'Trying to use my own theorem against me…'
Reviving someone through Extremis was impossible. The theoretical Extremis dosage that he and Reed made was only intended for the two of them, and while they were explicitly alive. Okay, well, maybe there was a chance of reviving people but it was extremely, extremely unlikely. The Extremis dosage was supposed to put the person administrated with it into a small coma. It was very risky, untested medical technology. He and Reed had only scarcely done animal testing and relied on simulations of the Fantastic Computer.
Dr. Octavius must have massively adjusted his original formula for her to do something like reviving someone. He couldn't possibly fathom how she did it. Then again, he shouldn't have expected anything less from his boss. She didn't become the head of their department because she was a slacker.
Felix decided to warn Shuri. From his estimation, she was still in Wakanda and the operatives were nearing the location of the Heart Garden.
'Herbie, message Shuri right now. You've sampled my voice, use it and talk to her in-person. Say that I was told of an infiltration by the American government. Use an anonymous number and make it so that it automatically is put on the speaker.'
'UNDERSTOOD.'
Felix's eyes flicked down to the "Rogue Agents" below. Coulson, Blade, and Olivia, they were the main players. They were trying to track down Felix Faeth as he spoke to his AI.
"Do we have a lock on his phone?" Agent Coulson asked. "That will make things easier. When men are at a club, they can leave at any time and can act erratically."
"We don't, unfortunately. Norman Osborn has custom-built phones made for his executives and VIPs. But…" Dr. Octavius began walking over elsewhere. The rest followed. "I should be able to hack into it. I do have his number, after all."
'Herbie, intercept her hack. Give false locations. Make me, I dunno, go for pizza when they come close. Just be sure to make it convincing. And to slow them down, manipulate the traffic to my advantage. Really, REALLY annoy them.'
'LOADING…LOADING…ACCESSING STREET LIGHTS…CALCULATING POSSIBLE ROUTES…CALCULATING REALISM…TAKING ZERO CASUALITIES INTO CONSIDERATION…'
He was going to have to wait a couple minutes for the command to be executed in full. It was a lot to ask for, even for a supercomputer. Regardless, his job here was done. He had messed with these rogue idiots and could act without needing to worry about his Felix Faeth identity.
'Alright, how am I going to get out of here? Logically, seeing as there's AC in this underground area, there's got to be a ventilation system I can take advantage of.'
He was correct, there was. Near the door leading to the computer room where Dr. Octavius and the other agents were stupidly hacking into his civilian phone. Spider-Man crawled, completely invisible, glanced around one last time, and silently ripped open the vent. He crawled through, sealing the vent behind him with webbing, and then simply followed the vent's pathway. There was only way too: up. So up he went, defying gravity as his fingers clung to the metal shaft.
'Phew.'
After a minute of crawling, he was able to crawl out. He was inside what appeared to be a normal house. This was the house near the barn, he suspected. It was normal, equipped with everything a normal person could need. Hell, it looked like it was meant to disguise a family.
'These SHIELD roguessss are veerrrry prepared.'
He grimaced. 'Yeah, they set this all up after Dr. Octavius saw MY work. How long ago was that now?'
'Does it matterrrr? It is what it is. What has happened, happened. It has led to usssss.'
'...'
'You realize it now, don't you? Your fate was sealed the moment you were born, the moment you entered college, and the moment you wrote that papeerrrr. It was not bad luck. You were always destined for ussssss.'
What could he say to that? Was it true? His original paper on Extremis was so theoretical, so ridiculous, that only people like Liv and Reed took it seriously.
The black silhouette of Spider-Man perched atop the farmhouse. He gazed upon the skyline of New York off in the distance. He closed his eyes, pondering his next move.
Hopefully, by warning Shuri, the Rogue Agents wouldn't be able to steal the Heart-shaped Herb. And by keeping Agent Coulson and Agent Blade busy with his civilian identity, he'd keep the Rogue Agents from being able to finish up the last parts of Extremis 2.0.
