First Interlude : The chess pieces start to move.

 

Unspecified location, North point of the Rocky Mountains, US-Canadian border, 25th of January, 5:36, in Nick Fury’s mind.

 

Contrary to a lot of his colleagues, Nick Fury never tried to smoke even once in his life.

 

As he was watching the endless come and go of his most trustful SHIELD agents into the hidden entrance of the place previously known as the Facility, his black trench coat fluttering in the winds created by the combat helicopters’ rotors behind him, he was definitely considering the benefits of lighting himself a cigarette.

 

The intel given by the brat Weapon X, Logan he corrected himself, had encountered had been true.

 

Even worse, it took him barely half an hour to find the place in question by cross-referencing some supply lines that, despite being legitimately recorded in SHIELD’s database, didn’t make any sense.

 

Stumbling upon the place from the get go had been sheer dumb luck, though. There were apparently a dozen of secretly hidden bases around what his considered to be his territory if the records were to be trusted.

 

Fury had a fucking big problem on his hands, and he was coming a little short on how to tackle it.

 

This raid has been successful only because he had one of the most powerful, and assuredly the most unkillable, super soldiers there was on his side.

 

Now that the stocky man with the adamantium claws was busying himself playing the fusspot with a little girl no older than three years old because, quote, “She smells like me”, unquote, Fury was having some misgivings about his own capacity to bring the hammer down on the rest of the squids by himself.

 

Mulling over his thoughts, he failed to notice the approach of Phil Coulson before the latter addressed him.

 

“That’s the last of them, sir.” The agent told him, his hands clasped before him.

 

Not giving any signs to acknowledge that he had heard him, Fury’s sole eye stayed firmly locked onto the hellish maw of the underground building, watching his soldiers bringing the last sobbing teenager, probably a mutant if the green scales on his neck where any indication, out of the cesspool of experimental madness the now crumbling Facility had been.

 

“Any casualties ?” Fury clipped, his eye following the last of the procession.

 

“We lost two agents due to an empowered foe before codename Weapon X ripped her apart, but, otherwise, the operation is a success, sir.” Coulson answered.

 

“Call him Logan, Phil.” Absentmindedly commented Fury, “That’s the name he chose for himself.”

 

In the corner of his eye, Fury saw his most trusted agent’s eyes flicker in the mutant’s direction.

 

“Yes, sir.” He simply answered, the perfect picture of professionalism.

 

“What about the data ?” Fury carried on.

 

“The extraction is still ongoing, sir.” Phil answered, “We’re encountering some difficulties because the encrypting technology they use on their computers is better than ours, but it should fall in due time. Sadly, the archives are almost redacted in their integrality. We did manage to identify the name of those who were running the place, though.”

 

Fury turned his head in Coulson’s direction, his eyebrow raised in a silent form of interrogation.

 

“Three doctors : the one in charge, Martin Stutter, his adoptive son, Zander Rice, and a promising recruit in the field of genetics, Sarah Kiney.” Phil Coulson elaborated, “The first two were gunned down during the assault but the last one is still alive. She was found clutching a child in her arms with tearfilled eyes, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s the same one Mr. Logan is currently looking after.”

 

Nick Fury’s brows creased for a beat, thoughts running in his mind.

 

“Maternal instinct.” He muttered under his breath.

 

Looking back at Coulson with his good eye, he continued.

 

“The girl is her child, the events probably triggered the natural response she repressed since her birth due to her position and the goal of the experiments.” Fury said with aplomb, “Bring her back to me, without restraints, I want to have a talk with her.”

 

Fury didn’t wait for Coulson’s acknowledgments, as the latter barely had the time to say “Yes, sir.” that the director was already walking towards the child in question and his rather muscled and hairy newfound protector.

 

“Logan,” Fury clipped, a little more forcefully than he would have wanted, which prompted the one in question, still crouched near the child, to perk up with the start of a scowl, “May I have a word ?”

