The news that Latveria was successfully liberated barely registered on the global stage.
In the eyes of people all over the world, it was just a trivial matter. Another minor nation experiencing another minor regime change. Eastern Europe was always in flux. Who cared about the specifics?
Perhaps some interested research experts and intelligence agencies paid more attention to it. Analysts at the CIA. Researchers at universities studying post-Soviet transitions. A few diplomats marking changes on maps.
But more often, few people paid special attention to the various changes taking place in a small European country. The world had bigger concerns. Elections. Markets. Wars elsewhere.
Therefore, not many people noticed certain patterns emerging. Anomalies that should have raised questions.
There were quite a lot of food supplies and ordinary daily necessities flowing into Latveria through normal channels. That made sense. Humanitarian aid. Reconstruction assistance. Expected.
But even more heavy weapons gradually flowed into the country. Anti-aircraft systems. Armored vehicles. Artillery. The kind of hardware that small nations didn't usually acquire so quickly.
In fact, this was only a small part of the resources mobilized by David through the operation of Imperial Heavy Industries. The Man of Iron had established shell corporations. Created supply chains. Leveraged the company's growing financial power.
And even these supposedly insignificant resources were enough for a small country with a population of less than one million to live the life of a developed nation in advance.
Infrastructure appeared overnight. Roads repaved. Power grids upgraded. Water systems modernized. The pace was unnatural if anyone bothered to look closely.
But no one did.
In just one month, transformation became complete. The people of Latveria regarded the leader of the resistance, Doom, as the supreme leader of their country. Victor von Doom. Liberator. Savior. The man who'd freed them from generations of oppression.
However, Doom did not seem to be obsessed with personal power or the trappings of leadership.
He even made Zora the first female Prime Minister of Latveria, delegating governmental authority to someone he trusted. Official titles. Public responsibilities. The boring work of governance.
And he himself hid behind the scenes to conduct remote control. The power without the performance. Strategy without speeches.
Zora, who was busy and exhausted from suddenly managing an entire nation, vaguely expressed her confusion and dissatisfaction with this arrangement during one of their private meetings.
Why give her this burden? Why not take the recognition he'd earned?
But Doom simply stared out the window at the street below. His green eyes tracked automatic servo robots carrying construction materials. Metal forms scuttling across pavement, building the future.
He said to Zora with meaningful tone, "When I was young, my mother once warned me that everything has a price..."
He paused, choosing words carefully. "I just paid some price in advance for the survival and future of Latveria, and from the current situation, I may not have made the wrong choice."
The admission hung between them. Debt acknowledged. Bargain struck.
"By the way, Zora, from now on, a pair of golden double-headed eagles called Aquila will be printed in the middle of the national flag of Latveria..."
Zora's eyebrows rose. A strange addition.
Doom continued before she could question. "This is a suggestion given to me by David. It said that Nolan himself may not care much about these things, but some 'people' may be very happy."
His voice carried careful emphasis on that word. People. Or something else.
" David also said that perhaps ordinary disasters in the whole country cannot be avoided, but once the blessing is effective, it will be a means of saving lives."
He turned from the window, meeting Zora's confused gaze directly. "Although I think this is just a political method for David to claim sovereignty on behalf of Nolan, there is no harm in printing a golden double-headed eagle on the flag. On the contrary, it will deepen the connection between the two sides. Therefore, I readily agreed."
After listening to Doom's explanation, Zora kneaded her brow subconsciously with two fingers. The gesture spoke to headaches both literal and metaphorical.
She looked at the man before her with a helpless expression. Victor von Doom. Brilliant. Powerful. Utterly inscrutable in his motivations sometimes.
She hesitated for a moment, processing implications. Then nodded, accepting. She would send out the matter of changing the flag to the appropriate committees.
"The people under my command will handle it..." Her voice carried resignation. Then the real question emerged, fear underlying words. "Victor, are you going to abandon us and choose to leave?"
"No, to be precise, I will follow Nolan to his base for further study." Doom's response was immediate, reassuring. "During my absence, David will remotely assist you in handling some related matters. If it involves situations that require the use of force, I will rush back to deal with it immediately. You don't have to worry about this."
At this moment, Doom, who had been staring out the window, turned slowly. His power armor's servos hummed with the motion.
He said to Zora, whose worried expression hadn't fully faded, in lighter tone:
"I know that many people now, even including you, Zora, think that Latveria belongs to me, Doom. But since the day I led the resistance to rise up, I have never thought about anything like this."
His voice took on conviction. "Maybe some of my means or methods of doing things are a bit radical, but the ultimate goal is just to make the people of Latveria live a good life."
As Doom's voice fell silent, he seemed to retreat into contemplation. His eyes turned back to the window, watching the city transform.
And Zora had no intention of speaking further. The conversation had reached its natural end. Questions answered. Fears addressed.
The two of them remained together quietly, companionable silence filling the space between words.
Not long after, a significant moment arrived. When the first new national flag with a double-headed eagle printed prominently in its center was finally raised, fabric climbing pole in ceremonial ascent, it slowly fluttered over the capital city of Latveria.
The city now renamed Doomstadt. Not by his request. By popular acclaim.
