Chapter 94: New Beginnings

Chapter 94: New Beginnings

2014

Hell's Kitchen, New York

Warehouse District

A Few Days After the Hellicarriers Bombardment

(Omniscient POV)

Brock sat in the makeshift command center they had set up on the first level of the two-story warehouse in Hell's Kitchen. The room was dimly lit by a few scattered lamps, casting long shadows on the makeshift desks covered in maps, computers, and various pieces of high-tech equipment. The walls were lined with screens, each displaying different news channels from around the world.

His fingers flipped through the channels, each showing images of devastation and chaos.

News anchors with somber expressions recounted the catastrophic events that had unfolded, detailing the destruction wrought by the Helicarriers as they unleashed their deadly firepower on major cities across the globe. The reports spoke of countless lives lost, infrastructure in ruins, and a world left in shock and mourning.

"Governments from around the world are in a state of emergency," one anchor stated, their voice filled with gravitas. "The coordinated attack by the Helicarriers, allegedly orchestrated by the terrorist organization now known as HYDRA, has sent shockwaves through the international community."

Brock's brows furrowed as he continued to channel surf, switching between news reports from different countries. It was evident that the world was in turmoil, with nations grappling to respond to the unprecedented crisis. Many governments had joined forces to track down and apprehend those responsible for the attack, with HYDRA at the top of their list.This chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.com

With a heavy sigh, Brock turned off the screens, plunging the room into temporary darkness before the overhead lights flashed on again.

Ava, Wanda, and Zeru, who were sitting around him at the small table, looked at him expectantly.

"So, what's our next move?" Ava asked, her voice carrying a weight of anticipation.

Brock leaned back in his chair, the small green dog in his lap shifting to find a comfortable position. He absentmindedly stroked the creature's fur as he considered their options.

The world had changed drastically in the wake of the Helicarrier attack, with the U.S government deciding to dissolve S.H.E.I.L.D, and the public voicing their opinions about the Avengers' lack of involvement in the incident. The world was starting to second guess their willingness to put itself in the hands of superheroes, and if they wanted to carve out a place for themselves amidst the chaos they needed to keep moving forward.

"With every government agency's attention focused on hunting down HYDRA operatives, we can't draw too much attention to ourselves trying to eliminate the stragglers who survived the bombardment," Brock replied, his voice decisive. "For now, Hydra is done. Those who escaped death will likely go into deep hiding till it's safe to try to regroup and rebuild. Meanwhile, our focus needs to be on consolidating our power in the wake of this disaster."

He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing.

"We need an intel network, connections with people in places of power, and control over key assets within New York City," Brock explained, his tone measured and thoughtful. "This city will be our fortress, the center of our operations. From here, we'll extend our influence both in the criminal underworld and within the political landscape.

Ava nodded in agreement. "We already have a good start thanks to the data we stole from Hydra. With the hundreds of data files of blackmail and intel we stole from Hydra, we should be able to use it to our advantage and gain leverage over those who might want to do us harm."

Brock smiled at Ava's response. "Exactly. We have a treasure trove of information at our disposal and we use that to establish ourselves as a force to be reckoned with. Then we start laying the groundwork for the future."

He turned his attention to Zeru, who was sitting nearby with a tablet in hand, the screens displaying complex algorithms and data analysis.

"Zeru, I want you to continue to analyze every bit of data we secured. I don't care how trivial it seems; we need to know it all. Identify key players, potential allies, and any vulnerabilities we can exploit. If we're going to play this game, we need to know every piece that is on the board."

Zeru nodded, his eyes still glued to the tablet screen.

"You got it, boss. I'll leave no byte unturned." He said as he continued typing, delving into the vast amount of information they had collected.

Brock then looked at Ava. "While Zeru's doing his thing, Ava, I want you to start running reconnaissance on the surrounding territories. Figure out the lay of the land, who the major players are, who controls what, and any potential rivals or allies in the area. Find out everything you can and report back when you've got something."

