The portal closed behind me like a steel door slamming straight into my face — and before I even had time to stabilize myself, my body was thrown forward with absurd, bone-rattling force.
The landing had no style.
No grace.
Not even a cool heroic pose.
It had only one thing:
Destruction.
---xXx---
Arthur was spat out of the portal like a stray bullet that forgot someone had already pulled the trigger. The blue Kansas sky ripped open in a brief flash of gold and then—
BOOOOOOM
He tore through three rows of a cornfield, shredded half a fence, and finally buried himself entirely into the ground like a humanoid meteor.
The crater kicked up dust for almost a full minute.
And then… silence.
No movement. No noticeable breathing. Just his unconscious body lying dead-center in the impact zone.
---xXx---
S.H.I.E.L.D. HELICARRIER — DIRECTOR'S OFFICE
The automatic doors slid open with a hiss. Maria Hill walked in with a datapad already in hand and a worry-hardened look on her face.
"Director… we have a problem."
Nick Fury raised an eyebrow.
"Another one?"
"Sir… something that appears to be a portal opened, and an individual was launched from it at a speed that… honestly should not be physically possible for anything alive."
"Is he alive?" Fury asked.
Hill hesitated.
"Apparently, yes. Or… resilient enough to not be dead yet." She handed him the datapad. "The crater is in the middle of a Kansas cornfield. Our satellites already scanned the area. The impact was massive."
Fury narrowed his eye while analyzing the images.
"Any idea who he is?"
"We ran preliminary facial analysis. Cross-referenced it with national, international, classified databases, missing persons, suspects, wanted criminals…"
She swallowed hard.
"The closest match we found was… the Shredder."
Fury frowned so deeply his face looked ready to create a new wrinkle in the timeline.
"That is a serious accusation."
"I know." Hill enlarged the images — Arthur's dirt-covered unconscious face on one side, and the fragmented, partially masked photo of the Shredder taken years ago.
"We can't confirm one hundred percent. He always hid the lower half of his face, and we never had a complete image. But… the resemblance is high."
Fury rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Perfect. As if I didn't already have enough headaches."
He walked to the Helicarrier window, clouds drifting below like an endless white ocean.
"Send a team."
Hill nodded.
"Containment or search and rescue?"
Fury stayed silent for a few seconds before responding:
"Both. If it's the Shredder… he's dangerous. If it's some random guy who fell out of a portal… maybe even more."
He turned to Hill.
"I want him alive. Brought directly to containment."
Hill understood.
Whoever that man was would be squeezed dry for information.
"Understood."
She left immediately, sending emergency orders to the nearest agents in Kansas.
---xXx---
KANSAS
Five minutes later, a helicopter hovered over the area. Farmers watched from afar, terrified, as black SUVs arrived, kicking dust across the field.
Armed agents scrambled out, forming a perimeter around the crater.
At the center, Arthur remained motionless.
One of the agents approached cautiously.
"Sir, our target is unconscious."
"Then let's make sure he stays that way," the team leader said, signaling. "Sedate and secure him for transport. The Director wants him breathing."
As they prepared the reinforced stretcher, one detail slipped past most of them—
Arthur's finger twitched.
Tiny. Barely noticeable.
But enough to indicate one thing:
He wouldn't stay unconscious for long.
---xXx---
Awareness snapped back all at once — first sound, then light, then a dull, annoying ache in his head.
Arthur opened his eyes slowly… and recognized everything instantly.
Reinforced glass.
Metal walls.
Containment emitters along the sides.
That distinct blend of overpowering cleanliness mixed with expensive tech.
He was seated in the center of a cylindrical containment cell.
Arthur let out a short, almost nostalgic laugh.
"So Fury really kept his promise to lock me in here… Hahaha… stubborn bastard, I'll give him that."
He stretched as if he weren't sitting in a prison floating in the sky, then began bouncing a tennis ball on the metal floor.
toc… toc… toc… toc…
The ball returned to his hand perfectly every time, like it had been trained to obey him.
---xXx---
The double doors opened with the usual hiss, and Nick Fury walked in looking like a man who was already irritated when he woke up — and now had found a bonus reason to get worse.
He froze.
Arthur, completely relaxed, sat on the floor bouncing the ball like he was waiting for a dentist appointment.
Fury blinked.
Took a deep breath.
And finally asked:
"…Where the hell did you get that?"
Arthur didn't even pause. He just glanced up with an expression that said really?
