A Fate Worst Than Death #50

The meeting spot was carefully chosen—an abandoned industrial lot on the outskirts of the city, a place where secrets could be exchanged without prying eyes. The air was thick with the scent of rust and oil, the dim glow of a single floodlight casting long shadows over cracked pavement.

Nathan stepped out of his car, hands in his pockets, his gaze settling on the group waiting for him. Captain America stood at the forefront, his posture as steady and unyielding as ever. Behind him, a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents flanked a restrained man—Samuel Sterns.

Even under the harsh artificial light, Sterns' features were unmistakable. His enlarged cranium gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat, veins pulsing unnaturally against his skin. He wore an advanced set of restraints, thick bands of metal wrapped around his wrists and neck, likely laced with some kind of suppression tech.

If he was concerned about his predicament, he didn't show it. Instead, he smirked, eyes flicking toward Nathan with mild amusement.

Steve took a step forward, arms crossed over his chest. "We brought Sterns, as agreed," he said, voice level. "But I need to hear what you've got before I decide if this trade is worth it."

Nathan met his gaze evenly. "Fair enough," he said. "Let's talk about the Mandarin."

Steve frowned slightly but gestured for him to continue.

Nathan took a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. "A man went on live television, called himself the Mandarin—claimed to be the leader of the Ten Rings. He took responsibility for the bombing at the air base in Kuwait, as well as a handful of other incidents that seemed to specifically target the U.S. government."

Steve's expression didn't change. "I know," he said. "That's nothing new."

Nathan tilted his head. "Yeah, here's the kicker—he's not the Mandarin, heck this specific Mandarin doesn't even exist. He's not even a terrorist. He's a patsy. Just an actor playing a role, paid to mislead the entire world."

That got a reaction. One of the agents behind Steve exchanged a glance with his colleague, while Sterns chuckled softly, clearly entertained by the revelation. Steve, however, remained unreadable, his blue eyes studying Nathan with quiet intensity.

"Do you have proof?" Steve asked, his tone careful.

Nathan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Not the kind that'd hold up in court," he admitted. "But I know it's true. The guy's a fraud. His name is Trevor Slattery, a failed actor, and an addict. The real question isn't who he is—it's why someone would go through the trouble of putting him in the spotlight."

Steve considered this for a long moment before asking, "Then who is responsible for the attacks? And if this Mandarin's a fake, what are these attacks really about?"

Nathan's jaw tightened. "That's the problem," he said. "I don't know who's behind them. But I do know this—these weren't planned strikes. They weren't coordinated terrorist attacks." He looked Steve dead in the eye. "They were accidents. Most of them, at least."

Silence hung heavy between them. The agents stiffened, glancing at each other with uncertainty. Sterns' smirk deepened.

Steve's brows furrowed. "Accidents?" he repeated, skepticism creeping into his tone.

Nathan exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he took a step closer. "They're not the kind of accidents you'd expect," he said, his tone measured but firm. He locked eyes with Steve. "Think about it. There were no consistent targets, no clear motive—except for the bullshit story the fake Mandarin is trying to sell. Terrorists don't operate like that. If this were some extremist organization, there'd be a pattern. A message. A goal."

Steve crossed his arms. "That's hardly anything to go by."

Nathan inclined his head. "Agreed. Which is why I dug deeper. Went through every report I could find on similar incidents. You know what they all had in common?" He let the question hang in the air for a beat before answering. "No trace of an explosive device. Not one."

Steve's brows pulled together. "What are you trying to say?"

Nathan let out a breath. "I'm saying I can't help you any more than I already have. If you want real answers, you need an expert—someone who can analyze the evidence and figure out what really happened." He held Steve's gaze. "That'll be the key to solving this mystery."

Steve studied him for a long moment before sighing, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "Alright," he said. "I'll look into it. But if this turns out to be some kind of ruse, or if you're playing a game here…" His voice lowered slightly. "You and I are gonna have a serious conversation later."

Nathan smirked faintly. "I'd expect nothing less." His expression softened just a fraction before he added, "My word is my bond."

