Volgograd was a graveyard of steel and smoke. At the same moment Tony Stark was dissecting the combat data in his lab, Davies, commander of the Phoenix Order, was walking through the ruins of the ambush in Russia.
The safe house was a gutted husk, its walls pockmarked with high-caliber bullets. The pungent, sharp smell of gunpowder still clung to the frigid Russian air. Inside, what remained of the Phoenix Order's team huddled together, a mixture of grim silence and raw survivor's guilt.
Davies stood before them. His gaze was a cold, hard burn as he listened to their debrief.
"They cut us down the moment we breached," a Knight, his face bruised and his armor scorched, reported, his voice heavy with shame. "It wasn't combat, Commander. It was an execution. Most of them didn't even use guns but some kind of baton with a sharp end. They were waiting for us to step in."
A second survivor added, "The last thing I saw was a red flare, then the whole world went dark. When I came to, everything was over. They intentionally left us alive, sir."
A tense silence fell over the room. Just then, an operative burst in, his eyes wide with urgency. "Commander, our recon drones just found a trace of their retreat route. We think we've found their position."
Davies's expression hardened. He looked at the shattered window, at the bleak Volgograd skyline beyond. Leaving his wife and son for this hellhole already grated on him. But now, after seeing his comrades' state, he began glowing with rage. He had received the message, and now he intended to send one back.
He turned to his remaining force, all two hundred of them. "Gear up," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "We're done waiting. We're going to remind them who they're dealing with."
As one, the two hundred Knights nodded, their eyes glowing with a faint, crimson light. They were no longer just men. They were instruments of vengeance.
---
The Golden City gleamed under the Wakandan sun. In the throne room, the air was thick with a tension that the beautiful vistas could not dispel.
Okoye's report was finished. The facts lay between them, stark and dangerous.
King T'Chaka's face was a mask of stoic calm. His son, T'Challa, stood at his side, a statue of coiled, restless energy.
"Klaue," T'Challa said, the name a drawn blade. "He sells our blood, our vibranium, to jackals." His eyes burned with a fire his father had long learned to bank. "Who knows what they will build using this. We cannot let it be, father."
T'Chaka rose, his movement heavy with the burden of rule. "I am aware of the threat, my son. But we do not unleash the panther because a hyena barks at the borders of our sight." His gaze swept to Okoye. "Our first duty is to Wakanda, to its people. To reveal our strength… it would be an invitation to a war without end."
He stepped down from the dais. "Okoye. Triple the patrols. Find the leak that allows Klaue to steal from us and seal it. Permanently."
He placed a hand on T'Challa's shoulder. "We will handle this, as we always have. From the shadows. It is our way."
T'Challa bowed his head in obedience. But his eyes held not acceptance but a simmering, defiant resolve.
---
The drive back to K.A.N.E. Tower was a silent, furious storm. Alex stared out the tinted window, not seeing the glittering spires of Manhattan. He saw the smug, weaselly face of Justin Hammer on a courtroom monitor, being led away in cuffs.
Hammer. The man was a buffoon, a punchline. But he was a contained buffoon. Or so he'd thought. Seeing that logo was like a ghost stepping out of a forgotten grave.
The car slid into the private garage. The elevator shot up to the command center. The doors opened to the quiet hum of data. Richard and Elias were waiting, their expressions grim.
"Justin Hammer," Alex said, the name flat and cold.
Richard nodded. "We already ran it down. It doesn't make sense. His case was airtight. He was in a maximum-security facility, awaiting trial on a dozen charges that would have put him away for three lifetimes."
"And?" Alex prompted, his voice dangerously calm.
"And apparently, something happened," Richard continued, frustration edging his tone. "Classified motions, a shadowy hearing. He was granted parole six weeks ago on a technicality so obscure our legal team is still parsing it. The paperwork is a masterpiece of obfuscation."
Elias took over, his voice even more somber. "As for where he is now… there is no trace. He vanished the day he walked out. No financial trails, no surveillance hits, no chatter from his known associates. It's as if he never existed."
The implication hung in the air, heavier than any accusation. This wasn't Hammer acting alone. Someone with immense power and influence within the system had sprung him and then erased him.
Alex's fury, once a white-hot rage aimed at a target, now turned cold and vast, expanding to fill the void of the unknown. This was bigger than a vendetta.
He walked to the main holographic display, where the Hammer Industries logo still glowed.
"He didn't do this. He's merely being used to build the weapon that is being pointed towards us. But it's not the first time he indirectly became a pain in the ass for us." Alex turned to face them, his eyes glacial. "He is indeed an undeniable asset for the others."
He looked at Elias. "I want you to find the puppet masters. I want every byte of data on that parole hearing. Who was the judge? The prosecutor? Who filed the motions? Follow the corruption. Find the strings."
He then turned to Richard. "Recall Henderson and tell Davies to come back after his mission. Have the Storm and Phoenix teams stand by. Our target is not a small fry like Hammer. We need to be careful."
Alex's gaze returned to the logo, seeing through it to the true enemy lurking behind.
{Don't worry. There is no warning message here. But I know some of you read it and decided to ignore it, thinking nobody will know. But you know you know and you will always know. ☺}