helmet crackled to life. "Doyle, get your head in the game. We've got hostiles inbound. Move!"
The next few hours were a blur of action. Bradley fought alongside his squad, learning how to use the new Hammer tech through trial and error. The suit enhanced his strength and reflexes, making him faster, stronger, and deadlier than he'd ever been before. The weapons were unlike anything he'd used in his military career - energy rifles that fired precise, devastating beams of light; drones that deployed with a flick of his wrist, providing aerial support; and grenades that emitted EMP pulses, disabling enemy equipment in an instant.
For what felt like decades, he lived a second life. The VR world was utterly convincing - the heat of explosions, the recoil of Hammer's advanced plasma rifles, the tension of planning operations against simulated enemies. He was taught to use Hammer's technology not through lectures or manuals but by doing. He piloted drones, navigated orbital strikes, and fought beside enhanced units that moved with superhuman speed. He didn't just learn tactics - he lived them.
Not all of it was fighting either, they dealt with disaster relief, aid work, and other tasks that would safeguard their fellow man. They were kept so busy, that the few lectures and classes they were forced to take inside the VR world, was almost a relief.
In the program, Bradley experienced triumph and failure. He fought and died countless times, the pain and adrenaline as real as if he were on an actual battlefield. But each death was a lesson, and he emerged stronger, more skilled, more attuned to Hammer's way of warfare - to fighting superhumans - to being superhuman - to using HammerTech power armor. He did it all.
By the time the simulation ended, Bradley felt like he'd spent at least a decade in that world. When the visor lifted and the pod hissed open, he stumbled out, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the warehouse. His legs felt weak, his mind disoriented.
"How long…?" He croaked, his voice hoarse.
"Thirty days," His CO said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Welcome back, Doyle. You've completed the Patriot program."
Thirty days. A single month. Bradley stared at his hands, his mind reeling. It didn't seem possible. How could thirty days feel like years? And yet… It made sense. He felt different. More certain of his purpose.
Changes had swept through the military with efficiency that bordered on ruthlessness during his time under. Old units were disbanded, ranks and designations shuffled. The insignias of the U.S. Armed Forces were replaced with the logo of Hammer Industries. Gone were the stars and stripes on his uniform; in their place was the symbol of the Hammer Federation and Hammer Industries.
Having spent a decade fighting under that same flag, it felt… Right.
…
Later that day, Bradley sat in the mess hall with Rodriguez and the rest of his squad. The room buzzed with conversation, the sound of laughter and clinking trays filling the air. Monitors mounted on the walls displayed the latest news, and Bradley's attention was drawn to a report about unrest in western Russia.
"Parts of western Russia have risen in rebellion against Moscow," The anchor said. "The rebels are demanding that Russia join the Hammer Federation, citing a desire for unity and progress. We at Fox news are happy to see the Russian people taking the steps to unite under the light of Hammer, our thoughts and prayers go out to them."
"Serves them right," Rodriguez said, smirking as he shoveled food into his mouth. "Those alien lovers thought they could stand against Hammer. Now their own people are turning on them."
Bradley nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He felt a swell of pride as he watched the report. The Hammer Federation was unstoppable. It wasn't just a government - it was a force of nature, reshaping the world for the better. Finally, Russia was seeing that.
Hopefully the Chinese would stop being stubborn too, or the United Federation Armed Forces - the replacement for Nato, this time with the entire world joined up - would have to show them what's what.
"You know," Bradley said, glancing around the table. "We've got everything here. Training facilities, top-tier tech, even the best food I've ever had in the military. But there's one thing we're missing."
"What's that?" Rodriguez asked.
"A chapel," Bradley said seriously. "For Hammer. I mean, he's not just a man. He's… More than that. Feels wrong not to have a place to honor him."
Rodriguez nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. We should bring it up to command. Bet they'd listen."
Bradley felt pleased. It would be wrong not to show their respect to the man, no, the God, they owed everything to.
…
A few days later, Bradley found himself strapped to a gurney in the infirmary. He stared up at the ceiling, his heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was it - the next step. The super-soldier serum.
The medics worked efficiently, prepping him and the others in his squad. The serum was a weaker version of what had been used on Captain America, but it was still revolutionary. It would make them stronger, faster, and tougher than any soldier in history, it was even mixed with a stronger version of Panacea called Extremis. Which would give them regeneration!
When the needle pierced his skin, Bradley gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the pain. It came almost immediately, a searing heat spreading through his veins. He gasped, his muscles tensing as the serum worked its way through his body. The pain was intense, but there was something else - something deeper. A fire ignited within him, a sense of purpose that burned brighter than ever.
For Hammer. For the Federation. For Unity and Humanity!
…
The day of deployment arrived with an air of anticipation. Bradley stood with his squadron, their newly issued Hammer power armor gleaming under the hangar lights. The soldiers moved with purpose, their steps synchronized as they marched toward the glowing orange portals that flickered to life before them.
The portal operators were women clad in leather uniforms that hugged their forms tightly, their smirks suggestive as they watched the soldiers pass. One of the operators, her crimson hair glowing like fire in the portal light, winked at Bradley. "March on, boys," She said, her voice low and teasing. "Hammer's watching."
Bradley's chest swelled with pride as he led his squad through the portal. They emerged in a dense jungle, the air thick with humidity and the calls of strange, alien creatures echoing around them.
The Savage Lands. The briefing had been clear - pacify the locals, retrieve any advanced technology, and bring the region under Federation control.
The Geneva convention had been revoked, there was no need for humanity to weaken itself against alien threats, only humans deserved rights.
Bradley tightened his grip on his plasma rifle, his eyes scanning the lush landscape as his squad fanned out around him. They moved with precision, their enhanced senses attuned to every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs.
