The scent of stale beer and old leather clung to the air in the secluded corner of the room. Logan, nursing a lukewarm bottle, grunted as Ranger approached, the bench beside him sinking a couple of inches under the mutant's dense frame.
"You did Scott quite a solid there, bub." Logan rumbled, his voice grizzled and low, not even bothering to look up. "Xavier's still trying to talk him down from orbit. Kid's got a temper like a poked badger when his pride's wounded."
"What can I say?" Ranger gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug, his gaze fixed on the distant, manicured hedges. "I merely reciprocated the level of diplomatic discourse I was initially afforded. A peace talk for a peace talk, as it were."
"Heh. Not blaming you, bub. If I'm bein' honest, you did a damn fine job at knocking some of that righteous wind outta his sails." Logan finally turned, his eyes, old and knowing, assessing Ranger. "Word's gettin' around. Most of the Krakoan hotheads are thinkin' twice before even lookin' at you sideways now. You got their attention."
Ranger met Logan's gaze, his own expression unreadable. "Logan, I do not particularly care for the opinions of 'most mutants.' Most of them, frankly, lack the capacity to pose a genuine threat to me. The ones I am concerned with are the select few, the ones with true power, who wouldn't hesitate to aim for a killing blow if they perceived me as an obstacle or make me their toy."
Logan let out a weary sigh, the sound heavy with centuries of conflict. "Can't help you much on that front, bub. The ones you're talkin' about? They're way above my paygrade, and frankly, I prefer to keep my distance. They don't tend to appreciate… ferals like me… mucking about in their grand, convoluted plans." He took a swig of his beer. "You're on your own with that particular pack of wolves, kid."
"I always was alone, Logan." Ranger murmured, his voice distant, his gaze returning to the window. "I always have been." A beat of silence, then his focus sharpened. "So, let me hazard a guess. This little fireside chat wasn't entirely your own initiative. Xavier, or perhaps Magneto, sent you to glean some information from me regarding recent… unpleasantnesses?"
Logan let out a short, humorless chuckle. "You're a sharp one, kid. Perceptive. But you got one detail wrong." He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Mr. Sinister, that pompous, white-faced peacock, was the first one sniffin' around. Came to me all polite-like, asking if I could gently inquire about those mutant clones you encountered. Somethin' about 'infringement on his proprietary genetic domain' or some such high-falutin' nonsense. Don't like the guy." Logan growled, a predatory glint in his eye. "Never have. But he's got a seat on the damn Silent Council now, technically makes him one of my superiors, believe it or not. So, I gotta at least pretend to play ball. Could you shed any light on that incident? Anything I can toss his way to get him off my back?"
Ranger looked at Logan, a slow, almost predatory smile spreading across his lips. "But of course, Logan. I have a few choice observations to share. When you next have the… distinct displeasure… of conversing with Mr. Sinister, please convey my sincerest condolences on the lamentable quality of the clones. They were, to put it mildly, a poor, almost insulting, imitation of any original genetic template. So tragically flawed, in fact, that I was halfway to simply disengaging and flying away out of sheer aesthetic offense at their poor design."
He leaned forward, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Whoever perpetrated their creation should seriously consider a career change. Perhaps amateur taxidermy? Because those clones were, without a doubt, the most incompetently assembled collection of genetic embarrassments I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. Even the snowmen children construct in winter possess more intricate detail and structural integrity than those secondhand, shambling abominations."
"Woah there, kid." Logan said, his eyes widening slightly, a grin tugging at his lips. "You talk like you got a personal vendetta against ol' Sinister himself. Gotta admit, bub, you got a real talent for makin' powerful enemies. But I like your style." He chuckled. "So, you want me to deliver that scathing critique word for word to that narcissistic bastard, or can I… embellish a little? Add a few of my own colorful adjectives?"