"Oh, this?"
toc… toc…
"Not important."
Fury opened his mouth to argue… then closed it.
He simply refused to have that conversation.
"Fine." He crossed his arms. "Do you know where you are?"
Arthur smirked, spinning the ball on his fingertip.
"Of course I do. S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier. Containment cell designed for the big green muscular guy." He nodded toward the floor. "By the way, if this thing suddenly drops from the sky, that's on you."
Fury rolled his eye.
"Nice try. I disabled the ejection mechanism before entering."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Damn… you really don't trust me."
"You fell out of a portal in Kansas, created a crater the size of an Olympic pool, and according to facial analysis, you may or may not be an internationally wanted legendary assassin."
Arthur took a moment to think… then nodded.
"Okay, fair. When you put it like that, even I can't defend myself."
The ball bounced one last time. Arthur caught it and tucked it behind his head like it was an irrelevant detail.
Fury stared at him, exhausted.
"Alright. You're going to tell me who you are."
Arthur gave him a mischievous grin.
"That depends. Is this an interview… or a reunion?"
Fury frowned, confused for barely a second — but enough for Arthur to see it.
The Director studied him for long, tense seconds.
Eyes narrowed.
Jaw clenched.
Analyzing every detail — posture, tone, breathing, body language.
And then something clicked.
Fury's shoulders stiffened.
His face shut down like a computer having a system error.
"…You're the Slasher."
Arthur smiled with that irritating calmness of someone who expected exactly that reaction.
"Wow, you figured it out fast, huh?"
He made a dramatic gesture with his hand.
"Took you only… what? Almost three years?"
Fury smacked his palm against the glass.
"YOU—!"
He stopped, inhaled sharply, and pointed his finger like he was trying to decide which crime to yell about first.
"Do you have ANY idea the bureaucratic hell I went through because of you!? That mission — THAT DAMN MISSION — was simple! Sim-ple!"
He chopped the air with each syllable.
"Protection. PRO-TEC-TION! You were hired to protect the target! And instead—"
Arthur raised his hand like a student asking to speak.
"—I killed him. Yes, I remember very clearly cutting the bastard's head off. You can keep being dramatic, Fury, I'm listening."
Fury leaned forward, outraged.
"You didn't protect him — you EXECUTED the man! I got TWENTY calls from the government that day! You had ONE job!!"
Arthur clicked his tongue, shaking his head theatrically.
"Wrong."
Fury blinked.
"…What?"
Arthur crossed his arms, leaning comfortably against the cell wall.
"I did protect. I protected the lives of millions — maybe hundreds of millions — when I killed that worm called Bolivar Trask."
He said it like explaining something obvious to a child.
Fury stopped talking.
Arthur continued:
"If I had let that psychopath live, the Sentinel Program would've rolled out. Mutants hunted, kidnapped, dissected like frogs in a lab… And eventually those Sentinels would start targeting more than awakened mutants. The death toll would've been incalculable."
He shrugged.
"I just sent him on an express slide straight to Hell. And with a clean, efficient cut, too."
Fury clenched his fists.
"That doesn't change the fact that you killed the subject of your OWN mission, you son of a—"
"Fury…" Arthur held up a finger.
"You know what would've happened if Magneto found out what Trask was doing in that facility?"
Silence.
"Because I know." Arthur continued with a light, almost amused smile.
"He would've ripped every metallic object in New York out of the ground until the city was a floating scrapyard, then turned that little bastard into bloody paste. And you know I'm right."
[A/N: Bolivar Trask from X-Men: Days of Future Past. Timeline altered on purpose.]
Fury looked away.
Because yes — Arthur was right.
Magneto would've turned the world into a metal apocalypse.
"And besides…" Arthur added, bouncing the tennis ball again,
"I completely destroyed the Sentinel project and any means they had to continue it. You're welcome."
Fury closed his eye for two full seconds, like preventing a stroke.
"I swear to all that is holy…" he muttered, "one day I'm going to throw you into this cell WITH the Hulk."
Arthur grinned.
"People have tried dropping me from high places many times, Fury. Still hasn't worked."
Fury pointed at him again, furious.
"You're going to tell me everything. Every detail of what you did that day. ALL of it."
Arthur spun the ball on his finger and winked.
"Sure. It all started when a certain clawed mutant showed up asking for my help… right after I accepted that mission."
(End of Chapter)
A/N: The explanation for why he hasn't simply escaped yet comes next.
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."