Ava nodded eagerly at his words.

"Consider it done," she replied with a confident grin.

"Good," Brock said with a nod. "Then let's get to work."

The two of them nodded and stood up from the table, heading out to complete their respective tasks.

As he passed by Brock, Zeru paused and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small piece of paper, folded neatly, and handed it to Brock.

Brock accepted it, looking at Zeru with curiosity.

"What's this?" He asked, unfolding the paper to reveal an address written on it in Zeru's neat handwriting.

Zeru's usually enthusiastic and curious demeanor had a touch of seriousness. "The location of the person you asked me to look for."

Brock's brow furrowed, his curiosity piqued as he examined the address. "You found him already? That was quick."

Zeru nodded.

"Yeah, it took some digging, but I managed to track him down. He's been keeping a low profile, but I've cross-referenced the data we found with some of the information you gave me and I'm pretty sure this is where he's currently hiding."

Brock studied the address for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities.

"Good work, Zeru," he said with a hint of gratitude in his voice.

Zeru nodded, giving him a childish smile before turning to leave the room, his eyes now fixed on the tablet in his hand.

Once Ava and Zeru had left the room, Brock turned his attention to Wanda, who had been notably quiet throughout the meeting. She sat across from him, her gaze steady, her presence serene.

"You've been awfully quiet," Brock remarked, studying the beautiful young woman closely. "Something on your mind?"

Wanda's scarlet eyes met his, and there was a contemplative expression on her face. She leaned forward, her fingers lightly tracing the surface of the table.

"Brock," Wanda began in her distinctive Sokovian accent, "there's something I've been wanting to ask you."

Brock regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "Ask away."

Wanda hesitated for a moment, as if carefully choosing her words. "I've been observing the way you and the others go about your work, and it's clear that you're not like the... typical heroes I've seen on TV. You don't shy away from doing whatever it takes to get the job done."

Brock's gaze remained steady, awaiting her question.

With a deep breath, Wanda continued, "I've seen the lengths you're willing to go, the secrets you're willing to keep, and the lines you're willing to cross. My question is simple: Are we... are you all, good people?"

Brock didn't respond immediately, his eyes studying her closely. There was a hint of amusement in his expression, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of seriousness. He seemed to be considering his words carefully.

After a moment of silence, he let out a short, light chuckle, though there was little mirth in it. "Good people? No. We're not."

Wanda's expression remained unchanged, her calm demeanor unwavering.

Brock continued, his voice flat and matter-of-fact, "The world doesn't operate in black and white, good and bad. It's a sea of gray, and we're just trying to keep our heads above water. We do what we have to, not because we want to, but because it's necessary. We make choices, some of them tough, some of them unforgivable, but that's the brutal world we live in."

Wanda nodded slowly, absorbing his words. She seemed to understand the complexity of their situation, and the moral gray area they navigated.

Brock leaned forward, his gaze never leaving Wanda's. "In this world, Wanda, you can be a hero, a villain, or something in between. But none of that shit matters at the end of the day. What matters is the choices you make and the reasons behind them. Good and bad are labels that don't fit what we do. We're survivors. We're people who understand that the world is a brutal place, and we adapt to it. We take opportunities when we see them, and we eliminate threats without hesitation. We're not good people. We're not bad people. We're just people.

There was a weight to his words, a sense of a harsh reality that they all had to face. They weren't conventional heroes, but they were a team bound by necessity, not by ideals.

Wanda met Brock's gaze, her eyes reflecting the scarlet glow of her powers. She seemed to accept his answer, understanding the path they had chosen.

"Just people..." she repeated, her voice soft but resolute. "And what about you personally, Brock? Do you consider yourself a good person?"

Brock arched an eyebrow, the question catching him off guard, but after a moment of contemplation, he gave a straightforward answer.

"No... I don't think I am." He admitted, his voice surprisingly candid. "Wanda, I've done things in my life that I'm not proud of. I've made choices that have brought pain and suffering. I've taken lives, innocent and guilty, and I've crossed lines that can never be uncrossed."

