Armed & Dangerous #42

Starr slowed his pace. Then, after a moment, he turned his head just enough to glance at Nathan, something strange flickering behind his eyes.

Starr didn't stop walking as he spoke, his voice carrying a detached, almost amused tone, as if recounting someone else's misfortunes.

"You see, I was working on a project for a certain company… classified, heavy government involvement." He waved a hand vaguely. "Not exactly a passion of mine, just something to pay the bills."

Nathan kept stride beside him, silent, listening.

Starr's lips curled in a small, self-deprecating smirk. "Except it didn't pay well enough for me to work on my actual passions." His tone turned sheepish as he added, "So, as one does, I requisitioned a portion of our research results and put it on auction for the highest bidder."

Nathan gave him a long, flat look. "Yes. As one does."

Starr cleared his throat, as if trying to maintain some level of dignity.

"In any case," he pressed on, "I quickly discovered that I lacked the talent for such bold endeavors. Turns out, selling classified tech isn't as simple as listing it on an auction site. Who knew?"

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his bald head. "I took the money, but instead of celebrating, I found myself labeled a traitor and a wanted man. Government agencies, corporate watchdogs, other interested parties—suddenly, everyone wanted a piece of me."

His smirk thinned. "I tried to get out of the country. That… ended poorly."

Nathan crossed his arms, his expression unapologetically judgmental. "What a tragedy."

Starr rolled his eyes.

They walked in silence for a moment before Nathan exhaled and shook his head. "And?" he asked. "What exactly did Hydra have you working on?"

Starr let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers absently adjusting his cuffs as if discussing something far less consequential.

"Two things." He lifted a single finger before tilting his head. "First, they wanted me to figure out how to process a certain metal, which I strongly suspect is of extraterrestrial origin. Vibranium, they called it."

Nathan's expression remained unreadable, but he was listening intently.

"The second," Starr continued, raising another finger, "was to complete the research of some long-dead Nazi scientist on nanotechnology. Apparently, Hydra has a fondness for unfinished projects."

Nathan's frown deepened. "And did you succeed?"

A smug smile tugged at the corners of Starr's lips. "But of course. I'm not your average self-proclaimed genius, after all."

Nathan's expression darkened. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto Starr like a blade pressing against his throat. "So you're telling me," he said slowly, "that you just handed Hydra the keys to processing Vibranium and nanotechnology?"

Starr had the audacity to look offended. He waved a dismissive hand. "I might lack the acumen for business endeavors, but I am most certainly not stupid." He scoffed. "You think I'd just gift them those discoveries? Please. I hid my successes from those Nazi cavemen."

His voice carried a trace of amusement, but there was a glint of calculation in his eyes. "Who knew if they'd kill me the moment I outlived my usefulness? Or worse?"

Nathan let out a slow, measured sigh."At least you're not completely stupid."

Starr chuckled, the sound dry and bitter. "That's something to be thankful for, at least..."

They continued walking, the sterile halls stretching ahead. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows across the floor.

Nathan's pace slowed, his thoughts drifting into a calculated silence. Something was brewing in his mind.

They walked in silence for a moment, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. Then, without warning, Nathan came to a halt.

"Let's say I can get you exonerated," he said, his voice casual but deliberate. "Clear your record, wipe away that 'traitor' label, and set you up with a job—one that pays well enough for you to work on whatever passion project you want in your free time."

He let the words hang for a second before tilting his head. "What would you say to that?"

Starr gave him a long, scrutinizing look, his expression skeptical.

"I'd say you're full of shit, my friend," he said bluntly. But then he hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. "Then again… that's what I thought when you told me you'd kill everyone here and come back to set me free. Yet, here we are."

Nathan grinned, a sharp, knowing smile. "Well, I don't talk out of my ass. I can clear your name and put you on my payroll." His tone shifted, sharpening. "But there's a catch."

Starr smirked, arching a brow. "There's always a catch. Let's hear it."

Nathan lifted what remained of his right arm, his sleeve torn and bloodstained, the floater still wrapped tightly around the stump.

