He had to go; this might be the only chance to get word out that Tony Stark was still alive.
Felix Ragnell seemed to have expected it. He gave a noncommittal nod.
"Approved. 6547, you lead. Agent Phil Coulson will help you identify the target."
"I'm going too."
The cool voice was Melinda's.
She stepped forward, meeting Felix's gaze. "I know Tony as well. When I was a kid, Mr. Stark held me."
It was the first time she'd volunteered any personal past. Coulson and Natasha Romanoff traded a look—surprised. They knew Melinda's background was obscure, but hadn't expected ties to the Stark family.
Felix studied her for a beat, unsurprised, then nodded again. "Fine."
"Take them to muster."
Led by 6547, the three rode the elevator deeper into the earth.
When the doors slid open, a cavernous underground plaza stretched out before them.
On it, one hundred Foundation troopers stood in full kit, already formed up.
Black tactical carapace. Sci-fi pulse rifles. Full-face helmets sealed to anonymity. Backs straight, motionless, like a hundred silent statues.
The chill, unified killing aura pressed even Natasha's heartbeat thin.
6547 walked to the head of the formation. Bareheaded, that ordinary face took on an austere gravity under the lights.
His voice came flat and even—yet it carried force.
"Who are we?"
"Born of darkness—die in the Maelstrom! We fight for the survival of human civilization!"
A hundred throats answered in thunder.
"What is our mission?"
"Secure! Contain! Protect!"
The chant battered the S.H.I.E.L.D. trio like a forge hammer, echoing through the vaulting chamber.
They were stunned to the core.
This wasn't merely an army. It was a congregation, bound by one faith.
Dr. A167 had drifted up beside them. Watching, his face wore raw devotion.
"See? Foundation soldiers. Every one of them is ready, at any moment, to face things from the abyss—and to embrace death—to keep humanity safe.
"You people guard the world in the sun. We make sure the dark never eats that sun."
Coulson looked from the troopers to the near-rapturous doctor. The feeling rising in him wasn't respect anymore—it was a deeper fear.
The Foundation's terror wasn't only force or tech. It was cohesion—the kind that made people give everything.
This wasn't just discipline. It was indoctrination.
He even felt that—compared with the cool Felix and the clinical A167—these rank-and-file C-class troopers might be the most fanatical, the most death-proof of all.
"Board!"
6547 gave the final order.
One hundred soldiers pivoted and filed, in perfect step, into the looming transport at the edge of the plaza.
"Move," 6547 told Coulson and Melinda.
They fell in with the column and entered the cargo bay.
The ramp drew up; engines wound to a bellow.
6547's cold voice filled the net. "All units, objective: A-307 sector. Tasking: locate and assess the current state of SCP-307."
The heavy transport rose, hauling one hundred and three lives—and a tranche of humanity's hope—into the unknown dark.
Vision to the outside was gone.
In the emptied plaza, only Felix, Natasha, and the still-keyed-up Dr. A167 remained.
The transport vanished down the tunnel. A167's eyes lingered long after.
He raised his right fist and thumped it over his heart.
A solemn rite.
"For those who go to meet death."
His voice had a tremor in it. The face that a moment ago seemed warped by zeal was now bared to reverence—and grief.
"They are heroes who must not be remembered, obelisks that must not be known. They will face the twisted, embrace the anomalous, and in unsung corners build walls of flesh and blood so that mankind may live."
"They will be nameless—and immortal."
The words rolled through the empty vault like a prayer.
Natasha said nothing.
She watched his profile, the unfeigned nobility and sorrow in his eyes, and a hard-to-name feeling rose in her chest.
As a top operative, she had long walked the edge of danger and night, running one-in-ten missions.
She had believed she—and S.H.I.E.L.D.—were the ones guarding the world unseen.
Now she knew she'd been wrong.
Terribly wrong.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s darkness was intrigue, espionage, and dirty politics.
The Foundation's darkness was staring into the abyss, embracing chaos, and fighting a desperate, tragic war to protect the human species itself.
They weren't on the same plane.
"We all live in the dark," Natasha breathed, almost too soft to hear. "But they… they're light that burns."
It was a thought from the marrow: a re-weighing of herself, and a sliver of respect for these "fanatics."
Felix heard her.
He turned, calm eyes on this future Avenger.
"You're right."
His tone was as even as ever, but it seemed to see straight through her.
"Your life as an operative trained you to expect betrayal and lies; it taught you to doubt any lofty ideal. But deep down, you want redemption more than anyone—and you'll give everything for a goal that's real."
Natasha stiffened.
The words cut like a scalpel, peeling back armor to raw nerve.
"I like the you from the movies," Felix went on, tossing out a term she couldn't place.
"Movies?" Natasha frowned.
"In that story, to trade for a stone that could reverse despair, you stepped from a cliff without hesitation. Your life for humankind's hope."
Felix's picture seeded itself in her mind: a precipice, roaring wind, a will like tempered steel—and the clean, absolute choice to fall.
What was that?
My future?
(End of Chapter)
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