Marvelous Meditations #66

The rhythmic clank of polished leather shoes echoed through the dimly lit stairwell, growing louder with each step. The air in the underground workshop was thick with the scent of heated metal and antiseptic—a sharp contrast to the clean, sterile aesthetic Killian had carefully cultivated for the rest of his empire.

Tony Stark, strapped to an upright medical bed like some twisted science experiment, shifted slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps. Across from him, Maya Hansen stood, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. They had been mid-conversation, but Tony’s attention flickered toward the descending figure.

Aldrich Killian strode in with the effortless confidence of a man who believed the world owed him something. He didn’t acknowledge the exchange between Tony and Maya—he didn’t care. Instead, he stepped closer, a smirk curling his lips.

"You know what my old man used to say to me? One of his favorites—he had a lot, but this one stuck." Killian’s tone was casual, almost amused. "The early bird gets the worm... but the second mouse gets the cheese."

Tony arched a brow. "You're not still sore about Switzerland, are you?" His voice was dry, laced with mockery.

Killian let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "How could I be mad at you, Tony? If anything, I should be thanking you. You gave me the greatest gift anyone's ever given me—desperation."

He began to pace, slow and deliberate, the glow of nearby monitors casting angular shadows across his face.

"Think back to Switzerland. You said you'd meet me on the rooftop, right? Well, for the first twenty minutes, I actually thought you’d show up." He exhaled sharply, a nostalgic smirk ghosting his lips. "Then the next hour… I started considering the express route to the lobby. If you catch my drift."

Tony blinked. "I'm still stuck on what the hell happened to the first mouse."

Killian laughed—genuinely, this time—before his expression darkened. His gaze drifted upward, as if lost in the memory.

"But as I stood there, looking out over that city… I realized something." He turned back to Stark, his voice lowering. "Nobody knew I was there. Nobody saw me. No one was even looking. And that’s when it hit me—anonymity."

He spread his arms slightly.

"Thanks to you, that became my mantra. Stay in the shadows, work from behind the curtain. Because the second you give evil a face—a bin Laden, a Gaddafi, a ‘Mandarin’—" he sneered the name mockingly, "—you hand people a target."

Tony let out a breath. "Yeah, you're really something else."

Killian tilted his head, studying Stark’s face. "You’ve met him, haven’t you?"

"Yeah." Tony smirked. "Sir Laurence Oblivier himself."

Killian chuckled, shaking his head. "I know, I know, he’s a bit much sometimes. Not entirely my fault. He’s a stage actor, you know? They say his Lear was the toast of Croydon. Wherever the hell that is."

Tony’s smirk widened slightly, but his eyes remained sharp. "Sorry to say this, but your scapegoat, won't be of much use anymore... I already knew he was a patsy because someone told me so. I only went after him to get to you..."

Killian exhaled, shaking his head as if in mock disappointment. "And how's that working out for you? Slattery was useful, sure, but I won't be needing him soon... "

He stepped forward, producing a small device from his pocket. "That aside, there's something, you might want to see..."

With a flick of his wrist, three small metallic spheres rolled onto the floor. As they settled, a projection flickered to life in the air above them.

Tony’s breath hitched.

It was Pepper.

Her body was wracked with violent tremors, veins glowing an ominous red as Extremis coursed through her system. She gasped, her limbs twitching as her body fought against the transformation. The sheer pain in her expression made Tony’s stomach twist.

Killian’s voice was almost gentle, mocking in its feigned sympathy.

"Desperation, Tony. This is live, by the way." He gestured toward the flickering hologram. "Right now, her body is trying to decide whether to accept the upgrade… or just give up. And if it does give up? Well…"

He gave a casual shrug. "The detonation is quite the spectacle. But until then? Just a whole lot of pain."

Tony’s fingers clenched into fists, the restraints biting into his wrists.

Killian, unbothered, continued smoothly. "But let’s not be all doom and gloom. We haven’t even talked salary yet. What kind of benefits package are you looking for?"

Before Stark could respond, Maya suddenly stepped forward.

"Let him go."

Killian’s smirk faltered. He turned to her slowly, tilting his head. "Hold on, hold on. Maya—"

"I said, let him go." Her voice was steady, but her fingers curled around something small in her palm.

