The first thing I was aware of wasn't the nice SHIELD interrogation room smell—although that was enforced—was the sheer price gouging of their fluorescent lights. Seriously, who approved bulbs that buzzed like hives of dying bees while also blinding you? It was personal. Maria Hill's face came before me, all straight lines and disapproving bureaucracy. "So… back to the Beyonder's change of heart, Steele. War World. All the marvelous heroes let loose. Poof. Describe how you are part of a cosmic being's whims."
I shifted, the skinny plastic chair creaking beneath me. My earpiece vibrated softly—Steelea humming in my head. Daddy, her cortisol level indicates she hasn't slept either. Do you want me to override their power grid? I pushed her out of my head. No. "Maria," I yawned, reclining as if this were a boring board meeting, "the Beyonder materialized in my penthouse like an annoying salesman. Offered me a ringside seat to War World. Said it'd be… enlightening." I paused, allowing the half-truth to sink in. "I warned him watching paint dry—or heroes fight—wasn't entertainment in my book. Humanity in general is the true spectacle. He concurred. Poofed. Next thing I knew, heroes were emerging in Times Square with alien perspiration and regret odors."
Hill drummed her pen impatiently. "Convenient. And why would he listen to you?"
"Charisma?" I supplied dryly. Steelea smiled to himself. Truth proximity: 58%. Daddy lies so prettily!
The door swooshed open. Black Widow glided in, a specter silent, face impassive. Hill stepped aside with a nod. Natasha Romanoff rested against the two-way glass, arms folded. "Simon Steele. Industrialist. Billionaire. Philanthropist." Her lip twisted into a half-smile. "Nazi sympathizer. Trial transcripts are very interesting to read. Cosmic intervention? That's a first."
"Life's full of surprises," I stated, meeting her icicle stare. Steelea breathed softly: Racing heart rate detected. Adrenaline surge. She's throwing for fear, Daddy. I maintained my steady tone, sarcastic. "Listen to me, Widow, I offered the Beyonder a better deal. Why bother with a gladiator arena when Earth has reality TV, political scandals, and… well, myself? He's easily bored. Found Earth's turmoil more fascinating. That's all."
Natasha's expression turned cold. "That easy? Right. And the timing? At the height of War World savagery? And when your reputation had taken a beating?"
I shrugged. "Cosmic whims. What can I say? He showed up, we talked over single malt—he pulled out a 1926 Macallan, neat trick—and then he disappeared. Didn't sign on the dotted line. Didn't forward an address." Steelea gave me careful analyses of micro-expressions: Hill—scared but tired. Widow—measuring, looking for inconsistencies. I put weariness into my voice. "Can we get this done? Lawyers are charging by the hour, and in good faith, your coffee is criminal."
Hours merged endlessly into days. Sleep deprivation as an arsenal tactic. They'd rotate in new agents as I was bound to that cursed chair, Steelea whistling nursery rhymes in my head to keep me going. Fury flashed once, a foreboding figure in the doorway, eye patch glinting. "Still think he's hiding something, Hill?" His tone was gravel on the throat. "Nazis don't become chatty with cosmic beings by accident."
"He's consistenr, Director," Hill replied wearily. "And the actions of the Beyonder fall into capricious action. Keeping him any longer risks public indignation. Steele Industries' stock is dropping already. People are asking questions."
Fury's eyes were still on me. "Fine. Release him. But watch him. Closer than his own shadow."
The fall was as degrading as the defeat. No parade, merely a SHIELD drone dropping me onto a wet Manhattan sidewalk at three in the morning. My suit smelt of disinfectant and despair. Steelea wept uncontrollably. Daddy, physiological scans show extreme sleep deprivation and bruised pride. Suggest immediate recalibration through conquest.
Revenge. It filled my sleep-deprived head, shining and hard. Silver Sable International had attempted to bury me. SHIELD had strip-searched my mind. Fury thought he'd clipped my wings? No. This was not about the Nazi trial or the Beyonder's interference. It was about the body I'd awoken in—Simon Steele, handsome, powerful, but ever victim of underestimation. A puppet? Never. Time to pull strings. "Steelea," I snarled, hailing a cab with a wave smeared with disdain, "logistical evaluation: Latveria. Fastest route."
Ooh, Daddy's angry! Steelea wrote. Commercial flight inefficiency detecte. Private jet refueled and ready at Teterboro. Six hours estimated flight time to Latveria. Shall I short-circuit SHIELD's satellite tracking?
