Two weeks passed since Jon's encounter with Wanda in the Mirror Dimension. During this time, he covertly monitored her and Pietro, ensuring they remained safe. He knew he had to be extra vigilant now, as his very existence in this timeline was a significant deviation, let alone his direct intervention.
To his relief, Wanda and Pietro were proceeding with caution.
"Pietro," Wanda had whispered, her voice still trembling from the shock of the Mirror Dimension. They were huddled in a derelict, abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of Sokovia, the city lights a distant, blurry glow. "There was a man... cloaked. He pulled me into this... strange place. Everything was shattered, like broken glass." She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "He showed me things, Pietro. Names. Faces. He said... he said Hydra was behind our parents' death. That it wasn't Stark. That they used the attacks, used us." Her voice cracked with raw grief and a dawning, horrifying understanding. "He said we have the power to know for ourselves."
Pietro's lean, athletic frame tensed, his short, stark white hair almost seeming to vibrate with his agitation. "A man in a cloak? Pulled you into a strange world? Wanda, are you sure this wasn't some trick? What if it's a trap? What if he's just trying to mess with us, to use our anger?" His distrust was palpable, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Why would he help us? What does he want?"
Wanda shook her head, her green eyes wide and haunted. "I don't know, Pietro. But... the things he showed me. The feelings. It felt real. Too real. Like a missing piece of a puzzle I didn't even know I was trying to solve." She looked at her brother, a desperate plea in her gaze. "What if it's true? What if we've been fighting the wrong enemy all this time? What if our parents... what if their deaths were just part of some bigger, darker game?" A single tear traced a path down her cheek. "All this time, all this anger... what if we could have known sooner? What if we could have done something?"
Pietro sighed, running a hand through his hair. His sister's pain was his pain. "Okay, okay. So, we check it out. But we do it our way. Carefully. No trusting some random cloaked guy who pops out of thin air. We find these names, we find the truth. And if he is trying to trick us, he'll regret it." Their deep-seated wish for vengeance, coupled with an insatiable desire for more knowledge, ultimately won out. They decided to act soon, cautiously, but with unwavering resolve.
Meanwhile, Jon's own plans were progressing smoothly. When he first looked at the real estate listings, the villa images popped out. It wasn't just a house, it was a sprawling, modern estate tucked away in what looked like endless, lush green woods. The pictures showed huge windows that seemed to bring the outside in, sleek, clean lines, and a sense of quiet luxury. He imagined himself there, the perfect hidden base. His new identity documents arrived from Ghostwire, the New York hacker. The package contained a full set of papers, digital footprints, and even a plausible, if brief, history. With this in hand, Jon wasted no time. He quickly bought that secluded villa on the outskirts of New York, far from densely populated areas and prying eyes. It was a perfect sanctuary, a place where he could operate without drawing undue attention. He immediately set about securing it, not just with mundane locks, but with intricate magical runes and traps, invisible to the untrained eye. He also planned to integrate advanced technology into its defenses: high-tech hidden cameras and motion sensors. This layered approach would ensure that any non-magical threats would be detected and dealt with by the tech, keeping his magical defenses hidden and reserved for when they were truly needed.
Jon also began laying the groundwork for his financial independence. He planned to open a small investment company. While he possessed a good amount of money from his "re-allocations" from Obadiah Stane and other corrupt elites, it wasn't a vast fortune that would immediately draw unwanted attention. His financial foundation was built on careful planning. The money he had wasn't just from his "re-allocations" from corrupt elites, it was a mix of funds that had been meticulously laundered. Some of it had gone through his fixer, Ghostwire, who used fake documents and complex digital trails to make it appear legitimate. Other portions were channeled through sophisticated cryptocurrency investments and various other discreet financial channels Jon had uncovered through his mind-reading. This allowed him to convert illicit gains into clean, usable capital without raising immediate suspicion. He intended to recruit a small, trustworthy team, focusing on quiet, strategic moves. He knew that Tony Stark would soon be kidnapped, an event that would cause significant market fluctuations. This, Jon realized, would be the opportune moment to discreetly acquire substantial shares in certain key companies, leveraging his foreknowledge for significant financial gain without appearing to manipulate the market overtly. It was all part of building his foundation, ensuring he had the resources and influence needed for the larger game ahead.
The following week, Jon shifted his focus to the recruitment drive for his new investment company. He envisioned a small, agile team, no more than four individuals, to start. Simultaneously, he engaged professional services,a reputable law firm to handle the company's registration and legal compliance, and an experienced accounting firm to manage its financial operations. He needed everything to be above board, a perfectly legitimate facade for his deeper ambitions.
