Marvelous Meditations #59

Arkady’s rage reached a fever pitch. He threw his head back, his face contorted in a frenzied snarl, his crimson eyes burning with feral hatred. “You damn insects! I will kill you all! I will—”

CRACK!

His words were cut short as the ground beneath him exploded.

A massive pillar of ice erupted from the frozen earth, slamming into his chest like a battering ram. The force was enough to launch him off his feet, sending him hurtling backward through the air.

His body crashed into the reinforced steel wall of the military base, the impact shaking the very structure.

But it didn’t end there.

The ice, as if alive, continued to expand and grow, wrapping around him like the grasping fingers of an unforgiving titan.

Arkady let out a guttural roar of defiance, his powerful muscles tensing, veins bulging. “Do you think this can hold me?!” he bellowed, his voice a mixture of rage and disbelief.

He struggled violently, his enhanced strength flexing against his icy prison, the frost cracking in places from the sheer force of his resistance, but he wasn’t alone in this fight.

A new force pressed down on him, invisible, unyielding, crushing.

Jean Grey extended a hand, her eyes glowing with telekinetic fury.

Arkady’s limbs wrenched against the steel wall, pinned in place with an unimaginable force—one strong enough to turn stone to dust.

The ice continued to creep up his body, locking him in place, freezing over his torso, his arms, his neck until, at last—

He was fully encased, completely immobilized.

From a distance, watching through the sniper scope, Nathan Cross let out a slow, measured sigh.

With a quiet chuckle, he lowered his rifle and muttered, “Damn. Almost feel bad for the guy. Even I wouldn’t know what to do in his place.”

In the end, this was the difference between the hunter and the hunted.

Skill, strength, even experience—none of it mattered if the hunter was prepared.

If the trap was set with precision, if every variable had been studied and accounted for, then the prey had no options left.

No matter how powerful, no matter how dangerous, there was nothing they could do.

Nathan knew this better than anyone. Because if he was ever in Arkady’s position if someone had studied him to the point of anticipating his every move, turning the battlefield into a cage—

Then even he wouldn’t be able to escape.

Logan let out a grunt, shaking his head as he exhaled through his nose. “Well, don’t,” he muttered.

His sharp eyes flicked to Nathan’s rifle, studying the sleek, custom-built weapon with a scrutinizing gaze. After a brief pause, he turned back to Nathan, his tone laced with curiosity. “What was that toy supposed to do to Arkady, anyway?”

Nathan smirked, shaking his head as he lifted the sniper rifle and gave it a light tap. “This?” he said, his voice casual. “Nothing.”

With a smooth motion, he pulled back the lever. A gleaming bullet ejected into the air, spinning for the briefest moment before he snatched it mid-flight.

A perfect, matte-black round.

He turned it between his fingers before holding it up between them. “But this baby?” he added, his grin widening. “Would’ve popped his head like a balloon.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, skepticism plain on his face.

“You do realize the guy’s skull is tougher than a damn tank, don’t you?”

Nathan merely shrugged, casually slipping the bullet between his fingers like a coin trick before holding it up again. “Doesn’t matter. This thing’s pure Vibranium.”

Logan’s expression shifted slightly—not quite impressed, but no longer dismissive either.

“It ain't Adamantium, granted,” Nathan continued, tossing the bullet up once before catching it. “But it soaks up kinetic energy like a sponge.” He tapped the tip of the round. “And this one’s charged. Got enough C4 packed into it to blast through a doomsday bunker.”

Logan let out a low whistle, arching a brow. “Fancy toy.”

Nathan chuckled as he slipped the bullet into his pocket, then methodically began dismantling the sniper rifle, breaking it down with fluid efficiency.

“Still,” he said, voice lighter now, “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.” He shot Logan a sidelong glance. “Don’t you think so, old man?”

Logan huffed. “I'm sure Chuck would think that...”

Instead, another voice cut in.

“Da.”

Nathan turned to look at Gregor, the Russian standing with his arms crossed, eyes locked on Arkady’s frozen form in the distance.

“I need to settle my score with the bastard,” Gregor muttered, his tone icy, unwavering. His eyes flickered with a dangerous glint as he added,

“Before he goes back into the dirt.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “What?” he grunted. “He’s got a bone to pick with Arkady too?”

Nathan turned slightly, his gaze settling on Gregor. The older Russian’s face was set in stone—grim, distant, and harboring a deep reservoir of hatred beneath the surface. Nathan didn’t need to ask what was on his mind. He already knew.

And he also knew it wasn’t his place to explain.

He shrugged, keeping his tone light. “Let’s just say Gregor has a very good reason to—”

Before he could finish, Gregor cut in, his voice low and edged with raw, unfiltered grief. “The bastard killed my boy.”

A heavy silence fell between them.

Gregor’s eyes were locked on Omega Red’s frozen form, but Nathan could tell he wasn’t looking at the present. He was looking at the past.

“My son,” Gregor continued, his voice growing tighter. “He was one of the soldiers sent to capture Arkady, back before they turned him into that… thing.”

He paused, his breath unsteady for the briefest moment. Then his expression darkened, his jaw tightening as sheer hatred radiated from him like heat off a furnace.

“He butchered my son like some damned animal...” he spat, his voice like gravel. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if longing to wrap around something—a weapon.

“And for that?” he added, his tone dropping to something cold, merciless. “I will butcher him.”

Logan’s frown deepened. He turned to Nathan, his stare sharp and unreadable. “I thought we were here to catch Arkady,” he said, his voice low. “Not execute him.”

Nathan met his gaze, unflinching. His expression was blank—calm, almost casual.

“No one said anything about an execution,” he replied smoothly.

He adjusted the strap of his rifle, his voice taking on a measured, almost too-reasonable tone.

