"Hey, my friend!" T'Challa found Solomon in front of the Panther God temple and greeted him with an enthusiastic hug. However, the warm response he anticipated never came. Solomon quickly fumbled through his robe pockets and carefully held out a coal-black kitten in his palm. T'Challa asked with mild embarrassment, "I didn't realize you brought a little one! Is it alright?"
"Don't worry, it's vaccinated," Solomon replied, confirming that the kitten was still sleeping rather than unconscious before gently tucking it back into his pocket. "It's been asleep for seven hours already, and it hasn't peed in my pocket. That's lucky enough," he added. "But I'm not here because of a cat, T'Challa. You know why I came."
"I've read the Finbowinter battle files," T'Challa said with a smile. "You did well, saved the world. I suppose that's the kind of result the partnership between Wakanda and the Undying City was meant to achieve." The files he referred to came through Shuri—the only Wakandan allowed access to the Undying City's classified documents. Stephanie had repeatedly denied Wakandan requests to participate in the internal affairs and military departments, locking them firmly in R&D.
This outcome was inevitable—even the Undying City had its political struggles. The Wakandans sought to reform the city into a parliamentary system and bring its weapons and tech under regulation, citing concerns about misuse. Especially after the Finbowinter battle, when the Undying City destroyed an entire mountain, protests from Wakandan scientists were instigated. But since Stephanie had Solomon's backing, the Wakandans were kept far from the decision-making table.
T'Challa wasn't an idiot—he'd long been aware of the internal power struggle through Shuri. What he didn't realize was that every single document Shuri read had been curated. Victoria Hand's intelligence analysts had created a special archive just for Wakandan access—intentionally omitting key secrets.
Still, he knew Solomon's true purpose for this visit. It was something Shuri had been complaining to him about recently. Walking along the temple's stonework inlaid with golden lines, amid the landscape flora sustained by Wakanda's environmental systems, the two men kept their voices low—aware that this conversation was best unheard by others.
"I've seen the situation. Wakanda's population is limited. We don't need large-scale factories, so filling Undying City's industrial orders that quickly simply isn't feasible," T'Challa said. "And do you really need that much industrial material?"
"Are you suggesting that the enemies we face aren't as powerful as I claim, that the Undying City's current arsenal is sufficient?" Solomon's boots pressed against the damp stone tiles as he responded slowly. "Or do you think the Undying City is already too powerful?"
These were two very different accusations. The first implied Wakanda believed Solomon was overreacting, building weapons unnecessarily. The second implied concern that the city was growing too dangerous.
T'Challa didn't fall for the trap.
"I think if the King fully understood the threats humanity will soon face, he would support your actions."
"I hope so. But you and I both know what the Undying City has already accomplished. The giant worm creature on the U.S. East Coast, the demons at Finbowinter. I've done my best to keep magic out of it, letting human science resolve the problems—as I've always wanted. Humanity's wisdom and courage can overcome any threat."
"Just as Wakanda has always believed," T'Challa nodded.
Their conversation paused for a moment.
It was clear this wasn't just small talk. T'Challa was pressing for more access to information. Solomon, in turn, insisted that the Undying City had protected the world without Wakanda's interference—and that bringing them deeper into decision-making would only complicate matters. T'Challa countered that their goals were aligned; if so, Wakanda would fully support the mission.
"One hundred and fifty-seven," Solomon said suddenly.
"What?"
"That's how many people died in the Finbowinter battle. Not counting the wounded. You can estimate the casualties from the number of prosthetics Shuri has been producing," the sorcerer explained. "I want to turn the Undying City into another Kamar-Taj, and that transformation demands blood—just as Kamar-Taj's sorcerers have sacrificed themselves over centuries. I must give our soldiers the best gear to face what lies ahead. Even if they had none, they would still stand as symbols of human courage. It's not only so-called superheroes who can face these threats. T'Challa, superheroes are just people who obtained power—their minds are still human."
"I understand, and I respect their sacrifices."
"Then tell me, T'Challa. Do the people of Wakanda share that same spirit of sacrifice?" Solomon asked. "Think carefully before answering. When the solar system is blanketed in alien fleets, will Wakanda—who believes its technology is a thousand years ahead of the world—be ready to resist? This won't be like New York and the Chitauri. They were disposable bio-weapons, mass-grown in a day. Tell me honestly, will Wakandans fight to the last and never yield?"
"And you?" T'Challa deflected, unwilling to answer the increasingly pointed questions head-on.
"That is my duty—as bearer of Terra's Sword. I've been fighting for that purpose since birth. Now, and forever."
"So… Wakanda has agreed to begin mass production?" Stephanie asked, perplexed. "What did you say to them?"
"I simply questioned their courage," Solomon replied, flipping through a stack of files as he lounged on the Ministry of Internal Affairs couch. "T'Challa's a decent ally. Under the pressure of future threats, he'll slowly move toward deeper cooperation. But as for the current King, T'Chaka—he only cares about bringing the Undying City under his control. That cunning old man has never seen real war. His only battles have been against vibranium smugglers and human traffickers."
"So how do you plan to deal with him?"
"I've already set the date of his death," Solomon said coldly. "In the eyes of the Panther God, the current Black Panther is no longer fit to face the future." He pointed at the little black kitten clawing at the couch. "Of course, T'Challa isn't the only candidate. Bast only requires royal blood. The specifics depend on Victoria Hand and her agents. Poor Prince N'Jobu—after joining the Black Panther Party and turning over a new leaf, he didn't die at the hands of the FBI but was killed by his own brother. What a joke. To King T'Chaka, peace is everything, even if it's steeped in oppression."
"His son N'Jadaka is a mercenary—and possibly unstable," Stephanie wrinkled her nose. "He won't follow orders, my lord. People like that are just trouble."
"I never intended to complete the entire partnership process with N'Jadaka," Solomon said. "Working with someone like him has its advantages. When the time comes, we'll simply eliminate him—without remorse. Either way, we need him to destabilize Wakanda's political order and create a power vacuum. See it done, Stephanie."
"Of course. But just to be clear—this is my plan, not yours."
"Thanks."
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