The Forge Lab was a tomb of steel. Silence reigned, broken only by the faint thrum of reactors buried in the walls and the pulse of coolant through hidden pipes. Rows of containment pods lined the chamber, each one exhaling a faint glow into the darkness. The air itself felt heavy, thick with radiation, the kind of poison that should have driven life away.
And yet, someone was walking in its corridor.
The machines did not notice anything around them. All the Security become completely useless, as even scanners failed to detect his presence. To the lab, he did not exist. Invisible, untouchable—he drifted among the sleeping weapons like a ghost.
After a short time he arrived before a Skitarii pod. Inside, a soldier of flesh and machine slumbered, compact and still, its body laced with circuitry that pulsed faintly with reactor light. A quiet hum vibrated in the air around it, dangerous even in dormancy.
A low laugh slipped past his lips.
"Exquisite. They do not eat. They do not dream. They do not betray." His words carried a rare softness, the tone of one who had long despaired of loyalty and finally glimpsed it. "For centuries, humans disappointed me. Weak, greedy, treacherous… yet here, at last, they forge something that cannot falter."
He moved on. Then he saw the Servitors.
The laughter stopped. His expression shifted—first into stillness, then into something dangerously close to awe. These broken things, fused with machinery, their flesh mutilated, their will caged. Grotesque, yes, but not in his eyes.
Slowly, he stepped closer. His voice trembled.
"Alive. Still aware. Trapped between body and machine. No freedom, no escape. To suffer without end."
His hand rose unconsciously to his face, fingertips brushing wetness at the corner of his eye. A tear. He let out a sound caught between a laugh and a sob.
"How long has it been since humans taught me anything? And yet here… here is torment perfected."
He lingered, memorizing every cruel detail. Then, with a shudder, he straightened. The softness fled, replaced by hunger, sharp and merciless.
"These will be mine. Skitarii for war, Servitors for suffering. A marriage of steel and agony." His smile widened, cold and triumphant. "And their maker… yes, the maker will join me; together we will figure out more ways to twist the human soul and body."
And with that vow, the presence faded, leaving the Forge Lab.
When he reappeared, it was half a world away.
The Mexican night clung close to the SHIELD compound, dry winds carrying dust across the floodlit perimeter. No camera could record him, no eye could follow the movement—he was simply there, as though he had always been.
A plain black coat hung from his frame, its folds blending seamlessly into shadow. Beyond that, there was nothing to grasp—no scent, no sound. He lingered at the edge of the compound, unseen, eyes fixed on the ones leaving the base. His new prey.
Luther and his companions crossed the compound, heading for the hotel Natasha had pointed out. Freya kept her hood drawn low, her traveling clothes plain, concealing more than they revealed. Lily's armor glinted faintly beneath the base lights, dust still clinging to its plates. And Luther, robed in dark red with black gloves, strode forward with unshaken calm, his mask hiding any trace of expression.
Freya slowed mid-step, her gaze sweeping the dark. A faint crease touched her brow.
"…Someone is watching us."
Luther didn't turn. His voice carried the steady confidence that always made others hesitate.
"Probably some idiot from Asgard. Ignore it."
Freya lingered a heartbeat longer, uneasy, but let it pass. The group continued toward the hotel, their footsteps fading against the concrete.
The hotel was unremarkable—its lobby dim, the air faintly tinged with disinfectant. Behind the desk, the clerk looked up with the hollow-eyed weariness of someone halfway through a long shift.
Luther stepped forward first. His mask shadowed his face, his robes concealing any hint of identity. He set a hand on the counter, voice calm.
"We'll need rooms."
The clerk's brows pinched. His gaze flicked uneasily over the masked man, then down toward the gloved hand resting on the counter.
"ID," he said flatly.
"I don't carry one." Luther's answer was as steady as stone.
"Then no room." The man's tone sharpened. Suspicion hardened in his eyes.
Lily stepped up next, her armored form drawing every inch of the clerk's unease. She slid an ID card across the counter, her voice firm.
"This is mine. Two rooms."
The man took the card, glanced at it, then back at her armor. His lips pressed thin.
"Can't rent to someone… dressed like that. Trouble follows people in costumes. Management rules."
Lily's fingers curled, Mjolnir's weight shifting at her side as her frustration mounted.
Before the tension could break, Freya moved forward. Her hood cast her features in partial shadow, but her voice—calm, lilting, touched with something that brushed against instinct—softened the edges of the air itself.
"Two rooms will be enough," she said, each word carrying quiet persuasion. "We'll be gone before morning. You won't even remember we were here."
The clerk blinked, his posture easing as if the resistance had drained from him. Almost without thought, he slid two keys across the counter.
"Second floor. End of the hall."
Freya accepted them with a faint smile, her charm sealing the matter. Without another word, the group moved on, leaving the clerk staring blankly after them, uncertain why he had argued in the first place.
The hallway smelled faintly of dust and old carpets. The rooms were simple, each with a single bed and nothing more.
Freya turned first, her gaze flicking toward Luther. "It would be better if you stayed here," she said, stepping into her room. "You and I can sleep without distraction."
Lily bristled instantly, the armored plates of her suit shifting as she moved. "No," she said, frustration clear. "He should stay with me. It's safer that way." Her grip tightened on Mjolnir as though the hammer itself supported her claim.
Luther's eyes lingered on her for a moment, his expression unreadable. The truth was, Lily was right—he would indeed be safer at her side. But staying with an underage girl would give the wrong impression.
"No," he said calmly. "I'll stay here with Freya."
For a moment, the air between them tensed. Lily's helmet tilted slightly away, her silence carrying the weight of unspoken protest. Freya, on the other hand, allowed the faintest curve of satisfaction to touch her lips as she stepped aside to let Luther in.
Authors note : if you find something wrong or have any suggestions you can put below the comment section