Killian’s expression flickered—irritation flashing across his face before smoothing back into that practiced charm. "What are you doing?"

Maya lifted her hand, revealing a syringe filled with a glowing orange liquid.

"1200 CCs," she said evenly. "A dose half this size would kill me instantly."

Killian’s jaw tightened, the cool veneer cracking just slightly. "It’s times like this my temper gets tested, Maya." He took a careful step forward. "Now… hand me the injector."

She didn’t move.

"If I die, Killian, what happens to your soldiers? What happens to your product?"

Killian’s eyes narrowed. "Maya—"

"What happens to you?" Her voice rose slightly. "What happens if you go too hot?"

Killian's patience snapped like a brittle wire. His jaw clenched, and without hesitation, he pivoted sharply toward Stark—then suddenly spun back, a pistol slipping from his pocket. In one swift motion, he leveled it at Maya, his finger curling around the trigger.

He was about to fire when a deafening crash shattered the tension.

Glass and chunks of concrete exploded inward as the reinforced window disintegrated, the wall around it cracking apart. The shockwave sent sparks flying from nearby machinery, monitors flickering wildly.

All eyes turned to the ruined opening.

A man stood in the gaping hole where the window had once been, backlit by the chaos of the night. His stance was steady, his silhouette unwavering—but it was his eyes that drew attention first. They burned a molten red, glowing like embers beneath a smoldering inferno.

Killian’s brow furrowed, his gaze flicking over the intruder with the sharp eye of a man used to spotting threats. He took note of the subtle details: the controlled breathing, the lack of hesitation, the way the man's muscles coiled—not with panic, but with purpose.

Then those glowing eyes.

Killian’s frown deepened. He shifted his grip on the gun, tilting his head slightly. "You’re not one of mine, are you?"

The man—Nathan—said nothing.

Instead, his hand flicked forward in a practiced motion, a sleek pistol sliding out from beneath his sleeve, snapping perfectly into his palm.

The moment the weapon settled, it began to charge—an ominous whine building up in tandem with a slow, rhythmic beep.

Killian’s eyes narrowed. That was all the confirmation he needed.

Without hesitation, he turned his gun on Nathan.

But before he could pull the trigger—

A brilliant burst of energy erupted from Nathan’s pistol.

The shot hit Killian square in the chest with a concussive force that sent him flying backward. He slammed into the far wall, a deep crack splitting through the concrete from the impact. Smoke curled from the smoldering hole in his suit.

Nathan landed smoothly on the ground, boots skidding slightly as he stepped forward without breaking stride. His weapon remained steady, but his gaze shifted toward Maya.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice low and clipped.

Maya didn’t answer. She barely seemed to register the question. Her eyes were fixed on him, her expression shifting from shock to something sharper—understanding.

"Extremis…" she breathed. "You’ve injected Extremis."

Nathan didn’t flinch.

"Did you perfect it?" she pressed, the scientist in her overtaking everything else.

Nathan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Far from it. But it works for me." His voice held the weight of something unsaid. He glanced at her sideways, adding, "You can thank Stern and the other eggheads for that."

Before Maya could respond, a dry, familiar voice cut in.

"Hate to interrupt whatever this is," Tony said, his voice laced with strained amusement, "but I really doubt that was enough to put Killian down."

He jerked his head toward the far wall.

And sure enough, Killian was already moving.

The charred remnants of his blazer crumbled away as he pushed himself to his feet, his shoulders rolling with an unnatural ease. His chest was exposed now—a raw, scorched mess of burned skin and something else beneath.

The Extremis pulsed through him, the tissue beneath the damage knitting itself back together, the glow intensifying as he straightened.

His lips curled into something between a grimace and a snarl.

Tony winced. "Yeah, if anything, it looks like you just pissed him off."

Killian let out a guttural snarl, his patience—and composure—shattered. The glow beneath his skin flared violently as he surged forward, moving with unnatural speed. The air around him shimmered with heat as his body propelled him like a missile toward Nathan.

He cocked his right fist back, molten veins pulsing along his forearm, and threw a wild, brutal haymaker.

Nathan didn’t flinch.

He saw it coming a mile away. Killian might have the power, but he had all the finesse of a drunken brawler.