Despite his words, Nathan knew exactly who was behind these attacks. He knew about A.I.M, Aldrich Killian, and his plan to hijack the anti-terrorism movement and replace the current president with someone who was already in his pocket, but he had no intention of revealing any more intel.

Not only would revealing too much make him the subject of doubt, but it would also ruin his chances of profiting from the situation even more. Getting Samuel Stern and the perfected formula of Extremis was one thing, but Nathan had his eyes on yet another prize, several of them, actually. 

Steve didn't respond immediately, but there was a flicker of consideration in his eyes. He gave a slight nod, then shifted his stance.

"How's Bucky doing?" Nathan asked, changing the subject.

That seemed to catch Steve off guard, but after a brief pause, his features eased. "Xavier's doing good work with him," he said. "He's not completely free of HYDRA's conditioning, but he's getting there. He has moments of clarity."

Nathan hummed in acknowledgment. "How long do they think it'll take?"

Steve exhaled, glancing down for a second before meeting Nathan's gaze again. "Xavier figures maybe another week or two, and he'll be as good as new."

Nathan gave a small nod. "That's good to hear."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Steve's lips. "He's also been asking about you, you know" he admitted. "Wants to meet the guy who helped pull him out of that HYDRA base."

Nathan exhaled through his nose, glancing away briefly before looking back at Steve. "If the opportunity arises, maybe. But for now, I'm gonna be… extremely busy."

Steve studied him for a moment before nodding. "I get it." His voice held no judgment—just understanding.

Nathan's smirk lingered as he shook his head slightly. "You always do," he said to Steve. Then, with a casual shift of his gaze, he turned to Sterns. "But if you'll excuse me… I need a word with my future star employee."

Steve didn't say anything, just gave him a nod before turning to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents behind him, signaling them to step back. They hesitated for only a moment before complying, loosening their formation around Sterns.

Nathan strode toward the restrained scientist, who had been watching the exchange with an amused smirk. That smirk didn't waver even as Nathan reached out, gripping the sleek, metallic device binding Sterns' wrists. Then, with a casual squeeze of his Vibranium fingers, the restraint crumpled like foil before snapping apart and clattering to the ground in useless pieces.

Sterns arched an eyebrow, flexing his freed fingers. "Impressive," he mused. "Was that supposed to intimidate me?"

Nathan gave him a dismissive wave. "It was supposed to save time."

Sterns rubbed his wrists idly, his amusement never quite fading. "Oh? And do you have something more advanced to replace it with?" He tilted his head, watching Nathan with mild curiosity. "After all, aren't you supposed to be my new jailor?"

Nathan chuckled. "Not at all. I'm here to offer you employment—with considerable benefits, I might add. And more importantly…" He took a step closer, lowering his voice slightly. "I've got some rather exciting research that could use your considerable intellect."

Sterns regarded him for a moment, intrigued but unconvinced. "And why, pray tell, would I accept such an offer?"

Nathan's grin widened. "Because we both want the same man dead." He let the words settle before dropping the name like a hammer. "General Ross."

The amusement drained from Sterns' face in an instant. His expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line.

There was a beat of silence before he exhaled through his nose, his voice lower now. "...Alright," he muttered, his previous arrogance replaced with something colder, sharper. "You have my attention."

Nathan turned, already heading toward the exit. "Let's walk and talk," he said over his shoulder. "Time is of the essence."

Sterns hesitated only a moment before following, his curiosity piqued—and his hatred of Ross stoked.

...

Nathan glanced at the rearview mirror, scanning the darkened streets behind them. No tails. No lingering threats. He relaxed slightly in his seat, but as always, he said nothing about it. Paranoia was a habit, and habits were hard to break.

Beside him, Sterns had been silent for the past minute, digesting everything Nathan had laid out—the plan, the strategy, the inevitable fall of General Thaddeus Ross. Eventually, he let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers idly tapping against his knee.

"That's quite the plan," he mused, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement. "Tell me, what did Ross do to warrant such… thorough treatment?"

Nathan didn't look away from the road. "Long story," he said flatly. "One I doubt you'd find interesting."

Sterns tilted his head slightly. "You're probably right," he admitted without hesitation. "And in the end, reason doesn't matter, does it? As long as I can ruin Ross' life before putting him in the dirt… that's enough for me."

