"I require the location of my brother," Loki announced, his tone dripping with bored regality. He'd conjured a full head of slick, black hair for the occasion, each strand combed back with immaculate precision.
Norman Osborn, momentarily taken aback by the sudden makeover, blinked.
Agent Coulson, ever the professional, stepped forward. "The prince he's referring to, Director, is the owner of that hammer."
The memory clicked into place for Norman. He had, of course, reviewed the file on Thor Odinson. But with the Asgardian currently powerless, he had been a low-priority concern. Honestly, if Loki hadn't brought him up, Coulson would have likely forgotten about him as well. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of such intensity that he'd lost his employer—no, he'd lost his entire world. S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone, and its mighty Helicarriers were now the property of H.A.M.M.E.R.
Coulson pulled up the relevant file on his tablet. "We're in luck. Alexander Pierce contacted him not long ago, so his file is right at the top." He scanned the report. "It says here he was working construction, swinging a sledgehammer. Nothing of note besides being muscular and possessing above-average strength."
A cruel, knowing smirk played on Loki's lips. "How profoundly fitting."
"If you wish to find him, he's in New York. Midtown," Coulson continued, then frowned as he read the address. "He's living in… Brooklyn."
He hadn't registered it before, but the detail now stood out. While Brooklyn was the proud hometown of Captain America, it was also one of New York's most impoverished boroughs. For the Crown Prince of Asgard to be living there could only mean one thing: he was broke.
"I shall pay him a visit," Loki declared. This time, he had no intention of causing trouble for these Midgardians, especially not for men who seemed to be on such good terms with Ben.
But he didn't head for Brooklyn just yet.
Deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the H.A.M.M.E.R. Helicarrier, a shadowy figure moved with silent confidence. The man walked with an audacious lack of concern, not even bothering to hide when he passed patrolling agents.
They saw nothing. They noticed nothing.
It's almost too easy, the figure mused, a triumphant laugh echoing in his mind. A voice crackled to life in his earpiece.
"Be careful. I need that package, not your capture."
"Relax," the spy whispered back. "I already have the location…" He rounded a corner and froze. "Hold on. Someone's coming."
The Chameleon cut the communication instantly. As a group of three agents approached, he seamlessly morphed his appearance, becoming one of them and falling into step as they passed. Once the corridor was empty again, Loki, adorned with his golden horned helmet, shimmered into existence from a flawless illusion.
"Well now," the god of mischief purred, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "An unexpected diversion."
He followed the spy.
Half an hour later, an unconscious Chameleon lay on the floor of a secure interrogation room. Loki stood over him, flexing his hands as he finished absorbing the memories and information he'd plucked from the spy's mind. He then pulled out a communicator and contacted Ben.
After a few minutes, Ben had the full picture.
"So, let me get this straight," Ben said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Kingpin hired this guy, the Chameleon, to infiltrate the H.A.M.M.E.R. prison and free the Black Cat?"
Loki looked immensely pleased with himself. "He was exceptionally unlucky to have run into me." He glanced at Ben, clearly expecting praise.
Ben simply tilted his head. "What were you doing skulking around the Helicarrier instead of going to see Thor?"
Loki was momentarily stunned, not having anticipated the question. After a beat of silence, he stammered, "I was… looking for something." He sighed, spreading his hands in defeat. "Fine. I was looking for the hammer. I simply wanted to see if I am yet worthy."
"You're not. Don't even think about it," Ben said bluntly. "The moment you stop caring about whether you're 'worthy' is probably the moment you will be."
"You sound like one of Asgard's royal soothsayers," Loki grumbled, scratching his head before changing the subject. "So, what shall we do with this one? Kill him?"
"Let me think," Ben said, his mind racing. He knew the Black Cat was Felicia's father, Walter Hardy, but the specific details were hazy. He immediately accessed the H.A.M.M.E.R. database and pulled up the complete file.
The man known as the Black Cat was Walter Hardy, though that was an alias. His real name was John Hardesky. Born in 1930, he was, strictly speaking, from the same generation as Captain America. When Steve Rogers became a super-soldier, Hardesky was just thirteen years old. That meant the legendary thief was now nearly eighty.
Yet Felicia was only sixteen.
"Subject was injected with a variant of the Super Soldier Serum," the file read, "resulting in slowed aging and peak human agility, reflexes, and strength. This allowed him to become the world-renowned thief, the Black Cat."
The reason he knew the serum's formula was that, as a young boy, he had been hired by the Nazis to gather intelligence on the project, all while believing he was working for the United States. Upon discovering the truth, Hardesky never delivered the formula. He vanished with the secret, and soon after, the Black Cat was born.
Getting him to talk, however, was another matter entirely. S.H.I.E.L.D. had held him for years and never managed to extract the complete formula from him. If Ben wanted the formula, the easiest path would be to let the Chameleon continue his mission.
But he had no intention of doing that. Felicia is his girlfriend.
"Alright," Ben said to Loki, a plan forming. He ended the call, preparing to pay a visit to the H.A.M.M.E.R. prison.
Loki smiled, a cruel glint in his eye. He turned to the unconscious Chameleon, a wickedly sharp dagger materializing in his hand.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. prison was now the H.A.M.M.E.R. prison, and Walter Hardy knew something massive had changed in the outside world. The facility was overflowing with new inmates, many of whom he recognized as former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. The guards had also been replaced, their uniforms now bearing the emblem of a hand clutching a hammer instead of the familiar eagle. He was desperate to know what had happened, but Nick Fury was nowhere to be seen.