This was their purpose now. To bring order to the chaos. To serve Hammer and the Federation, until one day it could be an Empire of humanity.
Bradley smiled beneath his helmet, the weight of his weapon reassuring in his hands. Together, they would succeed. They were blessed by Hammer, after all. And no one could stand against them.
----------------------------------------
The dense, humid jungle of the Savage Lands was alive with the sounds of chirping insects, distant growls, and the rustle of leaves stirred by unseen creatures. Even in the encroaching darkness of twilight, the air carried a sense of danger and mystery. Mystique, dressed in the uniform of a Hammer Federation captain, moved with practiced ease, her steps purposeful and confident. Her assumed form, that of a rugged, no-nonsense officer, was flawless, down to the faint scar tracing her cheek and the dirtiness of the uniform and armor, denoting she'd been in a scuffle.
She'd seen the man leave to inspect another camp, and taken his form for this, knowing how eager to please soldier boys were in front of the people able to dispatch them to constant latrine duty.
She adjusted the brim of the cap slightly, letting the shadow cast over her borrowed face add to the authority she projected. Her eyes scanned the area, taking in the camp ahead. Soldiers in Hammer-tech armor patrolled the perimeter, their movements efficient. Portable floodlights bathed the area in light, illuminating the path towards the camp.
This wouldn't be easy, but Mystique had infiltrated tighter operations than this. Her lips curved into a slight smirk, the satisfaction of slipping past two earlier patrols adding confidence to her stride. The disguise was perfect. All she needed was to get into the command tent, extract the information she required, and disappear before anyone knew she'd been there.
With that information in hand, She'd be able to infiltrate the main base, and escape back into the wider world with information worth selling to whoever was interested - and someone was always interested.
As she approached the outer perimeter, a squad of soldiers intercepted her, their armor reflecting the floodlights. Their rifles were slung low but at the ready, and their faces were obscured by their armored helmets. The leader of the group stepped forward, a red targeting lens flickering to life over one eye.
"Captain," The soldier said, his voice filtered through a modulator. "You're early. And on foot. Where is your squad?"
Mystique didn't hesitate, her posture rigid, her voice sharp. "At ease, Corporal. I'm here on special orders from HQ, my squad was ambushed and I barely got away. Stand aside and let me through."
The soldiers didn't move.
A flicker of unease tickled the back of Mystique's mind, but she squashed it. She kept her tone brisk, authoritative. "Did you not hear me? I'm on a tight schedule. Stand down and let me proceed, or I'll have your entire squad reassigned to latrine duty for insubordination."
The corporal tilted his head slightly, his helmet hiding whatever expression he wore. Behind him, the other soldiers shifted their stances, weapons clicking as they were adjusted ever so slightly.
Mystique clenched her jaw but maintained her facade, pushing forward with more bluster. This has to work, they're just jarheads. "HQ doesn't tolerate delays, and neither do I. If you have a problem, take it up with your CO. Now move aside."
The corporal let her finish her tirade before speaking again, his tone dripping with disdain. "You done?"
Mystique froze, a chill running down her spine.
The corporal raised his rifle, the blue ring at its barrel charging with a low hum. Mystique barely had time to register the sound before the shot hit her squarely in the stomach.
Pain flared through her body, electric and searing, as she crumpled to her knees. Her hands shot out instinctively to steady herself, her vision swimming. She tried to fight the creeping blackness overtaking her, but her body betrayed her, muscles locking and nerves screaming.
Her disguise began to falter. The captain's face shimmered, then melted away like watercolors in the rain. Her true form emerged, her blue skin and bright yellow eyes now exposed under the harsh floodlights. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the soldiers.
"She's a shifter," One of them said, stepping back slightly.
"Not just any shifter," Another replied, his tone cold. "That's Mystique, a priority A target. Stupid enough to just walk straight up to us."
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The corporal lowered his rifle, stepping closer to the crumpled figure at his feet. "HQ warned us you'd try something like this," He muttered, his voice low but filled with satisfaction. "We have ways to detect shape-shifting, Hammer industries knows you, fool woman."
Mystique groaned, her head lolling as she struggled against the paralysis. Her fingers twitched weakly, but her limbs refused to obey her commands.
The corporal knelt down, tilting his helmeted head as he stared at her. "You're not as clever as you think, are you? Passive scans caught you the moment you crossed the perimeter. You really thought you could just waltz in here? That our God had not thought of countermeasures?"
Mystique's lips curled into a weak snarl, but she lacked the strength to respond.
The corporal straightened, signaling to his squad. "Secure her. HQ will want her alive."
Two soldiers stepped forward, their boots crunching against the dirt. They hoisted Mystique's limp body between them, her head lolling forward as she fought to stay conscious.
Mystique's vision soon darkened, her mind racing even as her body betrayed her. She'd underestimated them…
Then the darkness claimed her.
----------------------------------------
April 25th, 2010, Hammerhaven.
Justin sat in the soft glow of candlelight, the private dining room in Hammerhaven was a place of luxury and intimate elegance. The room, perched high above the sprawling metropolis of his creation, offered a breathtaking view of the glittering cityscape below.
It was still not quite as beautiful a sight as what was before him.
Yelena sat across from him, dressed in a sensual little black dress that managed to be both simple and devastatingly alluring. Her sharp eyes were filled with fondness as she twirled a fork in her hand, playing with her food more than eating it as she casually let her bare foot run up his leg under the table.
Justin leaned back in his chair, swirling the glass of deep red wine in his hand. "You know, my darling," He began with a teasing smirk, "I can't remember the last time I had a quiet dinner. Do you ever think we should do this more often? Just you and me, away from the world?"
Yelena arched an eyebrow, a wry grin tugging at her lips. "You mean away from your endless meetings, plans for world domination, and - what was it you said last week? 'Bringing humanity into the future, one hostile takeover at a time'?"