 

The little girl looked at him with a barely contained expression of rage mixed with fear, prompting him to halt.

 

Fury’s eyes narrowed anew.

 

The girl appeared to be just shy of becoming a feral animal.

 

“Director.” Logan acknowledged him with his gruff voice, “What’s the problem ?”

 

“I understand that you have a tie with your newfound protegee,” Fury started, his one good eye flickering in the girl’s direction, “But so does apparently, if I trust my instincts, one of the still alive members of this hellhole.”

 

It was Logan's brows that furrowed this time, his expression turning downright frightening.

 

Nick Fury’s heart betrayed him by making a somersault in his chest, despite his best attempt at a poker face. Angering the most powerful immortal mutant this side of the atlantic was the last thing he wanted to do in this world.

He simply had too much work to do.

 

“The girl was found in the arms of who I suppose to be her biological mother, who attempted to protect her from our men.” Nick Fury continued before Logan could talk, “I’m waiting for her testimony and any validations the data team can bring, but I’m almost certain that it is the case.”

 

“Your point ?” Logan growled, rising himself after taking the child in his arms.

 

Far from being afraid from the display of animal savagery of her newfound protector, the little girl took the opportunity to snuggle closer to him, still as silent as a tomb, while her gaze shifted from aggressive to curious.

 

“If she truly cares about the girl, I would like to secure her services against any parental claims she may want.” Fury bluntly told him, settling in favor of honesty instead of any attempt at sugarcoating he could make.

 

Logan’s scowl could have frozen a lake as he clutched the girl even closer to him.

 

 “Over my dead…” Started to snarl the stocky canadian, but he was interrupted by a shrill voice resonating in Fury’s back.

 

“My baby !” Said a rather mousy and short brunette as she scampered closer to the girl, who visibly perked up at the rapidly approaching form.

 

Without any animosity, just a brand of curiosity mixed with the soothing ease of the normal being back.

 

Logan, whose eyes had gone a little wide at the display, didn’t have the time to shift in place due to his surprise, before the woman had stepped closer to him, already fussing over the little girl, checking if she was alright.

 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Apologized Phil Coulson as he stepped next to him, “She wrenched herself from my grip as soon as she saw the girl.”

 

Taking measure of the conflicted expression on the Wolverine’s face as Dr. Sarah Kiney checked for the third time that her daughter still had all of her digits, Nick Fury answered with a tiny smirk.

 

“It’s alright, Phil. All things considered, you couldn’t have done better.”

 

***

Unspecified (devastated) warehouse, New York’s dock, Manhattan, New York, the same day, 12:07, in Wilson Fisk’s mind.

 

Taking deep breaths, vainly trying to get his maddenly beating heart back under control, Wilson Fisk finally let go of the goon responsible for the surveillance of warehouse 16 whose name he had already forgotten.

 

With a wet squelching sound, the lifeless body of the human shaped failure landed on the ground, his skull caved in and oozing brain matter and blood.

 

Absentmindedly taking a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit, the hulking barrel of a man that was the Kingpin turned himself a fraction of a turn toward his lieutenant in charge of the dock’s operation.

 

“Can you confirm what that garbage said ?” Fisk asked with a chilling tone, wiping the blood of his busted knuckles meticulously.

 

Not even batting an eye at the display of ultra violence he just witnessed, his lieutenant answered instantly.

 

“I can, sir.” He answered in an even tone, “As Mr. Ross said, the recording showed absolutely nothing during the timeframe between the moment our guys were taken out until they woke up.”

 

“Yet they were still online and running ?” The Kingpin continued, finally dropping the handkerchief with a scowl.

 

“Except for the two that got apparently destroyed during the timeframe, they were and still are, sir.” His lieutenant answered.

 

“Then,” Wilson Fisk told, gesturing grandly around him at the mess of electronics and machinery, “Can you explain to me how they failed to record all of that ?”

