{Future KD: Ayy, it's your boy, monke bren KD! It's 9:13 PM, Hi it's me, thought I'd write another before the idea disappears in my head. I'd like to ask, what's your opinion (without holding back) on the story so far? SKAAADOOOOOOSHHH!}
~One year later. December 13, 2013 - A remote town in Far East Russia.~
Third POV
Inside a battered concrete building, a man in a red mask calmly reloaded a modified M1911. At the far end of the room, a wounded survivor dragged himself across the floor, scrambling over the bodies of his fallen comrades.
The masked man approached, his voice unnervingly calm. "Tell me... who is it?"
The man on the floor spat out a slurred Russian curse.
Unimpressed, the masked man fired once. He moved to the next wounded soldier, who was bleeding out near the wall.
"Who's 'Genesis'?" he asked, tone flat and cold.
The Russian gasped, struggling to form words. "We... only heard the name... they reactivated Project Sentinel..." He coughed, his voice growing weaker. "Why... do you care?"
The masked man leaned closer. "Because Sentinel was shut down. Because someone's digging up old ghosts." He pressed the barrel to the man's forehead. "Who gave the order?"
"Not us... we were just security..." the Russian whispered. "Genesis... is not a person. It's a phase."
A single shot echoed through the room.
Then, silence.
Alarms blared, and the shouts of Russian soldiers echoed down the corridor. The man in the red mask let out a quiet sigh. He raised his pistol and shot out the remaining lights, plunging the room into near-total darkness.
Dozens of soldiers poured in, flashlight beams cutting erratic paths through the black.
"Shto eto bylo?" one shouted.
"Gde on?!" cried another.
Then came the carnage.
Muzzle flashes lit the room in staccato bursts. The masked man moved like a phantom—firing, shifting, firing again. Soldiers dropped one by one, disoriented and unable to pinpoint their attacker. Panic set in as the shooters became the shot.
"Ne vidim ego!"
"Okoroki konchayutsya!"
When his pistol finally clicked empty, he didn't pause. A combat knife slid smoothly into his hand. What followed was swift, brutal, and intimate. The last standing soldier barely had time to raise his rifle before the blade found its mark.
Silence returned.
By the time reinforcements arrived with floodlights, the red-masked man was gone—vanished into the shadows as if he were one himself.
---
~Meanwhile, in New York~
Over the past few months, whenever Luke had a free moment—when he wasn't tinkering with life-threatening tech alongside Tony Stark or digging into Jason's whereabouts with Frank Woods—he found himself hanging out with Gwen. Strictly as friends, he'd remind himself with a mental chuckle whenever their banter edged toward anything more.
Tonight, they were nestled in his apartment, with the soft glow of the TV providing ambient noise at a reasonable volume. Luke was multitasking, effortlessly typing out an essay for one of Gwen's general education subjects while she lounged on his couch, looking over notes.
Their conversation had veered into a heated debate about pineapple on pizza. Luke shook his head, fingers flying across the keyboard without missing a beat. "No way, Gwen. Pineapple? On pizza? It's a culinary crime. Pizza is sacred—if a true Italian heard about this, they'd probably commit mass murder."
Gwen laughed, propping herself up on an elbow. "Oh, come on! It's sweet and savory. You're telling me you've never tried it?"
"Never, and I never will," Luke declared, pausing to glance at her. "It's like putting ketchup on spaghetti. Some lines shouldn't be crossed."
"But it's so popular! There has to be a reason," she insisted, grinning.
"Popular doesn't mean right," he shot back, resuming his typing. "Next you'll tell me you enjoy cold pizza for breakfast."
"Well, yeah, doesn't everyone?" she teased.
Luke feigned horror. "See? This is why I can't trust your taste buds. Stick to biophysics, and leave the pizza opinions to the professionals."
Gwen rolled her eyes but smiled, settling back into the cushions. She still wasn't sure what to make of Luke—he came off as a laid-back, average guy, yet he was always surprisingly sharp and respectful. Little did she know, one of the things Luke appreciated most was that she had no idea about his true nature—the enhanced abilities and the shadows he moved in.
For now, this simple, normal friendship was a welcome escape.
"So, have you given any more thought to applying for college?" Gwen asked, tucking her legs under her on the couch. "You seemed interested before."
