Tony's voice crackled through the phone, skepticism bleeding into every word. "Man, isn't the Avengers enough for you? You're actually planning to form a superhero team and have them follow the idol path?"
Smith leaned back in his chair, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Don't you think Nick Fury is moving at a snail's pace? It's been months. Aside from the two of us and Blue Dynamo, are there any other members of the Avengers?"
He could picture Tony in his workshop, probably elbow-deep in some new armor design, arc reactor humming in the background. Smith continued, his tone dry with frustration. "The rest are all civilian and logistical staff assigned by Fury. I think the Avengers base is about to become a networking hub for people with connections." He paused, letting that sink in. "And don't you think it's a brilliant idea to hang this organization outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reach?"
The line went quiet for a moment. Smith could almost hear the gears turning in Tony's head.
"You know what?" Tony finally said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of cynicism and calculation. "You're right. Fury's unreliable. I always feel like he's hiding something from us." A beat of silence, then Tony's tone shifted to business-like decisiveness. "In that case, my IP image and everything else will be converted into shares and incorporated into your Red Ribbon Corporation."
Smith's eyebrows rose slightly. That was easier than expected. "Okay. I'll have Fox and Pepper coordinate the details. You just need to sign when they send the paperwork."
"Done." Tony hung up without ceremony, no doubt already refocusing on whatever project had his attention.
Smith set his phone down and immediately dialed Ivan Vanko. The conversation was even shorter. Ivan's accented English came through crisp and certain. "Of course. I support this completely. Blue Dynamo IP is yours."
Two down. Smith drummed his fingers on the desk, his mind already moving to the next piece on the board. According to Natasha's latest report, Captain America had been found and revived. The American icon, pulled from the ice after seventy years.
A thought crystallized. Maybe he could track down where Captain America's IP rights currently resided. If S.H.I.E.L.D. held them, he could set a trap for Fury—force the man to make concessions or reveal what he was hiding. If the military controlled the rights, they'd pay handsomely to keep their golden boy's image pristine.
But first, he needed intelligence. Real intelligence, not speculation.
The next morning, Bangkok's humid air pressed against the windows of the Brotherhood safehouse. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Selene stood with her arms crossed, her predator's gaze fixed on the trembling woman who'd been brought in. Wesley leaned against the wall to her left, John Wick occupied the right corner—silent, watchful. Eddie stood near the door, Venom a coiled presence just beneath his skin.
Li Zhongzhi sat forward in his chair, his weathered face tight with barely controlled emotion. His eyes locked onto the woman, recognition flashing across his features.
The prostitute—Xiaoman, according to the Brotherhood's report—looked like she'd been through hell. Dark purple bruises mottled her cheekbone, and one eye had swollen nearly shut. She stood hunched, arms wrapped around herself protectively.
Li Zhongzhi's hands clenched into fists. He'd seen this woman before. Two days ago, he'd shown her his daughter's photo on the street, desperation making his Cantonese rough and pleading. She'd looked at the picture for all of three seconds before shaking her head. Haven't seen her, she'd said, and walked away.
She'd lied to his face.
Selene's voice cut through the room like a blade. "You said you met Li Zhongzhi's daughter."
Xiaoman's eyes darted around the room, taking in the foreigners, the expensive furnishings barely visible through the safehouse's deliberately plain facade. When her gaze landed on Li Zhongzhi, fear and defiance warred in her expression. Her voice came out shaky but sharp. "Yes. I've seen his daughter. She was kidnapped by a corrupt cop."
The words hit Li Zhongzhi like a physical blow. His chair scraped against the floor as he surged to his feet, face flushing red. "Why didn't you tell me this two days ago? I showed you her picture! I begged for information!"
Xiaoman's fear evaporated, replaced by a flash of street-hardened anger. She rolled her eyes, voice rising to match his. "Why should I trust you? You think I'm stupid? You heard me say 'corrupt cop,' right? Corrupt. Cop." She spat the words. "You're a foreigner with no power, no connections, asking questions on the street like some lost tourist. What was I supposed to do? Tell you everything, watch you get shot in some alley, and then wait for them to kill me too?"
The rawness in her voice carried the weight of harsh experience. She'd survived Bangkok's underworld long enough to know how these stories ended.
Her gaze swept across the room again, lingering on Selene's unnaturally perfect features, Wesley's cold competence, John Wick's predatory stillness. "I don't know what this hotel really is. I don't know who you people are. But I know the cops won't touch this place. Only big shots come here. Real power." Her chin lifted slightly. "You can do something about corrupt cops. He couldn't."
Li Zhongzhi felt his anger deflate like a punctured tire. He sank back into his chair, taking a slow, deliberate breath. Logically, he understood her survival instinct. The need to weigh profit against risk. But the knowledge that information about his daughter had been so close—that she'd been within reach two days ago—burned like acid in his chest.
Wesley straightened from the wall, his voice calm and precise. "Tell us about this corrupt cop. Name, department, where he took her. Everything you know."
