The Art of Persuasion #39

The room was dark, silent, the kind of silence that stretched too long, pressing down on the senses.

Then—the lights flared on, harsh and blinding.

Nathan didn't flinch this time. He had been expecting it.

The door before him slid open with an eerily smooth hiss, and Wolfgang von Strucker stepped inside, the sharp sound of his polished boots against the sterile floor echoing in the small chamber.

Nathan tilted his head slightly, watching. Strucker was composed, calculated, the kind of man who didn't like to get his hands dirty—which made it all the more interesting that he was here instead of sending in another one of his lackeys.

A power move.

Or maybe a mistake.

Strucker clasped his hands behind his back, his cold, analytical gaze sweeping over Nathan as if he were some specimen under a microscope.

"Must we really do this the hard way?" Strucker said smoothly, as if discussing business over dinner.

"This—" he gestured vaguely to the bruises, the dried blood at the corner of Nathan's mouth, "—is unnecessary. Tell me what I want to know, and we can part ways."

Nathan gave him a slow, lazy smirk. "Is that right? Just like that?"

Strucker nodded, voice even. "You have my word. No tricks, no games."

Nathan chuckled, shaking his head. "Your word?" His eyes locked onto Strucker's with amusement. "Forgive me if I don't find that particularly reassuring."

Strucker merely sighed, as if disappointed.

"You and I are not so different, Mr. Cross," he said. "Menskill, of intellect, wasted under the banner of fools who failed to appreciate them. But it doesn't have to be this way. You know what HYDRA is capable of." He took a slow step forward, voice dipping lower. "We could give you everything you've ever wanted."

Nathan's smile remained, but his eyes sharpened. "Everything I want?" he echoed, as if mulling it over. Then his expression turned cold.

"If I can't take it for myself, then it's meaningless."

The moment those words left his mouth, his muscles coiled—and he moved.

Snap.

The weakened restraints shattered in an instant, metal fragments scattering across the floor.

Strucker's eyes widened—and then he reached for his gun.

Nathan lunged. A sharp crack echoed as Strucker's sidearm cleared the holster, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Bang.

But the bullet never reached its mark. The Floater—invisible and waiting—intercepted it mid-air, shifting into solid form for only a split second as the round flattened against its surface.

Strucker had a fraction of a second to process what had just happened before Nathan was on him.

He wrenched the pistol from Strucker's grasp, twisting the older man's wrist with a brutal efficiency that drew a sharp hiss of pain. In one fluid motion, Nathan pivoted behind him, locking an arm around his throat while jamming the stolen gun against his ribs.

Strucker stiffened, his breath coming quick and shallow.

"Now then... where were we?" Nathan muttered against his ear.

For the first time since stepping into the room, Strucker looked genuinely unsettled. His breath was measured, but Nathan could feel the slight, involuntary tensing of his muscles, the stiffness in his stance.

Still, the old snake kept his composure.

"You're making a mistake," Strucker said smoothly, his tone laced with condescension. "There are dozens of trained operatives outside this room. That pistol won't do you much good."

Nathan let out a low chuckle, his grip on Strucker's neck tightening slightly. "Maybe. But I've got you." He smirked. "And something tells me this shiny bald head of yours is worth something around here, right?"

Strucker merely shook his head, his expression shifting into something between amusement and pity. "If you think that, then you're a bigger fool than I thought."

He took a measured breath, about to continue, but Nathan cut him off.

"A Hydra has many heads," Nathan said, voice dripping with mockery.

Strucker's lips barely parted before Nathan finished the saying for him.

"Cut one down, two grow in its place… yeah, yeah, I've heard the slogan." He grinned, tilting his head. "But word on the street is, you guys are running a little short on heads these days. So I'll take my chances."

Strucker's expression remained calm, but something in his eyes had changed. A flicker of calculation.

"It's your funeral."

Nathan didn't even acknowledge the comment.

"Time to put you to work," he said instead, adjusting his grip. "First things first—where's my gear?"

Silence.

Strucker's jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Nathan could see it—the quiet defiance, the decision forming in his head. Strucker wasn't going to talk.

Fine.

Nathan frowned, then suddenly spun Strucker around to face him, his grip firm on the older man's neck. With a deliberate motion, he jammed the barrel of the pistol against Strucker's crotch and—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots.

The gun fired on the ground, but Strucker still flinched violently. The sheer force of the close-range recoil against such a sensitive area sent a violent tremor through his body. He let out a strangled gasp, his knees nearly buckling.

Before he could even recover, Nathan moved again.

He slammed the scorching barrel of the pistol against Strucker's cheek, just beneath his eye.

A sickening sizzle filled the room.

Strucker's restrained grunt of pain twisted into a sharp, guttural scream as the heat burned into his skin, the acrid smell of seared flesh filling the air.

Nathan held him steady, his grip on Strucker's neck like a steel vice, keeping him from jerking away. He leaned in, voice low and even, almost conversational.

"I'm gonna ask again. And if I don't like your answer, I'll empty the clip and stick the barrel up your asshole."

He let the words sink in.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he pressed the pistol back under Strucker's crotch.

"Now," Nathan said, his tone devoid of humor. "Where's my gear?"

Strucker let out a slow, pained exhale, his breath still ragged from the burn seared into his cheek. He clenched his jaw but finally spoke. "Your gear is in the armory," he said, voice carefully neutral. "I can take you there."

Nathan arched an eyebrow, his grip on the pistol unwavering. "That's surprisingly forthcoming of you," he mused. "Now tell me—what else is waiting for me in the armory besides my gear?"