Luke paused his typing, considering how to answer. In truth, with his enhanced cognitive abilities and genetic advantages, the idea of sitting through introductory courses felt almost absurd. Did he really need a degree to blend in or succeed? Probably not. But he couldn't say that to Gwen.
"I'm good where I am, honestly," he said, leaning back in his chair. "College isn't some mandatory life step—it's more like a cultural expectation that's been hyped up for decades. You know, the whole 'no degree, no job' mantra."
Gwen raised an eyebrow. "But you're working as a barista. Don't you want something more… I don't know, stable or fulfilling long-term?"
"Stable?" Luke chuckled. "I've got a roof over my head, bills are paid, and I'm not starving. That's pretty stable in my book. Besides, not everyone needs a degree to find their path. Some of the most successful people never finished college."
"Yeah, but they're exceptions," Gwen countered. "For most of us, it's about opportunities—networking, learning, getting that piece of paper that opens doors."
"Doors can be opened in other ways," Luke replied smoothly. "Experience, skills, connections outside the classroom. I mean, look at tradespeople or entrepreneurs. They build careers without degrees all the time."
Gwen sighed, but she was smiling. "Okay, fair point. But what about learning for the sake of learning? Don't you ever just want to dive into a subject and geek out?"
"I geek out plenty on my own time," Luke said, gesturing to the stack of books on his desk. "But I don't need a professor to assign me reading to do that. Learning doesn't have to happen in a lecture hall."
"Touché," Gwen conceded. "I just don't want you to sell yourself short. You're smarter than you let on."
Luke shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. "Maybe I just like keeping my options open. Who knows? Maybe one day I'll surprise you."
"I'll believe it when I see it," she teased, turning her attention back to the TV.
Luke smiled to himself, grateful that for now, this was just a casual debate between friends—one where he could be honest without revealing too much.
"So how are those first few weeks at Oscorp treating you?" Luke asked, shifting topics. "Starting an internship this early—aren't you worried about burning out?"
"Nah, it's the opposite," Gwen replied, waving a hand. "I want to get the internship requirement out of the way now so I can focus on my major courses later. Maybe even get a head start on my thesis."
Luke smirked. "Thesis? I could write one of those in my sleep." His expression turned more serious. "Just… be careful, okay? Don't dig too deep into Oscorp's internal projects. That place gives off a weird corporate vibe."
Gwen rolled her eyes playfully. "Relax, it's been great so far. Dr. Connors is a really supportive mentor. It's a good start, Luke."
"Connors, huh?" Luke leaned back. "What's he working on these days?"
"Mostly cross-species genetics," she said casually. "It's fascinating, really—how we might be able to borrow traits from animals to help heal human injuries or reverse genetic conditions."
Luke went still. His typing stopped.
Gwen noticed. "What? Something on your mind?"
He shook his head slightly, choosing his words carefully. "Just… cross-species genetics is a controversial field. Lots of ethical gray areas. I've read some things—theories about unstable gene splicing, unintended side effects." He met her eyes. "Just promise me you'll be careful in those labs."
"I'm always careful," Gwen said, though she looked a little thoughtful now. "But I'll keep that in mind."
"What about you," Gwen said, shifting on the couch, "what're your plans for Christmas?"
Luke had to think about it. He'd skipped more holidays than he could count, mostly because they never felt like they were for him. Last year was an exception—Steve had dragged him to a small, quiet party at Stark's place.
"Probably work," Luke said with a shrug. "The café stays open."
Gwen gave him a look. "It doesn't always have to be work, you know." She hesitated, then added, "My dad… kind of wants to meet you. On Christmas Eve. Since you're here alone, maybe you could come over?"
Luke wasn't entirely surprised. He'd had a feeling Captain Stacy might want to size up the guy his daughter kept hanging out with—probably making sure things were strictly friendly.
"Yeah, alright," Luke agreed, a small smile forming. "Wouldn't want him thinking I'm some kind of shady influence."
"Too late for that," Gwen joked. "But seriously… it'll be nice. I promise."
"And… done," Luke announced, closing the laptop. "Next time, I'm adding a tax per sentence. Call it the 'Last-Minute Essay Surcharge.'"
