Even back when the Maximoff twins were still living in the Sokovian castle, Solomon had shown them part of the truth behind the war that ravaged their homeland. Later, according to Wanda's own memories, she often saw people protesting in the streets after she and Pietro entered the orphanage. The protests revolved around things like presidential elections, women's rights, animal welfare, and environmental protection. After that battlefield erupted into war, Sokovia became a "democratic" nation. Elections seemed to become an open activity for everyone, and every citizen appeared to hold some form of power.
But in truth, by the time Wanda had grown into adulthood, the country was still frozen in the ruins of that war—perhaps even worse than before. Gun violence, human trafficking, drugs, sex trade—every form of filth seemed to have exploded overnight, clinging to Sokovia like a persistent rash. The worst neighborhoods mirrored the Black ghettos in New York.
During recruitment drives, the Sisterhood had come across several young Eastern European girls from Sokovia. The files stored on the sellers' computers were so horrific that even Solomon found himself clenching his fists, struggling to suppress his fury. Not even Eternal City, with all its ruthless operational conduct, had ever treated human beings as disposable sources of profit and amusement.
That Wanda and Pietro Maximoff had managed to survive was nothing short of a miracle.
Perhaps it wasn't a miracle, but magic at work. Wanda's magical potential had been subtly shaping her life long before it fully manifested. It helped her land jobs she otherwise wouldn't have been offered. It led her to meet compassionate employers. It caused thugs who intended to harm her to meet untimely ends. Even that unexploded missile that landed in her home may have been a result of this influence. (The same phenomenon had occurred with Solomon himself—his mother Jezebel had miraculously reached the USA unharmed to give birth to him.)
Perhaps Sokovia's small size and its distance from Russia made it less appealing to America and its transnational financial cabals, who didn't bother wasting their energy there. That, too, was a sort of twisted luck, since most Eastern European countries that had overthrown their governments found themselves led by so-called "democratic rulers"—who, more often than not, turned out to be U.S. naturalized Jewish Americans. Even so, Sokovia's largest state-supported company was an American-owned enterprise.
Which begged the real question: Why did the CIA and the National Endowment for Democracy send high-value Stark missiles to such a small country? Why did they move with such urgency to end the war before any other factions could intervene?
This was the secret Solomon wanted Wanda to learn—from Nick Fury's own mouth.
"Don't kill him. He's still useful to me," Solomon said, resting a hand on Wanda's shoulder as they stood outside the cell.
Dana's delicious cooking had left Wanda so full she had to lounge in her chair. Afterward, Bayonetta and Jeanne had taken her to a sauna Solomon himself had built. Now, her face was flushed, her expression relaxed. Just then, Frank Castle pushed open the door and exited, showing Solomon nothing but cold indifference. With guards from the Fimbulwinter First Secret Regiment escorting him, he walked away from the dungeon without a word.
Solomon didn't mind at all. When he wasn't in his armor, most people in Eternal City didn't even recognize him. That anonymity allowed him to avoid endless formalities. He had flatly rejected Stephanie's suggestion that he reveal his identity to Eternal City's staff, because he didn't want to be saluted everywhere he went.
Especially by the girls rescued by the Sisterhood—girls who harbored an almost fanatical devotion to him. But Solomon didn't believe he deserved such reverence. The golden power armor was the true master of Eternal City, the symbol of a great ideal, the engine of salvation that had given those girls a new life. He was merely a man forced to dirty his hands, bearing blood debts he never sought—a man who only wanted a peaceful life.
Redemption would come, but it came after survival. His task was to ensure that the human species could one day surpass even the Asgardians. That was the purpose he had been created for. He was only doing what he was meant to do, and no praise was necessary.
"Uranium and thorium mines? No wonder Sokovia's local companies kept filing protests with the UN!" Victoria Hand looked deeply displeased. She stood beside Solomon, behind a one-way mirror, watching as Wanda sat across from Nick Fury. On the interrogation table lay a report—containing the secrets Wanda had longed to know. "Should I be thankful that America hid this secret so well that even Ultron couldn't find the uranium? Otherwise, taking down that AI would've been even more nightmarish."
"Look on the bright side—those mines are ours now. Thanks to the Mars Forge and Wakandan tech, we've got access to solid nuclear power and weapons, but the shortage of fissile material prevents us from scaling up production. We still have to buy small amounts of fusion fuel from Wakanda's lunar mining ships. But now that we've secured raw sources, we can launch full-scale fission programs. We just have to focus on hunting down spies." Solomon kept watching Wanda's expression. Her face began to twist the moment she opened the report. By the time she looked at Nick Fury, she was pale as a corpse.
Clearly, the truth had been too much to accept.
Multiple forces were at play in the Sokovia coup. The radical Hydra faction wasn't the only American Nazi faction involved.
Still, Wanda obeyed her orders perfectly. She didn't leap across the table to kill Nick Fury. That alone pleased Solomon. He silently began evaluating her mental resilience. If she scored high enough, she would qualify for the next stage of magical training.
"The Mars Forge still lacks the capacity to extract resources on a large scale. Exploration alone takes massive time, and our demand for resources is infinite. Every country's government already knows what we're doing on Mars—even if they hide it from the public. Our time is running out," Solomon shrugged. "By the way, why did you speak to him via hologram today?"
"If he knew I saw everything he did today… would he kill himself?"
"No. He values his life too much," Solomon chuckled. "Where's the intel I asked the intelligence division to compile?"
"Do you want it now?"
"No. Give it to Natasha Romanoff. She'll pass it to Steve Rogers," Solomon said. "I gave Captain Rogers a few books the first time I met him. Right in front of Nick Fury."
Victoria Hand suddenly felt a deep admiration for her current superior. After all, back then, he had still been a high schooler.
"Along with that report, I believe Steve Rogers will make the right decision. Maybe we should design a custom suit of power armor for him—red, of course. Even if he doesn't support my methods, I believe he'll understand my ideals. That's more than I can say for most of the Avengers."
"You have that much faith in him?"
"Absolutely. Because he's a good man. A genuinely good man. He joined the war for the sake of all humanity. He'll sense the tragic irony woven through that file." Solomon spoke softly. "Dear Aura, bring me a hot towel. It's time for us to step in. Letting this go on would be bad for Wanda's mental health."
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