Phil kept pace near the center of the column, staring at the unit ahead—fearless, perfectly synchronized, and so well-equipped it bordered on obscene.
So this… is how the "Foundation" fights?
His mind flashed back to Sharon's elite team, chewed apart minutes earlier.
They'd carried state-of-the-art assault rifles, yet against those vines they were kids waving fire pokers—no chance at all.
But this Foundation unit? From second one, their objective never wavered.
Freeze it.
They'd brought weapons tailored to counter this exact "containment object."
Their armor shrugged off punctures and toxins.
And then—
Phil's eye caught a faint red LED pulsing at the base of a trooper's neck.
A built-in failsafe—remote wake and self-destruct.
His chest tightened.
A chill realization slid in: S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Foundation weren't even in the same weight class when it came to supernatural threats.
S.H.I.E.L.D. probed with conventional tools—test, analyze, iterate.
The Foundation fielded an entire bespoke response stack—procedures, gear, doctrine—already mature.
An ugly thought clawed up despite him.
If the Foundation didn't exist… could S.H.I.E.L.D. alone really hold the line against the dark flooding in from the abyss?
He crushed the doubt with everything he had.
He was S.H.I.E.L.D. He served Fury.
At last, the column spilled out of the hellish cavern in one piece.
Cold moonlight washed over them, and the world felt strangely distant, like stepping out of a nightmare.
"Teams of three. Purge all remaining warm-blooded organisms in the perimeter."
Operator 6547's orders were as frigid as ever.
"HQ has deployed remote mechanized assets. Ten minutes out. They'll complete final containment."
"C-could we… get five to breathe?" Phil panted, almost pleading. The whiplash of adrenaline and exertion had hollowed him out.
Through the skull filter, 6547's gaze found him.
"Agent, your task was target identification. Your task is complete. Either stay silent, or execute."
Blood rushed to Phil's face. He swallowed it.
6547 turned away, pointing to three troopers.
"You three—exfil the packages back to the sub-base. Now."
"The Chairman is waiting."
...
Foundation Sub-Base — Medical Wing
Tony, Yinsen, and Sharon lay in three separate biostasis pods. The clear canopies streamed stable vitals in cool green lines.
On the far side of a one-way panel, Felix Ragnell and Natasha watched in silence.
"Tony Stark," Felix said, tone flat—like pricing a machine. "A walking billion-dollar guarantee. He keeps the Foundation solvent through phase one just by being returned in one piece."
"Bring him back alive, and Stark Industries' board—and the U.S. military—will pay any price."
Natasha said nothing. She'd grown numb to how he tallied lives, risks, and value.
"That one—Yinsen—is more interesting." Felix's eyes lingered on the gentle middle-aged man. "In a ruin of a cave, with scrap and junk, he co-built an arc reactor and a Mark I exoshell. Hands-on skill plus theory at that level puts him at least A-grade research staff for us."
A glint of unmasked respect crossed his eyes.
"A true talent—gold buried in desert sand. The Foundation needs him."
Lastly, Felix looked to Sharon.
For once, his brow creased.
"As for her… second-gen S.H.I.E.L.D., Peggy Carter's niece, and Captain America's—hm—future girlfriend? That one's tricky."
Natasha's heart skipped.
Future girlfriend of Captain America?
Cap had been icebound in the Arctic for seventy years.
How much of tomorrow does this man already know?
"Why tricky?" she asked, forcing her voice steady. "She saw what she shouldn't. By your rules, you could… remove her."
"Remove her? Wasteful." Felix shook his head. "And she isn't like you. You and Phil work the shadows; you've bartered with filth and know ideals get a price tag. Sharon Carter grew up steeped in Peggy's and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s idealism. She's bedrock. Turning her is nearly impossible."
"Can't release her. Shouldn't kill her. Doesn't slot neatly inside. Annoying," he murmured.
The intercom crackled—Dr. A167 had been listening.
"Sir, for external personnel with firm alignment, B-class handling protocol applies. I recommend reclassifying her as D-Class."
"D-Class?" Natasha frowned.
"Yes," A167 answered, clipped and clinical. "Every year the Foundation acquires death-row inmates and severe offenders globally. They're inducted as D-Class and expended on necessary high-risk containment trials to generate crucial data. Their crimes fuel their redemption—for the survival of civilization."
Cold sweat prickled down Natasha's spine.
Expend living people like consumables?
This organization was even colder than she'd feared.
"I disagree."
Felix didn't even pause.
"Sharon Carter's a good person—wrong banner, that's all. Making her cannon fodder is beneath her."
He rubbed his chin, eyes on the woman beyond the glass, and a thought struck—audacious, almost absurd.
Why must S.H.I.E.L.D. people bleed for S.H.I.E.L.D.?
If Nick Fury reaches into my pocket… why shouldn't I pry bricks from his wall?
(End of Chapter)
[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 500 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]