"By all means, Logan." Ranger said, his smile widening. "Embellish to your heart's content. Add curses, insults, perhaps a few well-chosen threats regarding the sanctity of his immaculate white capes. Just ensure the core message is delivered with appropriate disdain: the clones were a cheap, shoddy knock-off of any conceivable original, and their creator is nothing more than an overconfident dreamer who vastly overestimates his own capabilities and consistently fails to grasp the true artistry of genetic manipulation." With every word Ranger spoke, Logan's grin grew wider, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight and realization.
"You mean." Logan began, his voice a low growl, "those clones.."
"Now, now, Logan." Ranger interrupting, his smile enigmatic. "Even the most fortified walls have ears, and some truths are best left to simmer. Just relay my message with the appropriate theatricality when you next see him. He'll understand the… nuances." Ranger stood, a silent dismissal. "I believe I've taken up enough of your valuable brooding time." He turned and walked back towards the mansion.
Logan watched him go, a thoughtful, almost appreciative look on his face. "An interesting kid." he muttered to himself, taking another swig of beer. "A real piece of work. Definitely gotta add a few more insults to that message. Sinister's gonna have a goddamn conniption." His grin was pure, unadulterated Wolverine.
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A blur of red and blue, chattering at a mile a minute, practically bounced off the walls of the communal lounge Ranger had found himself directed to.
"Whoa! You're him, right? Ranger? The new superhero everyone's kinda whispering about but also kinda terrified of? Awesome! I'm Spider-Man! Big fan of the whole mysterious vibe, by the way. Very cool. Can I ask you a few questions? Like, a million? What are your superpowers, exactly? I heard you had suits, like Mr. Stark, but, like, way more intense? Do you have a suit for every possible situation? Like, a 'rescuing kittens from a tree' suit? Or a 'fighting a giant radioactive platypus in a hat' suit? Wait, can you make me a suit? A new one? Mine's getting a little… ripe, if you know what I mean. Do you want to team up sometime? We could be, like, the Dynamic Duo but with more existential dread on your part, probably! Are you in the Avengers? Or do you have your own super-secret, super-cool team? If you do, can I join? Please? Pretty please with a radioactive spider on top? If I join, can I be the official team mascot? I make great pancakes! What would the pay be like if I joined your team? Because, you know, rent in Queens is no joke, and Superhero also needs to eat…"
"Spider-boy." Ranger interjected, his voice calm but firm enough to finally cut through the enthusiastic torrent. He deliberately didn't correct the "Spider-boy" moniker, a subtle power play, or perhaps just amusement. "Deep breath. Let's address these inquiries in a somewhat more… linear fashion."
Spider-Man visibly deflated for a second, then bounced back, his masked lenses widening. "Right! Linear! I can do linear! Fire away!"
"To answer your questions, in order." Ranger began, ticking them off mentally. "My primary superpower, if you wish to call it that, is the symbiotic integration with my collection of highly adaptable suits. While they bear a superficial resemblance to Stark's armors, they are fundamentally different in their energy source and operational matrix. No, I do not possess a suit for every conceivable situation; that would be inefficient. And yes, I can construct bespoke suits. Teaming up? Perhaps, should our paths cross and our objectives align in your particular neighborhood. No, I am not currently affiliated with the Avengers, new or old. I am, for all intents and purposes, a one-man operation."
He paused, a faint smile touching his lips. "However, if you were truly interested in joining a hypothetical team, I could certainly entertain the notion of forming one. And yes, you could absolutely be the mascot. As for compensation…" Ranger tilted his head, a thoughtful expression. "Let's consider a probationary period. During which, your benefits package would include, let's say: a luxurious, fully furnished and secured residence in a city of your choosing – perhaps one with excellent pizza. A fleet of appropriate vehicles, both for heroic endeavors and leisurely pursuits. A comprehensive suite of advanced gadgets, tailored to your unique abilities. Generous sick leave, naturally, and ample vacation time – even heroes need to recharge. All gadgets upgraded as needed. You'll never outgrow your gear again. Full medical, dental, and existential crisis insurance, for both yourself and your immediate family. And a base monthly stipend of, shall we say, one million dollars. Tax-free, of course."
