The limo rumbled over cracked asphalt as the skyline of New York faded behind Felix like a dying pulse. Dawn had barely begun to stain the horizon; everything still wore the color of ash.
"Mr. Osborn is far too busy with Harry's death. He has asked you to take care of this matter."
"What? Like…just Luke or the attackers or…?"
"You know Mr. Osborn," the butler replied. "Do not worry, you have ten private guards at your behest. You will find a radio to contact them at the location."
Felix clicked his tongue. He had to take a normal plane so that Norman could pick him up at the airport. It was a slightly jarring experience. He had gotten used to the luxury of private jets quickly.
'WE ARE APPROACHING THE ADDRESS: 2186 WEST RAVENBROOK ROAD, WESTCHESTER COUNTY.'
The GPS in the limo's front console showed nothing; no roads, no cell towers, no landmarks. Just a blank, off-grid void. The driver, as Felix recalled, was Norman's personal butler and most trusted man, Bernard Houseman.
'THERE ARE NO MOBILE NETWORKS REGISTERED IN THE AREA,' Herbie continued. 'THE PLOT OF LAND IS LEGALLY CLASSIFIED AS A NON-DEVELOPMENT ZONE. OWNERSHIP: NORMAN OSBORN. ORIGINAL CONSTRUCTION: AMBERSON OSBORN.'
Felix leaned forward in the seat, watching patches of farmland slide past. Tall grass, rotting fence posts, a scarecrow slumped like a corpse with its head bowed. The limo slowed as the forest cleared, revealing a lonely square of flat land and, at its center, a weather-worn cottage whose white paint had been chipped by decades of winter.
A single porch light flickered despite the rising sun.
Herbie continued his report without prompting: 'AMBERSON OSBORN WAS THE GRANDSON OF ALTON OSBORN SR., FOUNDER OF THE OSBORN FORTUNE IN THE 1880s. AMBERSON SERVED AS A GENIUS-LEVEL INVENTOR. HE LOST THE FAMILY FORTUNE ATTEMPTING TO DEVELOP AN UNIDENTIFIED DEVICE. RECORDS OF THE PROJECT ARE MISSING OR CLASSIFIED.'
Felix frowned. 'Was it stolen or what?'
'ACCORDING TO NORMAN OSBORN'S PERSONAL BIOGRAPHY, AMBERSON INVESTED MOST OF THE FAMILY WEALTH INTO THE INVENTION BEFORE IT WAS STOLEN. NO DATA EXISTS ON THE PERPETRATOR OR THE DEVICE ITSELF. HE WAS VERY VAGUE ON IT.'
'And Norman rebuilt everything from this.'
'YES. THIS PROPERTY WAS HIS STARTING POINT WHEN FOUNDING OSCORP. ALL INFRASTRUCTURE, SCIENCE, AND TESTING ORIGINATED HERE.'
The limo stopped. Wind blew over empty fields. Felix stepped out and immediately felt watched. The cottage sat like a fossil under the rising sun.
He approached the door. Before he could knock, it cracked open. Jane Foster shoved her head out, hair tied messily, lab coat stained with dried antiseptic.
"Get in," Jane whispered urgently. "Quietly."
Darcy Lewis appeared behind her, holding a tablet and wearing pajama pants, eyes wide. "And welcome to the middle of nowhere. Seriously, Norman couldn't pick a hotel?"
Felix snorted and stepped inside. "You know the situation. Definitely not." The door shut instantly.
The living room had been transformed into a makeshift medical lab. Portable scanners hummed. Papers were strewn everywhere. The scent of iodine clung to the air. On a reinforced table—because anything less would have snapped—lay Luke Cage.
"Don't worry, he's not needed for ICU or anything. I mean, he was, but in the hours you took to get here, we took care of it." Darcy said it all nice and dandy but he could tell she was exhausted.
Felix's brows furrowed. "I…was told he was shot."
"Mhm," Jane concurred. "He was."
Luke was built like a brick wall even while unconscious, but what stunned Felix weren't the muscles. It was the burns. Angry red streaks across his ribs, shoulders, and abdomen—raw skin layered over with a shiny, unnatural hardness.
"But…I don't see bullet holes."
"Yeah," Jane said. "We were surprised too."