At the last second, Nathan dipped low, ducking under the punch with ease. The force of the missed blow sent a gust of hot air past him, making the concrete beneath Killian’s fist crack from sheer impact. But before the man could recover, Nathan twisted sharply, shifting his weight into a vicious counterstrike.

His hook connected cleanly with Killian’s jaw.

The impact sent Killian flying again, his body whipping through the air before crashing hard into a steel support beam. The metal groaned under the force, bending slightly from the collision.

Nathan straightened, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled. Then, without missing a beat, he turned to Stark.

"I’m not here to put him down," he said coolly.

Before Tony could even respond, something moved in the corner of Nathan’s vision.

Instinct kicked in.

Nathan leapt backward just as another figure crashed into the space he’d just occupied. The floor cracked under the sheer force of the landing.

The newcomer straightened, eyes locking onto Nathan like a predator sizing up another apex predator.

He had a buzz cut, sharp blue eyes, and a presence that spoke of discipline—a stark contrast to Killian’s reckless aggression. His skin glowed with the same burning light as his leader’s, but his stance, his poise... Nathan recognized it immediately.

Eric Savin.

Unlike Killian, Savin knew exactly what he was doing.

Nathan kept his posture loose but ready, his glowing gaze meeting Savin’s with quiet intensity. For a moment, neither moved. It was a silent assessment, both men measuring the other, weighing strengths and weaknesses.

Savin was no fool.

He had seen what Nathan just did to Killian—saw the precision, the efficiency. This wasn’t some brute with borrowed power. Whoever this man was, he was dangerous.

So instead of charging in recklessly, Savin played it smart. He backed away, heading toward Killian instead. If they fought together, maybe they could tip the scales.

Tony’s confusion was climbing by the second. His mind was already scrambling to process the fact that some glowing-eyed, gun-toting wildcard had just crashed into Killian’s little hellhole and started throwing hands like he had a personal vendetta.

“Then what the hell are you here for?” Tony demanded, his tone caught somewhere between suspicion and exasperation.

Nathan didn’t even look at him at first. He flicked his wrist, resetting his stance after the brief scuffle, then finally turned to Stark, his expression cool and unreadable.

“I’m here to protect one of my company’s assets,” he said simply, tilting his head toward Maya Hansen.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Your company? Wait—what company?”

Nathan smirked. “You’ll figure it out, and since I'm already here, might as well get you in my debt....”

Then, as if just remembering something, he raised his energy pistol and took aim—directly at Tony.

Stark barely had time to register what was happening before panic set in. His brain immediately conjured up the worst-case scenario—one where that weird, futuristic gun of the glowing maniac before him turned his chest into a gaping, football-sized hole.

“What in the—”

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Four quick, precise gunshots rang out.

Tony flinched, bracing for pain that never came. Instead, he heard the distinct clang of metal snapping. He blinked and looked down—his restraints had been blasted apart with perfect accuracy.

Nathan lowered his gun slightly, watching Stark’s reaction with mild amusement. “Relax. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t miss.”

Before Tony could fire back a snarky response, a sudden movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

Savin.

The former colonel moved like a trained predator, seeing what he thought was an opening. But Nathan was already ahead of him.

Without hesitation, Nathan kicked off the ground and vaulted over Savin just as he lunged. Savin charged straight through the empty space where Nathan had been, his momentum carrying him forward.

Nathan twisted midair, pistol snapping up toward the far wall. The weapon hummed as it charged, and then—

BOOM.

A single powerful shot ripped through the concrete, leaving a smoking, man-sized hole.

Nathan landed smoothly, immediately pivoting just in time to dodge Killian, who came tearing toward him like a raging inferno.

"Go on," Nathan called over his shoulder to Stark, already shifting back into a defensive stance. "Take Hansen and get out of here."

Tony hesitated for a fraction of a second. He wanted to say something—anything—but watching both Killian and Savin closing in on Nathan again made the choice for him.

He grabbed Maya’s wrist. “Come on.”

Maya hesitated, glancing back at Nathan. Her expression was torn, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Wait! What about you?”

Nathan, still mid-fight, spared her a brief glance. His lips curled into a small, confident smirk.

“I’ll be just fine.”

And with that, Tony pulled Maya through the blasted hole in the wall—leaving Nathan alone to face the storm.