Spider-Man, who had been nodding enthusiastically, stopped jumping mid-bounce. His masked lenses seemed to widen to impossible proportions. He was utterly, completely, silent for a full five seconds.
"And." Ranger continued, as if discussing the weather, "if you so desired, and if I deemed it… artistically appropriate… a new, custom-designed suit. That, of course, is merely for the initial probationary term. Should you become an official, full-fledged member, all benefits and the stipend would increase… let's say, tenfold, with annual reviews and escalations. Do these preliminary terms sound amenable to you, Spider-boy?"
Spider-Man swayed slightly. "One… one million? A month? And… and a house? And… insurance for Aunt May?" His voice was a choked whisper. Then, with a sudden, explosive burst of energy, he shrieked, "YES! HOLY COW, YES! WHERE DO I SIGN?! DO YOU NEED A BLOOD SAMPLE? I CAN GIVE YOU A BLOOD SAMPLE! OR A WEB SAMPLE! WHATEVER YOU NEED!"
"Excellent enthusiasm." Ranger said, unfazed. An ultralink drone materialized beside him, a thin sheet of what looked like advanced polymer extruding from it, intricate text appearing on its surface as it printed. "Here is a preliminary agreement outlining the terms and benefits. Peruse it at your leisure. If you have any questions, or if you wish to negotiate for additional benefits – perhaps a dedicated churro budget? – please do not hesitate to ask. I value a team member who knows their worth and isn't afraid to advocate for it, after all." The ultralink handed the document to Spider-Man.
Just as Spider-Man's trembling fingers reached for the contract, his lenses already trying to devour the text, the document was snatched from the air.
"Ranger." Sam Wilson's voice, tight with disapproval, cut through the air. Captain America stood there, shield on his arm, his expression grim. "This kid is under my care, part of my team. I don't appreciate you attempting to corrupt him with your… excessively opulent presence and predatory recruitment tactics." He crumpled the contract in his gauntleted hand. "And besides, he's already committed. You will keep your manipulative hands to yourself."
"I am merely offering terms that I believe more accurately reflect the inherent risks and contributions of a young man with his unique capabilities." Ranger replied, his voice dangerously smooth as he stepped forward, stopping inches from Sam. "Or are you, perhaps, making this boy work without equitable compensation, Captain Knockoff? Exploiting his youthful idealism for your own agenda?" He tilted his head. "You could, of course, always counter my offer. Raise the price for his services, if you so wish to retain him exclusively. Assuming you value him that highly."
Spider-Man, sensing an imminent and potentially very destructive superhero-on-superhero altercation, jumped between them, hands raised placatingly. "Whoa, whoa, guys! Let's keep things civil here! No need to fight over little old me! Though." he added, his voice hopeful, "I definitely wouldn't mind hearing about those increased benefits, Cap! A superhero's gotta eat, right? And I eat a lot."
Ranger ignored Sam, his gaze fixing on Spider-Man. "I will add a further clause to your potential contract, Spider-boy. Upon successful completion of your probationary period, and as a signing bonus for official membership, I will facilitate a series of philanthropic donations in your name, or any name you choose. Let's say… a billion dollars for global food security initiatives. Another billion for the construction and maintenance of vital infrastructure in underserved communities. A further billion for enhanced global security measures against non-superhuman threats. Another billion for comprehensive childcare and early education programs. And a final billion for universal healthcare access. All to be distributed transparently, without corruption, to legitimate organizations dedicated to improving the lives of people all over the world. Provided, of course." Ranger's voice softened slightly, "that you continue to be a good, responsible superhero for your designated turf. A hero who inspires hope, not just one who punches villains."
He said nothing more, just held Spider-Man's gaze for a moment, then turned and walked away, leaving a stunned Spider-Man, a furious Captain America, and the faint, lingering scent of possibility in his wake.