For his core investment team, the people who would be finding, analyzing, predicting, and acquiring assets, Jon sought a blend of experience and fresh perspective. He personally conducted the interviews, his carefully constructed new identity giving him an air of quiet authority. He wasn't just looking at resumes, he was subtly probing minds for genuine aptitude, discretion, and a certain spark of unconventional thinking.
Among the experienced candidates, one stood out: Elara Vance. She strode into the tastefully minimalist temporary office Jon had rented. She was a woman in her early thirties, exuding an aura of sharp intellect and confident allure. Her dark, perfectly tailored suit hugged her figure in all the right places, hinting at the toned physique beneath. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a sleek, no-nonsense ponytail, emphasizing the elegant line of her neck and shoulders. But it was her eyes,a striking, intelligent hazel that missed nothing,that truly captivated, sparkling with an almost mischievous curiosity. Her mature beauty was undeniable, a sophisticated sexiness that wasn't overt but subtly powerful. She didn't wait for an invitation, simply settled into the chair opposite him, her posture radiating an easy self-assurance.
"Mr. Thorne," she began, her voice clear and carrying a hint of a New York edge, "I'm told you're starting something... unconventional. And that's a polite way of saying no one knows quite what you're up to." A faint, knowing smile played on her lips. "Intriguing, I'll give you that."
Jon allowed a faint smile to mirror hers. "Unconventional, yes. And potentially very rewarding. Your record speaks for itself, Ms. Vance. But I'm interested in what you believe you bring to the table beyond just crunching numbers and predicting market shifts." He leaned back, observing her. She's got a fire, a quick mind. That's good. Might actually make this whole 'starting a company' thing less soul-crushingly dull.
Elara met his gaze, a slight quirk of her eyebrow. "Beyond numbers? Well, I grew up learning to stretch a dollar, Mr. Thorne. My family wasn't exactly loaded, so I got pretty good at spotting opportunities where others just saw dead ends. I like finding those quiet shifts, the ones that turn into big waves later on. And honestly, I've got a healthy dose of skepticism for anyone who says 'that's just how it's always been done,' especially when money's involved." She leaned forward a bit, a curious glint in her eye. "Also, your online presence is practically non-existent. It's either super private, or you're fresh out of the gate. Either way, it tells me you're not afraid to do things differently, and that's something I can definitely get behind."
Jon chuckled, a genuine sound. She's direct, I like that. And her background makes sense. No silver spoon, good. "A fresh start, Ms. Vance, that's a good way to put it. And yes, it's very much on purpose. My approach is definitely outside the usual box, and the chances I'm looking at are, well, pretty unique. I need people who can roll with things, who aren't afraid of a bit of uncertainty. Folks who can trust in a plan that might sound a little out there sometimes." He paused, his gaze steady. "And like you said, being discreet is huge. I'm not after the most cutthroat players, just capable, loyal people I can actually enjoy working with." And who won't ask too many awkward questions about my sudden decisions.
Elara's smile widened a bit. "A fresh start, huh? I can definitely get behind that. And 'unconventional' pretty much sums me up, Mr. Thorne. Honestly, the usual market grind puts me to sleep." Her eyes sparkled, a playful challenge in her gaze.
Jon found himself genuinely intrigued. Her directness, her subtle challenge, and that hint of playful irreverence were a refreshing change from the usual corporate dance. There was a spark there, a quickness of mind and a confident edge that he hadn't anticipated. She'll certainly add some... interesting dynamics to the team, he thought, a flicker of amusement. And probably keep me on my toes, which isn't a bad thing. And perhaps, a touch of the "drama" he'd considered. She was exactly the kind of sharp, independent mind he needed, even if she came with a healthy dose of skepticism and a witty retort for every question. He decided, then and there, that Elara Vance would be hired.
"So, Elara," Jon began, leaning forward slightly, his tone shifting to a more conversational, yet still professional, curiosity. "You mentioned your family and learning to stretch a dollar. Tell me a bit more about what shaped your approach to the market."
Elara leaned back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, Mr. Thorne, my dad worked two jobs, always. Mom ran a small bakery out of our kitchen. We weren't poor, not really, but every penny counted. You learn to look at things differently when you see how hard people work for every single one of those dollars. It makes you appreciate value, and it makes you wary of anything that smells like a quick buck that's too good to be true." She shrugged, a small, self-deprecating smile. "I guess you could say I learned to be a bit of a financial scavenger. Always looking for what's overlooked, what's undervalued. The big firms, they chase the flashy trends. I prefer the quiet, steady growth. It's less glamorous, but it builds real wealth. And it's a lot less likely to crash and burn." She paused, her gaze meeting his, a hint of genuine passion in her eyes. "I saw too many good people lose everything because they trusted the wrong 'experts.' I swore I wouldn't be one of them, and I wouldn't let my clients be either."
