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- Brooklyn, New York -
- April 24, 1939 | Night -
Howard Stark liked the noise of the Expo. The hum of conversation, the soft applause echoing down steel beams, the occasional laugh that rose above the clink of glasses — all of it made him feel alive. It reminded him that the future was a thing you could touch if you were just clever enough, bold enough, fast enough to grab it before someone else did.
But here, away from the stage lights and polite cameras, behind the side curtain of a storage alcove meant for spare lighting rigs and half-drunk champagne crates, the noise faded into a low hum. Just the perfect place for a different kind of conversation — the kind that didn't belong on any stage.
Facing him was Brigadier General Nathaniel Corbin, broad-shouldered in his crisp olive uniform, rows of ribbons pinned to his chest like reminders of the burdens he carried for a country that liked to pretend it wasn't at war yet. The General's voice was low and clipped, each word pressed out like a secret weighed against the world outside.
"We've got orders from the top, Stark," Corbin said, leaning closer. "This isn't just about fancy cars and clever engines anymore. We're moving fast, and your name's come up."
Howard didn't flinch — he only lifted one brow, his grin sharp but polite. "My name comes up a lot these days. Why don't you tell me exactly what I'm supposed to be excited about?"
Corbin's jaw ticked, just once, before he spoke again. "This isn't Expo chatter, Howard. There's something big on the horizon. Something that's going to need your mind, your machines… and your mouth shut."
Howard gave a soft, short laugh. "National security lecture, huh? You always were a romantic, Nate. But go on — I'm listening."
Corbin paused, eyes flicking once over his shoulder to the two soldiers standing guard just beyond the alcove's mouth. Good men — tight postures, eyes sweeping in steady arcs. Watching for nosy reporters or overeager businessmen who might wander too close.
"Germany's building weapons faster than we can count them," Corbin murmured, voice barely more than breath now. "We've got boys keeping tabs in Europe, and the chatter says they're working on things the public can't even imagine yet. We can't afford to sit back anymore."
Howard's grin faded, replaced by the glint of a man doing a hundred calculations at once behind his eyes. He tucked his hands into his pockets, leaning one shoulder against a stack of metal crates. "And you want Stark Industries in the middle of it all."
Corbin's nod was sharp. "You've got the mind. The factory lines. The contacts. You can make things happen faster than any of those stuffy old contractors we're stuck with. The brass upstairs know it. They want you in."
A silence settled between them — not heavy, just waiting. Howard's mind was racing, but his voice stayed calm, easy. "So what do you need me to build, Nate? Tanks? Planes? Or something else that'll make my accountants weep and my conscience sing?"
Corbin cracked the barest hint of a smile — the sort that never touched his eyes. "We'll talk details when you see the place. I'm not dragging blueprints through a damn Expo hall. You'll get an invitation, discreetly. A car will come for you when the time's right. You'll see what we're planning, then you'll decide how deep you want to dig your hands in."
Howard's eyes gleamed behind the casual set of his face. "You know I love secrets almost as much as I love breaking them."
The General leaned in close enough for the scent of his cologne to mix with the faint oil-and-metal tang of the crates behind them. "Then break this one to the world when it's ready, Howard — not a day before."
They held each other's gaze, a quiet accord sparking in the shadows. Then Corbin's hand came up, not quite a handshake, more a weight laid briefly on Howard's shoulder — a promise and a warning in one.
"Expect the car within the month. Don't get too comfortable playing showman," Corbin said, stepping back.
Howard's grin returned, just a flicker sharper this time. "Oh, I never do."
The General gave a single nod, then turned on his heel. The two soldiers behind him fell in step, their boots whispering over the Expo floor. They cut through the shadows like a knife, passing curious heads, half-watching but never lingering. No one paid them much mind — three uniforms at a fair were just part of the scenery.
—
But some shadows see more than others.
At the edge of the alcove, a flicker of light shifted — the faintest bend in the glow of a single hanging bulb. No sound. No footsteps. Just the soft, almost lazy ripple of a shape sliding back into the noise of the Expo.
Karna watched them go, drifting a few paces behind. To the casual observer, he was nothing — just another young man lingering near the supply crates, hands tucked in his coat pockets, head ducked as if studying the bolts on the floor. But if someone had truly looked — really looked — they'd have seen the light bend around him, the air hum just faintly where he moved.
Photokinesis. Not just the art of bending light to vanish, but knowing exactly how to stand where no one's eyes wanted to look. The General's well-trained watchers never saw him. To them, he was just another shimmer in the air, a trick of the Expo lights bouncing off glass and brass.
Karna's steps were silent as he trailed them — past the humming displays, past the curious crowds pressing in to see Bharat's strange new wonders, past the gentle laughter spilling from the champagne tents. He followed as the uniformed men slipped out through the service gate, down into the maze of delivery trucks and back entrances where the real Expo hid its clutter and secrets.
—
The back entrance of the Expo grounds didn't have the glitz and chatter of the main halls. Here, behind rows of half-empty crates and rusted iron gates, it felt like the world was holding its breath. A single lamp swung overhead, throwing a cold glow over the quiet stretch of cracked pavement where the convoy waited — three dark, hulking trucks and a sleek black staff car, its paint gleaming even under the tired light.