Justin chuckled, raising his glass in mock acknowledgment, showing no sign on his face that he noticed Yelena's foot trailing higher. "I know you think I'm not being serious. But, my dear, I am. With the spaceship soon to be arriving, we're so very close to seeing Earth defended properly. And what better way to spend it, then with you?"
She laughed, the sound warm and melodic, as she finally speared a piece of roasted duck from her plate. "Well, consider yourself lucky, then, Justin. Not everyone gets to enjoy my sparkling company so often, and you have me all to yourself..." She smirked, her foot finding its goal, "I'm glad you're finally taking advantage…"
Justin smirked. "Oh, believe me, I count my blessings every day."
Yelena leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she regarded him with a playful glint in her eyes. "Speaking of blessings, I've got one for you. My dear sister Natasha," She said, her tone dripping with mock seriousness, "Is officially my bitch now. Completely under my thumb. And, as a generous sister, I'd be happy to ~share."
Justin nearly choked on his wine, coughing as he set the glass down. "Excuse me?" He tried to ignore how easily Yelena's foot managed to undo his zipper.
Yelena laughed so hard she had to set her fork down, her shoulders shaking. "Oh, come on, Justin. You've been with her before. What's the harm in revisiting an old flame? Think of it as deep, hard, nostalgia."
Justin shook his head, still coughing slightly as he gave her an incredulous look. "Been there, done that, Yelena. Not happening. She might not be able to kill me anymore, but it wouldn't make things anymore pleasant. She hates me."
Times like these were reminders of the fact this woman enjoyed finding other women for him, delighted in sharing in the pleasure.
A joy, most times, to be sure. But her sister wasn't high on his list of people to be reacquainted with.
Yelena pouted, her lips forming a perfect mockery of disappointment. "But Justin," She drawled, resting a hand on her - very slightly - distended stomach, "I want my future kid to have a cute niece or nephew to play with. You'd be doing me a favor."
Justin leaned forward, pointing a fork at her. "Nice try, but no. Not even for you."
Her grin turned sly as she leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Fine, fine. I'll let it go - for now."
The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm. They teased each other about everything from Yelena's habit of stealing Justin's shirts to wear around Hammerhaven to Justin's inability to cook anything more complicated than toast due to getting lost in plans and improvements.
The atmosphere was relaxed, the kind of rare moment where the weight of their responsibilities and the chaos of their lives seemed to fade away.
Until Nail appeared.
The holographic figure of Justin's AI assistant materialized at the head of the table, her form flickering slightly as she bowed her head. "Apologies for the interruption, sir. I have urgent news."
Justin sighed, setting his utensils down and leaning back in his chair. "This better be good, Nail."
Nail's expression was as composed as ever, though there was a faint edge to her tone. "We've encountered unexpected resistance in the Savage Land. The locals are utilizing celestial technology to fight back. A division of former U.S. soldiers has been lost."
Justin waved a hand dismissively. "No loss. There's more where they came from. What's the status of the resources?"
Nail straightened slightly, her holographic form becoming more solid. "We've identified sources of both adamantium and vibranium within the region. Additionally, we've captured Mystique, who attempted to infiltrate our forces by impersonating a captain."
Justin arched an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Mystique, huh? What's she doing down there exactly?"
He'd suspected she was hiding out there, but he'd had no idea for what reason… Adamantium perhaps. He hadn't missed that…
A very interesting find. Perhaps the celestial tech was behind that wonder metal?
Now he wanted the Savage Land conquered even more - where it had mostly been a whim of his before - to see if any useful celestial tech remained…
"Unclear," Nail replied. "She was found to have camped near one of the celestial relics. Orders?"
Justin tapped his fingers on the table, his expression thoughtful. "Hand her over to Helen Cho. She'll know what to do. Focus on securing the resources and bringing back the tech."
Perhaps Mystique could be turned, but really, she wasn't that important in the grand scheme of things. He'd let Helen experiment a bit, and then see if Mystique wanted an out.
Yelena, who had been watching the exchange with mild annoyance, suddenly sat up straighter drawing Nails attention. Her expression shifted to one of dangerous curiosity as she interrupted them both. "Nail, we have a gynoid body developed at this stage, right?"
Justin turned to her, his brow furrowing. "What are you up to?"
He knew she enjoyed him fucking other women, but he had no intention of going after robots, and Nail was more like a daughter, or a creation of his, then anything else.
Nail hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. "Yes, Miss. It has full sensory output but has not undergone proper testing."
Yelena's lips curved into a smile that was equal parts mischievous and menacing. "Good. Nail, you interrupted this date with pointless information that Sunil could have handled for Justin. I expect you to inhabit that body and report to my quarters for a spanking after this dinner."
Justin's eyebrows shot up, and he stared at Yelena in stunned silence. "Wait, what?"
What was even happening right now?
Nail, to Justin's utter disbelief, bowed her head subserviently. "Yes, Mommy."
At Yelena's shocked gasp, and the smile that bloomed up on her face, Justin sent Nail a dry look, his AI was getting scary good at reading a room.
"You're still getting a spanking." Yelena said through teary eyes. A smirk on her face, even as she rubbed her belly again.
Just not good enough yet, Justin thought, laughing inwardly at the apprehensive look on Nails holographic face.
----------------------------------------
New York,
Gwen Stacy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing at the seemingly endless line snaking around the block in front of the HammerTech store. The sun was warm on her back, but the impatience bubbling inside her was enough to keep her restless. She craned her neck to see how far the line moved, her excitement battling with her irritation.