Darcy tapped her tablet and spun it around. "Here, look at this! Footage of Luke walking through bullets like he was brushing off raindrops! Took down a dozen mercs like he was mowing the lawn! But then—"
"Grenade," Jane said sharply. "He got hit right in the face and was blasted off the penthouse. Luckily, it wasn't a clean fall, it got broken up because of the balconies but it was still a long, long tumble."
"Must have been at least twenty stories high," Felix noted sharply. "But still, these burn marks, they look...strange."
Jane nodded once. "Yes, you're perceptive."
Darcy zoomed into the scans. "We think his skin… changed."
Felix stepped closer. "Changed how?"
Jane gestured to Luke's chest. "In the middle of the firefight, his dermal layer hardened. Like spontaneous keratin-steel fusion. When the grenade went off, the outer layer resisted—but not uniformly. We think the transformation wasn't complete."
Felix stiffened. That sounded like a super-soldier side-effect gone wrong and right at the same time.
"Show me the scans," Felix said.
Darcy blinked. "Uh—sure? But no offense, you're not a doctor. Or a biochemist. But...I guess you are Dr. Faeth, so..."
Felix had already taken the tablet from her hands. Inside his mind, Herbie was already interfacing with the data. 'SCANS RECEIVED. ANALYZING. STAND BY.'
Felix stared at the swirling 3D model of Luke Cage's epidermal layers; metallic sheen, reinforced cellular walls, burn damage that somehow penetrated something supposedly impenetrable.
'Well, I'll be damned. Then again, our method was different. There was bound to be differences from Samantha, especially considering what Luke himself is.'
So yeah, it wasn't a total shocker. Expect the unexpected.
"You injected a needle into his eye?" Felix said, reading what was recorded.
"We had to," Jane answered sharply. "None of our needles were working and as much as Darcy made it sound easy, it wasn't. We were panicking. We had to bank on his healing factor. We've been recording his medical records, remember, we knew he could take it."
Felix sucked in a breath. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to accuse you. You were only doing your job. I was just surprised it even worked."
"Oh, trust me, it barely did. Even his eyes have a new special layer. It broke twelve of our needles before it actually worked. We'll need to investigate it later," Jane said. "But medically, he's in the clear. But, then again, this is a super soldier. Your creation. We could use your advice."
Yeah. His creation.
"Put him in a bath. His body could use the hydration and cooling. We don't want his organs to feel hot with this new layer of skin."
"But his temperature is fine..."
"I suspect his healing factor has been weakened because of his new skin. We need to help him cool down, trust me."
Jane disagreed, biting her bottom lip, yet ended up listening. His knowledge on super soldiers far exceeded her own. What was acceptable for normal humans might not be for super soldiers. That was the logic and that was what they did. Felix, Jane, and Darcy carried him to the bathroom and put him into a cool bath of water.
Everyone watched him. Felix crossed his arms.
"Luke was attacked home, right? His new home?" Considering he was a top-secret project, they had Luke move to different penthouses owned by a close friend of Norman's every two weeks. "His girlfriend, was she there too?"
"Err…we were just brought here by that butler," Darcy replied, squatting to look at Luke. "Not really told the ins and outs of the attack or whatever."
Felix cursed quietly. 'Herbie? Have we found her yet?' He was only asking because he himself didn't find her. Here was the thing: he was already aware of the mercenaries, the grenades, and everything regarding Luke's injury because of Herbie. Took only two minutes for Herbie to collect all the information and report it back. He just had to pretend otherwise to be realistic.
'I HAVE NOW CONFIRMED THROUGH CCTV FOOTAGE THAT CLAIRE TEMPLE WAS KIDNAPPED WHILE WALKING HER WAY HOME.'
'Didn't we have Oscorp people on her? Watching her?'
'THEY WERE TAKEN OUT.'
Of course they were. Damn near useless.
'And what of the attackers? Are they really mercenaries or what?'
'HAVE YET TO HAVE A FULL FACIAL EXAMINATION THROUGH CCTV. AS A RESULT, NO CONNECTIONS HAVE BEEN MADE. CURRENTLY SCOURING THROUGH DAYS AND WEEKS PRIOR TO COMPENSATE. AS OF RECENTLY, ONE HOUR AGO, THE ATTACKERS LEFT THE BUILDING, LIMPING AND INJURED. NORMAN OSBORN'S PEOPLE AM TRACKING THEIR VAN AS WE SPEAK. I AM DOING MY OWN TRACKING AS WELL.'