'Have we located the Dora Milaje and King T'Challa yet?'
'NEGATIVE,' came Herbie's curt reply.
'Then I suppose she's our only choice.'
Felicia Hardy.
***
Tihar Prisons — 10:15 p.m.
"Ugh…" Felicia Hardy sat upright on the hard concrete bench of her holding cell, her wrists sore from the too-tight cuffs that had only recently been removed. Her mouth tasted like copper and ozone, the lingering afterburn of the taser Yvan had pressed into her flesh.
She had only been awake for a couple of minutes, but it was enough. The pieces were already aligning in her head, clear as day.
Room 1007. A corpse on the carpet. Her, out cold on the floor. And standing above her — Yvan Draskovic, Ambassador of Latveria.
Felicia's throat went dry. 'That smug bastard set me up.'
The Fortunov Hotel wasn't just a luxury stop for diplomats and tycoons. It was the venue, the beating heart of the Emporium Auction — a gathering of the world's wealthiest and most corrupt, people who would buy and sell fragments of gods and monsters. Felicia had played enforcer for them, a specialist with bad luck powers and nine lives to spare.
And yet when she walked into Yvan's room, dressed to the nines and carrying nothing but her purse, she found death waiting for her.
A woman's body. Old, frail, with an eyepatch. Felicia had no idea who she was. All she knew was that she was important enough for Yvan to play her like a fiddle.
Now she was in India's custody, inside a district jail in New Delhi.
Felicia rubbed her temples. Her head still rang, but her instincts were sharp. 'The Prime Minister of Latveria. Kristoff Vernard. He and Yvan are tight. He'll call the Prime Minister of India, and in an hour, this whole thing is mine to carry. Pretty little thief turned scapegoat. Open-and-shut. A foreign woman. Guilty as hell.'
Felicia breathed out, shaky. But then the tiniest spark of a grin touched her lips.
They hadn't processed who the dead woman actually was. Not yet. The police weren't acting like they'd lost a global figure. To them, it was just a "homicide in a fancy hotel". Panic and protocol kept everything muddled. So, Felicia had been tossed in a normal cell, awaiting "due process."
It was a sliver of daylight. Thin, fragile daylight — but enough.
'Okay, Felicia. You've been in worse binds. Play your hand right. Time it right. And the universe will do the rest.'
She leaned back, arms folded, watching the two police officers outside her cell. They whispered to each other in Hindi, casting nervous glances. There were more than just these two in the station. She could hear the chatter of radios, the ringing of a desk phone, the shuffle of boots and shoes. It was crowded. Crowded enough for her aura to take hold.
The first crack came when one of the officers fumbled his keys. They slipped from his fingers, clattering under the bench opposite Felicia's bars. His partner groaned, stooped to retrieve them, and as he bent, his holstered pistol clipped against the bars with a loud clang.
Felicia smiled faintly. The rhythm had begun.
Time trickled by. Then, just as her heart began to drum against her ribs, two more officers came. One had paperwork in hand. The other had shackles.
"Transfer order," the man muttered in English, accent thick. "You go now."
The cell door scraped open. The moment Felicia had been waiting for.
She rose slow, feline, hands raised as though in surrender. The guard stepped forward to clamp the cuffs. And then —
The lights overhead flickered. A bulb burst with a sharp pop, showering sparks onto the paperwork. The startled officer swore, dropping the page. His foot slipped on the scattered glass. He fell into his partner, shoving him face-first into the bars.
Felicia had to act. It was now or never.
Her heel lashed back, smashing into the dropped keys, kicking them into her palm. She ducked low, spun, and drove her shoulder into the staggering officer's chest, hurling him into the other. They both collapsed in a heap.
"Oops." Felicia giggled. "Guess that's bad luck."
She slipped out the open cell. The chaos bloomed outward. Radios crackled louder as someone shouted. A guard at the end of the hall reached for his sidearm, only for the strap to snag on his belt. He yanked hard, misfired, and shattered the glass pane of the fire alarm.