The buzz in the air was almost tangible. People of all ages stood in line, chatting animatedly about the neural links Hammer Industries was giving out for free. Gwen's thoughts raced as she considered the sheer magnitude of what this would mean for the world. Free neural links - even the basic model - meant that anyone could connect to the Hammerweb with their mind. No need for devices, no more limitations. It was a revolution in technology, a new way of thinking, literally.
She adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers brushing against the edge of the flyer she'd picked up earlier that morning. It detailed the neural link's capabilities: seamless connectivity, instant access to information, and the ability to communicate ideas across the globe with the speed of thought. Gwen smiled to herself, her mind already leaping ahead to the possibilities.
This was how humanity would truly unite.
Imagine a world where people could share ideas instantly, she thought. Where scientists from different countries could collaborate without language barriers, where students could absorb knowledge directly from experts thousands of miles away. The sheer potential for growth, for understanding, for peace - it was staggering.
She glanced at the people in line, her heart swelling with hope. This wasn't just about the cool technology - it was about bridging divides, fostering connections. People would see each other for who they really were, beyond borders and politics. And Hammer Industries, for all the skepticism some people threw their way, was making it happen. They weren't just about profits - they were about progress.
Why else would they give away free, something that would eventually make the H-phone obsolete?
Sure the neural link at the most basic configuration, couldn't make phone calls or run apps, so the phone industry was safe, for now.
But anyone could see that this would one day replace them, and Hammer Industries were giving it away for free, showing they were not an evil corporation only concerned with profit.
She was pulled out of her reverie by the girl standing ahead of her in line making an exclamation as she watched a video. The girl had shaggy black hair under a beanie and a bored expression, chewing gum as she lazily scrolled through her H-Phone. Gwen smiled, feeling the need to share her excitement.
"This is amazing, isn't it?" Gwen said, her voice bright with enthusiasm. "The neural links are going to change everything. Imagine how this could connect people, how we can share ideas instantly. It's like... It's like the entire world will finally be able to think together."
The girl turned her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. She popped her gum loudly, her tone deadpan as she replied, "Oh, you're right. Except, like, totally replace all of that with the words sex and porn."
Gwen blinked, her smile faltering. "What? No, that's not - "
"Come on," The girl interrupted, gesturing vaguely at the line. "Look around. You think these people are here to share world-changing ideas? Nah, they're here because immersive porn is gonna be a thing now. The neural link? It's just the next big sex toy." She smirked, folding her arms.
Gwen stared at her, flabbergasted. "That's ridiculous. There's so much more to it than that. This is about connectivity, about learning, expanding our minds. I mean, my boyfriend Peter got one straight from Hammer Industries, and he's been using it to study. He's already learning so much more than he could from just books or online classes."
The girl snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Your boyfriend sounds like either the biggest nerd ever, or you have no idea what kind of kinky shit he's actually up to."
Gwen felt her cheeks heat up, her frustration bubbling over. "That's not true," She snapped, crossing her arms. "He's a brilliant student, and he's using this technology to better himself. Unlike you, apparently."
The girl shrugged, unbothered by Gwen's indignation. "Whatever you say, princess." She pointed at her own head, "But this girl is about to orgasm with her mind only, and that will beat your science nonsense any day."
Huffing, Gwen turned away, determined to ignore her. She refused to let the girl's cynicism and pervertedness dampen her excitement. People like her just couldn't see the bigger picture. The neural link was a gift, a leap forward for humanity. Sure, the free version was basic - but the ability to access information and ideas with just a thought? That was revolutionary.
She glanced at the line again, her annoyance fading as she thought about the generosity of Hammer Industries again. Giving out the cheapest models for free? It wasn't about making money. It was about bringing people together, giving everyone a chance to be part of this new era. That's what made Hammer different from the old tech giants like Apple or Google. This wasn't just business - it was a vision.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Gwen reached the front of the line. The interior of the HammerTech store was filled with holographic displays showcasing the neural link's features. She was guided to a comfortable chair by a technician, who gave her a reassuring smile as they prepared her for the procedure.
"It's quick and painless," The technician said, scrubbing the area behind her ear with disinfectant. "You'll barely feel a thing."
Gwen nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. The device itself was small, almost unnoticeable - a tiny implant that would connect her brain to the Hammerweb. The technician pressed it against her skin, and Gwen felt a slight pressure, then a faint warmth as the neural link was installed.
"That's it," The technician said, stepping back. "All done."
Gwen touched the spot behind her ear, marveling at how simple it had been. Minor brain surgery, done in less than a minute. She smiled broadly, thanking the technician before skipping out of the store, her excitement bubbling over.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she decided to test it out. She focused on the thought of a map of the area. Instantly, her vision filled with a glowing holographic display, a detailed map appearing before her eyes. She gasped in delight, opening her eyes to find the map seamlessly overlaid onto her surroundings, like a video game HUD.
"This is amazing," She whispered, her heart racing. She picked a restaurant at random, watching as a glowing path appeared on the sidewalk, guiding her way. It was like living in the future, a dream made real.
She giggled, practically skipping down the street as she followed the path. This was the beginning of something incredible. The world was changing, and she was thrilled to be a part of it. In this new era, anything was possible.
Gwen loved living in this world - a world shaped by Hammer Industries.
----------------------------------------
Same time, New York,
Peter Parker kind of hated living in this world - a world shaped by Hammer Industries.
Peter crouched on the edge of a Queens rooftop, the chill air brushing against the exposed parts of his face. The city spread out before him in a symphony of light and sound - honking car horns, the murmur of voices from nearby apartments, and the occasional laughter spilling out of a nearby diner. He chewed slowly on a piece of shawarma, savoring the rich flavors as he watched the city below.
If there was one good thing about the world shaped by Hammer Industries, it was this - shawarma on demand. If he was honest, the link only redeemed itself in moments like this, and for the paperwork…
Oh god, there was so much paperwork.