Jon nodded slowly, a genuine appreciation for her candor. "That's a valuable perspective, Elara. One that's often lost in the high-stakes world of investment. It sounds like you value stability and integrity." And she's got a good moral compass, even if it's born from hardship. Useful.
"Absolutely," she affirmed, her voice firm. "And a good challenge. That's why your 'unconventional' approach caught my eye. It sounds like you're not just playing the same old game, She winked, a flash of her playful side. "So, when do I start?"
Jon returned her smile. "Welcome aboard, Elara. We'll be in touch with the details soon."
As Jon finalized the last details of Elara's hiring and the company's registration, his attention remained split, a part of his mind constantly attuned to Sokovia. He had set a dangerous game in motion with Wanda and Pietro, and now he watched, a silent, unseen guardian, as the twins began their furious quest for truth.
His magical scrying showed their initial moves, and Jon couldn't help but inwardly wince. Charging straight at military officials? Seriously? That's a bold strategy, Wanda. Let's see if it pays off. Probably not without a little help from yours truly. He knew their powers were raw, their experience minimal. They were fueled by pure, unadulterated rage, and while potent, it made them predictable. The military, even the corrupt parts, had protocols for enhanced individuals. They were heavily monitored, and without his subtle interventions, they would have been captured at the first wrong move. And then where would my future Avengers be? Stuck in a lab, probably. Not on my watch.
Wanda and Pietro started with the military officials, those familiar faces from the experimental division, the ones who had always kept them at arm's length, never allowing them near the true heart of the operation.
It wasn't easy. The military building was a grim, concrete block, surrounded by high fences topped with barbed wire. Guards in drab uniforms patrolled the perimeter, their rifles held close. Security cameras, like watchful, unblinking eyes, were mounted at every corner. Inside, the hallways were sterile and brightly lit, with heavy, reinforced doors. Jon, a silent observer in the Mirror Dimension, would see the faint, almost invisible laser grids and pressure plates that crisscrossed the floors. He'd subtly manipulate these, causing a momentary flicker in a camera feed, a brief, inexplicable static on a guard's earpiece, or a sudden, urgent need for a bathroom break in a nearby official's mind. Pietro would then dart through, a silver blur, distracting guards and creating openings, or snatching keycards from unsuspecting guards' belts. Wanda, her eyes glowing faintly red, would then slip past, her mind reaching out, pushing thoughts, forcing open doors, and pulling memories from the officials. The military knew about Wanda's burgeoning powers, even if they didn't fully understand them. They had protocols, countermeasures, specifically designed to neutralize known meta-human abilities. But Jon was there, subtly disarming sensors, creating fleeting, impossible distractions in the periphery of guards' vision, and using precise telepathic nudges to create momentary lapses in their vigilance. This allowed Pietro to become a blur of motion, distracting guards and creating openings, while Wanda, fueled by a desperate need for answers, unleashed her nascent mind control. It was raw, unrefined, but potent. She didn't just influence, she forced their thoughts, making them speak, making them reveal. The officials, caught off guard by the sudden, aggressive assault, crumpled under her psychic might. They hadn't expected such a direct, unprovoked attack, and their defenses, designed for more conventional threats, were useless.
Wanda would approach a target, her fingers waving subtly near their temples, her eyes glowing faintly with crimson energy. She wasn't asking questions, she was seeing. Memories would flood her mind, vivid and raw, directly from the source. From the first military official, she saw fragmented images: hushed meetings, shadowed figures, and the aftermath of the bombing that killed her parents. It was a chaotic mess of destruction, but what struck her most was the unsettling sense that the attack, while officially blamed on Stark Industries Weapons, had too many loose ends, too many inconsistencies that were deliberately being buried by powerful politicians.
"Pietro," Wanda whispered later, huddled with her brother in a derelict building overlooking the city, her voice tight with suppressed fury. "It wasn't Stark. There's more. The way they talk about it, the way they hid things... it feels like a setup. Like our parents were just... collateral."
Pietro's face was grim, his super-speed-induced metabolism making his anger a vibrating hum beneath his skin. "Who's next on his list?"
Wanda closed her eyes, recalling the names Jon had telepathically given her. "A politician. He seemed to be involved in the cover-up."