Gwen scanned the document on her phone, her face brightening. "Luke, this is really good. Like, really good. What would I do without you?"
"Probably fail and have to retake the class," he said with a straight face. "But don't worry, my rates are reasonable."
"You're the worst," she laughed, shaking her head. "But also the best. Seriously, thank you."
"Anytime. Well, almost anytime," he corrected, standing up. "You want me to print that for you?"
"Would you? You're a lifesaver."
"Just don't make it a habit," he said, heading toward the printer. "I can't have you relying on my genius for all your general eds."
"Too late," she grinned. "You're officially my secret academic weapon."
With the essay finished and the late hour settled in, Gwen ended up crashing on Luke's couch for the night. The next morning, he walked her back to her apartment through the crisp city air.
"Thanks again for the save," Gwen said as they reached her building. "And for not letting me fail my class."
"Anytime," Luke replied with a casual shrug. "But just so you know, I've got some things to handle over the next few days. So only call if it's seriously important, alright?"
Gwen smirked. "What, like another essay emergency?"
"Let's hope not," he said, shaking his head. "But yeah. Anything urgent—you know how to reach me."
"Got it. I'll try not to blow up your phone." She gave a small wave before heading inside. "See you around, Luke."
He watched until she was safely through the door, then turned and melted into the morning foot traffic, his mind already shifting to the less casual matters waiting for his attention.
---
~December 15, 2013 - St. Petersburg~
They were holed up in a nondescript apartment overlooking a cramped alley, just a few hundred meters from the target. The place was dimly lit, with peeling wallpaper and the faint scent of stale coffee lingering in the air. A telescope was angled out the window, offering a narrow but clear view of the street below.
Frank peered through the lens. "That's a hell of a view, Nikolai."
Nikolai grunted in response. "Was the capital before Moscow. Still has its history."
Luke leaned against the wall, a faint smile playing on his lips. "The good ol' days. Maybe Napoleon should've swung by here instead of marching on Moscow."
Frank didn't bite. "We've got two comin' out the door now."
The telescope shifted to focus on two Genesis Agents stepping outside, their postures tense as they scanned the area.
Nikolai adjusted his grip on his rifle. "More of them inside. They've been crawling around all day."
A beat-up van rumbled down the street and pulled up near the agents. Luke's eyes narrowed. "Vehicle inbound..."
Frank kept his voice low. "Watch 'em."
Nikolai chuckled dryly. "Good spot. Parking here's a nightmare."
The van doors swung open, and two more Genesis agents hopped out, checking the surroundings before signaling. Then a man in a yellow jacket emerged—muscular and moving with a soldier's efficiency, despite his casual clothes. He started directing the others with sharp gestures.
Luke recognized him instantly. "That's our guy in the yellow jacket. Former Project Sentinel agent. He wasn't part of the main program, but they put him through experimental trials to boost his capabilities. Still just an average human, though—they shouldn't get ahead of themselves. It's concerning that Genesis has roots this deep. His call sign is J-6. He only received minimal enhancements, but it's enough to make him dangerous."
Frank cut in, his tone firm. "No lethals then, kid. We don't need an international incident over this."
Luke nodded. "Right."
Nikolai settled into position. "I'll provide overwatch."
Down on the street, J-6 snapped orders in Russian: "You, watch the alley!"
Luke moved like a shadow, slipping from the cover of a delivery truck to the recessed doorway of a neighboring building. His movements were fluid and silent.
"Clear to the next corner," Nikolai's voice came through the earpiece, calm and steady. "Two guards chatting by the entrance—wait for my signal."
Luke pressed against the cold brick, his breathing even. He could hear the muffled conversation of the Genesis agents just around the bend.
"Frank here," a new voice cut in, urgency tightening his tone. "Sensors are picking up multiple vehicles approaching from the east. ETA one minute. Find cover—now."
Luke didn't hesitate. He ducked into a narrow alleyway, crouching behind a stack of discarded crates. The sound of engines grew louder, and soon two unmarked vans rolled into view, stopping near the building where J-6 and his team were stationed.
"New players have arrived," Nikolai observed. "They're unloading gear—crates, some kind of tech equipment. Looks specialized."