Brigadier General Corbin's boots struck the ground with crisp finality as he stepped into the open. His soldiers, already stationed near the vehicles, straightened at once — stiff backs, sharp salutes cutting through the stale night air. A few shifted uneasily, their eyes flicking past Corbin's shoulder at the lingering shadows.
Corbin didn't glance at them. He gave only a curt nod, already tugging his gloves tighter as he moved towards the car waiting with its door half-open. The soldiers fell in line behind him — loyal shapes in heavy coats, their rifles slung loose but ready. In the hush, one voice slipped through the cold like a snake.
"Hail Hydra."
A whisper — careless, almost swallowed by the rattle of a distant train line. But it might as well have been a shout to Karna. Hidden in the folds of shifting light, his senses caught it like a spark in dry brush. His eyes narrowed, and the line of his mouth tightened into something sharp.
So this was it — the hidden rot beneath the starched uniforms. Karna's mind moved quick as lightning, the faint hum of his Photokinesis crackling not just around his skin but deeper — down to the tiny currents inside his brain, pushing his thoughts faster than any normal mind could follow.
He couldn't let this convoy roll out. Not tonight.
Before the General's boot touched the car's step, Karna moved.
One flicker — that was all it took. Light bent and twisted. His shape blurred, then split and danced across the dark like a phantom. The soldiers barely had time to flinch as something impossibly fast swept between them — a rush of wind, a trick of the shadows. Their rifles clattered to the ground before any finger could tighten around a trigger.
Corbin spun half-around, eyes wide, mouth opening on a sharp command — but Karna was already there. A burst of shifting light snuffed out the weak lamp overhead for a heartbeat, just long enough for darkness to swallow every sound.
When the light came back, the Brigadier and every guard lay motionless on the cracked concrete — their breaths steady, their eyelids fluttering in forced sleep. They would wake with dull headaches and no memory of the phantom that stole their secrets under the dead bulbs of the back lot.
Karna stood over them, calm now, eyes glinting with something colder than the night breeze that tugged at his collar. He barely had time to check the pulse at Corbin's neck before he heard footsteps — soft, careful, but sure. His own people. Shadows moving like ghosts between the idle trucks.
A small shape broke from the dark. She moved lightly, a faint rustle of cloth, no louder than a sigh. Barely twenty, with sharp eyes that always seemed older than her years. She wore a plain coat over a dark bodysuit — simple, practical, easy to shed when you needed to become someone else.
"Sir." Her voice was steady, though her hands were already flexing nervously at her sides. "You called?"
Karna gave her the briefest smile — the warm flicker only those inside the Hidden Flame ever saw. "Good timing, Anaya."
She dipped her chin once. Anaya Devi — the mimic. An inhuman gift woven with a curse. Her power let her peel a life open, slip inside it like a second skin — but every memory, every heartbeat came with the same pain the original mind had felt. Once, the side effects nearly killed her. Aryan had changed that. Given her what she needed to keep the agony at bay when her work demanded it.
Tonight, her gift was perfect. Karna didn't need to explain every piece — Anaya could see it in the way he glanced from the General's fainted form to the convoy and back.
Her voice softened. "You want him replaced."
Karna nodded. "Corbin's more than just brass. He's got ties to Hydra — or at least his men do. We need eyes inside both."
Anaya knelt by the General, brushing back her short hair behind her ear as she studied his lined face. She pressed two fingers lightly to his temple, a shimmer of faint blue light flickering where her touch met skin. Already, the threads of his mind were drifting into hers, memories and mannerisms weaving into her bones.
She winced — not from the contact, but from the small echoes of pain that always came when the link first formed. Karna crouched beside her, one hand resting on her shoulder — a quiet anchor. He knew she hated it when he worried, but he'd never learned to stop.
"This isn't an easy face to wear," Anaya murmured, breath thin between her teeth. "He's done things. Bad things. They stick."
Karna's voice was gentle. "I know. But you can do this. And you won't carry it alone — you'll have Aryan's protection, mine too. Always."
She gave him the faintest grin, pain flickering under it like candlelight in a storm. "I know, Sir. I'll manage."
He squeezed her shoulder once, then stood as the other Hidden Flame agents slipped in from the shadows — a silent ring of watchers securing the scene, dragging the fainted men into the shadows beside the convoy. No witnesses, no mess.
Anaya's eyes fluttered shut. Her body shimmered, edges blurring as the faint blue glow deepened. Bones shifted under skin, the lines of her jaw stretching, reshaping. When her eyes opened again, they were Corbin's eyes — cold, calculating, hiding a storm behind their calm.
Karna looked down at her — at him — at the perfect mask their enemies would never suspect.
"When you wake," Karna said softly, voice steady as steel under silk, "you'll be Corbin. General to them. Hydra to those snakes. But to us — still Hidden Flame. You'll feed us everything. Every plan, every betrayal, every whisper they try to hide."
The General's voice came back in Anaya's mouth — deep, gruff, familiar. "They won't suspect a thing."
Karna's eyes held hers — no disguise could hide the flicker of her true self behind them. "Stay safe, Anaya."
He stepped back, silently issuing directions for his subordinates in the shadows to take care of the original as soon as possible, as she rose, now General Corbin in posture and expression — every inch the confident, towering officer who'd walked in just moments ago. Around them, the night stayed quiet. A single lamp swung gently overhead, casting its cold halo over shadows that held the shape of tomorrow's wars — and the quiet fire waiting to burn them from within.
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