The golden eagle caught sunlight, gleaming against red and white fabric. The Imperial Aquila, though these people didn't know that name. Just beautiful symbolism to them.
The Valkyrie, which had been waiting on a landing pad outside the city, gradually entered its invisible state. Stealth systems engaged, light bending around the hull.
It slowly rose above the sky, engines humming as it gained altitude. Then it turned and flew quickly toward the direction of the Twin Islands, carrying its precious cargo away from public view.
Ten hours later, having crossed most of Europe and the Mediterranean, arrival came.
Accompanied by the humming sound of the vector engine gradually extinguishing and the burning breath of atmospheric reentry heat dissipating, the Valkyrie slowly landed on prepared surfaces.
The touchdown was smooth. Professional. David's piloting was flawless as always.
Click, click, click!
As soon as the cabin door opened with pneumatic hisses, a team of automatic servo robots waving mechanical tentacles quickly surrounded the transport. They swarmed with practiced efficiency.
The machines dismantled the auxiliary power armor from the Stormtroopers' bodies in orderly fashion. Magnetic locks disengaging. Plates lifting away. Warriors stepping free from ceramite shells.
At this moment, Nolan, with a smile on his face showing genuine pleasure, first waved his hand to refuse the automatic servo robots that approached to service his own armor.
He preferred doing it himself when not pressed for time.
Instead, he turned his head slightly toward Doom beside him. His voice carried welcome and pride in equal measure.
"Welcome to our team's Twin Islands base!"
He gestured broadly at the surrounding complex. "This is the Primogenitor Isle, one of our main bases. If you have free time later, I can take you to Second Son Island. It is the foundry of our team, which is managed by the Tech-Priest Raditus. You should be interested in it."
The invitation was sincere. Doom's engineering genius would appreciate what Raditus had built.
After listening to Nolan's introduction, Doom, still wearing his silver power armor, nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
He stepped out of the cabin, boots clanking on the landing pad. His enhanced vision scanned the surrounding environment, taking in details.
Metal structures. Defense emplacements. The sheer scale of construction. His eyes instantly revealed fleeting shock that he couldn't quite suppress, followed by irrepressible curiosity.
This was no simple hideout. This was a fortress. A factory. A base that could support real operations.
"David prefers to pursue the practical value of buildings." Nolan's voice carried fondness for the ancient machine's utilitarian aesthetic. "If you like it, you can ask him to design a construction plan for you. I can approve hundreds of automatic servo robots for you, and it will be completed successfully in less than half a year."
He raised his hand and patted the heavy shoulder armor on Doom's body, the impact ringing against ceramite.
Then he walked forward without looking back, confident Doom would follow. "Think about what you need. We build to function, not to impress."
Doom stood slightly stunned, processing the casual offer of massive resources. Hundreds of servo robots. Six months of construction time. The kind of infrastructure investment that nations struggled to afford.
He pondered for a while, then spoke, thinking aloud. "I really want to expand the mountain base into a secret facility. Whether it is for storing supplies or as a starting point for launching operations, it is a feasible project."
Strategic thinking. Always planning the next move.
At this time, David, who had walked out of the Valkyrie's cockpit with his characteristic smooth gait, slowly approached Doom's position.
The Man of Iron shook its metal head, optical sensors flashing blue. "Mr. Doom, now is not the time to talk about these things."
Practical as always. "You should follow me and let me arrange your living quarters?"
The mechanical voice continued, "In the next few days, we have plenty of time to discuss the development of the team, and you also need to meet some new friends."
Companions. Allies. The people who made this operation function.
Hearing David's reasonable suggestion, Doom nodded acceptance. He stared at Nolan's tall figure as it gradually moved away into the base's interior. The commander had other matters demanding attention.
Doom turned his head to David before him and said with a smile, "Then I'll trouble you, David."
Courtesy cost nothing. And David deserved respect.
Then Doom followed David into the brightly lit metal passage that led deeper into the base. They headed toward the living area in Primogenitor Isle's residential section.
The corridors were clean. Functional. Lit with steady illumination from Ark Reactor-powered systems.
During their walk, a team of Gang Dog members with naked upper bodies, muscles gleaming with sweat and blood, hurriedly carried an unconscious man. The figure being transported had broken legs and feet, limbs bent at unnatural angles.
They rushed past, heading toward other directions in the base. Medical bay, presumably.
Perhaps David noticed the questions forming deep in Doom's eyes, the slight furrow of his brow.
The ancient machine spoke without looking back, voice carrying matter-of-fact explanation. "Those are the Gang Dog warrior who are undergoing daily training. They are also the basic pool from which my Lord selects elites for the Stormtrooper team..."
A pause for emphasis. "If there are no unexpected circumstances, Mr. Doom, you will also join this high-intensity training."
Hearing David's words, Doom's steps slowed fractionally. He turned his head, staring at the faint traces of blood left on the metal floor. Crimson smears marking where the injured man had been carried.
The training that did this to enhanced warriors. The standards required for selection. The price of excellence.
He took a deep breath, chest expanding in the silver armor. Then sighed subconsciously, the sound emerging with complex emotions.