The Genesis agents worked quickly, carrying the items inside. One of the crates was marked with a faint biohazard symbol, but from this distance, it was hard to make out details.
"Whatever they're bringing in, it's not for a tea party," Luke muttered, his eyes tracking every movement.
"Stay focused," Frank advised. "We need to know what they're up to, but don't engage. This is still a recon mission."
"Understood," Luke replied, his gaze fixed on the entrance. "Nikolai, you got a visual on where they're taking that equipment?"
"Affirmative," Nikolai said. "Through the main door, then down a hallway to the left. I'd bet rubles they've set up a lab or comms center in there."
Luke watched as the last of the crates was carried inside, the door shutting firmly behind the agents.
Luke began moving silently through the dimly lit corridors. He slipped from one room to the next, each space crowded with wooden crates stacked high. He quickly scanned the labels—dates from the past week and destinations like "Moscow," "Prague," and "Vienna" stamped in bold lettering.
"Frank, I'm in," Luke murmured into his comm. "There are crates everywhere, marked with dates and shipping locations. Anything popping on the sensors?"
Frank's voice came through, low and urgent. "I'm reading some weird energy signatures coming from a corridor near you—maybe some kind of tech or power source. Careful though, you've got multiple hostiles closing in on your position. Stay sharp."
From a hidden doorway, Luke watched as J-6 marched past, barking to a subordinate. "The shipment has to move now," J-6 said, his tone clipped. "The buyer is impatient. If our team wasn't so incompetent, this would have been handled days ago."
Luke relayed the update quietly. "J-6 just passed by. He's rushing the shipment—sounds like their buyer is putting pressure on them."
"Understood," Frank replied. "Keep eyes on, we need to know what we're dealing with before we make a move."
"Copy that," Luke said, melting back into the shadows as he continued his reconnaissance.
Nikolai's voice crackled over the comms. "They're loading up. Looks like they're ready to move out."
Luke moved deeper into the building, his eyes scanning the surroundings. Then he froze. "Well, this is cozy. The whole place is rigged to the teeth with... are those SHIELD-issue plasma charges?"
"You can disable them?" Frank asked.
"Maybe a few. Can't hurt to prevent a little property damage while I'm here," Luke replied, already carefully disarming the nearest device.
He moved toward a heavy sliding door, braced himself, and forced it open with a low grunt of effort. "Found it. Frank, is this where you're getting that energy signature?"
"Confirmed. But make it quick—they're starting to pull out."
Luke pried open one of the specialized weapon crates. Inside, he found carefully packaged components—scorched metal and eerie violet energy cores. "You're not gonna believe this. They've got scrapped Chitauri weapons. From the New York invasion."
Frank's tone turned grim. "So that's their game. Scavenging alien tech."
Nikolai chimed in, "Selling it on the black market to the highest bidder."
"Or something worse," Luke added quietly, staring at the dangerous cargo. "This isn't just profit. This is someone building an arsenal."
Alarms blared through the corridors, red lights flashing in a frantic rhythm.
"Time's up," Luke said, darting out of the secure room just as the heavy door slammed shut behind him. He glanced at one of the bombs he'd disabled—its timer was now active, counting down from thirty seconds. "They've remote-triggered the charges. The whole place is gonna blow."
Frank's voice was sharp in his ear. "Luke, get moving. Take your next left, then straight to the fire exit."
But Genesis agents were already swarming the hallway. Luke didn't break stride. He disarmed the first with a swift blow to the wrist, snatched the man's rifle, and used it to block a strike from the second. He moved relentlessly. A spin, a well-placed elbow, a leg sweep—agents dropped in his wake.
"J-6 is in a vehicle, pulling away," Nikolai reported. "Get out of there now."
Luke slammed the last agent into a wall and sprinted down the hall as Frank guided him. "Right at the end—there's a window leading to the adjacent roof."
He burst through the fire exit, scrambled up a stack of crates, and dove through the window just as the building shuddered. A series of concussive booms thundered behind him, flames billowing into the night.
Landing smoothly on the neighboring rooftop, Luke watched the chaos unfold below. J-6's convoy was already disappearing into the city.
"We lost him," Luke said, catching his breath.
"Not for long," Frank replied. "We know what they're moving. Now we find where it's going."