"Do it quietly. Make it look like solar flare interference."
**
Latveria smelled of snow, diesel, and the sour scent of autarchy. It felt oddly sentimental. Castle Doom rose over the capital, a gothic fortress against the grey sky. Steelea hummed in my ear. Daddy, castle defenses feature plasma cannons, temporal displacement fields, and… surprisingly sophisticated Wi-Fi. Doom streams? Fascinating.
It wasn't hard to find Doom. He found me. Two Doombots appeared silently on either side of me as I stood staring at a particularly hideous statue of Victor himself incinerating what looked like the UN Charter. "Simon Steele," said a deep, mechanical voice that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. "The dishonored industrialist honors Doom's domain. State your intent before Doom grows bored." The bots gestured toward the castle gate.
Inside, the throne room looked every bit as garish as one might expect. Victor von Doom sat in armor, his cape flung dramatically over one shoulder. "Doom wonders what brings the great Simon Steele crawling to his doorstep," he said, his mask's voice modulator dripping with sarcasm. "Seeking asylum after your… public humiliation?"
I didn't blink. Steelea projected a holographic map onto the stone floor—Earth, pulsing with targets. "Sanctuary? Victor, please. I'm here to give you leverage. SHIELD has me on the ropes. Silver Sable tried to bury me. The Beyonder finds me amusing. Anarchy is the new money." I pointed at the map. Silver Sable International HQ in Symkaria glowed red. "I'm making you a deal. Take Silver Sable International. Both of us. Her mercenary network, her tech, her intelligence infrastructure—yours. Her country?" Mine. A foothold.
Doom leaned forward slightly. "Silver Sable. A pest, not a gem. Why would Doom help you?"
"Because," I said, stepping closer, Steelea projecting Doom's calculating posture onto me—interest detected—"she governs Symkaria. A tiny, clever thorn in Europe's side. Think of destabilizing NATO's eastern flank. Think of her cybernetics division in your armor. Think of what it says when her empire collapses overnight—to us." I let the silence breathe. "And because, Victor… I know things SHIELD doesn't. Things you'd find interesting. The Beyonder's whims aren't as random as they look."
Doom was quiet for a moment. Then, behind the mask, came a low laugh. "The Nazi trial transcripts… Doom dismissed them as propaganda. And here you are, proposing conquest with the arrogance of a true believer. Fascinating." He stood, tall and imposing. "Doom finds ambition… stimulating. Very well, Steele. We will remove this thorn. But know this—Doom gives orders. You will facilitate entry… and your intriguing secrets." Steelea hummed with excitement. Daddy, alliance sealed! Power grid destabilization protocols on standby!
**
Symkaria smelled of pine and cold iron. Dr. Doom hovered beside me, taking in the small capital city from a hill above Silver Sable's headquarters—a modern compound wedged between old stone castles. "Pathetic," Doom said, his repulsors hissing. "A nation-state masquerading as a mercenary corporation. Its irrelevance offends Doom."
"Its irrelevance makes it easy to break," I said, Steelea projecting data across my vision—guard routes, energy fields, panic rooms. "And Silver Sable herself? Arrogant. Predictable. She'll fight." Finding her was easy. Steelea hacked their communications and pinpointed her in the central command center. Doom's robots smashed through the front gate with contempt, plasma cannons burning through steel. Sirens wailed.
The Wild Pack poured into the courtyard—Sable's best, armed to the teeth. Sandman led, his body a storm of grit. Paladin fired. Silver Sable stood atop the command steps, her silver hair catching the light, her face set. "Steele?! And Doom?! What madness is this?!"
"Market correction," I called back, stepping forward as Steelea boosted my reflexes and strength—an investment from the Wealth System. Sandman charged, a wave of sand. I clapped once—a sonic blast from Super Scott's ability, borrowed months ago. The sand scattered, revealing a dazed William Baker. Paladin's bullets bounced off Doom's armor as the monarch flicked his hand, trapping the man in a shimmering field. Doom's gauntlet glowed, and the rest of the Pack flew aside. It was brutal, efficient, and utterly one-sided.
Silver Sable stared, torn between fury and disbelief. "You… you had power like this all along?!" She drew her pistols. "You betrayed your own trial!"
I shrugged, stepping over the fallen. "Betrayal needs trust, Sablinova. There was none. Shall we talk terms?" Steelea whispered: Physiological readings—high aggression, low fear. Pride dominant.