He paused, his gaze distant, as if lost in memories he'd rather forget. "But even with all the bad shit I've done...I've also saved lives. I've protected those who couldn't protect themselves. I've demolished a powerful organization that threatened to consume the world...now whether that makes me a good person or not...well, I guess that's for others to decide."

Wanda listened to his words, her expression thoughtful. She had seen glimpses of the darkness that lurked within Brock, but she had also witnessed his unwavering determination to make a difference. It was a complex, multifaceted man she was trying to understand.

"I see," she replied softly, her voice carrying a hint of empathy. "You're a man who walks a fine line between light and darkness, doing what you must to survive and protect those you care about."

Brock looked at her with slight surprise. Her assessment of him not fully mapping onto the way he saw himself.

"That's a very... charitable impression of me," he remarked, seemingly amused by the notion.

Wanda leaned back in her chair, a small smile playing on her lips as she locked eyes with the handsome young man across from her. "I've seen the way your team works, the camaraderie and loyalty you all seem to share in your own unique way. It's clear you're not in this for the sake of villainy or chaos. There's a purpose, and there's a code you follow, even if it's not one that fits the conventional definitions of 'good' or 'bad'."

Brock raised an eyebrow at Wanda's response, his curiosity piqued. She seemed to see something in him and his team that he hadn't fully grasped himself.

"You really believe that, huh?" he asked, his tone tinged with a touch of skepticism.

Wanda nodded, her eyes holding a deep understanding of the complexity of their situation. She had her own demons to contend with, and she recognized the same in Brock.

"If it's any comfort," she said, her voice gentle, "I don't really consider myself a 'good person' either. I've seen the darkness within myself too. The selfishness, the anger, the hate... all of it."

She paused, letting out a long breath as if to rid herself of old ghosts. "But like you said, it's the choices we make and the reasons behind them that define us."

Brock's eyes locked onto Wanda's, and there was a shared understanding between them, a silent acknowledgment of the burdens they carried.

As they sat in that dimly lit command center, the weight of their shared experiences and the unspoken truths they had laid bare seemed to hang in the air. Brock and Wanda had both accepted the harsh realities of their lives, the choices they had made, and the dark path they were now walking together.

Wanda's empathetic words had shed light on the complexity of their characters, and it was a revelation that went beyond the confines of traditional heroism and villainy. In a world where the line between good and bad was often blurred, they had found a common ground rooted in survival and the desire to protect what they held dear.

Brock broke the brief silence that had settled between them with a faint smile, one that carried a hint of gratitude.

But... that wasn't me.

That's not the kind of life I wanted to live.

And I knew that if I stayed idle for too long, eventually, I would lose my edge.

I needed to keep fighting, keep growing in power....keep destroying.

Taking another sip, I placed the half-empty glass down onto the table and glanced at my watch, noting the time just as the door to the dark apartment quietly swung open, and an old, middle-aged man with graying short-cropped hair and a salt-and-pepper beard entered, carrying two bags of groceries in his well-toned arms.

The man didn't notice me sitting in the darkness until he moved further into the apartment, his arms filled with the weight of the groceries. His tired sigh escaped his lips as he softly kicked the door closed behind him, carefully setting the bags down on the glass table in the living room.

As he reached for the light switch to illuminate the apartment, my voice suddenly cut through the silence, causing him to pause.

"Nice place," I call out in a cold, chilling tone.

The man's hand tensed on the light switch, flicking it on as he turned slowly to face the source of the voice. His eyes widened in surprise, and he instinctively reached for the concealed blade beneath his jacket.

I leaned forward, the dim light revealing a faint smile playing on my lips as I looked at the man and grabbed my drink from the table.

"No need for all that," I say as I take another sip from the glass.

The man, still cautious, slowly withdrew his hand from his concealed weapon but didn't let his guard down completely.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded warily and I could see in his eyes that he was on edge. He was ready to fight, to defend himself if necessary.

