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Chapter 42: Detective Doakes
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[Aww, that was almost sweet.]
[In the most horrifying, traumatizing context possible, but still.]
[He's not wrong. His Cyberpathy and enhanced intellect are his true senses.]
[Indeed, praise Doom more.]
[You're just taking all the credits, aren't ya?]
[Doom does not take credits. Credits beg to be taken by him.]
[Damn... Okay, I see ya!] [Damn!]
[Phew, Doom, you rock!]
"Wise words," Magneto commented, not turning from his view of the missiles. "However, I must agree with her. Your body is an artwork."
Adam smiled. "Thank you for the compliment."
Magneto finally turned, his mouth twitching at the man's shamelessness. "That was not a compliment. You look horrible."
When he was merely scarred, his body held a certain... charm. A testament to endurance. Now, he resembles a badly cooked piece of meat.
Adam shrugged, wincing at the movement. "Art is subjective." He then continued in a deliberately comedic, scholarly tone.
"After all, there are those who find beauty in the pristine marble of a classical statue, and others who are profoundly moved by, say, a preserved cow sliced into twelve sections and displayed in formaldehyde, or perhaps an artist's collection of his own frozen feces sculpted into miniature castles."
Magneto's face contorted in genuine disgust, utterly dumbfounded. "Stop! By the heavens, Cypher, you are insufferable!"
[HE WENT THERE! HE BROUGHT UP THAT FEces ART!]
[Magneto's reaction is all of us!]
[Guys, should I research frozen feces? Is it a hole worth deep diving into?]
[I'm curious too.]
[I... I've heard something about that. Do not go there. That's a hole you can never come back from.]
[You've heard something, huh? Sergeant Doakes sees you.]
[Doakes meme.gif] [Doakes meme.gif] [Doakes meme.gif]
Followed by a torrent of Doakes memes and emotes, literally endless. The one who's heard something about that would never be seen in chat ever again.
They were waiting for something, and soon enough, a puff of brimstone-scented smoke announced the arrival of Azazel.
The red-skinned teleporter materialized in the center of the room. "It is done. The vault contents have been transported."
Magneto turned his full attention back to Adam. "And you? Have you completed your task?"
Adam, who had been staring into the middle distance, his good eye in a daze, nodded. "Just sent you the data packet. Warehouses, safe houses, places of interest. Let's excavate everything."
A predatory gleam shone in Magneto's eyes. "Your power is… profoundly interesting."
He studied Adam like a rare specimen. There are many reasons he sees a potential successor in him.
Fourth, his power. Third, his fearlessness. Second, his brilliance. But first, his certainty. Doubt and hesitation are the adversaries of purpose. A leader who questions his own path is no leader at all.
And from what he'd seen so far, Adam holds more than he first thought; his mutant ability may be more complex than anyone realizes, Magneto deduced.
[The succession criteria make sense.]
[He values certainty above power or intelligence. That's... interesting.]
[Adam's utter lack of self-doubt is his most valuable currency to a man like Magneto.]
While the two masterminds conversed, their plans were unfolding with terrifying efficiency.
Under Magneto's command, his Brotherhood mutants were physically looting every known location of Fisk's empire.
From warehouses stuffed with cash and weapons to hidden caches of valuable metals and experimental tech, all ransacked.
Simultaneously, Adam's Cyberpathy was a silent hurricane sweeping through the digital remains of the Kingpin's domain.
He had bypassed all of Fisk's not so formidable cybersecurity, not everyone is Iron Man. In fact, Fisk's cybersecurity was quite lackluster.
His mind was filtering through terabytes of data; encrypted bank accounts in Zurich and the Caymans, shell corporation ledgers, blackmail files, and manifests for illicit shipments.
He was systematically draining the Kingpin's empire dry, siphoning the digital wealth and sending the physical coordinates to Magneto for collection.
If Wilson Fisk were still alive, he wouldn't just be rolling in his grave; he'd be undergoing a spiritual seizure from the sheer, comprehensive dry scuking of his life's work.
[The narration is unhinged, and I'm here for it.]
["Spiritual seizure" is the perfect description.]
[They're not just beating Fisk; they're erasing him from the economic map. It's beautiful.]
[Dry sucking? Tf?]
The end goal was a clean, efficient partnership: Magneto handled the heavy lifting, Adam handled the data heist, and they would split the astronomical spoils.