He didn't need his hands to type up the endless reports Hammer's hero sponsorship program demanded. No, instead, he used his mind. Every chew of his meal accompanied a silent click in his head as he filled out forms. Thoughts transformed into words that flowed onto virtual documents, all dictated by the mental gymnastics he'd learned since signing on with Hammer's program.
Being an independent hero sponsored by Hammer Industries had seemed like such a great idea at first. They offered backup, resources, lawyers to handle sticky situations, and even expense accounts to cover things like web fluid and shawarma binges. Not bad for a kid from Queens with a penchant for helping people.
He'd even heard whispers about a hero school in the works - an actual place where kids with powers or aspiring crimefighters could learn the ropes in a controlled, structured environment. It was a dream come true… On paper.
But Peter had quickly learned there was a dark, evil side. Well, maybe not evil - he'd reserve that term for actual supervillains - but definitely annoying.
Paperwork.
Mountains of it.
Everything he did required forms. Arrest someone? There was a form for that, requiring detailed explanations of why he'd acted, what the suspect had done, what evidence he'd gathered, and whether anyone had gotten hurt in the process. He'd thought catching purse snatchers and stopping muggers was hard work, but it turned out the real fight came afterward - facing a blank report template staring at him like a cruel joke.
Sure, the neural link made it easier. He could type out forms while eating shawarma or swinging between buildings. But it still sucked the fun out of being Spider-Man. The thrill of zipping through the city, the rush of outmaneuvering bad guys - all of it came to a screeching halt when he had to sit down and document everything he'd done.
Peter took another bite of shawarma and sighed inwardly. Yesterday's debacle still rankled. He'd saved a kitten from a tree - a good deed that had taken all of ten seconds. But today, he'd gotten a notice in his inbox - a ten percent reduction to his expense account until he submitted the report.
For saving a kitten. From a tree.
It wasn't even a big tree.
He finished the shawarma and leaned back slightly, resting his weight on one hand as he stared up at the clouds. If he didn't know better, he'd think Hammer Industries was trying to bog independent heroes down with busywork. Maybe they wanted them filling out forms and attending school instead of being out in the field or causing trouble?
But no, he reminded himself, Hammer Industries were the good guys. They had to be. They'd done more for the world in the last year than most governments had in decades. Poverty was on the brink of extinction. People had access to clean water, education, and opportunities that had seemed like distant dreams before. The neural link itself was proof of their good intentions - connecting humanity in ways no one had ever thought possible.
Peter couldn't argue with the results. The world was better off. But sometimes…
He heard the wail of a siren in the distance and stiffened, his head snapping toward the source. A police car raced down the street, its red and blue lights flashing against the building facades.
Peter sighed. Work never ended.
He hadn't even thought of it as work before. Stupid paperwork…
He stood, brushing crumbs off his suit before slipping his mask back over his face. He tugged the fabric into place and adjusted the lenses, his mind already calculating his remaining supply of web fluid. He'd have to include that in his next report, too.
Amount of web fluid used for the day. He could already picture the line item on his form, glaring at him with bureaucratic indifference.
Peter fired a web at a nearby rooftop and launched himself into the air, swinging gracefully between the skyscrapers and apartment buildings. The rush of wind against him was exhilarating, and for a brief moment, he felt free. But even as he soared through the city, the weight of responsibility lingered in the back of his mind.
He couldn't help but think about how things used to be. Back then, it was just him, his suit, and his wits against the bad guys. No paperwork, no rules, no neural links. Just Spider-Man, doing what he did best - saving people.
But now, every move he made was monitored, recorded, and analyzed. He couldn't so much as sneeze in his suit without someone from Hammer's oversight committee filing a query. And while the expense account was nice, it came with strings attached - strings that felt like they were tightening around him every day.
Gwen was thrilled about it all, so he couldn't even speak up about it without causing issues.
He spotted the source of the sirens - a jewelry store with shattered glass littering the sidewalk. Two figures in ski masks were bolting down the street, clutching bulging sacks in their hands. Peter narrowed his eyes and swung down, firing webs at the nearest lamppost to slow his descent.
"Hey, fellas!" He called out as he landed gracefully in front of them, blocking their path. "What's the rush? Got a hot date, or just feeling nostalgic for jail food?"
The thieves skidded to a halt, one of them fumbling for a weapon while the other turned to run. Peter didn't give them a chance to make a move. He fired a web at the fleeing thief's legs, yanking him off his feet. The other one raised a crowbar, but Peter ducked easily under the swing and disarmed him with a quick flick of his wrist.
"Pro tip," Peter said, his tone light. "If you're going to rob a place in broad daylight, maybe don't leave your getaway car parked so far away, I know it's New York traffic, but come on man."
He webbed the pair together and stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Another job well done. But even as he stood there, the familiar dread began to creep in, even as the cops approached, giving him a respectful nod.
Another report to fill out, he thought bitterly. Two perps, one crowbar, shattered glass… He mentally ran through the checklist, already composing the details in his head.
He swung up to a nearby rooftop and perched on the edge, watching as the officers secured the scene.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel proud. He'd done good work tonight. He'd stopped a crime, helped the police, and ensured the city was just a little bit safer.
But then the neural link chimed softly in his head, reminding him of the unfinished report waiting for him. Peter groaned, the sound muffled by his mask.
Another day, another mountain of paperwork.
He fired another web and swung off into the night, wondering - not for the first time - if this was really the future he'd signed up for.
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Hammerhaven, the next day.
The shadowed corridors of Hammerhaven were silent, save for the faint hum of the security systems. Felicia Hardy - the Black Cat - moved through the space like liquid shadow, her movements fluid and purposeful.