"You just have to impress me." He flexed his remaining fingers, rolling his shoulder as if testing his balance. "I happen to be short an arm… and we happen to be standing in a perfectly functional lab, with the perfect material for a replacement just lying around."

Starr's eyes flicked to the injured limb, then back to Nathan's face. Slowly, he rubbed his chin. "A Vibranium prosthetic, then?" He exhaled, nodding to himself. "Sounds easy enough..."

...

Several Days Later – New York

Rick Mason stepped out of the Maximus Security headquarters, his expression unreadable. Flanking him were five of the company's employees, all former U.S. Army Rangers—men who moved with the kind of quiet, controlled awareness that came from years of combat experience.

They walked with him in tight formation, scanning the area as a black Jeep pulled up to the curb. One of them reached for the door, but before anyone could get in, a voice cut through the air.

"Mason!"

The five men tensed instantly, hands shifting toward their concealed weapons. Their movements were subtle, efficient—trained responses drilled into them through years of dangerous work. But before they could escalate the situation, Rick turned, raising a hand in a casual but firm motion.

"Stand down," he said, his tone even.

His men hesitated for only a second before easing off, though their eyes remained locked on the approaching figure. Rick exhaled through his nose, already recognizing the voice.

Steve Rogers.

The man himself strode toward them with his usual purposeful gait, the kind that made it clear he wasn't here for small talk. The sight of Captain America outside Maximus Security's HQ was enough to turn a few heads from passersby, but Steve didn't seem to care. He stopped in front of Rick, eyes sharp with intent.

Rick adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, his posture relaxed despite the tension lingering in the air.

"What is it, Rogers?" he asked, cutting straight to the point. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

Steve, unbothered by the bluntness, held his gaze. "This is something you'll want to hear."

Rick said nothing, waiting.

"We found him."

The words were simple, but they carried weight. Rick's expression didn't shift, but Steve caught the barely perceptible flicker of interest in his eyes.

"We traced Nathan's kidnappers to a private airstrip," Steve continued. "There were no official records of the flight that took him, but we managed to identify the aircraft. We're tracking residual fuel signatures and engine heat markers—should give us an exact location of where it landed in less than an hour."

Rick let out a thoughtful hum, tilting his head slightly. Then, to Steve's mild surprise, he shook his head and gave a half-smirk. "Bit late for that."

Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"

Rick pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking the screen with a tap.

"Nathan called me half an hour ago." He glanced up, eyes sharp with amusement. "The son of a bitch freed himself a couple of days ago, but he waited until now to ask for an extraction for whatever reason."

Steve exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Guess we were worried over nothing."

Rick, however, didn't share the sentiment. His expression darkened, and his voice carried a sharp edge as he replied, "Speak for yourself." His jaw tightened. "I was never worried—just pissed off. Understandably so, considering SHIELD's absolute lack of professionalism."

Steve remained silent, letting him vent.

"Leaking intel, getting Nathan kidnapped—" Rick scoffed, shaking his head. "You'd think an organization full of spies would know how to keep its damn mouth shut."

Steve took the hit without flinching. He'd been expecting that reaction, and truth be told, he didn't disagree. SHIELD's operational security had more holes than it should've. Still, there was no point in dwelling on what had already happened.

"Regardless," he said, voice steady, "I'm coming with you."

Rick frowned. "Why, exactly? Like I said, Nathan freed himself. This is a simple extraction—we don't need the extra muscle."

Steve shook his head. "SHIELD screwed up. We got him kidnapped. The least I can do is give him an apology."

Rick didn't look convinced.

Steve hesitated for a second, then added, "And… there's something I need to discuss with him. ASAP."

Rick studied him for a beat, expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, he exhaled and gave a slow nod.

"Alright, fine." He turned toward the Jeep, opening the door. "Better pack your winter gear, Rogers." He glanced back over his shoulder, smirking slightly. "We're going to Siberia."

...

The room was a cold, sterile expanse of reinforced metal and dim overhead lighting, designed for one purpose: pushing technology to its limits. A dozen observation cameras lined the walls, their lenses tracking Nathan's every movement.

Across one side of the chamber, dormant combat dummies stood in neat rows, their surfaces scuffed from prior tests. Above it all, a wide control booth overlooked the space, where Elihas Starr stood behind a bank of monitors, adjusting various controls with a flick of his fingers.

