The method Arthur considered for waking them up was… frankly, primitive.
For some reason, his exhausted mind kept cycling through two equally violent options: one, grab the man by the collar and shake/slap him awake; or two, simply douse their face with ice-cold water.
Both techniques had their brutal advantages, the main "benefit," of course, being the sheer, unadulterated shock and, more importantly, the immediate spike in resentment value from the victims.
The first method promised higher resentment, but carried a real risk: a stray concussion, temporary memory loss, or even just confusion. If they forgot why they were angry, the resentment value would drop instantly to zero.
"Seriously… what in the cosmic hell is this chaos?"
Arthur rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache that threatened to derail his focus completely.
He sighed, abandoning his dark humor. He reached into the spatial pocket of his Disassembler suit, retrieved two small, pre-filled syringes, and swiftly injected the contents into the neck of the man, then the woman. He didn't wait; he simply leaned back onto the plush, neutral-colored sofa.
In less than ten seconds, the man's eyes snapped open.
Calling him a "boy" was generous. The scruffy stubble and tired lines around his eyes confirmed 'man' was the only appropriate term.
As for the woman, her sharp, adult features and powerful physique made it clear she was no "girl" either.
Arthur's attention flickered for a brief moment as both subjects simultaneously returned to consciousness. He forced his mind back to the present and spoke with a calm, even tone:
"I strongly suggest that attacking your host the moment you wake up isn't a very productive life choice."
The man, who had already smoothly rolled off the floor and positioned himself to strike from behind Arthur, froze mid-crouch.
It wasn't the first time evidence had shown just how terrifying this man was, even without his armor.
The critical difference this time was that, upon his sudden awakening, the man hadn't immediately registered the host sitting before him as the masked figure he'd seen at the base. Arthur was currently unmasked, his face bare.
Arthur's lips curved into a slight, predatory smile.
"If you're interested, there's a perfectly good chair you can use."
The woman, now fully awake, took a sharp, gasping breath.
"I feel… something wrong flowing through my body," she murmured, eyes wide with alarm.
The man immediately swiveled his sharp, wary gaze onto Arthur.
Arthur paused, then sighed with a touch of exasperation.
"You know, young lady, the way you phrased that… could lead to some incredibly awkward misinterpretations."
His comment was met with two expressions of utter, uncomprehending confusion.
Arthur blinked, then let out a soft chuckle.
"I do enjoy those innocent looks. Sit down. I think your immediate attempt should have clarified one thing: fighting your way out of this room is not going to be a winning strategy."
"Where is this place?" the man finally asked, scanning the room. It looked like a generic, almost sterile reception area, simple, tasteful furniture, nothing exceptional.
But the fact that the man before them had stripped away his signature mask and all external armor suggested one thing: wherever they were, it was far, far away, and incredibly secure, from their original location. Hidden. Safe.
Arthur clapped his hands once, softly.
"Excellent question. Next."
He clearly had no intention of answering, causing the man's brow to furrow. Before he could press the issue, the woman spoke:
"Who are you?"
Arthur smiled.
"Now that's a better question. I'm not sure what Hydra used to call me in their archives… but here, to the people who follow me, they prefer to call me… The Instructor."
"Instructor!"
Both figures reacted with visible shock, their wariness instantly spiking into tense alarm.
Arthur's smile faded slightly.
"So, Hydra hasn't retired the title. In that case, I'm genuinely curious: in their eyes, what kind of person do you think I am?"
The woman's gaze hardened, meeting his directly.
"A terrifying enemy," she stated without hesitation. "Your records are among Hydra's highest clearances. They considered you the organization's greatest regret. Their biggest historical mistake was failing to discover your existence during the Super Soldier Program, and not eliminating you immediately. They believe that had you been neutralized, the outcome of history would have been completely different."
Arthur was silent for a long moment, then shook his head slowly.
"Those who spend all their time staring at history often lose sight of the road ahead."
The woman replied evenly, her voice sharp.
"But the lessons of history are the only things that prevent us from walking the same wrong path again."
Arthur shrugged, a non-committal gesture.
"And yet history has proven one thing conclusively: the only lesson we ever seem to learn from it… is that we never learn any lessons at all."
The woman lowered her head slightly.
"I think our conversation has drifted from its original topic."
Arthur tilted his head thoughtfully.
"Then what was our original topic? I took you out of a Hydra base, brought you here, and showed you my face. You must have already braced yourselves for the worst possible outcome. So tell me… what is it?"
"Death," the woman said instantly, without wavering. The man beside her closed his eyes for a moment and quietly took her hand.
Arthur chuckled, an airy, dismissive sound.
"How melodramatic. Did Hydra also tell you I was some sort of bloodthirsty maniac?"
The woman looked him directly in the eye.
"I can't imagine a better ending for us than that."
But then, she suddenly noticed something peculiar.
Around Arthur's seated form, a faint, shimmering barrier coalesced out of thin air. Delicate, crimson threads of light spread through the air like rising steam before slowly dissolving away.
Arthur looked down at her, calm and assessing.
"Your power is interesting. It comes from something… you don't truly understand."
The woman didn't feel that her attempted psychic attack was wrong. Even caught in the act, she felt no shame or regret. Instead, she frowned slightly and asked,
"It comes from… what?"
"You probably believe it comes from a fancy staff," Arthur said, raising his hand slowly. "But in truth… it comes from the gem embedded within that staff."
As he spoke, the familiar, ornate design of Loki's magic scepter materialized into Arthur's grasp.
When Loki had first invaded Earth, his own powers had been significantly weaker than they are now. By the time he was forced to choose his final, desperate path, he had long since lost the right to decide how events would conclude.
Because of that, the scepter eventually fell into the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D., and from there… into Hydra's secretive possession.
Now, after so many strange turns of fate, the weapon had returned to Arthur's hand. He held no sentimentality for it; instead, he gathered a focused spike of cosmic energy in his palm, and with a single, resonant CRACK, the staff shattered completely. Only a single, glowing gem remained suspended in the air.
It slowly floated downward until Arthur caught it, or rather, didn't catch it. It hovered directly above his palm, radiating a dazzling, ever-shifting blue light.
"There are six Infinity Stones in the universe," Arthur began softly, a tale as old as the cosmos, an ancient legend wrapped in a grim and terrible truth.
And somehow, without realizing it, he had slipped into the resonant, measured cadence of a scholar or an old man telling a crucial story to his grandchildren.
Despite the oddity of the tone in this high-tension moment, his rhythm and his storytelling were, admittedly, impeccable.