"Can't a son visit his father?" I replied sarcastically.

Anthony Masters, a.k.a Taskmaster, looked at me with a mixture of emotions, his eyes filled with a combination of surprise, disbelief, and a hint of anger. The tension in the room was palpable as he tried to assess the situation of the unexpected presence of his foster son.

The years had been unkind to him, etching lines and weariness into his face. His eyes, though, still held a glint of the intensity and focus that had made him a feared adversary in his prime.

He folded his arms across his chest, sizing me up carefully.

"I never expected to see you ever again." He said as I watched him trying to discreetly inch toward one of the many weapons hidden near the cabinets. "How'd you find me?"

Ignoring his question and obvious movements, I leaned back in my chair, still sipping my drink as the tension rose in the air between us.

"You know, I've been traveling a lot lately, Tony," I said, using the familiar nickname that I used when I was a kid. "Seeing the sights, enjoying the world. But, of course, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit dear old Dad."

Taskmaster's brows furrowed, his expression guarded. "You and I both know I'm not your fucking dad, so just get to the damn point...are you here to try and kill me?!"

I put down my glass and leaned forward, my gaze locking onto his.

We stared each other down for a moment, neither showing any fear or uncertainty.

Finally, I broke the stalemate, letting out a small laugh as I stood from the table with my drink in hand and casually walked over to the large windows to look out at the city below.

"Where's Jeanne?" I ask in a casual tone, my back turned to the older man. "She's usually attached to your hip, surprised I didn't run into her when I broke in."

There was a tense silence as I waited for an answer, the only sound coming from Taskmaster's soft footsteps as he took advantage of my 'distraction' to quickly move toward the location where his weapons were kept.

"She left about a few years back..." He answered curtly, and I heard the shuffling of metal as he finally gripped the weapon he was looking for in his hands. "Said some bullshit about wanting to live her own life. Didn't even give me the chance to tell her how much I"

*Bang!!*

A gunshot echoed through the penthouse, causing a sharp, ringing sensation in the air.

The bullet, aimed straight at the back of my head struck its target, but instead of penetrating my skull on impact, it just dropped harmlessly to the hardwood floor with a clatter, not even leaving a mark.

I turned my head slightly as the bullet bounced off the back of my head, the impact feeling like a fly buzzing against my skin.

Still facing the window, I watched as Taskmaster's eyes widened in shock and disbelief in the reflection of the glass. He held a gun pointed at me, the large .45 cal trembling slightly in his grip.

"What... what the hell are you?" He questioned softly, his voice wavered with uncertainty

With a deliberate, almost theatrical slowness, I turned to face him. Drink still in hand and my expression unfazed as I locked eyes with Taskmaster, who was staring at me in disbelief.

A sardonic smile played on my lips as I approached him, the tension in the room palpable.

"Let's just say I'm not the same helpless little boy you raised," I replied in a calm, almost eerie voice as I gestured toward the flattened remnants of the bullet that had fallen harmlessly to the floor.

Taskmaster's eyes darted between me and the flattened bullet, his mind racing as he tried to process the impossible situation.

"I...I knew you would grow up to become strong...but..." he muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of awe and trepidation. "But... this is something else. What the hell did they do to you?"

My foster father's voice held a tinge of fear. It was a rare sight to see him so off-balance, and it filled me with a strange sense of satisfaction. The memories of a childhood filled with brutal training, fear, and anger were etched deeply into my psyche, but now, things have changed.

"Is that fear I hear in your voice?" I asked as I took another sip of my drink and leaned against the sleek, modern countertop, my eyes never leaving his. "Oh, come on, Tony. Don't be such a pussy."

For a moment, I thought I saw a flash of genuine anger cross his face at my words, but it disappeared almost as soon as it appeared.

I could tell my remark annoyed him, and couldn't help but give him a derisive smirk as I took another sip of my drink.