Strucker remained silent for a beat, but when he finally responded, there was no hesitation. "Protocol dictates that in the event of an escape attempt, all armed personnel are to regroup in the armory."

Nathan's smirk widened."So you're telling me that everyone I need to kill will be gathered in one place?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Convenient."

Strucker didn't reply.

Nathan nudged him forward with the gun. "Let's go, then. Open the door."

Strucker reached out, pressing his palm against the smooth surface of the wall. There was a faint, almost imperceptible chime, followed by the quiet hiss of hidden mechanisms shifting. A seam appeared in the wall, widening as a section slid away seamlessly, revealing the corridor beyond.

Nathan's eyes flicked around the hallway as they stepped out.

It was sterile and cold, all smooth metal and harsh white lighting. The walls were lined with evenly spaced panels, some of which looked like they could slide open just like the door behind them. The entire design was sleek, minimalistic, too clean—the kind of place built for efficiency, not comfort.

Nathan's gaze immediately locked onto the door directly across from them—an identical panel to the one they'd just stepped through.

Another room.

Another prisoner.

He glanced at Strucker, his voice laced with curiosity. "How many people are you keeping here?"

Strucker didn't so much as blink. "This isn't a prison," he replied, his tone eerily composed despite the burns on his face. "This is a research facility. You and one other are the only prisoners."

Nathan's jaw tightened slightly. A research facility.

That could mean a lot of things, and none of them were good. His gaze flickered back to the closed door. "And who's my cellmate?"

Strucker hesitated. It was only for a fraction of a second, a brief flicker of reluctance in his otherwise composed expression—but Nathan caught it.

"It's just some scientist," Strucker finally said, his voice carefully neutral.

Nathan's frown deepened. "Just some scientist, huh?" He tightened his grip slightly around Strucker's throat, his tone laced with skepticism. "Open the door. Let's see for ourselves."

Strucker exhaled sharply through his nose but did as instructed, pressing his palm against a panel on the wall. With a quiet chime, the door opposite them slid open, revealing a room almost identical to Nathan's own.

A stark white box.

No windows, no excess furnishings—just a simple bed and a metal table. And standing at that table, hunched slightly as he worked on something small and metallic, was the prisoner.

A man in a lab coat.

He was bald, with a sharply pointed head and a pair of thick glasses perched on his long, thin nose. His fingers, nimble and precise, paused mid-movement as he registered the sound of the door opening. Slowly, he turned to face them.

His gaze landed on Nathan, who stood behind Strucker, keeping him in a firm headlock while holding a pistol to his ribs.

The scientist blinked. Once. Twice. Then, in a calm, measured voice, he said, "Well, that's new."

Nathan wasted no time. "Why are you here?"

The scientist smirked, adjusting his glasses with a flick of his fingers. "My genius, of course." He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as though the entire situation was more of an inconvenience than a life-threatening ordeal. "These cavemen kidnapped me, dragged me here, and put me to work making weapons for them. Utterly barbaric."

Nathan studied him for a moment before speaking. "Well, I'm breaking out of here. You in?"

The man scoffed, crossing his arms. "Hell no."

Nathan's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Why not?"

The scientist gestured vaguely toward the corridor outside. "Because I'm not stupid. There are dozens of heavily armed men out there, all probably looking to kill you already—and by extension, anyone dumb enough to stand next to you. No offense, of course."

Nathan actually smiled at that, shaking his head in amusement. "Fair enough." He stepped back, keeping a firm grip on Strucker as he moved toward the doorway. "But sit tight. I'll be back for you once I've killed everyone here."

The scientist chuckled, leaning back against the table. "Right. Well… good luck with that."

His tone was filled with amused skepticism, as though he had already accepted Nathan's imminent demise.

Nathan just grinned. "I won't need it."

With that, he shoved Strucker forward, forcing him back into the hallway as the door slid shut behind them.

As they moved down the hallway, Nathan kept his grip firm on Strucker, guiding him forward with the muzzle of the pistol pressed against his spine. The corridor was sterile and cold, the white walls giving it an almost surgical feel.

The only sound was the faint hum of the facility's ventilation system and the soft tap of their footsteps against the floor.

After a few moments of silence, Nathan spoke. "So, who's the egghead? What kind of scientist is he?"

Strucker didn't answer right away, his head tilting slightly as though considering whether to respond. Eventually, he sighed. "His name is Elihas Starr."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. The name didn't ring any bells. "And?"

Strucker continued, his tone clipped but informative. "His expertise extends to many fields—biology, nuclear physics, robotics, electronics, engineering."

Nathan let out a low whistle, keeping his expression neutral but making a mental note. "So, a proper genius."

He didn't recognize the name or the face, but if HYDRA had gone through the trouble of kidnapping him and keeping him here, then Starr was definitely someone important.

Maybe some long-forgotten scientist from the Marvel movies or comics—he wasn't sure. He didn't remember every obscure name from the fiction he used to know. But that wasn't the priority now.

What mattered was that HYDRA wanted Starr for his mind, which meant whatever he was building for them had to be dangerous.

Nathan glanced toward the door they had left behind, filing away the information for later. He'd deal with Starr once he was done painting this entire facility with HYDRA blood.

For now, there was only one thing on his mind. Getting his gear back.

Nathan nudged Strucker forward. "Move. And no sudden heroics, or you won't live long enough to regret them."

Strucker said nothing. He simply walked, leading Nathan further into the heart of the facility.

...

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