"Congratulations."
Seeing Bucky eating with obvious satisfaction, Natasha Romanoff began eating as well. As for the possibility of poison—given her current level of physical conditioning, ordinary toxins would hardly affect her. Her body could convert most poisons into harmless substances—if not nutrients.
Bucky didn't react to her perfunctory congratulations. After all, his earlier actions had nearly killed her; he doubted she could be that magnanimous.
"What do you plan to do with me?" he asked after a moment, tossing the empty food wrapper into a nearby trash can.
"We want to make sure you're not a threat," Natasha replied evenly.
"And how exactly do you plan to ensure that?" Bucky's tone was calm, but his gaze was sharp. "Interrogation? Detention? Experiments? Memory scans?"
"If that's what you mean, then I'm sorry—I won't allow it. I've had enough of losing my freedom."
Freedom was something Bucky had fought hard to reclaim. He would never let anyone take it from him again. If they tried, he'd rather die fighting.
"We're not trying to imprison you," Natasha said, her voice softening. "But you know better than anyone—someone at your level of power could cause unimaginable damage. We need to be sure you won't."
"I don't trust anyone," Bucky said coldly. "Especially not anyone connected to the government."
He sneered, the bitterness in his voice obvious. He remembered all too well how HYDRA operatives had wormed their way into high-ranking positions—senators, generals, politicians—hiding behind masks of respectability while rotting from within.
Once, he had been a soldier, a patriot willing to fight for his country. But decades of betrayal had burned that faith to ashes.
To him, the government was nothing but a nest of devils—polished on the outside, monstrous within.
"We operate independently," Natasha countered. "Everyone on our team has been persecuted in the past. Our goal isn't control—it's containment. We deal with threats, nothing more."
Her gaze was sharp as a blade, but then softened again. "We just need to evaluate you. If you're willing."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then we'll handle it," she said after a pause, "at all costs."
Bucky chuckled quietly. 'At all costs,' huh? So that's how it is.
The air grew heavy between them for a long moment before Natasha broke the silence. "Did you escape on your own… or did they let you go?"
They both knew who "they" were.
"I broke the rules and paid for it," Bucky said simply. "I was lucky enough to survive—and to walk free."
Natasha said nothing, but the files left behind by Alexander Pierce, the fragments of missions, and what she'd learned from S.H.I.E.L.D. painted a rough picture. She could guess what kind of punishment he had endured—and why his body now seemed beyond human limits.
She didn't want to pry further. Some secrets weren't meant to be uncovered. The "Sanctuary" was a dangerous mystery, and she wasn't arrogant enough to challenge it.
As long as she could confirm that Bucky wasn't lying, that was enough.
After all, the Sanctuary would never have allowed a truly dangerous man to leave alive. His reappearance in New York was, in itself, tacit permission.
"Would you be willing to give up a month of your freedom?" Natasha asked finally.
"A month?" Bucky raised an eyebrow.
"Mm-hmm," Natasha nodded. "We'd evaluate you for one month."
She finished her food, crumpled the wrapper into a ball, and tossed it neatly into the trash.
"I know the way we've handled this feels… intrusive," she admitted. "But I'm sorry, Bucky. It's necessary."
Bucky fell silent, saying nothing more.
In a cold, dark chamber far across the stars, a towering figure with blue skin and black armor gripped a massive war hammer. His expression was unreadable as he stared down at the blue-skinned woman standing before him.
He was Ronan the Accuser, supreme enforcer of the Kree Empire.
As one of the empire's most feared military leaders, Ronan had risen swiftly through the ranks of the Accuser Corps—a force tasked with maintaining imperial law and enforcing its will across the galaxy. Appointed by the Supreme Intelligence itself, Ronan was both brilliant and brutal.
To him, the Kree Empire should dominate the stars—crushing the Skrulls, the Shi'ar, and the Nova Empire beneath its heel.
The recent peace treaty with the Nova Empire disgusted him. He saw it as weakness—an insult to his ancestors, who had all died fighting the Novans.