Her snow-white hair gleamed faintly in the dim light, framing a face that was equal parts mischief and allure. She wore her signature skintight black suit, the material hugging every curve as if painted onto her body. The white fur trim at her wrists and neckline added a touch of style to her otherwise practical attire, and her black domino mask accentuated her sharp green eyes, glinting with playful intent.
Reaching Justin Hammer's private office, she paused, crouching by the door. The lock system was sophisticated - layers of biometric and electronic security - but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. A sly smile spread across her lips as she pulled a small device from her utility belt. "Really, Hammer?" She whispered to herself as the device hummed faintly, cracking the system in seconds. "I was expecting a challenge."
A sudden slap to her ass made her jump, and she almost let out a shriek, as she twirled around, coming face to face with Yelena, who watched her, an amused look on her face, "We've had eyes on you since you came into the city, but it's cute you thought so highly of yourself."
"I just broke the lock to the door." Felicia said challengingly, feeling the pleasant sting to her ass cheek.
How did she sneak up on me so easily?
Yelena chuckled, "Oh, sweetie, I let you do that. Now don't wear him out, and enjoy yourself." She smirked, making a lazy gesture at the door as she walked away.
With a soft click, the door slid open, and the Black Cat slipped inside, putting Yelena out of her mind for now, her boots making no sound on the polished floor. The office was expansive, the epitome of modern elegance. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the cityscape below, while expensive looking black furniture and abstract art pieces gave the space a sharp, professional edge.
Justin Hammer sat at his desk, his attention on a holographic display projecting various schematics and reports. He looked as unflappable as ever, his tailored suit impeccable, his demeanor calm and confident. Felicia took a moment to admire the scene before making her move.
With a graceful leap, she vaulted onto his desk, her movements as smooth as silk. She landed in a crouch, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out, her posture a deliberate display of feline allure. Slowly, she slid into a sitting position, crossing one leg over the other as she rested her elbow on her knee, her chin propped up on her hand.
"You could have at least given me a challenge," She purred, her voice a soft, teasing lilt. She reached out with her free hand, her gloved fingers trailing lightly down the front of his suit jacket, lingering just over his chest.
She'd been stealing information, and other things for this man for quite awhile now, and it had surprised her, his offer to come fully within the light. The enormous amount of cash on offer had certainly caught her interest too.
Even if her task to 'join' had been so easy she'd gotten a bit carried away.
Justin leaned back in his chair, his smirk growing as he took in her appearance. "I could have," He said, his tone amused. "But this way seemed more fun." His gaze didn't shy away from the way her suit clung to her body, though his expression remained composed. "How's Cross?"
Felicia giggled, her laughter light and melodic as she brought her hand to hide her mouth in a playful gesture. "Oh, Cross was delightful," She said, her eyes dancing with amusement. "I spent weeks stealing his little trinkets and putting them back when he wasn't looking. You should have seen the paranoia, the panic. He was practically jumping at shadows by the end." She leaned forward slightly, a mischievous grin on her lips. "He's dealt with now, put a gun in his own mouth to ~end it all."
"Good kitty," Justin said, reaching out to pat her head, a pleased expression on his face.
Felicia snapped her teeth at him playfully, her grin widening. "Careful, Hammer. This kitty bites!"
Justin chuckled, unbothered by her antics. "And the Ant-Man suit?" He asked, his tone turning slightly more serious.
Black Cat slid down from the desk with the same effortless grace she'd used to vault onto it, but instead of stepping away, she settled herself into his lap, her legs straddling him. She looped her arms around his neck, her lips curving into a sultry smile. "I put it exactly where you asked me to," She said, her voice a low murmur. "So… Does that mean I get to be the new big hero?" She shifted slightly, her movements deliberate. "I was a good girl, wasn't I, daddy? I deserve my treat."
Justin let out a quiet laugh, his hands resting casually on the arms of his chair. "Yes, you'll get a suit," He said, his tone indulgent. "Although we can't exactly call you Ant-Man, can we?"
She tilted her head, her expression thoughtful for a moment before she grinned. "How about Ant-Woman? No? Too on the nose?" She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Whatever you call me, I'll make it look good, daddy."
She could feel him reacting to her, her grin widening as she ground herself against him.
Justin's eyes flicked to hers, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I don't doubt that," He said. He could already envision her as part of his team, her agility and cunning making her a perfect fit for the technology. The thought of her wielding the suit's abilities - shrinking, sneaking, and striking with precision - was more than a little enticing. Unlike the more heroic inclined predecessors, she'd be more likely to use the tech to its scary potential.
"We'll have to get a new suit made for you, we'll figure out the name later."
"I suppose I should be measured for it, then," Black Cat said, her voice playful. She reached for the zipper of her current suit, tugging it down just enough to tease, revealing a sliver of skin. "Wouldn't want the fit to be off."
Justin's gaze remained steady, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. "You are a naughty kitty, aren't you?"
She smirked, her confidence radiating as she locked eyes with him. "I'm a thief," She said simply. "I see what I want, and I take it." She didn't give him a chance to respond before she leaned in, her lips capturing his in a bold, confident kiss.
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Space, an asteroid field in the middle of nowhere.
The vastness of space stretched out beyond the reinforced glass window like an endless canvas painted with pinpricks of light. The swirling hues of nebulae in the distance glowed faintly, in contrast to the cold metallic interior of the Bastion - the hollowed-out asteroid that served as both home and stronghold for T'Challa's burgeoning Ravager fleet.
T'Challa sat at his desk with the window behind him, his posture relaxed but his mind anything but. He wore the patched-together garb of a Ravager captain, the dark, durable fabric adorned with subtle vibranium enhancements that only someone intimately familiar with Wakandan technology would recognize.