“Me and Gregor will have a little chat with him first. Ask a few questions, get some intel, maybe some closure for the old man...” Then, his eyes turned cold. “But Arkady? He’ll do something stupid,” Nathan continued, his tone almost indifferent.

“And, well…” he exhaled, tilting his head slightly. “Feeling threatened, we might just have to defend ourselves.”

Logan’s jaw tensed. His fingers curled slightly, then relaxed as he let out a long sigh.

“Sounds like a load of crap to me,” he muttered. Then, after a beat, he added, “Look… I can’t say I approve of going behind Chuck’s back like this.” He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “But just this once?” He gave Nathan a pointed look.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear a damn thing.”

Finally, he turned to Gregor, meeting his burning stare. “Whatever you’ve got in store for him,” Logan said, voice quieter now, more certain. “Arkady’s got it coming.”

Gregor’s expression remained unchanged—a wall of vengeance set in stone. “He’ll get what he deserves,” he murmured.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he added, voice steady, final.

“And then some.”

...

The heavy steel door groaned as it slid open, releasing a blast of frigid air into the dimly lit corridor. Nathan stepped inside first, his boots echoing sharply against the concrete floor. The air was freezing, sharp enough to bite at his skin even through his jacket. Gregor followed close behind, his breath misting in the cold.

The room was designed for containment—reinforced walls lined with layers of insulation to keep the temperature at subzero levels. A low, humming red light pulsed from the far corner, illuminating the monstrosity at the center of the room.

Arkady Rossovich, Omega Red, was bound within an unyielding mass of restraints—a metallic prison within a prison.

Thick bands of reinforced steel locked his arms, his torso, his legs—his entire body encased in a cube of heavy plating, immobilized to the point of absurdity. Only his head remained visible, protruding from the front like some grotesque execution block.

Even then, his skull was clamped in place, a mechanical brace locking his head still. A thick muzzle covered his mouth, lined with suppressors designed to nullify any attempt at spewing his death spores.

Nathan’s gaze swept over the overkill containment. Smart. Someone had done their homework.

Arkady’s eyes flickered open at the sound of approaching footsteps. At first, his gaze was unfocused, sluggish from the combination of cold and sedatives still coursing through his system. But then—recognition.

His attention locked onto Nathan. Not Gregor. Nathan.

Nathan met his stare, expression unreadable. Cold. Calculating. He didn't move with arrogance, nor with fear. Just purpose. And that alone told Arkady everything he needed to know.

Gregor took a step to the side, his hands slipping into his coat pockets as he turned toward the lone security camera mounted in the corner of the room. He gave it a short, silent gesture.

The tiny red recording light blinked—and then vanished.

Nathan didn’t even bother looking at it.

A grin stretched under Arkady’s muzzle. He slowly alternated his gaze between the two men, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement.

“So… I suppose I have you two to thank for my current predicament,” he mused, his voice rasping slightly through the muzzle.

His attention shifted back to Nathan, lingering. “Or maybe… just you.”

Nathan gave no reaction. No shift in posture, no flicker of emotion.

Arkady let out a muffled chuckle, deep and low.

“Not that it matters,” he continued, voice dripping with malice. “Because once I get out of here… I’ll hunt you all down.”

His grin widened.

“You, this old man…” His tone darkened, filled with venom. “And even those damned children.”

The temperature of the room didn’t change—but the atmosphere did.

Gregor’s fists clenched at his sides, his breathing slow and deliberate. Nathan, however, remained still. Then—he smirked.

“Assuming,” he said smoothly, “the carbonadium and your own mutation don’t eat you from the inside out first.”

Arkady’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, his sharp teeth gleaming beneath the muzzle like a predator amused by its prey’s ignorance.

“If you think I’ll be kept here for more than two days,” he said, his voice a guttural rasp, “then you’re even more foolish than you look.”

His crimson eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he continued, mocking, taunting.

“My countrymen have invested too much in me to let me rot in a frozen cell. Soon enough, someone will come for me.” His voice dropped, growing colder. Hungrier. “And when they do, I will be free… free to hunt you down, free to exact my revenge.”

Nathan exhaled softly through his nose, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Free is a strong word,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You might not be wrapped in quite as many chains, but let’s be real—you’ll never be free. You’ll still be a slave to the people who made you.” His eyes flickered with disdain. “Still nothing more than a leech. A parasite that can’t survive without draining the life out of others.”

The air in the room shifted.

Arkady’s amusement cracked, his upper lip curling into a silent snarl. His body tensed despite the restraints, a guttural growl vibrating in his throat.

“And I suppose,” he said through gritted teeth, “you’re here to offer me a better alternative?”

Nathan met his glare with a cool, steady gaze. Unmoved. Unshaken.

“The Carbonadium Synthesizer,” he said simply.

That caught Arkady’s attention. His red eyes narrowed, calculating. Weighing the possibility.

“You have it?” he demanded.

Nathan shook his head. “No.”

Before Arkady could snarl in frustration, he continued, raising his right hand.

“But my people can make one for you.”

He flexed his fingers once, then peeled away the synthetic glove, revealing the gleaming vibranium alloy beneath. The intricate plating caught the dim light, shifting like living metal. Then—his fingers twisted, morphing.

Blades snapped outward, unfolding with mechanical precision. The sharp edges gleamed for a moment before they merged together, the individual pieces shifting seamlessly into a single, deadly blade.

Arkady’s eyes flickered to it, watching the transformation with something between intrigue and wariness.

“This?” Nathan said, turning the blade slightly, letting the light catch along its edge. “This was made in less than a week by one of the scientists under my employ.” He let the words sink in before adding, voice quiet but certain:

“And I have a whole herd of them.”