Nathan chuckled under his breath. "Sounds like you hate the man even more than I do."

Sterns' expression darkened. "I doubt anyone loathes him as much as I do."

There was something venomous in his tone, something bitter and deep-rooted. Nathan finally turned his head slightly, giving him a sidelong glance. "And why is that?"

Sterns let out a slow breath, lifting a finger and tapping it against his enlarged cranium. "Because he took away the greatest gift I ever had."

Nathan raised a brow. "You mean your head?"

"My intellect," Sterns corrected sharply. His voice was low but laced with a barely restrained fury. "After I was exposed to Banner's gamma-irradiated blood, my mind evolved beyond human comprehension. I understood things, Cross—everything. Theories that took lifetimes to construct, equations that baffled the brightest minds, I could see them all. I could memorize, deconstruct, create at an instant. I became something… more."

Nathan listened in silence as Sterns continued, his tone shifting from resentment to something almost nostalgic.

"Even when they locked me away, I didn't care. Not really. Any rational person would want to use my intellect, wouldn't they? As long as S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me the tools to feed my mind, I was willing—generous, even. I was more than happy to share my insights."

Sterns exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening into fists as he stared out the car window, reliving every moment of his humiliation. "But then Ross came along," he muttered, his voice laced with venom. "Decided I was too dangerous, too much of a threat."

Nathan didn't react, letting him continue.

"He pulled strings, forced S.H.I.E.L.D. to stifle me. To regulate what I could access. They poisoned my food, laced it with inhibitors that dulled my mind, blurred my thoughts." His jaw clenched. "The worst part? They didn't completely cut off my access to books."

Nathan frowned, glancing at him. "What do you mean?"

Sterns let out a short, bitter laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. His lips curled in sheer disdain.

"As if to add insult to injury, they allowed me access to one type of book. Something they called a 'basic human right.'" He turned his head, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. "Go on. Guess what kind."

Nathan's expression remained blank. "I can't even begin to guess."

Sterns practically spat out his next words. "Fucking romance novels."

Nathan blinked.

Sterns seethed, his hands gripping his knees so hard his knuckles went white. "I have the greatest mind this world has ever seen, and yet I was forced to rot in a cell, filling my head with sappy nonsense." His voice rose with sheer outrage. "And they weren't even remotely decent! The prose was atrocious, the characters had the depth of a puddle, and yet—yet—I read them. Because what the hell else was I supposed to do?"

Nathan stifled the urge to smirk, but his tone was flat. "So, what you're saying is… you were a victim of bad literature?"

Sterns shot him a glare sharp enough to kill. "I will end you."

Nathan exhaled through his nose, eyes back on the road. "Sounds rough."

"Rough doesn't begin to describe it." Sterns slumped back in his seat, running a hand over his enlarged forehead. "Ross wasn't content to just lock me away. He mocked me. Deprived me of everything that made me me and left me with nothing but paperback drivel."

Nathan let the silence stretch. He didn't particularly care for Sterns' sob story, but that didn't mean he couldn't understand it. The man was an intellectual megalomaniac, a combination of an ego and a massive brain with a heartbeat, and Ross had humiliated him in the worst way possible—not by locking him up, not by torturing him, but by neutering the very thing that made him who he was.

To anyone else, it might've seemed like a twisted joke, a minor inconvenience at worst.

But to Sterns? It was malicious. A calculated, deliberate act of cruelty, stripping him of his greatest gift and replacing it with vapid drivel. Ross hadn't just imprisoned him—he'd mocked him.

Nathan wasn't about to offer sympathy, though.

Instead, he tapped his fingers against the wheel, the rhythmic sound filling the cabin. Then, with an almost lazy smirk, he turned the car onto a different road and spoke.

"Well," he said, "I can promise you one thing."

Sterns glanced at him, still simmering.

Nathan's smirk deepened. "There won't be any romance novels where we're going."

Sterns exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Good. Because if I read one more paragraph about 'the way his eyes sparkled like the ocean' or 'how her breath hitched when he touched her hand,' I swear—"

Nathan chuckled. "Noted."

...

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