Norman couldn't put his hundred percent into this. His son had just died. This was up to him to solve, like the butler told him.
"There's supposed to be a radio…" He left the bathroom and looked about. "Ah, there." Felix lifted the squat black radio from the shelf. It was damn old and a normal person wouldn't pick it up. It was military-grade, early 2000s, and boxy. He thumbed the dial until a faint hiss rose, then pressed the call button.
"Unit One, respond."
Static. Then a voice crackled through: "Unit One here. Confirmation of name?"
"Felix Faeth. Mr. Osborn sent me."
"Yes, we've been expecting you. We are on the tail of the suspects. Repeat, we are following the attackers now, sir."
"Good," Felix murmured, pacing away from Jane and Darcy. "Listen carefully. There is a high chance they have a hostage with them. A woman. Her name is Claire Temple. Luke Cage's partner."
A brief pause. "Copy. Unknown female hostage, Claire Temple."
"She's the priority," Felix said. "Not the mercs—her. You keep her alive. Everything else is secondary."
"Understood."
"And one more thing," Felix added, lowering his voice. "From this point onward, you follow my orders exclusively. No improvisation. No heroics. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
"I'm sending backup," he said. "A specialist. You'll know when she arrives."
He clicked off the radio before they could ask questions.
Jane blinked at him. Darcy squinted. "You, uh, have specialists?" Darcy whispered.
"You learn a thing or two in this in this industry."
"Damn, you've really made you're way up, Felix!" Darcy cackled and crossed her arms. "I remember when you were just a fledgling…"
Felix rolled his eyes with a soft smile. Herbie chimed silently in the back of his mind: 'THE BLACK WIDOW NOTIFIED. ETA: FOUR MINUTES.'
Felix exhaled, then braced himself. "Good. Then all we can do is wait."
Here was the thing: he didn't want to risk going as Spider-Man and risking Norman's suspicions or anyone else here. Not to mention there was the Auction Master factor.
'No doubt, the Auction Master was behind this. It's annoying, I'm always one step behind. He's attacking and attacking and all I can do is react.'
***
The black sedan idled in a narrow street lined with old brick apartment buildings. A Monday morning quiet held the block; just a few early commuters, an elderly man dragging a garbage bin, a dog barking two floors up.
Hardly the place one expected armed mercenaries to hide.
In the back seat, one guard lifted binoculars while the other adjusted the thermal scope fixed to a handheld scanner.
"Target building confirmed," the driver muttered. "Unit reads heat signatures… three, maybe four bodies inside the second-floor corner apartment."
The guard with the thermal scanner swallowed. "I've got a fourth—tied up, small frame. That's our hostage."
"Jesus. Middle of a civilian building?"
"Professional mercs don't care about civilians."
The radio crackled to life.
"Unit One, backup inbound. Stay in the car."
That was Felix, their boss of the operation. The three guards exchanged long, uneasy glances.
"Stay in the car?" the driver muttered. "What kind of backup needs us to stay in the car?"
"Maybe a drone strike?"
"This close to New York? You're insane."
A minute passed. A city bus pulled up to the stop down the street. The guards watched it carefully, only because there was nothing else to look at.
From the bus stepped a redheaded woman in sunglasses, jeans, and a light jacket. She looked like she was on her way to brunch, not a rescue op. She carried no weapons. No earpiece. No gear. Her hair was tied in a loose side braid. She popped chewing gum as she walked.
One guard whispered, "Is… is that backup?"
"I don't know."
"She looks… normal."
They watched in baffled silence as the woman strolled up to the apartment building's front door. Without the apartment access card, the door wouldn't open. The redhead tapped at the glass door and got someone that was waiting for the elevator to look over. She smiled warmly, tilted her head, and said something softly. The man blushed instantly and opened the door for her.
"Holy—did she just flirt her way into the building?"
"Look, it could just be a coincidence…"
The guards watched her enter the elevator. Time passed. They didn't know what they were waiting for.
"…sir?" one guard whispered to the driver. "Are we sure backup didn't already pass us?"
By coincidence, thermal vision goggles were put on again. "Oh my god—! Look! I-I see a gun!"
All three guards jolted, heads swiveling toward the building.
"A gun!?" the driver hissed. "Are you kidding!?