---
At one of Nikolai's hideouts, just a four-minute drive from the chaos, Luke sealed the door behind them. Inside, Nikolai was already at a computer, pulling up tracking data to see where the Genesis convoy had disappeared. Frank dropped a heavy bag onto a cluttered table—the one holding Nikolai's disassembled sniper rifle.
"Best I could manage on such short notice," Nikolai muttered, not looking up from the screens. "A little warning next time you plan to blow up half the district would've been nice."
Luke ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sorry about that. I only got a tip-off recently—they must have been acting on limited intel themselves."
Frank unzipped the bag, his expression grim. "Can someone explain why there were SHIELD-issue explosives planted all over a random building in Russia? That's not exactly standard protocol."
"And how did they keep a stash of Chitauri weapons hidden for over a year?" Luke added, leaning against the wall. "After New York, I thought most of that tech was accounted for."
Nikolai shrugged, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "My guess? Corporate involvement. No solid proof yet, but plenty of companies would jump at the chance to profit from alien tech. Remember what Stark Industries was like before Tony shifted gears? It's not a stretch to think others are still playing in the gray areas."
Luke studied the data over Nikolai's shoulder. "This shipment log shows some of the crates were headed for the States. And that vault? It was built with explosion-resistant materials. They didn't just rig the place to destroy evidence—they meant to collapse the building as a diversion. That way, they could move the goods during the chaos without leaving a trace."
Frank crossed his arms. "So Genesis is playing demolition crew and moving company at the same time. But why use enhanced agents for shipping and handling? They're trained for combat, not freight."
"Unless the cargo is more volatile than we thought," Luke added. "Chitauri tech isn't exactly stable. Maybe they need people who can handle it—or defend it."
Nikolai pulled up grainy CCTV footage on another screen. "Here take a look, the convoy split after leaving the district. Three different routes out of the city." He glanced at Luke. "You spooked them, tovarisch."
Frank nodded grimly. "They were expecting you. Or someone like you. This wasn't just a random storage site—it was a trap, or a test."
"Either way," Luke said, "they're adapting. And if they're sending alien weapons Stateside, this is about to become an even bigger problem."
Nikolai kept tapping loudly at the keyboard. "I managed to tag a few of their vehicles before they scattered. The signals are already degrading, but it gives us a general direction to start with." He pointed at the screen where several routes pulsed over a map of Eastern Europe. "They're heading toward known shipping hubs—Riga, Kaliningrad, Gdansk. Sensible choices if you're moving cargo westward."
Frank leaned in, studying the map. "If they've got a delivery headed stateside, they'll need a buyer. Who's in the market for illegal alien tech? Private military, maybe. Or a science corp reckless enough to reverse-engineer it."
"Oscorp is number one on that list," Nikolai stated flatly. "They've been investing heavily in experimental energy and bio-weapons. No oversight, plenty of funding—and their public image is clean enough to avoid scrutiny."
Luke's expression tightened. "Oscorp… Hmm... that tracks. They've got the resources, the ambition, and the moral flexibility. If Genesis is brokering Chitauri weapons, Oscorp's the kind of buyer that wouldn't ask too many questions." He crossed his arms. "This isn't just a black-market deal. It's a partnership. Genesis gets funding or tech, Oscorp gets a leg up on building something dangerous."
Frank grunted. "So we might be looking at a private army armed with alien tech. Just what the world needs."
"Or something worse," Luke added quietly. "From what I heard from a friend, Oscorp's been diving deep into cross-species genetics recently. What happens if you mix that with Chitauri weaponry?"
Nikolai looked up from the screen, his face grim. "Nothing good. Nothing good at all."
"So we head back stateside," Luke said, leaning over the map. "We find where that shipment is landing and intercept it before it reaches Oscorp—or whoever the buyer is."
Frank nodded. "And we bring Nikolai with us. Extra eyes, extra firepower."
Nikolai let out a short laugh. "You want to bring me to America for Christmas? Should I bring vodka and snow boots?"
"Let's just hope it's a good kind of interesting Christmas," Frank grumbled. "No aliens, no city-leveling bombs."
"We'll see," Luke said with a faint smile. "Now, where would they bring in something this hot? Somewhere with port access, but low profile. San Francisco, LA… maybe a private dock in Malibu? Anywhere too close to an Oscorp facility would be risky—they'd want deniability."
