The black site was a monument to isolation.
An old Cold War listening post buried in the Alaskan tundra, its long corridors hummed with recycled air and security gates. Outside, the wind ripped at the steel walls. Inside, the two Vankos sat in separate rooms, each under constant video surveillance.
Fury preferred facilities like this—nowhere to flee, nowhere to hide, and no reporters sniffing around. The last of the medical teams emerged, with blood samples already on their way to analysis. Results wouldn't mean much; after all they were not a superpower individual.
He stepped into Anton Vanko's cell. The man looked older than his file photo, with skin like parchment and eyes sharp despite the fatigue.
"Anton," Fury began, pulling the lone chair opposite him. "Let's talk about how you're going to survive the next few."
Anton's brow lifted, but he didn't speak.
"Russia's not happy," Fury continued, his voice low and steady. "Your history with Howard Stark would have been enough to land you in a gulag for decades. This time? You built weapons with an American frontman. Moscow won't bother with prison—they'll skip straight to the bullet."
Anton's eyes didn't flicker; he never cared about Moscow instead he was more worried about their failure against stark.
"And whoever you've been working for," Fury pressed, leaning slightly forward, "do you really think they'll keep you around? The moment you're a liability, they'll cut you loose. Or worse."
Anton's lips curved into a faint smile—more a gesture of tolerance than amusement.
"You Americans are all the same," he said quietly. "Always thinking you can keep the whole world in your pocket."
Fury tilted his head, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Being in my pocket is safer than being out in the cold. I'm offering a way out—one that doesn't end with a Russian firing squad… or whoever you've been building toys for deciding you're expendable."
The smile didn't reach Anton's eyes. He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled as if weighing invisible scales. Fury's offer hung in the air, but Anton's mind was already several moves ahead. Moscow's wrath was nothing; as for Fury's promise, it was just a way to use them as tools someone who can arrest a scientist without any reason is definitely not a good person, and if he really needs to surrender to save his life, he has a better option.
"I am ready to surrender my life to the Omnissiah," he said carefully, voice calm but deliberate. "And the one who can guide me."
These words were not for Fury—they were a declaration to Luthar. He was choosing the path that preserved life and granted purpose. For Anton and Ivan, Luthar was no longer one option among many; he was the only one to follow, the only one they could serve. As someone who understood the basics of the Cult of the Omnissiah, he knew there was only one choice: obey, or be reshaped by Luther to become a better tool.
Fury stilled. That word didn't belong here—not in Russian, not in English. Up till now, only one person had used it, someone too dangerous for them to handle.
He rose without another word, mind already cycling threat assessments. By the time he hit the comm, his voice was pure steel:
"Lock this site down. Double all perimeter teams. Hill, get Stark. Now."
Miles away, Luthar watched. The lab's holographic displays painted his face in shifting crimson and gold, each feeding a different angle of the Vankos' cells. Audio rolled like distant thunder, carrying Fury's threats and Anton's reply.
Luthar's fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne chair. One twitch would detonate the nanoscopic ordnance threaded through Vankos's bloodstream. Clean. Quiet. Untraceable.
He leaned back, considering. The Vankos were assets—intelligent, useful, and loyal enough once properly bound. But they were also liabilities.
One part of him calculated the simplicity of ending the problem now. Another—the part that saw patterns in centuries of data and divine mandate. The Omnissiah has provided him the tools; it was wasteful to discard them so soon.
"I guess I should save them," he said finally, voice like a low tide. He decided to rescue them, not because they were too good, but because he didn't have someone who could replace them.
Alaska's night pressed hard against the compound's floodlit perimeter. The cold was so deep it made metal groan.
Fury's mind moved with precision. He mapped every patrol, turret, and access point. Alpha and Beta Teams were spread across the roof and inner corridors. All different protocols were active: automated turrets were ready. The black site was no longer just a prison; it was a fortress that needed to be defended.
He toggled to a secure line with Stark. "Tony, listen carefully . The moment anything goes off-script, I want countermeasures deployed remotely. You understand?"
Stark's voice crackled over the channel, calm and collected as always. "ticket easy Fury, don't forget how much energy we have spent to prepare for Luther. if he really comes, then we will make sure he will never be able to leave."
"I think you are the one who is forgetting about our last defeat," Fury said. "this time I would not have a box filled with advanced technology to exchange our lives."
"Come on, I bet you still have a few boxes filled with technology."
Fury ignored the jab. He returned to the tactical screens, eyes narrowing as simulations played out. Luthar's playbook was a blank slate—half the tech SHIELD had seen. Drones the size of hawks? Automated swarms? Infantry in armored suits that punched through tanks? Every possibility was on the board, and every one had to be planned for.
Outside, snow whispered against steel. Inside, agents checked positions, reloaded weapons, and monitored cameras. Every corridor, every vent, and every door was under scrutiny. Alpha Team's rookies gripped pulse rifles; Beta Team's veterans made final checks on their energy weapons and rockets, making sure each unit was fully prepared.
Fury let out a slow breath. Truth was, he had no idea if Luthar would even bother coming for them—but he had to be ready all the same. A part of him considered just cutting the Vankos loose, pretending he'd never hauled them in. But that was a fantasy, and he knew it. The moment they walked free, father and son both would turn every ounce of their genius toward tearing S.H.I.E.L.D. apart.
For the first time in years, Fury had to force himself to believe he still had a grip on the storm about to break. But beneath that thin layer of calm, the truth gnawed at him—control was already slipping through his fingers, and he hated how acutely he knew it
Author's note: luck is very bad even the phone screen is broken the documents had issue so I cannot withdrawal The money to from patreon buy a new phone request for correcting those mistakes have been also rejected basically if things doesn't improve the novel would be impossible to continue to write sincere writing with broken screen is little difficult as for somebody else buying phone its impossible 😭