The scanner was passed on. "What do you see?"
"…holy shit."
Inside the second-floor apartment, the thermal outline showed a woman moving like an assassin. Door opened. Bodies dropped. Heat signatures flared and blinked out. One was thrown across the room. Another felled by what looked like a knee to the skull.
She had a gun, there was no doubt about it, but it made no noise. Definitely a top-of-the-line silencer…! All they could do was witness two minutes of silent, efficient brutality.
"So this…"
Yes, this was the back-up. This was the Black Widow.
Five minutes later, the front door of the building opened again. The redhead stepped out, sunglasses still on, not a hair out of place. By her side, clinging to her arm and trembling, was Claire Temple.
The guards stared, mouths open, as the redhead escorted Claire straight to their sedan, tapped on the window, and waited.
The driver scrambled to unlock the door. Claire climbed inside, breathless, shaken, whispering thank-you's between gasps.
The redhead leaned down, peering in through the open window.
"Tell Felix this is a mission accomplished," she said, voice bright and lilting. She then straightened and casually walked over to catch the next bus pulling up.
The guards stared after her.
"…was that the backup?"
"That was the backup."
"What the hell kind of company does Mr. Osborn run?"
No one had an answer.
But the radio in their car buzzed—
"Unit One. Status report."
The driver swallowed.
"…Claire Temple secured, sir."
Felix exhaled on the other end. "Good. Bring her in."
***
Luke's first breath sounded like a boulder shifting.
Felix looked up from the chair beside the reinforced table as Luke Cage's eyes blinked open, slow and heavy, like a man wading up from the bottom of a lake. He was still a little damp from the bath.
"Yo," Felix said, leaning back casually. "Welcome back to the world of the living, man."
Luke groaned, hand moving instinctively toward his ribs, then pausing when he realized everything hurt slightly less than it should have. "What… what happened?"
"You got jumped," Felix said. "And then you tanked bullets like a champ and ate a grenade like it was a bad taco. You scared the hell outta everyone."
Luke blinked twice, then let out a laugh. "Feels like I swallowed chlorine."
Felix chuckled. "You heal fast, luckily, so don't worry about chlorine or anything else."
"Damn, what's the timeline?"
"My guess is a week till you're fully back. Your new skin has muffled your healing factor."
"Damn…" Luke rubbed a hand over his face, eyes adjusting to the harsh medical lights. "Claire… where's—"
The door burst open.
"Luke!" Claire Temple practically flew inside. She rushed over, slipping past equipment and knocking into a rolling tray as she threw her arms around him.
Luke sucked in a breath, not from pain, but from sheer relief. "Claire…"
"I thought you were dead," Claire whispered fiercely, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I thought— they had me— and you—"
"I'm here," Luke murmured, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm right here. You can't get rid of me that easy."
Felix stood, watching them with a tired smile. He didn't intrude. He didn't speak. Moments like this didn't need him. Neither of them heard him leave.
The porch creaked under Felix as he sat down on the steps, elbows resting on his knees. The farmland stretched out in every direction, a quiet ocean of grass brushing in the early wind.
Luke Cage. Good man. Good heart. Had no agenda except helping people. He was still targeted.
'Because he's superhuman,' Felix thought bitterly.
Because he represented the thing the Auction Master wanted to erase. Inequality through power.
Felix dragged a hand across his face.
'And I made him what he is.'
He played the largest part in painting a target on Luke's back and getting his own girlfriend kidnapped. Thank god he had the Black Widow on speed dial. He didn't need to lie to her; after all, who else would a scientist like him turn to? She was his only option.
Still…
"Damn it," he muttered. "Herbie, any news?
A feed displaced itself behind Felix's eyes; clear as a screen only he could see. 'THE BACKUP OPERATIVE HAS DELIVERED ALL COLLECTED INTELLIGENCE.'
Images appeared one by one. They were unmasked faces following either their deaths or being unconscious. There were even tactical gear breakdowns. Serial numbers on weapons.
'Ah, thank god for Czarina. She sent over everything.' Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, Czarina, was a professional. She needed his help and he needed his. It was equal exchange. Tonight, she helped him out immensely by not only saving Claire but also sending the much needed details.
It was everything Herbie needed and more.
"Now," he said, eyes narrowing as the mercenaries' identities loaded in full…
"…let's find out who tried to kill my friend."