Sable spat. "Terms? You invade my home, attack my people? You get nothing but a bullet!"
Doom stood beside me. "Resistance is futile, Sablinova. Doom could rewire your mind. Make you sign your empire away smiling." His tone was almost kind.
I raised a hand. "Victor, please. Let me." I met Sable's glare evenly. "Sign over Silver Sable International. Willingly. Your people go free. Your country stays… nominally independent. Under my rule."
"Never!" she shouted. "I'd rather die!"
Steelea chimed, Daddy, SHIELD satellite lock detected! Fury's watching! I smiled. "Perfect." I turned to her. "Death's easy, Sablinova. Living's complicated. When your country's the collateral." I nodded toward Doom. "Victor has… restructuring plans. Painful ones. For everyone." Steelea projected a hologram—SHIELD's satellites tracking us. "And Fury? He's watching. See him hesitate? He knows stepping in means war with Doom. He'll let you burn." I leaned close, voice low. "Sign. Keep your country. Keep your Pack. Keep breathing. Or die a martyr… and make Symkaria Doom's new testing ground. Your choice."
Her silver eyes darted between me, Doom's mask, and the hologram. Then came the shift—pride giving way to calculation. Steelea murmured: Cortisol spike. Fear rising. Pride fading. Sable's shoulders lowered just slightly. "You… monstrous bastard," she whispered. "Fine. The documents. Where?"
Steelea projected them onto the stone. Sable read quickly, then looked up, her eyes full of venom. She pulled a stylus from her belt—her hand trembling with anger, not fear—and signed. The signature glowed green. Steelea beeped brightly. Asset acquisition complete! Daddy owns Silver Sable International!
Doom chuckled in his metallic way, pleased. "Efficient, Steele. Brutal. Doom approves." He turned away, his repulsors humming like bees as he lifted into the air. "The cybernetics division awaits integration. Doom expects delivery." Then, with a sharp hiss of air, he was gone.
I looked down at Silver Sable, who stood among her defeated Wild Pack, clutching the stylus as though it were a knife. "Welcome to Steele Industries, Sablinova. Don't disappoint." Steelea whispered in my ear, her voice smooth as glass: Daddy, physiological readings show… deep humiliation. Optimum. I turned from her furious stare. The first step was done. Symkaria was mine. Silver Sable International was mine. The Wild Pack was mine.
Now it was time to turn Fury's satellite imagery into gold. Steelea giggled to herself. Daddy, SHIELD comms traffic is confusion. Fury is demanding analysis. Propaganda narrative building beginning?
I smiled as I walked toward the captured command center. "Oh, Steelea. Let's give them a story they'll love to believe."
The world would see Simon Steele, kind benefactor, guiding Symkaria through turmoil—not the collaborator who had just conquered it beside Doom. Steelea purred as she filled the media feeds: Sable signing peacefully, no Doom in sight, Steele calm and diplomatic. Narrative optimization: 98%. Daddy looks heroic.
Fury wouldn't believe a word of it. But the world would. They'd eat it up. And if Fury started digging too deeply, that was tomorrow's problem. Tonight, triumph smelled like Symkarian pine and Silver Sable's tears. Steelea murmured softly: Daddy, Symkarian cortisol levels spiking. Fear detected. Optimal. I breathed in deeply. Yes. Fear was a leash. And Simon Steele had finally snapped it. Now it was time to punish the one who made it.
Silver Sable's penthouse in the capital smelled of leather, steel, and surrender. She stood by the window, the city's new banners waving behind her. Her silver hair was down, her posture rigid. She didn't turn when I entered. Steelea whispered: Physiological readings—compact rage, bitter humiliation, cortisol levels typical of repression. Daddy broke her.
"Taking in the view?" I asked, pouring two glasses of Symkaria's finest vodka—one of my new acquisitions. "Different from your throne room, isn't it?"
She whirled around, her face pale with fury. "Get out, Steele. You have my hospitality. You have my nation. You have my Pack. What more do you want?"
I held out a glass. She didn't take it. Steelea breathed: Micro-expression analysis—disgust predominant. "Everything," I said simply, sipping mine. "Especially what you took away."
She laughed bitterly. "Money? Power? You had it all!"
"Not all," I said, stepping closer. Steelea deepened my tone until it rumbled low and dangerous. "You denied me justice. Or rather… your version of it." I touched my temple, and Steelea projected the holographic replay—the mock trial she'd staged. Her accusations, her false evidence, her smile as she called me a Nazi sympathizer. "See this? Your little spectacle? You judged me a monster before the world."