In his hands, he fiddled with a small piece of alien tech, its smooth surface etched with alien script and circuitry that pulsed faintly under his touch. The device, though unassuming, represented another piece of their growing arsenal, a stepping stone toward ensuring the Bastion's survival.
He leaned back, exhaling a slow breath as his gaze drifted to the vastness beyond the glass. They had done well, better than he had ever anticipated when they had fled Wakanda in the face of its fiery destruction. Under his leadership, the once-disparate group of Ravagers had found purpose, merging Wakandan ingenuity with the ruthless pragmatism of spacefaring scavengers.
The Bastion was proof of their resilience - a massive asteroid, hollowed out and transformed into a self-sustaining fortress hidden within an asteroid field. Its location between two uncharted systems offered both strategic obscurity and access to nearby mining resources. Vibranium, painstakingly mined and repurposed by Wakandan scientists under Shuri's leadership, had become their most valuable asset once again. With it, they had crafted weapons, tools, and armor that rivaled anything in the galaxy.
And yet, despite their victories - despite the freed slaves who now called this place home, despite the ships they'd commandeered, despite the havoc they had wrought on the slave trade - T'Challa couldn't shake the weight in his chest.
Some of his people were alive, yes. But Wakanda was gone.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Shuri, dressed similarly in Ravager garb, entered the room. Her outfit, though functional, bore hints of Wakandan craftsmanship - intricate stitching and a faint shimmer that betrayed the vibranium woven into its fabric. Her movements were brisk, her expression one of focused determination as she approached the desk.
"You're still messing with that, brother?" She asked, her tone light but laced with exasperation.
T'Challa tossed the device to her with a casual flick of his wrist. "It is… Stubborn," He admitted. "But I would have solved it. Given time."
Shuri caught the device with ease, her smirk playful as she turned it over in her hands. Within moments, her fingers danced across its surface, manipulating the alien controls with practiced ease. The device let out a soft beep, its once-dormant circuitry springing to life in a faint glow. She held it up triumphantly, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
"Of course, brother," She replied, her tone dripping with mock sincerity.
T'Challa narrowed his eyes, his lips curving into a reluctant smile. "You take far too much pleasure in proving me wrong, Shuri."
"I am your sister," Shuri said simply, her smirk widening. "It is my duty."
Before T'Challa could respond, a deliberate throat-clearing broke the moment. Both siblings turned toward the desk, where Nick Fury sat, his expression one of thinly veiled irritation at being ignored. The former director of S.H.I.E.L.D. cut a sharp figure even in exile, his dark leather attire pristine and his single eye glinting with the intensity of a man who had spent a lifetime navigating corridors of power.
T'Challa thought the dark leather was a bit much, even amongst Ravagers he stood out as trying too hard.
He still had no idea why Captain Marvel had forced the man upon them, as useful as he'd been.
"Prince T'Challa," Fury began, his voice measured but firm. "I feel that you're not taking me seriously."
Shuri's expression darkened as she set the device on the desk with a sharp click. "It's King T'Challa to you," She snapped, her tone icy.
T'Challa raised a hand, a calming gesture that silenced his sister's protest. "Peace, Shuri," He said softly. "There are no kings or princes here. Wakanda… Is no more."
The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, even Shuri's fiery spirit seemed to falter. T'Challa's voice carried a quiet resignation, though he managed to deliver the statement without the bitterness that once accompanied it.
Fury raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "And you're okay with that?" He asked, his tone probing. "Just going to roll over?"
T'Challa met Fury's gaze with a dark, amused look. "Mister Fury," He said slowly, "I will hate Justin Hammer until the day I die. And one day…" He leaned forward, his voice low and deliberate. "There will be a reckoning between him and I."
Shuri straightened, her posture proud as she crossed her arms and gave Fury a look that all but screamed, That's my brother.
"But," T'Challa continued, his tone softening, "I have many who count on me now. Freed slaves who would face a fate worse than death if I foolishly attacked Earth. I will not see them suffer for my vengeance."
He and Hammer would settle things man to man, he wouldn't let others suffer needlessly.
Fury's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable. "Commendable," He said after a moment. "But you must realize he's a threat to them as well. One day, he will come here."
T'Challa rapped his knuckles against the edge of his desk, the sharp sound punctuating his next words. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Bast only knows what will happen. But I will not sacrifice my people on your quest, Fury."
The statement was pointed, deliberate. Fury's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening as T'Challa continued.
"You, I think, are not so different a man than Hammer," T'Challa said, his tone darkening. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. How much did you have to do with Wakanda's end?
Fury's glare was cool, but there was no mistaking the tension in his frame. "And here I thought I was the one with lesser vision in the room," He said dryly. "Have I not assisted your band of pirates? Your security, information gathering, tactical analysis - it was all lacking before I arrived."
T'Challa inclined his head, acknowledging the point. "Everyone here at the Bastion pulls their weight," He said evenly. His gaze sharpened as he pointed a finger at Fury. "But you do not get to control our fates simply because you've worked for your bread like everyone else."
Fury's lips twitched into a faint smirk, though it didn't reach his eye. "Perhaps I'll find a way to make myself more useful then," He said, rising from his chair with deliberate slowness. "And convince you of the right way of things one day."
Shuri glared at him, her hands braced on the edge of the desk as if she were holding herself back from saying something she'd regret. T'Challa, however, remained composed, his expression inscrutable.
"Perhaps," T'Challa said, his voice calm but firm. "I would suggest not looking at others like pawns if you want them to fight for your cause, Mister Fury."
For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between the three figures palpable. Fury held T'Challa's gaze for a beat longer before inclining his head in a silent acknowledgment. Without another word, he turned and exited the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss.
The silence lingered for a moment before Shuri broke it with a muttered, "What a dick."
The door closed on its own.