 

“I cannot, sir.” His lieutenant evenly continued, and the Kingpin started to feel his temper rising anew, “We first fought about a hacker, but the code is pristine. It’s like the surveillance system just decided to conveniently forget what happened by itself.”

 

His lieutenant’s statements made him pause, remembering a detail he saw while pacing around the financial carnage this attack had caused him.

 

A dent in the ground that suspiciously looked like a closed fist.

 

Wilson Fisk’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Jason,” He started as he ambled closer to the center of the incident, “Call Madame Gao.”

 

“What should I tell her, sir ?” His lieutenant asked professionally.

 

As his eyes locked with the dent made in the cement, the Kingpin mulled over his thoughts for a beat.

 

“Tell her that we have a new player in town, one that may require a strong ‘hand’ to deal with.” He finally answered.

 

***

The Oscorp Tower’s entrance, The Oscorp Tower, Manhattan, New York, the same day, 12:09, in George Stacy’s mind

 

As he bent under the yellow tape warding the Oscorp Tower’s entrance from the public and reporters crowding outside, Captain George Stacy mentally reviewed what he knew of the case from the preliminary reports he had read on the way.

 

No apparent signs of burglary, no leftover traces in the software running through the tower, and nothing in the preliminary examination that suggested the employees had been massively drugged in one swoop.

 

Yet, if the receptionist manning the entrance counter hadn’t been jolted awake by an extremely confused delivery man, the whole of the building would have stayed in morpheus’ embrace for a while.

 

None of the victims remembered what happened this morning, having forgotten any events after roughly midnight the day prior. Yet, they all commuted to work this morning as if nothing had happened.

 

The hacking was even more bewildering. All electronic devices had apparently gotten wiped clean, given a fresh start in life, and his techies were scratching their heads attempting to find how in the seven circles of hell the one responsible had managed to do so without leaving any traces behind him.

 

George’s instincts were telling him that something fucky had happened, and this nice little industrial spying theory was starting to make even less sense the more he thought about it.

 

It was too grandiose, bringing too much notice to its author, for it to be the case.

 

Or he was dealing with the most noticeable spy he ever met.

 

“Captain, Mr. Osborn would like to have a word.” The voice of an agent pulled him out of his reflection.

 

George’s eyes flickered to the plaque of the one that had addressed him, not placing his face.

 

“Very well, Officer Silva.” the captain acknowledged him with a nod, “Could you bring me to him ?”

 

“Certainly, sir.” Answered the rather short man of Mexican descent while bobbing his head, “This way, captain.”

 

Following the man as he made his way towards the tower’s elevator amid the crowd of witnesses and police officer taking deposition on the fly, George’s mutism came back in force as he pondered about the strangeness of the situation.

 

All things considered, and without further proof, this looked more like a shock and awe tactic.

 

By the time the elevator had started its ascent, George was getting more and more convinced that this attack had been staged to destabilize Oscorp, probably in retaliation for the many military contracts they had signed with the military in the last decades.

 

Weapon manufacturers tended to make themselves a lot of enemies, after all.

 

Doubly so for the ones who dealt in chemical warfare as a side-gig.

 

The ding the elevator made when it finally reached the floor where Norman Osborn had his office pulled George Stacy from his fuge once more, and he wordlessly followed Officer Silva toward their goal.

 

“There it is, sir.” Officer Silva kindly pointed out when they reached the door of the Osborn senior’s den.

 

“Thank you, Officer, go grab yourself a coffee and take a break, we’re not going to leave this place anytime soon, I’d wager.” George said as his hand inched closer to the door’s peg.

 

“Thank you, Captain, I’ll do so.” The Officer answered with a smile and a nod, going back on his tracks with a pep in his steps.

 

George, finally crossing the threshold of the CEO’s office, instantly took the measure of the room he found himself in as per ingrained habit.

 

The decoration was sober in this particular way that understated wealth tended to be displayed, with tasteful plush chairs in front of a massive oaken desk where Norman Osborn could be found sitting, his face twisted into a scowl while perusing various documents. There were a lot of books in cabinets with glass doors, and the vista atop the various buildings of Manhattan’s most wanted, and expensive, rental space by the various elites and industrialists of the globe was suitably impressive.

