The Present #21

As Nathan sat in the dimly lit jail cell, the cold metal of the bars was a stark contrast to the heat of his earlier rage. The first day had been a blur of anger and regret, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving only the raw sting of realization.

He had acted impulsively, letting his fury drive him into a reckless confrontation. What should have been a calculated path of retribution had turned into a blunt, self-destructive outburst. Instead of gathering intel, strategizing, and dismantling the network that had preyed upon Lily, he had allowed his emotions to expose him, tipping his hand to those who would now be watching him closely.

By the second day, the fire of his anger had cooled, replaced by a steely resolve. This incarceration was merely a delay, a temporary inconvenience, not a deterrent.

He had faced worse and survived. He would find a way out, he always did. But this time, he needed to be smarter, more measured. Nathan turned to an old companion, Meditations by Marcus Aurelius—a book that had traveled with him through the darkest chapters of his life.

The worn pages were a familiar refuge, their wisdom a steadying force.

As he sat on the cold bench, the dim overhead light casting shadows across the cell, Nathan leafed through the book, the Latin phrases bringing a sense of calm and clarity. Each word felt heavier, more profound, as if the stoic emperor himself was speaking directly to him.

Nathan had always clung to Aurelius' realism and pragmatism, finding solace in the emperor's stoic acceptance of life's hardships. But now, in the stillness of his confinement, he saw the cracks in his interpretation.

He had cherry-picked the philosophies that aligned with his own disillusionment, using them as a shield against the world, justifying his detachment and cynicism.

For years, Nathan had lived in a world where he anticipated the worst, where every action was a preemptive strike against potential pain. He had adhered to the grim outlook, believing it was better to expect nothing, to embrace the bleakness, and in doing so, he had robbed himself of hope, of meaning.

He had become a vessel of nihilism, where actions were performed not for purpose but as a means to stave off the ghosts of his past—the fire that had consumed his life, leaving him scarred in more ways than one.

But here, in this cell, he finally understood what he had missed. Aurelius did not preach hopelessness; he emphasized resilience, the importance of finding meaning even in suffering. Nathan had misunderstood this particular aspect and continuously made himself suffer through hardship through his years of service until it became a drug.

In the end, Nathan couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps everything had happened for a reason. The weight of Lily's death, the horrors she'd endured, and the countless lives affected by those sinister experiments loomed over him like a storm cloud.

He couldn't save her, nor the other children, but the flicker of purpose remained. He could prevent more tragedies, dismantle the systems that allowed such atrocities to thrive. The guilt and shame of his failures would never leave him, but he hoped that meaningful action might help him live with himself, even if only a little.

Several days passed, the monotony of confinement becoming a strange solace. It was during this lull that a familiar figure appeared at the edge of Nathan's cell, a shadow of the past emerging into the present.

Rick Mason. The freelance mercenary was a man of quiet efficiency and wide-reaching connections, his reputation stretching across intelligence agencies and mercenary networks worldwide. He was no ordinary gun for hire.

Rick and Nathan had a history forged in the fires of Operation Cerberus and Taskforce Thunderbolt. Their bond, though understated, was built on mutual survival—saving each other's lives when no one else could.

Nathan, already deep in the process of plotting his escape, looked up from his musings as Rick approached. The sharpness in Rick's gaze hadn't dulled, nor had his ability to assess a situation with unerring precision.

"Nate," Rick began, his voice low but firm, "you're about to do something reckless."

Nathan leaned back against the cold wall, arms crossed. "You've got a better idea?"

Rick didn't miss a beat. "I do. You can't tear down this house alone. General Ross? He's got the might of a whole damn country backing him, and you know he's not the only one pulling the strings. If we're going to stop this, we need to be smart. We need to do it the right way."

Nathan's jaw tightened, the urge to argue pressing against his resolve. But Rick was right. As much as Nathan wanted to unleash his fury, it wasn't a sustainable strategy. Not against someone as entrenched and well-protected as Ross.

Rick stepped closer, his tone softening but remaining resolute. "I've been digging. The things they did to those kids? It's worse than we thought. But there's a network behind it. Ross might be the face, but he's not the only one involved. We need to expose them, all of them, and take them down systematically. If you go off half-cocked, you'll get yourself killed. And nothing will change."

Nathan exhaled slowly, the weight of Rick's words settling in. His fists clenched at his sides, the internal battle raging between his need for vengeance and the cold, hard truth that vengeance alone wouldn't bring justice.

Rick continued, his voice steady. "We do this smart. Gather intel. Build a case. Use their own system against them. You've got allies, Nate. People who want to see this end as much as you do. But you've got to trust me on this."

For a long moment, Nathan said nothing, the only sound the faint hum of the overhead lights. His mind churned, weighing the risks, the potential outcomes. He had spent his life as a soldier, a weapon. But this? This required something more—a strategist, a tactician, someone who could think beyond the next move.

Though initially skeptical, Nathan found himself swayed by Rick's reasoning. His rage, though justified, needed to be channeled into something far more strategic than a reckless vendetta.

The first step in their plan was straightforward but essential: securing Nathan's freedom. Leveraging the vast network of connections they'd cultivated throughout their careers, they orchestrated a campaign of subtle influence. Whispers of potential whistleblowing on numerous unsanctioned operations and covert missions they had participated in rattled the right cages.

Nathan's court-martial proceeded swiftly, the charges of assault on General Ross severe on the surface but complicated by the undercurrents of classified information and political stakes.

With mounting pressure from behind the scenes and the specter of exposing covert programs, Nathan was found innocent of the most severe charges and honorably discharged.

His official record would show a decorated soldier whose service had come to a dignified end, but both Nathan and Rick knew this was merely the beginning.