After a final discussion about logistics, Azazel did them the favor of teleporting them back to the brownstone in Hell's Kitchen.
He vanished in another BAMF, leaving them in the living room, where a third party had already made himself at home: a bloody, exhausted Frank Castle, lying motionless on their expensive couch.
"Well," Adam sighed, looking at the trail of blood and grime Frank had deposited. "There goes all the hygiene."
Domino shot him a look. "You're the one to complain? You're worse."
She then turned her ire on Frank. "And what about you? You waiting for me to wipe your ass, too? Go take a shower. I'll prepare the first-aid kits."
Frank was bone-tired, every muscle screaming in protest. But the sheer force of her command, coupled with his own ingrained discipline, forced him to his feet.
He and Adam, a pair of broken warriors, shuffled off to separate bathrooms.
Under the spray of hot water, Adam assessed the damage. He fixed his white hair as best he could, then stared at his reflection; at the ruined socket where his left eye used to be.
He felt… nothing. It was not a painful loss, but he would start working on cybernetic eyes anyway; they should prove useful in the future.
He pulled on a pair of comfortable sweatpants but forewent a shirt; the fabric would have fused to the burns on his body.
That would be uncomfortable, even for him.
[Even for him? What the fuck am I hearing? It should be painful, heart-wrenching!]
[True, I get chills just thinking about it, and the maniac is worried about comfort!]
He met Frank in the hallway. The Punisher, now clean but covered in a collection of bullet grazes, even holes, and deep cuts, looked Adam up and down.
"You look like shit," Frank grunted.
Adam managed a smile. "I know, right? And I smell like cooked meat, just need some barbecue sauce, and I would be a full meal. Speaking of which, you look like shit too."
A rough, chuckle escaped Frank's lips, before laughing aloud, Adam following along, sharing a laugh after a very rough day.
The violence and absolute justice served that night had brought Frank a profound, grim sense of relief.
They had achieved what he knew was nearly impossible alone. And seeing the price Adam had willingly paid; the eye, the brutalized body; had forged a thread of respect.
Frank Castle's world was binary, but Adam had proven himself firmly on the side of delivering permanent, assertive justice, no matter the personal cost... Even if the intent isn't so pure.
[The Frank Castle Grunt of Approval! We've achieved it, folks!]
[Damn, respect!!]
[This is the most unlikely friendship in the entire Marvel universe.]
[The fuck u mean? It's very likely.]
[Just a saying, dude, relax!]
[Very likely, so likely that if they turn gay for each other, I wouldn't be surprised.]
[...] [That'd be hot!]
[Fuck no!] [+1] [+1] [+1]
They walked back to the living room where Domino had laid out a startling array of medical supplies.
She worked on Frank first, digging out two lodged bullets with a practiced, steady hand while he bit down on a leather strap, his knuckles white.
Then it was Adam's turn. She carefully cleaned around his burns and, with a deep breath and a pair of sterilized surgical tweezers, began the delicate process of removing the ruined remains of his left eye from the socket.
It was a gruesome task, but necessary. Leaving it would lead to infection and sepsis.
Throughout the entire agonizing procedure, Adam sat perfectly still, his one good eye fixed on the middle distance, his breathing even.
He showed no sign of pain.
He was dazing off, recalling his experiences today, how he can improve, what he could've done better.
He must say, he's done decent, he thinks. He felt a tingling in his mind as if something had leveled up.
Novice Trickster ++
[How is he not screaming? His pain tolerance is superhuman.]
[I don't think he's needed to envy Frank's endurance at all.]
[The man is a fortress.]
[How long is he gonna stay hard stuck as Novice Trickster?]
[Yeah, I noticed that too.]
[Maybe he's comparing himself to universal entities?]
[Makes sense.]
It was at the end of this macabre surgery that his phone, lying on the coffee table, finally stopped its incessant buzzing and rang out loud. Adam reached over and answered it on speaker.
The moment the connection was made, the room was filled with the furious, electronically-filtered roar of Nick Fury.
"CYPHER! WHY THE FUCK DID YOU INVOLVE MAGNETO?! WHY? WHY ARE YOU WORKING WITH HIM?!?!"
[The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. is having a very, very bad night.]
[This is about to be a very awkward conversation.]
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