Their operations became a series of lightning strikes. Pietro would scout, his speed allowing him to bypass most security, identifying patrol routes and blind spots. Wanda, using her growing ability to sense the thoughts of nearby people, would then slip in, avoiding patrols, knowing when a guard was distracted or when a conversation was happening too close for comfort. This growing telepathic awareness, a constant hum of thoughts around her, combined with the inexplicable 'luck' of suddenly disabled alarms or conveniently distracted guards, had saved them from capture more times than she could count.
The second target yielded more pieces of the puzzle, confirming the political cover-up. But it was the third target, a high-ranking Hydra politician, that truly shattered their world. His office was in a grand, old government building in the city center. It was all polished marble, heavy oak doors, and hushed whispers. Security here was less about brute force and more about layers of access,multiple checkpoints, biometric scanners, and well-dressed, observant security personnel who looked more like secret service agents than guards. Jon, from the Mirror Dimension, would subtly nudge a guard's attention away, or create a fleeting illusion of a dropped file just out of reach. Pietro would then zip through, a near-invisible gust of wind, to disable a scanner or swap a keycard. Wanda would follow, her mind reaching out, finding the politician in his opulent office, his thoughts a jumble of power, deals, and self-importance, before she forced the truth from him. As Wanda waved her fingers near his head, the memories that flooded her mind were not fragmented, but horrifyingly clear. She saw Hydra agents, their sinister symbols, actively backing the terrorist attacks in Sokovia,not just the one that killed her parents, but many others, all orchestrated for their own twisted agendas, their goals of chaos and control. She saw the chilling indifference with which they viewed human lives, including those of children.
And then, the most sickening revelation: memories of superpowered individuals, like herself and Pietro, being treated not as people, but as tools, as weapons, as mere subjects for brutal experiments. She saw the cold calculations, the plans to use them as deterrents, as expendable assets. The experiments they had willingly undergone, fueled by their desire for revenge, were merely part of Hydra's grander, more insidious scheme.
Wanda recoiled, a silent scream tearing through her mind. "Pietro!" she gasped, stumbling back into the shadows where her brother waited. Her face was pale, her hands trembling, crimson energy flickering uncontrollably around her.
"What did you see, Wanda?" Pietro asked, his voice urgent, catching her as she swayed.
"They... they did it, Pietro," she choked out, tears streaming down her face. "Hydra. They backed the attacks. Our parents... it was all for their agenda. And us... we're just experiments. Weapons. They don't care about us. They just want to use us." Her voice rose to a furious whisper.
Pietro's eyes hardened, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a cold, dangerous fury. "So, the man in the cloak... he was telling the truth. All of it." He looked at his sister, seeing the profound horror and betrayal in her eyes. "We can't be found by them, Wanda. They're too powerful, too connected."
But despite the danger, despite the shock, they didn't stop. The fury, now directed at a clear, tangible enemy, propelled them forward. They continued to pursue the names given by the cloaked man, each new target confirming the pervasive reach of Hydra.
Their other target, the Hydra politician, had been a close call. A very close call. They were nearly captured, cornered in a grimy alleyway, a maze of narrow, dark alleyways behind crumbling brick buildings. The air smelled of damp concrete and refuse. Security here was brutal and direct: heavily armed Hydra operatives, their faces grim, patrolling in small, tight squads. They moved with a chilling precision, their weapons ready. Jon, watching, saw the glint of their night-vision goggles and the subtle hum of their comms. They were facing a squad of heavily armed, well-trained operatives who seemed to anticipate their every move. Even with Pietro's desperate speed and Wanda's frantic, flaring powers, they were moments from being overwhelmed. It was only Jon's swift, desperate intervention, a sudden, impossible burst of static on their comms, a momentary disorientation spell cast from the Mirror Dimension that made the operatives stumble, a brief, localized illusion of a collapsing wall, that gave Pietro the crucial seconds needed to pull Wanda to safety. They got away, but not before sustaining injuries, cuts, bruises, and the bitter taste of a truly narrow escape.
Jon, monitoring from afar through subtle magical scrying and his direct interventions, felt a constant pull. He saw their struggles, their close calls, the raw power of Wanda's magic flaring wildly, Pietro's desperate speed. Each time, his hand twitched, a portal forming instinctively at his fingertips. Come on, don't make me actually show up. I'm trying to be subtle here! But each time, he stopped himself. He watched them handle the situation, battered but unbroken, learning, adapting. He knew this crucible was necessary for them to truly grow, to understand the harsh realities of this world and their place within it. His subtle interference, however well-intentioned, was a delicate balancing act, ensuring their survival while allowing them to forge their own strength. He had to trust the path he had set them on, even as he walked it with them, unseen.
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