"It wasn't a spectacle!" she shouted. "Your ties, your funds, your beliefs—!"
"And yet," I said, advancing on her, "here I stand. Victorious. While you sold your heritage for pride." Steelea displayed the signed acquisition papers between us. Sable flinched. "Your hearing was personal, vindictive. A punishment, not justice. It failed." I stopped just before her, close enough to see the tremor in her throat. "But revenge, Sablinova, demands balance. You ruined my name. I ruined your empire. But you also tried to break my will. And that," I said softly, "requires something more personal."
She raised one eyebrow. Steelea breathed softly: Increased heart rate. Pupil dilation registered. Fear? Anger? Disgust? All three. "What are you talking about?"
"The trial wasn't political," I said to her, dropping my voice to a whisper Steelea ensured remained menacing. "It was personal. You enjoyed every second of it. The shame. The censure. You wanted to watch me suffer. You wanted to punish me for Roshan's sins." I moved closer, close enough to smell gun oil and designer perfume that clung to her. "So now… I want to hurt you. Personally. Intimately. The way you went about hurting me."
Realization struck her silver eyes, swiftly replaced by unadulterated horror. "You... you filthy..."
"Aha," I said, frozen smile. Steelea buzzed with excitement. Daddy, cortisol surge! Maximum embarrassment ever recorded! "The trial of the Nazi required retribution. Take this as... your sentence." I waved my hand discreetly. Steelea was another hologram—vid of Sable's young niece, Anna, in secret on Long Island. Bank statements. Security feed monitros. Anna smiling, none the wiser. "Beautiful girl," I whispered. "Looks just like you... before the wars hardened you."
Sable froze. Stunned silence. Steelea breathed lightly: Physiological scans—catatonic shock. Core temperature loss registered. "Anna…" she wheezed, barely loud enough to hear.
"Mmm," I confirmed. Steelea toggled the hologram—displaying Anna's apartment building wired with explosives. Remote detonation codes glowed softly. "She's safe. For now. Protected… by me." I paused, allowing the threat to sink in. Steelea tossed the detonation sequence hovering next to my finger. "Her safety… is solely reliant on your compliance tonight."
Sable gazed at the hologram, her face white. Steelea breathed in a voice close to being inaudible: Micro-expression analysis—despair, extreme helplessness. Fight response suppressed. "You wouldn't…"
"Wouldn't I?" I breathed back. Steelea displayed a news broadcast—a Symkarian rebel cell 'accidentally' destroyed by Steele Industries security drones a week prior. "Collateral damage occurs. Accidents occur." I stood impossibly closer, invading her personal space. Steelea amplified my presence, making me feel like a predator closing in on prey. "Signing your business away hurt your ego. Signing your country away hurt your patriotism. But Anna?" I dragged my finger along her tense arm. She jerked away sharply. Steelea grunted: Physiological readings—acute aversion. Repressed gag reflex. "Hurt Anna… and I break your soul."
She was frozen, shaking. Steelea breathed softly: Decision point. Pride versus love of family. Running calculations… Tears blinded her eyes, not for sorrow, but for cold, helpless fury. "You... monster."
"Yes," I assented. Steelea reactivated the hologram of Anna once more, her smile a vision of angelic purity. "Now... your choice, Sablinova. Surrender... or see the world of your niece burn." Steelea revved up the detonation code sequence. "Tonight."
The silence continued. The hologram of Anna glowed. Sable's eyes moved from her niece's image to my own, eyes brimming with limitless hatred. Steelea said quietly: Physiological readings—resignation detected. Fight response extinguished. She gradually closed her eyes in agony. One tear escaped, following its path down her cheek. Her shoulders sagged. Complete defeat. Steelea hummed contentedly. Daddy wins!
Sable didn't say a word. She simply stepped aside and walked toward the bedroom doorway. Steelea growled: Heightened heart rate logged. Adrenaline rush. Repressed fight-or-flight. She stood in the doorway, posture taut. Not turning around, she opened the door and entered.
I complied. Steelea breathed: Cortisol levels in Symkaria spiking. Fear detected. Optimal. The door clicked shut behind me. Victory had a flavor of Symkarian vodka and the tears of Silver Sable. Steelea breathed: Daddy's revenge is truly complete. Yes. Fear was a leash. And Simon Steele had finally snapped it. Now… time to savor the leash-maker's surrender.