He wanted war. But even Ronan was not reckless. He knew open conflict would give his political rivals an excuse to strike.
And yet, the woman standing before him had brought astonishing news.
Thanos, the Mad Titan himself, wanted to make a deal.
If Ronan retrieved a mysterious artifact called the Cosmic Orb, Thanos would grant him the power to annihilate the Nova Empire.
Ronan didn't doubt the Titan's might. Thanos commanded no empire, yet his armies and fleets rivaled those of the greatest civilizations. To cross him was suicide.
On the holographic display, Nebula—Thanos's cybernetic lieutenant—projected the image of the glowing orb. Ronan stared at it, his expression cold and unreadable, but the pressure in the room grew suffocating.
Nebula smirked. "If you find it, your revenge will be granted. So… do we have a deal?"
Ronan gave no immediate answer. He didn't like being ordered around—but he wasn't foolish enough to challenge Thanos.
At length, he growled, "I'll put out a bounty. Whoever finds the Orb and brings it to me will be rewarded. Anyone who tries to keep it for themselves… will die."
"Yes, Accuser!" barked his adjutant.
Nebula's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Then we have an agreement. When the Cosmic Orb is found, I'll collect it personally."
Ronan ignored her and turned away. He knew she was there to spy for Thanos, but he didn't care. He had his own ambitions—and patience.
Before long, Ronan's bounty spread through every corner of the galaxy. Mercenaries, pirates, and treasure hunters all joined the mad scramble for the Cosmic Orb.
Among them was one man who actually found it.
A small orange-yellow spacecraft descended through a planet's dusty atmosphere, landing amid the ruins of a long-dead civilization.
The cockpit opened, and a man in worn leather armor stepped out—jet boots hissing as they touched the ground. He adjusted his mask, scanned the area with a handheld device, and grinned.
"Yeah… there you are, sweetheart."
Before him floated the Cosmic Orb, glowing faintly within a protective field of violet light.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "You're my ticket to a fortune."
Breaking through the energy barrier with practiced ease, he snatched the orb and tucked it into his satchel.
But before he could even celebrate, alarms on his scanner began to flash. Ships were approaching.
"Aw, come on!" he groaned. "Can't I have one easy job?"
He bolted for his ship—the Milano—and took off. Engines roared as the vessel soared into the sky.
Moments later, hostile ships appeared on radar, closing in fast.
"Heh. You guys picked the wrong outlaw to chase."
He slammed the throttle. "Let's dance! Name's Star-Lord, baby!"
The Milano shot forward like a comet, weaving between enemy fire with impossible precision. Lasers streaked past as Quill laughed wildly. His heart pounded—not with fear, but exhilaration.
Finally, he activated the jump drive, vanishing into hyperspace.
Some time later, the Milano emerged near a snowy, neutral world bustling with alien life. Quill landed, wrapped himself in a coat, and strolled into a cozy shop lined with wood and metal.
A middle-aged man with glasses looked up lazily from behind a desk. "If you're buying, make it quick. I'm about to close."
"Zaro," Quill said with a grin.
The man blinked—then smirked. "Well, if it isn't our famous Star-Lord, Mr. Quill. Haven't seen you in ages."
Quill rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Spare me the reunion speech." He pulled the Cosmic Orb from his bag and set it on the table.
Zaro froze. His gaze locked on the artifact. Slowly, he picked it up, studying it under the light.
"Kid…" he said at last, voice low. "I underestimated you."
Quill smirked. "Damn right you did. I'm about to be rich."
Zaro's expression darkened. "No, you're about to be dead."
"…What?"
Zaro sighed. "How the hell have you survived this long, Quill? Don't you realize how many major powers are hunting for this thing? The Shi'ar Empire, the Skrulls, the Nova Corps… even your old crew, the Ravagers—and your dear old dad, Yondu. Every last one of them wants that orb."
Quill blinked. "What does that have to do with me?"
End of Chapter)
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