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Atlas Biotech – Penthouse
The Reality Stone was secured within the first layer of the Aegis Vault, a shimmering field of phased dimensions containing its chaotic hum. Sam stood before the project board, his gaze sweeping from the schematics of the HyperCell battery—a device that could power a city block for a decade—to the genetic sequences of the Genesis Serum, aimed at triggering a controlled, perfect human regeneration.
"AetherLink."
"Prioritize and execute all pending operations. You have full autonomous control. Finalize the HyperCell mass-production model and begin discreet market seeding. Advance the Genesis Serum to Phase II trials on the designated non-human primates. Continue all R&D threads for Project Aegis and Project Infinity. I will be offline."
Sam picked up a secure satellite phone, a mundane tool for a conversation that needed to seem normal. The line connected after a few rings, the sound of bustling city noise and distant samba music filling the background.
"Sam? Hey, little surprise to hear from you," Kyle's voice came through, cheerful. "You wouldn't believe the samples we're getting down here. The bio-prospecting is insane."
"I can imagine," Sam replied, his tone effortlessly shifting into the persona of the preoccupied CEO. "Listen, something's come up. A lead on a new, ultra-rare mineral deposit. The location is... extremely remote. I'm going to be completely off-grid for a bit. No sat-phone, no AetherLink. Maybe a week, maybe two."
"Off-grid? You?" Sam's father, came on the line, his voice laced with paternal concern. "Sam, are you sure that's safe? Where is this place, the middle of the Sahara?"
"Something like that," Sam said, a faint smile touching his lips as he looked out the window at the New York skyline. "The signal integrity where I'm going is zero. It's a total blackout zone. Don't worry if you don't hear from me. It means I'm on the verge of securing something that will make Atlas the only name in next-generation energy."
There was a pause on the other end. "Alright, son," David said, reluctantly. "Just... be careful. We'll hold down the fort. The Genesis Serum is looking promising, by the way. Very promising."
"Good. Keep me updated via message. I'll get them when I'm back in range. Take care of yourselves."
He ended the call, the casual lie settling into the air. It was a necessary layer of insulation, a thread of normalcy to maintain his cover.
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His preparations were not those of a standard explorer. He walked to a reinforced cabinet and retrieved a small, nondescript backpack. Into it, he placed only three items: a liter canteen of water, a single, high-calorie nutrient bar of his own design, and a slim data-slate containing the star charts for this universe, pirated from S.H.I.E.L.D., Asgard, and the Dark Elf navigational databases he had subconsciously scanned during the invasion.
He didn't need a spacesuit. His Transcendent body, and his authority over space, could withstand the void. He didn't need food; his metabolic processes could be suspended almost indefinitely. These items were contingencies, a nod to the logic of preparation, not necessity.
Slinging the pack over his shoulders, he stepped into the center of the room, where the shadows were deepest in the afternoon light.
"It's time," he said, to no one and everyone.
He didn't open a portal. He simply took a step, and the world dissolved into a tunnel of rushing darkness and silent, cold stars. It was not the violent, rainbow-hued travel of the Bifrost. It was a seamless transition, a folding of space that respected no distance.
He emerged into the absolute silence of the void. Below him, hanging in the blackness like a magnificent blue and white marble, was Earth. The Moon was a pockmarked giant to his left, its grey surface stark in the unfiltered sunlight. He was standing on nothing, in the vacuum between worlds, the planet's terminator line casting a sharp division between day and night on the surface below.
The experience was… tranquil. The cacophony of humanity was gone, replaced by the pure, silent music of orbital mechanics. He took a moment, not in awe, but in assessment. This was his neighborhood now.
He reached into the shadow cast by his own body—a profound darkness in the sunlit vacuum—and willed it to life.
The darkness pooled, expanded, and erupted. It was not a slow formation but an instantaneous summoning. From the void, a Raven was born. But it was a creature of myth and nightmare, its wingspan stretching nearly a kilometer. Its form was woven from solidified shadow and pinpricks of starlight, its eyes two pools of deepest space. It was the Shadow Monarch's Steed, a being designed not for planetary flight, but for sailing the solar winds.
Sam stepped onto its back, his feet finding purchase on the seemingly insubstantial form as if it were solid ground.
"The Greater Magellanic Cloud," Sam commanded, his voice a thought transmitted through their link. "There is a world there the Kree call 'Halfworld'. We will use it as a navigational waypoint before proceeding to Morag."
The colossal Raven gave a silent, psychic cry that would have shattered eardrums had there been an atmosphere to carry it. Then, it folded the space around itself. There was no burst of light, no fiery exhaust. The space in front of it compressed, and the space behind it expanded. With a silent, impossible lurch that defied physics, the raven and its passenger shot forward, achieving Faster-Than-Light travel not by moving through space, but by manipulating the fabric of space itself.
Earth and Moon shrank to insignificance in an instant, becoming just two more stars in the vast tapestry behind them. Sam Jackson stood unwavering on the back of the cosmic raven, a lone architect on a silent journey to claim the first stone in his gauntlet, leaving a sleeping Earth none the wiser.