Emma Frost
I was leafing through a book when my cell door hissed open, and a burly man appeared, holding a baton. He was dressed in thick protective gear, and his face was hidden under his cap.
"Come on, inmate," he called out to me. "He wants you in the briefing room."
The thought of resisting crossed my mind again, however briefly, as I closed my book. My Tuesday guard, Henry, was the slowest of his company. A bit round in the middle and stiffer than the rest of the ex-military thugs they had prowling the halls.
I could probably knock him out with one solid strike, but then what?
I had no idea where I was being held, no allies to count on except my reluctant teammates, who were either too cowardly, unstable, or loyal to be meaningfully exploited. And even if I managed to win them over by some miracle, I would still have to push through enough suppressor tech to cripple even Jean Grey before I saw sunlight.
No. Patience is my friend.
Why fight my way out when I could walk out given enough time?
SHIELD was getting desperate. They were careful not to use their organization's name around me and switched up their tactics, but when you've been at it as long as I have—you know what to look for.
"Good to see you too, Henry," I smiled at my guard and shut my book closed. "I had a great night too. Thanks for asking."
He shot me a guarded look, like prey approaching a wounded predator. I suppose I couldn't blame him.
Rising to my feet, I walked past the open doors, my nails playing against the metal edge of the door. It wasn't any steel I was familiar with. Maybe the famous Vibranium everybody on the black market is gushing about.
It hissed closed behind Henry and me, and we walked past dozens of cells with mutants like me in jumpsuits, collared and stuffed behind doors thick enough to survive nuclear explosions.
Guards with armor, batons, and rifles patrolled the halls, standing ramrod straight; the bright, surrounding lights drenched their dark armor and the silver interiors of our prison.
It was astonishing they managed to create this black site at all with the Novans, the Brotherhood, the X-Men, and Dante's forces watching.
It was a reckless risk in my view, especially with Dante. The boy had very close ties to the mutants of Earth, and he was absurdly generous.
The healing pods, the rune-covered artifacts that some agents wore around, and the equipment that the new GDF agents enjoyed were all granted to them at no cost, as far as my information brokers could tell.
There were even theories that the enhancements SHIELD's shiny new heroes enjoyed were facilitated by the half-demon.
Imagine my surprise, or more honestly, amusement, when I discovered that the reason that a covert team had chased me down, months after the incident at the tower, was to recruit me to counter the very man whose gifts benefited them so unambiguously.
I understood their reasoning, of course, and agreed with it. People were fickle. Dante might be a great friend today, but he makes for a fierce enemy tomorrow.
Henry and I came to a stop in front of an access elevator, and he punched a 10-digit code, scanned his iris, and all five fingers. There was a loud click, and the door slid open. We rode the elevator three levels down and walked down a dimly lit hall to a small situation room with three other people.
Two were collared like me and were barely teenagers. The boy, Gary, was a technopath who could make computers do whatever he wanted, and the girl, draped in a white full-body suit, was Ghost, a stealth operative who could become intangible. She had a kill count that unnerved even me, and her abilities caused her constant pain. SHIELD kept it at bay with constant inoculation.
Finally, there was Rick Flag, the operative Fury put in charge of this little cell. He was also a mutant, or so I assumed.
I've seen him pulp a man's head with a lightning-fast punch and run faster than a moving car. He was the contingency plan in case we somehow managed to slip our nooses.
"So, what crimes does the World Council want us committing this time around?" I asked.
Rick obviously didn't take the bait, which suited me fine. The performance wasn't for him. Rick dismissed Henry with a look and didn't speak again until the door sealed shut behind him.
"We have a new target."
The screen behind Rick flickered, and there was a surveillance shot of a very familiar man—Hank Pym—one of the greatest minds of the twentieth century.
The rumor was he and his wife worked for the United States government for a time as covert operators during the Vietnam and Cold Wars, leveraging his experimental technology. Survivors claimed he was able to vanish like Ghost and was unstoppable on the battlefield.
"You want us to go after Hank Pym?" I said in utter disbelief.
"Yes," he said. "It's a stealth extraction op. There is information in Mr. Pym's head that we'd very much like to have."
"And I want Moroccan silk sheets and a lap dance from Officer Keller," I said, "but I'm not going to get either, am I? You have told these children what happens to everyone who's ever gone after Pym?"
The concerned look on Gary's face gave me my answer.
"I've only just started the briefing," Rick said.
"Well then, let me save us some time," I said. "They all disappear. And I don't mean that in the body disposal sort of way. I mean that literally. Whatever technology Pym created, it's effective, and he's not afraid to use it."
Gary went white and shot Rick nervous looks. The operative, for his part, was staring at me. I was sure he would've hurt me if he didn't think it would affect my performance during his little suicide mission.
As much as I loathed theater, it was entirely necessary in this case to drive home how bad of an idea this was. There was no changing Flag's mind, not really, but the performance wasn't for him.
"But Dr. Pym isn't the greatest obstacle we'll have to face on this little suicide mission, is it?" I asked. "Dante has a widow watching Pym, and she'll see us coming from miles away. Literally."
"Widow?" Ghost sat up.
The Widows were infamous in the intelligence community before Dante swooped them all up and enhanced them. Now, they were the boogeyman. Specters of death who've wiped out entire networks and teams in seconds without leaving a trace.
"Dr. Pym's work is that important?" Gary asked in a small voice.
"Yes," Rick said. "And that's why we must acquire it before the window of opportunity closes."
"Window?" I asked with a frown, and Rick clicked his remote again, showing New York in pieces again. Gary gasped, and Ghost didn't react at all. She already knew.
"When did this happen?" I asked with a slight tremble in my voice. The sky was blotted out with living monstrosities in the guise of ships, and the streets were on fire. Cars were overturned, people were laid dead, and buildings were burning.
The demon attack SHIELD feared was coming had finally happened.
"A day ago," Rick said. "The widows were called away to help with the fight and relief. They've left their posts unguarded. We have less than 24 hours to slip in and extract what we need, maybe even less. I was thinking..."
His words sounded muted and distant.
"Did we win?" I asked Rick, who seemed irritated at the interruption.
"Getting sentimental on me, Frost?" Rick asked. "Don't worry. Everyone in your family survived."
I swallowed.
Rick went back to talking about the details of the operation, but I only half-listened.
I needed to escape.
It was risky, and there would be painful consequences if I failed, but I couldn't afford to play it safe anymore. Too much is happening too quickly. And SHIELD was taking massive swings with my life. The time for calculated mind games and social engineering had long passed. I had to take control of my fate before somebody else did.
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