 

“Mr. Osborn,” George smoothly made his presence known by addressing him, “I’m George Stacy, the captain of the NYPD in charge of this case. You wanted to see me ?”

 

Norman Osborn didn’t raise his head to acknowledge him, which immediately rubbed George the wrong way.

 

Maybe his daughter was onto something when she said his son was an insufferable bore, with a father oozing so much self-importance that addressing the officer in charge of the investigation was apparently beneath him.

 

Norman Osborn remained silent for a long while, not even bothering to offer George a seat, which started in the captain’s mind to furiously look like a slight.

 

When Osborn senior finally chose to open his mouth, George’s nosediving impression of the man didn’t get a turn for the better.

 

“And what are you going to do, captain, to put the arsehole who just cost me nearly everything behind bars ?” Normal drawled, eyes still locked on his documents.

 

Refraining himself from loudly sighing with great difficulties, George clasped his hands behind his back, mulling over his thoughts for a second.

 

“For starters, Mr. Osborn, do you have any inkling about who could have done it ?” George asked politely.

 

Norman’s head snapped upward, locking eyes with him as his face distorted itself with unbridled fury.

 

“Are you asking me to do your job in your stead, captain ?” He asked, voice raising and dripping with anger.

 

“Nothing of the sort, Mr. Osborn, I’m simply trying to narrow down the possibilities.” George tempered, feeling the start of a headache rearing its ugly head, “Everything you could tell me can help us put our hands on the criminal, or criminals, who did it.”

 

“Everything I could tell you ?” Norman asked in a monotone, “Everything I could tell you ?” He reiterated, voice raising.

 

George didn’t even budge when Osborn senior slammed onto his oaken desk with both hands, raising in the motion.

 

“I’m going to tell you what I think,” He angrily spat, punctuating his sentence with another slam of his hand, spit flying with each words as his anger got the better of him, “One of my concurrent, be it Stark, Hammer or one of those european morons, managed to one up me splendidly, and instead of ringing at the doors of those vultures, you’re staying here, sitting on your ass with all of your little clique of subordinates, bothering MY employees.”

 

George’s eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from complaisant to marginally angry.

 

“If I was in your place, Mr. Osborn, I would watch my words very carefully when speaking with an officer of the law.” He flatly told Norman, annoyance clearly showing.

 

“Don’t fucking…” Started yelling Osborn senior, just to be interrupted by a forceful knock on the door before he could put himself even lower.

 

“What ?” He barked at the door, still seething.

 

Turning around to watch the newcomer, George Stacy blinked in surprise when he saw Officer Silva on the threshold, looking a bit uncomfortable.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Osborn,” He smoothly started, “But Captain Stacy needs to see something.”

 

Eyes narrowing a tad, George nodded slightly in the Officer direction, before addressing Norman Osborn over his shoulder.

 

If the man wasn’t even trying to make an effort to be polite, George wouldn’t force himself.

 

“If that was all, I’m going to come back to my investigation.” He stated simply, leaving unsaid the fact that he considered the discussion he just had a colossal waste of his time.

 

Throwing a warning look toward the CEO, the latter chose wisely to remain mum as George stepped behind Officer Silva.

 

Once he finally left Norman Osborn’s office and the door closed behind him, George couldn’t stop himself to sigh a little in relief.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chuckled awkwardly Officer Silva, a hand scratching the back of his head, making his cap move a little, “I probably should’ve warned you that Mr. Osborn was… A little adversarial.”

 

“You don’t say.” Drawled George with a little smirk.

 

“Anyway, you really should come see this.” Said Silva while motionning him to follow behind him toward the elevator’s cage once again.

 

“Someone got the idea to check the roof ten minutes ago.” Silva started, calling for the elevator, “Everyone thought it was a harebrained idea, until we saw it.”