The siren wailed. Red lights strobed.
Perfect.
Felicia sprinted down the hall, weaving through the confusion. Another officer tried to grab her arm, but a filing cabinet tipped from the vibration of the siren, its drawer sliding open and cracking him in the shin. He howled, stumbling into his partner.
She darted left, through the processing office. Phones rang nonstop, but in the scramble, one secretary tripped on her chair's cord and spilled coffee all over a stack of files. Officers rushed to help, blocking the narrow path.
Felicia vaulted the desk, snatched a baton from a holster, and twirled it in her hand.
"Thanks, boys," Felicia purred.
A squad came charging in from the main entrance. Too many. Guns raised. She threw the baton and hit the fire alarm. Cue the chain reaction of the fire alarm tripping the sprinklers. Water cascaded, soaking everything.
Bang!
One person shot and missed. Felicia darted forward. The wet floor turned into a skating rink. Two officers slipped, colliding shoulder-first. A third fired his taser, but the stream arced into the flood at his own feet. He screamed, convulsing.
She zig-zagged through them. The processing office was behind her.
The last obstacle was the outer gate. A steel roll-up, half open. An officer scrambled to close it, slapping the switch with his palm.
'Come on, come on…! Luck, don't fail me now!'
The mechanism whined. Sparks spat from the shorted system. The gate shuddered, frozen mid-drop. Felicia slid under the gap, water soaking her black dress, and was suddenly in the middle of the street. She heard sirens to her left and right and behind her.
She…was surrounded. Not good. Felicia looked around. 'Where do I go next—'
Her palms smacked the pavement. She had hardly picked herself up when it happened.
Thwip!
A line of webbing coiled around her waist like a snake.
"What the—" she gasped, only to be yanked upward with dizzying force. Her body lifted off the street, the world spinning into a blur of headlights, police spotlights, and shouts fading below.
She collided into a solid chest, caught by an arm wrapped around her waist. Felicia's white hair whipped across her face, then she stilled. The mask. The black-and-red suit. The alien sheen that seemed to ripple like liquid shadow across his frame.
"Spider-Man?"
Her voice cracked on the name. He put a finger to his lips. He stood directly on top of the gate with immaculate balance. A single foot hanging on the metal, holding up himself and Felicia with zero effort.
He did not immediately swing her toward the rooftops. Instead, he did something stranger. The air around them shimmered, bent. The neon glow of New Delhi dulled. Her own body blurred into transparency. Felicia looked down at her dress — her hands — gone.
"What—"
This time, he placed a finger to her lips and silenced her. He fired another web and pulled them to the building on the other side. It was a government building too. He scaled the side of the government building wall with effortless speed. She understood his message: "Don't struggle. They can't see us, but noise gives us away."
Felicia clamped her mouth shut. Right behind them, chaos exploded.
"Suspect has escaped!"
"Lock down the district!"
"Check every alley!"
Police scattered like ants, rushing out into the roads with flashlights, rifles, and radios blaring. Searchlights swept across the buildings. None of them landed where Felicia and Spider-Man ran. Even if they did, they wouldn't have been able to spot them. They were utterly invisible and running from rooftop to rooftop.
Rather, Spider-Man was. He carried Felicia in his arms. Like a gentlemen, he did not let the lady in the black dress touch the concrete for even a moment.
Felicia's heart hammered. The water still dripping from her soaked dress pattered down, but even that sound was drowned in the confusion.
Spider-Man didn't stop moving. He leapt them across the one last rooftop, then sprinted silently across it, carrying her like she weighed nothing. With every step, his symbiote suit adjusted, muffling sound and dampening vibration. To the police, they were ghosts.
Only once they cleared the neighbourhood did he stop. Only then could she see his masked face in the moonlight.
Wow.
Felicia never thought masks could look so sexy~