The lead enforcer raised his gauntlet, a glowing lattice scanning over the Avengers' pods. The results flickered across his visor in a cascade of code and biometric markers.
Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat, whispering, "Uh… so what happens if we don't pass their little test?"
Before anyone could answer, the enforcer's tone sharpened.
"Unverified. Step out. Identification required."
The armored figures began to move closer, their mirrored helms reflecting the pods like cold, faceless eyes. Natasha's hand twitched toward her belt. Clint muttered, "Here we go."
Then, Max's door slid open with a quiet hiss.
He didn't hurry. He didn't posture. He simply stepped out of his sleek transport, his presence as casual as someone strolling into their own home. The enforcers froze, their helms pinging in warning tones as his broadcast flared across the checkpoint.
It wasn't a badge. It wasn't even a display.
It was authority woven into the very air, bleeding into the scanners, overriding every protocol.
Prime Sovereign — Confirmed.
The holographic sigil shimmered faintly above Max, a fractal crown of neon code twisting in and out of perception. The guards snapped instantly to attention, their weapons lowering, their posture shifting from suspicion to deference.
The lead enforcer's voice lost its edge, flattening into respect.
"Prime Sovereign. We… we didn't realize."
Max yawned, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. "Yeah, well. Now you do."
The tension evaporated. Without another word, the enforcers gestured, and the scanners cut off mid-cycle. The pods were waved through, the gates unlocking with a smooth hiss of hydraulics and light.
The Avengers stared as the convoy rolled forward unchallenged.
Inside their pod, Clint broke the silence first. "Uh. Did anyone else just see him casually Jedi-mind-trick three guys in full power armor?"
Natasha's lips thinned, eyes sharp. "Not a trick. Rank. They weren't scared of him—they were obeying him."
Fury grunted, finally turning toward Max's feed. "So that's what you meant. Rank here isn't just words on paper. It's—broadcast?"
"Exactly." Max's voice cut in through comms, casual as ever. "Here, everyone starts equal—no old money, no family bloodlines, no gods with hammers. Your merit is all that counts. You work, you innovate, you conquer? You climb. You slack off, you stagnate? You fall."
Steve frowned. "So it's a… meritocracy?"
"Meritocracy with teeth," Max corrected. "At the top? Prime Sovereigns. They own districts, armies, corporations. They don't need to show ID—the world bends around them. Sovereigns are one rung below—big military leaders, industrial lords, politicians. High Citizens run the upper-middle class—governors, innovators, investors. Then you've got Citizens—the backbone of society. Workers, builders, traders. And the bottom… Low Residents. Drifters. Laborers. People who haven't proven themselves yet—or never will."
Bruce rubbed his temple. "So, essentially, survival of the fittest. Social Darwinism hard-coded into the government structure."
"Pretty much." Max didn't deny it. "But here's the kicker: there are no shortcuts. No one's born a Sovereign. No one inherits a Prime badge. You climb or you starve."
The pods continued rolling, neon banners washing over the glass as Horizon's inner city loomed closer.
Fury's jaw tightened as he muttered, half to himself, half to the team: "Damn. No wonder they treated him like royalty. He's sitting on the top of the food chain."
Max's smirk was audible in his reply.
"Correction. I'm the top of the food chain."
The gates slammed shut behind them, sealing out the border's cold steel and opening into the blinding chaos of Horizon proper.
The gates behind them sealed with a hiss like a guillotine, and in front of them Horizon proper unfolded.
It wasn't just a city. It was a world stacked on itself.
Towering spires of glass and chrome scraped the heavens, their surfaces laced with neon veins that pulsed like the arteries of a living organism. Hover-rails streaked between buildings at impossible speeds, carrying cargo pods and passenger orbs that zipped silently past, leaving glowing trails in the smog-choked air.
The Avengers' convoy glided into the main artery—a boulevard wide enough to fit five aircraft carriers side by side. Above, layers of traffic zipped in streams like veins of light. Below, the undercity crawled with movement: markets of flickering holo-signs, repair stalls sparking with welding torches, and black-market vendors peddling augments from under neon tarps.
The smells hit next. Oil, spice, ozone, and sweat—every scent of survival packed into one space.
"Holy hell," Clint muttered, pressing closer to the glass. "It's like Blade Runner had a baby with Coruscant."
Bruce adjusted his glasses, eyes darting from billboard-sized projections of cybernetic models to the roving police drones patrolling the skies. "This is… an ecosystem. Layered. Engineered. Notice the separation—High Citizens live in the towers, insulated from the chaos. Citizens and Low Residents scrap in the gutters."
Natasha's gaze swept the street level. A crowd had gathered by the roadside—protesters. Their clothes were ragged, their augments mismatched and glitching, sparks crackling from poorly grafted limbs. They held signs that read "Stop Corporate Harvesting" and "No More Biometric Tax."
Before Steve could comment, a squad of corporate enforcers descended. Black exo-suits gleamed under the neon glow, helmets faceless and rifles humming with charged rounds. The crowd roared, hurling bottles, a few even flinging crude EMP grenades.
"Are they… shooting at civilians?" Steve demanded, rising from his seat.
"Relax," Max said coolly, his voice slicing through their comms. "This is daily life here. Horizon doesn't coddle weakness. The corporations own half the city blocks, and the Sovereigns manage the rest. Protests happen all the time. Sometimes they win a concession. Most times…"
On cue, the enforcers fired. Blue stun rounds cracked through the air, sending arcs of electricity across the crowd. Bodies convulsed and dropped. A few rebels surged forward with jury-rigged plasma cutters, only to be swatted down like insects by shock batons. Within minutes, the protest broke. Survivors scattered back into the alleys, leaving smoking debris in their wake.
"…most times," Max finished, "they lose."
Steve's knuckles whitened. "You call this order?!"
Max leaned lazily back in his seat, watching the city flash past the pod's tinted glass. "I call it balance. Horizon thrives because the strong build, and the weak adapt. The city doesn't waste resources pretending everyone is equal—it invests where it gets results. That's why Horizon didn't collapse like the old nations did. It evolved."
***
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