Half an hour after the fight, the remaining Avengers gathered in the meeting room, with the notable exception of Wanda. Bruce and Captain Marvel returned after hearing what had happened in the tower.
The air was heavy, thick with exhaustion and the lingering tension of the unexpected fight. Captain Marvel, ever direct, was the first to speak.
"So, why have you called us all?" she asked, her gaze sweeping over the grim faces of the team.
Tony, bypassing any preamble, pulled up a holographic screen and replayed the entire fight. The room was silent as they watched the young man take down Steve, engage Natasha, and then kick Tony. Comments began to pour in as the clip ended.
"Is your jaw all right?" Tony asked Steve, a hint of his usual snark returning.
Steve's hand went to his jaw. "It's better than your ribs."
"He's good," Captain Marvel said, her voice a low hum of professional respect.
"Yeah, too good," Bruce muttered, his eyes still on the screen.
"A fine, well-trained warrior," Thor boomed, nodding in approval.
"Yes, better trained than any I've ever seen," Natasha added, her analytical gaze still on the video.
Captain Marvel's expression grew serious. "So who sent him?"
"I don't think he's an enemy," Steve said, his tone resolute.
"Explain," Captain Marvel replied, her voice firm.
"When he fought with us, he showed no intent to kill," Steve explained. "None of his attacks were aimed at body parts that would prove lethal or crippling. Natasha probably felt that, too."
"Yes," Natasha confirmed simply.
"Stark, look him up," Bruce said.
Tony, already a step ahead, had the information pulled up on a screen. "Already did." He gestured at the holographic display, which filled with text and images.
Ryan Angelo. Grandfather, David Angelo, an American. His grandmother is Indian, and his mother is Chinese. He lived in the States until he was ten, then moved back to India.
According to FRIDAY's data, the kid was a certified genius, a prodigy in medicine, his parents specializing in cellular regeneration and applied genetics. He started a business in India a few years later, a biotech firm that specializes in pharmaceutical and tech investments.
He became a billionaire in a few years by what the market calls 'uncannily accurate' stock trading. His last travel records show him moving to China four years ago and returning about a year ago.
"He's been seen with Daniel Thomas Rand," Tony continued, "the now-owner of Rand Shipping Industries. FRIDAY cross-referenced some data points and suspects he was the one who helped Rand with his succession. He's not a monk; he's a strategist."
A more disturbing piece of information popped up. "FRIDAY also found signs of Hydra being involved in his parents' deaths. It was ruled a car accident, but it was an assassination. And apparently, when Captain America was a fugitive, some of the people who helped him worked for this guy, a network that somehow went unnoticed by SHIELD and Hydra. He's got connections, he's a genius, and he holds a three percent stake in Stark Industries now."
Captain Marvel's expression was unreadable. "So, why did he come after you?"
Natasha pointed at a screen showing a feed of the young man in the cell. "Why don't we just ask him?"
The subject of their discussion was seen sitting cross-legged, the back of his palms on his knees, his index fingers making a circle with his thumbs. His lips were moving, his expression serene as if he was a monk chanting scriptures.
Steve's brow was furrowed in confusion as he stared at the holographic feed of their prisoner. The young man, who I had knocked out with a blow that would have sidelined most people for days, was now sitting cross-legged in the cell, his eyes closed.
"How did he get up so soon?" Steve asked, his voice low and tinged with a mix of awe and frustration.
Carol glanced at the screen, then back at him. "What do you mean?"
"The hit I gave him should have had him down for hours if not days," Steve said, the weight of the statement hanging in the air. A few of us looked at him with strange expressions.
Bruce was the first to speak, a hint of accusation in his tone. "You said he wasn't an enemy."
"Doesn't mean I'd gamble our lives on that feeling," Steve retorted, his gaze firm. The kid was a force of nature, and Steve's gut instincts, while usually reliable, weren't going to save them if he was wrong.
Just then, Thor pointed at the screen. "He seems to be speaking. Can you turn on the sound?"
Tony did, and a low, resonant chant filled the room: "Om Namah Shivaya."
A look of dawning recognition crossed Bruce's face. "Ah-ha," he exclaimed.
Carol turned to him. "What is it?"
"He's meditating," Bruce said, a small smile playing on his lips.
Tony scoffed. "Isn't meditation done in silence?"
"How should I put this..." Bruce began, looking at Tony with a patient expression. "You guys know I lived in India for some time, right? I learned most of my anger management there. I won't go into detail, but what he's doing is a mix of meditation, prayer, and cardiovascular exercise."
Tony just stared, utterly bewildered. "So you're telling me that after being put in a cell by the Avengers—'the mightiest heroes of the Earth'—for attacking them in their home, while we're here butting heads and discussing what to do with him, instead of panicking or showing any fear, he's spending his time leisurely by meditating?!"
Bruce's smile widened slightly as he looked at the faces gathered in the room amused. "That's a biased way to look at it, but yes."