Xiaoman's defiance crumbled. The words tumbled out in a rush. "I was on my scooter, taking a fare near the coast. There's a T-junction by the beach—you know the one, near the old warehouse district. I saw Detective Abin there. He had your daughter." Her eyes flicked to Li Zhongzhi. "She was fighting him, trying to pull away, but he forced her into his car. White sedan, police plates. Then he drove off toward the industrial zone."
Li Zhongzhi's world tilted. A detective. A Bangkok Metropolitan Police detective had kidnapped his daughter. He'd filed a missing person report at that very station. He'd spoken to officers there, desperate and frantic, while one of their own held his daughter captive.
The depth of the darkness here stole his breath.
"Why?" The word came out strangled. "Why did he take her?"
Xiaoman's voice dropped, carrying the weight of terrible knowledge. "Could be a lot of things. They sell girls to fraud compounds in Myanmar—cyber slavery. Or they send them to Pattaya." Her eyes held Li Zhongzhi's, making sure he understood. "Or they harvest them. Organs fetch good money."
Each possibility was worse than the last. Pattaya meant Thailand's sex tourism capital. Li Zhongzhi knew exactly what awaited young women sold into that hell. The fraud compounds meant years of captivity, forced to scam money from people around the world under threat of torture. And organ harvesting...
His daughter, reduced to parts. Cut open while still alive to maximize freshness.
His vision blurred. He couldn't breathe.
Selene picked up her phone with fluid grace, dialing a number from memory. When someone answered, her voice carried absolute authority. "I need Detective Abin from Bangkok Metropolitan Police brought to this location. I want him here within the hour."
She ended the call. No pleasantries, no explanation needed.
The Brotherhood would deliver.
On the other side of Bangkok, Detective Somchai sat hunched over his laptop in a quiet corner of the police station's administrative wing. His father-in-law's cryptic warning echoed in his mind: Someone inside is dirty. Be careful.
The station's intranet gave him access to all traffic camera footage, surveillance logs, and case files. He'd been combing through videos for hours, cross-referencing timestamps with the beach area where the body had been found—the young woman Li Zhongzhi had identified as not his daughter.
His eyes burned from staring at the screen, but he kept clicking through files. Traffic cam 47, coastal route, 11:47 PM. Traffic cam 48, industrial district, 12:03 AM. Nothing, nothing, nothing—
Wait.
He scrolled back. Traffic cam 52, the T-junction near the old warehouses. Timestamp: 9:23 PM, three days before the body was discovered. The video quality was grainy, but clear enough. A white sedan with police plates. A man in plainclothes—Detective Abin, Somchai recognized him from the department—forcing a young Asian woman into the back seat. She struggled. Abin shoved her hard enough that her head bounced off the car's roof.
Somchai's pulse hammered. He clicked to save the file.
The screen flickered.
Error: Video file not found.
His blood ran cold. He stared at the message, incomprehension giving way to dread. The video had been there ten seconds ago. He'd been watching it.
Someone had deleted it. While he was viewing it. Someone with administrative access to the police intranet was monitoring his search and erasing evidence in real-time.
Somchai grabbed his laptop and strode to the IT department, adrenaline sharpening every sense. One of the technicians looked up from his terminal, eyebrows rising at Somchai's expression.
"Why does this say 'Video file not found'?" Somchai demanded, opening his laptop to show the error message.
The technician leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Could be an upload error. Or someone from our department deleted it manually."
"Can you find out who uploaded this video?" Somchai's voice was tight, controlled. "Trace the IP address."
The technician nodded, fingers flying across his keyboard. "Yeah, should only take a minute. The system logs everything."
Thirty seconds later, an address appeared on screen. Somchai memorized it, snapped his laptop shut, and headed for the parking lot. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled out his keys.
His car wouldn't start.
He turned the ignition again. Click, click, click. Dead battery, or something worse. Someone tampering with his vehicle? Paranoia or justified caution—he couldn't tell anymore.
The video had been deleted while he watched it. Someone knew he was investigating. Whoever uploaded that footage was in danger. Maybe already dead.
Somchai spotted his colleague Tak heading toward his car, keys in hand. Tak was solid—one of the few cops Somchai actually trusted. He jogged over, pulse still racing.
"Tak! I need a ride. Can you take me to this address?"
Tak glanced at the scribbled location, then at Somchai's face. Whatever he saw there made him nod immediately. "Get in."
As Tak pulled out of the parking lot, Somchai dialed his father-in-law's number. Director Surasak answered on the second ring.
"Dad, I found something." Somchai kept his voice low, glancing at Tak. "Someone uploaded surveillance footage showing a woman being kidnapped near the beach. But before I could finish watching it, the file was deleted from the police intranet. Someone inside wiped it while I was viewing it."
A pause. When his father-in-law spoke, his voice carried grim understanding. "Where are you now?"
"Tak and I are heading to the home of whoever uploaded that video. If they deleted the evidence, the uploader might be in danger."