Frank frowned. "And if we're wrong? What if it's not Oscorp?"
Without looking up, Nikolai pulled up a series of old manifests and project files on his screen. "Oscorp has a pattern. Look—these are procurement logs from before they went fully public. They've been quietly sourcing unstable energy cores and bio-weapon prototypes for years. The timing, the material… it fits."
Luke studied the files. "He's right. It's their signature. Low bids, high risk, minimal paper trail."
"Then it's settled," Frank said. "We track the shipment, hit it before it's offloaded. Nikolai—can you get us a plane?"
"Da. I'll have something quiet and off the books. Wheels up in six hours."
"Good," Luke said, straightening up. "Let's pack light. And Nikolai?"
"Yes?"
"Try to look like a tourist."
Nikolai smirked. "I'll bring the Hawaiian shirt."
As two dispersed, Luke glanced at the map one last time. He mulled over Genesis, turning the pieces over in his mind. As far as he could tell, Genesis was the unstable, half-baked reboot of Project Sentinel. Back in the late '90s, the official word was that the remaining active Sentinel agents had been placed in cryo and tucked away for good. But Luke had always suspected he wasn't getting the full story from the president at the time. Truth was, after things went sideways—especially with Dr. Faraday, the project's director, dead for years—the plan had been to terminate the agents. There was no one left who could keep the project under control.
Luke was the only one who'd made it through every trial, augmentation, and genetic tweak they threw at him. He'd survived it all, which meant the suits in charge had to keep him calm and in the dark.
They couldn't risk their prize asset asking too many questions.
Most of the other agents had faded into the background, but J-6 was a different story. That guy had always been a loudmouth, ridiculing Faraday's vision even before the collapse. Then there was Jason—his case never added up. The transport meant for him was found shot to hell, bodies everywhere, but no Jason.
Just another loose end Luke couldn't tie up.
They'd only picked up whispers about Genesis a few months after the New York invasion. Luke wrestled with whether to loop Fury in—the guy was already juggling enough global threats without Luke adding another mystery to the pile. Frank, though, took it all in stride. He'd been through worse: a stint in 'Nam, then a shift to CIA black ops running infiltration missions during the late Cold War. Luke had first crossed paths with him back at the start of the Gulf War. Luke's mission then was to disable a set of warheads, working off sketchy intel and gut instinct. It was a messy time all around—just a few months after Dr. Faraday had been killed in a suspicious blast at his own home. After that, most of the Project Sentinel team had either turned up dead or vanished without a trace, leaving Luke to piece things together alone.
Luke had a sinking feeling there was an inside job buried so deep it would take a thousand years to untangle. His gut told him something was off within SHIELD itself—not Fury, necessarily, but layers beneath him. Systems, people, agendas he couldn't see. That's why he hadn't brought the director in yet. Fury was already in so deep, he might not even realize he was standing in the middle of someone else's trap.
Genesis wasn't just some new threat—it was Project Sentinel revamped. Rebooted by someone with access, with old files, with the same cold ambition that had fueled the original program. They'd never managed to control Luke; he was too independent, too capable. But Jason… Jason was different. He was the closest thing to Luke they'd ever created—not as refined, not as stable, but powerful in his own right. If Genesis had him, or was using his template, then this wasn't just a resurgence.
It was a resurrection...
Genesis. The word meant beginning. In the Bible, it was the dawn of creation—light from darkness, life from nothing.
In Greek, it meant birth or origin. In every language, it carried the weight of a starting point. But this Genesis wasn't about creation—it was about resurrection.
The unstable, reckless rebirth of something that should have stayed buried.
Luke saw the irony. He'd always been more of a John—the one who witnessed the end, who wrote down the revelation of what was to come. He'd seen things fall apart more times than he'd seen them begin. And now, Genesis was rising from the ashes of Project Sentinel, not as something new, but as something repurposed. A second creation, built from old sins and unfinished experiments.
It wasn't about building a better world. It was about control. Remaking what was lost, not because it was good, but because they could.
And in that, Luke saw the darkest truth of all: every Genesis needs its John.
Someone to see it, record it, and—when the time came—bear witness to its end...
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To be continued...
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