With his freedom secured, they turned their attention to the next phase of their plan: establishing a base of operations. Thus, Maximus Security was born. Using funds Nathan had meticulously stashed away from his time running Bellucci's gang in his youth and supplemented by their vast global connections, the security company came to life.

On the surface, it was a reputable private security firm, but beneath that veneer, it was a mercenary band, ready to take on the darkest corners of the world.

Rick became the public face of Maximus Security, his charismatic presence and polished reputation opening doors and securing contracts. Meanwhile, Nathan worked from the shadows, delving into the murky waters of intelligence and subterfuge, relentlessly investigating those responsible for Lily's suffering and untimely death.

Their enemies were vast and varied, split across two significant fronts. On one side stood General Ross, a powerful figure in the military-industrial complex, flanked by an array of military leaders, politicians, and scientists, each complicit in the clandestine experiments that had cost Lily her life.

These were the architects of sanctioned brutality, hiding behind the facade of national security and progress.

On the other side were the rogue elements, those who operated outside even the loose confines of legality, driven by personal ambition and a thirst for power. Chief among them were two formidable figures: Sebastian Shaw and Nathaniel Essex.

Shaw, a man of immense influence, helmed the Hellfire Club, a secretive society that thrived on manipulation, wealth, and mutant supremacy. His power wasn't just in his physical strength but in his capacity to play the long game, using his considerable resources to bend the world to his will.

Then there was Nathaniel Essex, known to most as Mr. Sinister—a name whispered with dread in the shadows of mutantkind. A geneticist of unparalleled brilliance and a man with a penchant for manipulation, Essex was as enigmatic as he was dangerous.

He operated from the darkest corners of the scientific community, weaving a web of genetic experimentation and exploitation that rivaled even Shaw's machinations.

As Nathan pieced together the identities of his enemies, the next step was clear: devise plans to drag them into the light, expose their monstrous deeds, and dismantle their power before delivering the final blow. With his deep knowledge of the Marvel Cinematic Universe and fragments of the comics, Nathan knew that taking down General Ross and his cohort of military leaders and politicians would be the simpler task.

Ross had always walked a fine line, balancing between national hero and ruthless operator. His past was riddled with unsanctioned experiments and covert operations, the kind of activities that, when brought to light, would crumble even the most robust careers.

Nathan's plan hinged on exploiting Ross's greatest weakness: his dirty secrets. All Nathan needed was the right people to unearth his own past, a breadcrumb trail that would lead directly to Ross and the atrocities he had sanctioned.

This is where Nick Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. came into the picture. Nathan's recent stunt—intercepting Fisk's thugs and seizing the Chitauri tech—was more than just an operation to secure advanced alien devices for his own arsenal.

It was a calculated move, designed to catch S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention. Nathan knew Fury's penchant for sniffing out potential threats and valuable assets. By dangling bits of intelligence about future dangers, Nathan could subtly draw S.H.I.E.L.D. into his web, gradually aligning them with his ultimate goal, and goad them into investigating his past further.

The endgame was clear: leverage S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources and influence to take down Ross, ensuring the general's downfall was both public and absolute.

However, the other culprits; Sebastian Shaw and Nathaniel Essex posed a far greater challenge. Their operations were shrouded in layers of secrecy, hidden within the darkest corners of society. Shaw's Hellfire Club thrived in plain sight, its members cloaked in the guise of respectable elites.

Essex, on the other hand, lurked in the shadows as Mr. Sinister, his genius and malevolence making him a nearly untouchable figure in the world of genetic experimentation.

Locating them was a challenge in itself, let alone exposing them. Every lead Nathan followed seemed to dissolve into the ether, leaving him to chase whispers and shadows.

They had perfected the art of invisibility, blending their nefarious deeds into the fabric of society so seamlessly that unearthing their true nature seemed an insurmountable task.

And yet, Nathan was undeterred. His current alliance with Silver Sable and her mercenary outfit, tasked with taking down the Foreigner, was part of a broader strategy.

The operation wasn't just about neutralizing a high-value target; it was also about securing the Muramasa Blade. This legendary weapon, capable of nullifying regenerative abilities, was the key to defeating Essex, whose regenerative healing factor rendered most conventional attacks useless.

As for Nathan's interest in the Foreigner's employer, it was far from casual. It was rooted in the target of the mission and the staggering resources at play. The operation was meticulously orchestrated, the kind that could only be commissioned by someone with both a vendetta and the means to execute such an elaborate scheme.

Both Shaw and Essex fit the bill. Each had compelling reasons to see Wolverine dead, and both wielded enough power and wealth to buy out an entire island's population just to lay a trap for him, or to coerce the Foreginer into doing it somehow.

Nathan had hoped to pry more information from the Foreigner, to uncover which of the two had pulled the strings. Yet, the man had proven infuriatingly resilient, even as his world crumbled around him.

He remained steadfast in his refusal to divulge any details about his employer, going so far as to bite his own tongue to ensure his silence. The act left Nathan with little more than a corpse in a chair, its mouth still trickling blood—a grim testament to the Foreigner's stubborn resolve.

Frustration gnawed at Nathan as he cast one final glance at the lifeless body.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. The Foreigner's silence had left him with a puzzle piece missing, one that he desperately needed to complete the picture.

The only thing he knew for sure was that the Foreigner's client wasn't a client in the traditional sense. The entire operation had been coerced, the Foreigner compelled to use his own funds to see it through.

Nathan exhaled sharply, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. "If I want to find any leads on who's behind this," he thought grimly, "I'll need to stick close to the X-Men."

It was clear that whoever ordered the hit on Wolverine had someone on the inside of the X-Men team, or someone capable of monitoring them closely. Nathan would do whatever needed to be done to find out who.

...

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