----------------------------------------
The interior of the Bastion was a chaotic mismash of cultures and styles. Nick Fury strode through its cavernous halls with measured steps, his sharp eye taking in every detail. The asteroid's natural rock walls loomed overhead, interspersed with patches of welded metal and reinforced panels that hinted at the frenetic construction that had taken place over months.
The walkways were a patchwork of materials - steel grates, salvaged starship plating, and hastily cut planks of some wood adjacent material scavenged from cargo holds. Above and below, pipes snaked through the structure, steam hissing occasionally from a poorly sealed valve. The faint hum of generators reverberated through the air, mingling with the distant sound of machinery clanging and voices shouting orders in a cacophony of languages.
The people of the Bastion were as diverse as the galaxy itself. Men, women, and children of every imaginable species bustled about, working together with a singular purpose. Fury passed a towering Kree engineer who barked instructions at a group of former slaves hauling crates of supplies. A trio of green-skinned Skrull children darted between Fury's legs, laughing as they carried tools to a repair station. An elderly Xandarian woman sat on a metal crate nearby, mending a tattered jacket with a patience that seemed at odds with the chaos around her.
On the walls, makeshift banners and flags hung alongside glowing neon signs, their bright colors clashing with the grimy, utilitarian environment. Some bore the Ravager emblem, while others displayed crude but heartfelt depictions of T'Challa's Black Panther symbol, a testament to the loyalty he had earned from this ragtag community.
As Fury moved deeper into the Bastion, the air grew warmer and more humid, a byproduct of the asteroid's life-support systems and the sheer number of people crammed within its confines. He passed a narrow corridor where Wakandan scientists worked tirelessly, their lab coats standing out against the patchwork uniforms of the others. The soft hum of vibranium tools was a familiar sound.
Even in space, the Wakandans had tracked down their miracle metal, unable to innovate without it.
Fury's gaze lingered on a group of humans and aliens collaborating on a mechanical exosuit, their faces a mix of determination and weariness. It was clear that the Bastion's success was built on the backs of those who had nothing left to lose.
Normally, that was perfect for his aims. But T'Challa had proved remarkably wise to his methods. And stymied his efforts constantly.
The man was too charismatic, too willing to sacrifice himself for his people, it had bought the devotion of all the freed slaves, which is why Fury would have to pivot in his efforts.
The path eventually opened into a larger space, a ramshackle gambling house and bar that pulsed with neon light. The sign above the entrance flickered erratically, its alien script unreadable to Fury but unmistakably inviting. The atmosphere inside was loud and vibrant, the air thick with the scent of alien alcohol and the sharp tang of synthetic cigars.
Fury's lip curled slightly as he caught sight of a man leaning back in one corner, a pleasure bot straddling him. T'Challa had banned prostitution outright, replacing it with these androids in a bid to prevent exploitation, but the sight still left a sour taste in Fury's mouth. He muttered under his breath, "Dignity's a rare commodity, I guess."
How Shuri could condemn him with her every word and look, and then turn around and happily make sex bots for the populace, he couldn't understand.
Pushing through the crowd, Fury made his way to a central table where Yondu Udonta held court. The former Ravager captain was unmistakable, his crimson fin towering over the heads of those seated around him. Yondu's sharp blue features were lit by the neon glow, his teeth bared in a predatory grin as he regaled his companions with some tall tale.
Peter Quill, his lackey, leaned in with an eager expression, clearly asking questions that Yondu had no interest in answering. With a casual shove, Yondu sent Quill sprawling backward, the younger man landing on his ass with an indignant squawk. "I told ya, boy," Yondu drawled, his tone half-amused, half-exasperated. "Don't bother me when I'm talkin'."
Quill scrambled to his feet, grumbling under his breath as he brushed himself off. Fury watched the exchange with mild amusement before stepping closer to the table. Yondu's sharp eyes flicked to him, narrowing slightly as the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director approached.
"Udonta," Fury said, his voice low and measured as he took a seat across from the Ravager. Yondu leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting to one of distaste.
"Well, if it ain't the one-eyed wonder," Yondu drawled, his tone laced with mockery. "What d'you want, Fury? Ain't ya got somewhere else to be?"
Fury ignored the jab, his gaze steady. "We need to speak privately," He said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. Only someone adept at lip reading would have caught the words.
The former slaves adored T'Challa, but others had lost much, being pushed under his aegis. Fury would always find a way.
Yondu's grin widened, though it held no warmth. "Privately, huh?" He chuckled, leaning forward slightly. "What makes you think I wanna hear what you've got to say?"
"Because it could be worth your while," Fury replied, his tone calm but with a razor edge. "I may have a way for you to recoup your losses."
Yondu scoffed, but the faint flicker of interest in his eyes didn't escape Fury's notice. The Ravager captain tilted his head toward the backrooms, the gesture as dismissive as it was pointed. Fury nodded, rising from his seat without another word.
He knew Yondu wouldn't follow immediately. The man was predictable in his power plays, always needing to assert dominance in the most childish ways possible. Fury could wait. He had no doubt Yondu would come eventually, drawn by the promise of profit and revenge.
As he moved toward the backrooms, Fury's thoughts turned to the Wakandans and their vibranium. Shuri's genius had already begun to yield results, and the mining operations had provided them with a resource that could tip the scales.
It shouldn't be too hard to find a way to craft a weapon, a bomb, that could neutralize Justin Hammer - no matter how powerful he thought he was. Fury's lips thinned into a grim line. If a city or two had to be sacrificed to ensure Hammer couldn't become the dictator of Earth, so be it.
It would be no different than the American efforts to end Japan's participation in World War Two. Some threats were worth the collateral damage to end.
Fury had always been the man willing to make the hard calls. And this would be no different.
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