Nathan flexed his new right arm experimentally, feeling the faint, almost imperceptible hum of energy coursing beneath its Vibranium shell. It was smooth yet unnaturally light, its surface shifting subtly as the nanotech responded to his thoughts.

A test punch sent a sharp crack echoing through the chamber as his fist struck the reinforced floor, leaving a noticeable dent.

"Alright, let's start with the basics," Starr's voice crackled through the speakers. "Give me a couple of swings—normal speed, no enhancements."

Nathan exhaled and rolled his shoulders. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he lashed out with his new arm, throwing a punch toward the nearest training dummy. The impact was clean, precise—much like his old arm, but with a bit more weight behind it.

"Good. Now let's push it a little. Try a hit with enhanced force."

Nathan focused, and the nanites embedded in the Vibranium stirred to life, feeding raw energy into his movements. He launched another strike—this time, the moment his fist connected, a kinetic pulse detonated outward.

The training dummy was obliterated, sent flying across the room in a twisted heap of metal and shattered plating.

"…Hah. That's satisfying," Nathan muttered.

"I'd hope so," Starr replied dryly. "Alright, moving on. Let's test the shape-shifting functions. Try forming a blade."

Nathan clenched his fist and concentrated. The nanites surged, responding to his neural commands, and the smooth Vibranium surface of his arm shifted. A sleek, curved blade extended from his forearm, its edge gleaming under the overhead lights.

"Very nice. The edge is monomolecular—you could cut through most conventional armor with ease. Try it out."

Without hesitation, Nathan spun on his heel and slashed. The blade sliced effortlessly through the next combat dummy, carving a diagonal gash clean through its torso. Sparks flew as the upper half slid off and clattered to the floor.

"Effective," Nathan mused.

"Effective?" Starr scoffed. "That thing's more than effective—it's surgical. Now, let's see the energy projection."

Nathan dismissed the blade with a thought, and the nanites receded into his arm. Then, he extended his palm forward. A moment later, a faint glow built at his fingertips—then a pulse of concentrated energy exploded from his palm, carving a molten scar into the far wall.

"Hell," Nathan muttered, shaking out his arm. The energy pulsing through it felt… effortless, like second nature.

"Yes, quite satisfying, isn't it?" Starr said, clearly pleased. "Now, this next feature is my personal favorite. The auto-counter system."

Nathan raised a brow. "Auto-counter?"

"Ah, yes. Think of it as—what's the term? A 'built-in fight prediction algorithm.' Your neural links allow the arm to react independently when enabled. You could block, counter, or strike before your conscious mind even catches up."

"…That sounds like something I'd like to toggle off unless absolutely necessary."

"Yes, yes, hence the toggle function. But humor me and turn it on. I'd like to see it in action."

Nathan sighed but complied, focusing on the neural interface. The moment he activated the feature, he felt a subtle shift—as if his perception of movement had sharpened, reactions heightening beyond what was naturally possible.

Starr tapped a command, and three combat drones detached from the walls, their servos whirring to life. They moved fast—almost too fast, launching coordinated strikes meant to test his reflexes.

But Nathan didn't need to react.

The moment the first drone lunged, his arm moved on its own, deflecting the attack before countering with a brutal backhand that sent the machine flying. The second came in from the side—before Nathan could consciously respond, his arm shifted again, a short blade forming at the elbow and impaling the drone mid-strike.

The third tried to back off, but Nathan's arm had already recalibrated. A flash of energy burst from his palm, disintegrating the target in a flash of light.

The whole engagement lasted less than five seconds.

Nathan exhaled and rolled his shoulder, the nanites seamlessly adjusting back into their default form. "That… was different."

Starr let out an impressed chuckle. "Different? That was damn near beautiful. You see now why I call it my finest work?"

Nathan flexed his fingers, feeling the raw potential humming just beneath the surface. His new arm wasn't just a replacement—it was an advantage. A damn good one.

"Alright, Starr. You impressed me." He smirked, glancing up toward the control booth. "Consider yourself hired."

...

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