 

The ding of the elevator reaching them interrupted his recollection and the two men got into the elevator proper.

 

“We saw it ?” Asked archly George.

 

“It’s better if you saw it for yourself, captain.” Assured him Silva.

 

Intrigued, George fell silent for the few seconds of the ride.

 

When the elevator stopped and the door opened, what he saw made him go a little googly eyed.

 

In front of him, two officers were scratching their head, looking toward the elevator’s door just next to his and so George followed their look.

 

The door were immobile, wide open with something looking like deep dents in the middle of them.

 

“Well that’s certainly something.” He commented aloud.

 

“That’s not the whole of it, sir.” Said Silva, gesturing to keep following him toward the stairs leading to the roof.

 

After crossing the few steps of the sole floor that wasn’t served by the elevator’s system, George finally understood why Silva had thought it was best if he showed him.

 

The door leading to the roof had been forced open, unmistakingly by something going out of the building.

 

Something that had left honest to god claw marks on the door itself and the walls next to it.

 

“Uh.” George very eloquently said, as the case started to make even less sense than before.

 

“There’s footsteps on the gravel covering the roof, sir, spaced like someone had taken a run for it and jumped.” Continued Officer Silva, laying himself against the threshold and indicating the supposed direction, “Better not go there until the forensic comes take some samples, just in case. But either the assaillant could fly or the height really didn’t scare him.”

 

Following the Officer’s hand, George’s eyes narrowed a bit.

 

“Tell me, Officer Silva.” George started, raising a hand to shade his eyes, “Did anyone thought to check on that building’s roof ?”

 

Officer Silva slowly blinked, following the pointed hand of his superior.

 

“I don’t think so, sir.” He admitted.

 

“Then let us do so, just in case.”

 

***

Midtown High parking, Midtown High, Queens, New York, the same day, 16:15, in Peter Parker’s mind

 

Shouldering his backpack once more, Peter Parker sighed in relief when he finally left his school, the siren song of the week-end calling him and inciting him to step just a bit faster in his home’s direction.

 

As his eyes roamed the parking lot while he walked toward the bus stop, they landed on a group of girls.

 

His steps slowed just a little as he took in the view.

 

Jessica Jones, Cindy Moon and Gwen Stacy were banded together, happily chatting from what he could see, and the latter, his childhood friend, was clinging to Aria Thompson’s arm.

 

His eyes narrowed just a little, a feeling of annoyance gripping him.

 

While Flash had been a brutish arsehole whose behavior hadn’t changed until he got knocked across the head a bit too hard, his twin had always been the aloof one, wearing pricey and revealing designer clothes when nobody knew how she could afford those, and focused herself on her studies.

 

Everyone who really knew her could tell you that she was a lovely girl under the rough exterior, especially since her twin’s accident that made her open up a little, with a sunny disposition and smarts aplenty.

 

Peter, though, wasn’t fooled. The girl had never so much as lifted her little finger to stop her brother from hitting him.

 

And now, Gwen was looking at her like she was her world.

 

Snarling, Peter looked away as the bus reached its stop.

 

What made Aria so special anyway ?

 

***

Somewhere in the multiverse, undisclosed location, undisclosed dimension, undisclosed time, in an undisclosed entity's mind.

 

Feeling a smidgen of information reaching him across time and space, the Eater slowly blinked.

 

His construct in the Astral Plane had collapsed, way earlier than it was supposed to by itself.

 

Which means someone or something had done it without his leaway.

 

That didn’t narrow down the who or what, though, considering that magic tended to be trumped by raw telepathic power relatively easily when the Astral was involved.

 

He would’ve to pay a visit in person to see what happened at some point.

 

But he was hungry, after eons spent fasting in this barren space that lay beyond this newfound Creation.

 

His Feast was more important to him than something that could be attributed just as much to a little error in his rushed job of a runework than to an exterior intervention.

 

So he began to Eat again, shelving the issue for later.

 

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