"Remember all the fun times we had, Tony?" I quipped, a touch of mockery filling my voice. "The 'lessons' you put me through? Those brutal training sessions and near-death experiences? Those were the good old days, weren't they?"

Taskmaster clenched his jaw, and I saw as the guilt of his past actions weighed heavily on him. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from the stoic and hardened warrior I used to see him as.

"Listen, I had my reasons," he began, his voice low and conflicted. "I didn't have a choice! You have to understand, Hydra"

But I interrupted him with a bitter laugh, the cold smirk still present on my face.

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You made me into what I am today. You forged me through blood, sweat, and tears. And look at me now, Tony. I've evolved beyond your wildest expectations. I'm something more, something...different." I said as I advanced toward him, closing the distance between us.

He kept his weapon trained on me, though his resolve seemed to waver.

"You know what, Tony?" I said, my voice laced with a dark amusement. "I used to hate you for what you did to me. I used to despise every second of my miserable childhood. But now, I'm grateful. You made me stronger, faster, more resilient. You honed my tactical skills and turned me into a weapon. And now, I'm going to use everything you taught me to carve out my own path in this fucked up world."

The tension in the room grew, thick as a fog, as Taskmaster grappled with the incomprehensible transformation that I had undergone.

"Kill me if you want," he said, his voice a mixture of resignation and defiance. "But it won't change the past, and it won't make you anything more than what you already are. A broken orphan still looking for someone to coddle him."

I let out a low chuckle, the sound cold and devoid of any warmth as I closed the gap between us, my movements almost leisurely.

My foster father held his ground, his finger tensed on the trigger of the .45 cal still pointed at me, even though he was fully aware that his weapon had proven useless moments ago.

"Says the sad lonely old man living as a shell of his former self." I continued, my smile growing wider as I stepped closer to him.

The room seemed to grow even smaller as the tension escalated, and I could see the emotions warring within Taskmaster. Regret, guilt, anger, and fear all danced behind his eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, I reached out and casually plucked the gun from his trembling hand, crushing it like a soda can as if it were nothing more than a child's toy. I let the mangled metal fall to the floor.

"You know...There were times when I was a kid that I did think of all of us as a family," I said, my tone no longer mocking but strangely sincere. "That in your own messed up way...you were trying to take care of us."

Taskmaster looked at me with complicated eyes, his lips parting slightly to speak as I suddenly grabbed him by the throat and effortlessly lifted him off the ground, his feet dangling in the air. He struggled and gasped for air, but he was helpless in my powerful grip.

The shock on his face deepened, realizing just how outmatched he really was.

My foster father's eyes met mine, a complex mixture of emotions flickering within. Fear, regret, and perhaps a glimmer of understanding.

I carried him to the large windows, the city lights casting distorted shadows on his face.

"Goodbye, Tony," I said softly as I flung him through the reinforced glass, and his body tumbled through the night air, hurtling toward the bustling city below.

The glass shattered into a cascade of shards as Taskmaster's body plummeted toward the ground, his scream echoing through the night air. The world outside disappeared as he descended into the darkness. And then, with a sickening thud, his body met the unforgiving concrete below.

I stood by the shattered window, looking down at the twisted form of my foster father, now nothing more than a bloody, mush puddle splattered on the pavement.

I didn't feel any remorse, only a strange sense of closure.

Raising my almost empty glass to the city below, I offered a toast, my voice a cold whisper in the darkness.

"Here's to new beginnings," I muttered, emptying the glass and tossing it out into the night sky and watching it plummet into the city abyss, mingling with the shattered remnants of my past.

Turning away from the shattered window, I contemplated the road ahead of me.

I had tied up most of the loose ends of my past. Now was the time to embrace the future, one where I was the one in control, where my power was unmatched, and where I would carve my own kingdom to rule.

I'd been a pawn for too long...now, it was time to play the game like a king.

**********

A/n: Hey guys, I hope you are enjoying the story so far, and as always, thanks for reading!

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