"Mr. John Hardesky."
Hearing his real name, the white-haired thief looked up. Standing outside his cell was a young man in civilian clothes, someone who looked utterly out of place. Yet the guards behind him regarded the youth with undisguised admiration.
"Who are you?" Walter asked, his voice raspy from disuse.
"Ben Parker. You probably haven't heard of me," Ben said.
"What do you want from me? Where's Nick Fury?" Walter shot back.
"Fury has been… retired. I'm here to let you out," Ben explained, opening the cell door. "We're running low on space, and frankly, I don't think a common thief warrants this level of security."
Walter remained pressed against the far wall, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I'm not in here for theft."
"I know," Ben said patiently. "It's about the serum. You can come out now."
"If you know, then why…?"
Well, old man, Ben thought, it's because I'm dating your daughter. He decided to file that particular truth away for a more opportune moment. "It's because you know the formula that we can't keep you locked in a den of snakes. These men," Ben gestured to the surrounding cells, "they're all Hydra."
"What is going on?" The shock of that statement was enough to finally draw Walter out of his cell.
Ben gave him a condensed version of the Insight Uprising, and Walter slowly began to grasp the monumental shift that had occurred.
"Unbelievable," Walter breathed. "Fury asked me about the formula for years, but I never told him everything." After more than a decade of imprisonment, freedom was disorienting. The world had changed so much he felt completely adrift. He had no idea what to do.
"I have a suggestion," Ben offered. "Go home. Spend time with Felicia. Live the life of an ordinary father."
"You know Felicia?"
The mention of his daughter's name struck Walter like a physical blow. His carefully constructed composure fractured. His emotions, long dammed up, began to churn beneath the surface—a turbulent undercurrent of longing and guilt.
"Ahem, let me introduce myself properly," Ben coughed, extending a hand with a hint of awkwardness. "I'm… sort of Felicia's boyfriend."
Walter stared, utterly bewildered. For some inexplicable reason, a wave of displeasure toward this young man washed over him.
Ben then pulled a photograph from his pocket and handed it to him. It was Felicia, holding an ice cream cone, her face tilted toward the sun in a smile so bright it could have outshone the star itself. Ben had taken it on one of their first "study sessions," which had quickly devolved into a tour of the city's best dessert shops.
Walter's hand trembled as he took the picture. The sight shattered his remaining defenses. Tears welled in the old man's eyes and streamed down his face.
"Felicia… my little girl…" he choked out, covering his mouth as a sob escaped him. He stroked the photo with a calloused thumb, as if he could somehow bridge the lost years through that single image.
"Cherish the present, Mr. Hardesky," Ben said softly.
Walter wiped his tears with the back of his hand, then looked up, his expression suddenly stern. "You will not call me 'Mr'."
Ben blinked. To his surprise, the moment Walter had seen the photo, his hostility had vanished. Seeing his daughter so genuinely happy was all the reassurance he needed.
"Give me this," Walter said, carefully placing the photo in the breast pocket of his prison jumpsuit as if it were the most precious diamond he'd ever stolen. He sighed, a wave of sadness washing over him. "But I can't go back to her. I can't make up for what they've lost." He shook his head. "You know the Super Soldier Serum is too important. Too many people want it. I would only put Felicia in danger."
"The danger is already here, Mr. Hard—Uncle?" Ben started to say 'Mr' again, but a sharp glare from the old thief forced a mid-word correction. The pressure was immense. Am I becoming some kind of surrogate uncle collector? he wondered. He shook his head and relayed the information about the Chameleon and Kingpin's plans.
"Danger is a constant, Uncle Walter. I think you need to have more faith in Felicia," Ben said. "She's strong. She always strives to do her best, no matter what."
Hearing this, Walter's eyes welled with tears again. It was a mantra he had taught her when she was a little girl. To know she still lived by it after all these years… it was too much.
"Then what do you propose?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"I've already sealed your original file. No one else can access it. As for Kingpin…" Ben's eyes grew cold. That man had been a thorn in his side for too long, from his alliance with Mendel Stromm to hiring Kraven to hunt him and Peter. Ben had tolerated him, believing his control prevented the city's underworld from descending into utter chaos. But there were limits. "This is the third strike."
Killing Kingpin would be trivial. The man was, for all his power, a mortal. His "peak human" strength was nothing to Ben. He considered giving the task to Felicia herself—let her dismantle her father's old rival's empire and claim it as her own. Could she be a queen?
"Isn't that too dangerous for her?" Walter asked, the father in him still hesitant.
Ben shook his head. "Don't worry. I'll be there to help her."
Walter eyed him skeptically. "What exactly are your powers?"
Ben just smiled enigmatically. "Let's just say I can handle myself." He clapped Walter on the shoulder with the familiarity of an old friend, leaving the legendary thief momentarily speechless.
Walter took a deep, shuddering breath. He was tired of prison, tired of running. If this was a chance to finally put an end to it all, he would take it.
"Alright," Walter said, his voice firm with new resolve. "Let's find a place to cook. I'll give you the Super Soldier Serum."
Ben clapped his hands together. "Excellent."
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