LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 18: Chapter 18
Shameless Note from a Shameless Author 😎
Alright, real talk—I'm sorry for the delay. Life's been a bit of a mess lately, and honestly, time to write has been scarce. Not to mention, my motivation has been on a bit of a vacation too. 😅 I wish I could be cranking out chapters like I usually do, but things are just... well, complicated.
I appreciate all of you still sticking around, even though I've been slacking. Seriously, you guys are the best! 🙌 I'll get back to it as soon as I can, because trust me, the story is far from over. There are epic moments ahead and I can't wait to get to them. Thanks for hanging in there!
Also, big shoutout to those of you who've pointed out my spelling mistakes. 🙏 Even though it might not seem like it, those little corrections really help me get better. Roast me all you want—just, please, with love. 😜🔥 You guys keep me grounded and motivated, and that means a lot!
If you want to show some support, a comment, review, or feedback would help A LOT to get my motivation back on track. Or, you know, some power stones might work too. 😏💎 All your messages and thoughts keep me going, seriously.
—With love, your writer who's trying to find time and motivation... somewhere. 💪
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POV Nick Fury
Nick Fury's fist clenched as he studied the satellite imagery flickering across his office's holographic displays. Another Ten Rings base reduced to smoking rubble - the fourth this week. The thermal signatures were unmistakable: whatever had hit the facility packed enough concentrated power to slice through reinforced concrete like butter.
"Stark," he muttered, zooming in on a blurry object streaking across the Afghan sky. The image quality was poor, but the metallic glint was undeniable. "What the hell are you up to?"
The door hissed open as Maria Hill strode in, Coulson close behind. The tight set of Hill's jaw told him everything he needed to know before she even opened her mouth.
"Sir, we've got movement at Stark Industries," Hill reported, her voice clipped. "Pepper Potts was observed leaving Stane's office approximately twenty minutes ago. Our sensors detected an unauthorized data transfer from his private terminal shortly before her departure."
Fury leaned forward, his good eye narrowing. "And?"
"She appeared calm, but our facial recognition picked up elevated stress markers," Coulson added, adjusting his tie. "Whatever she found in there rattled her."
"Show me the financial trails," Fury commanded, sweeping aside the satellite feeds with a gesture. New holograms sprang to life, displaying complex webs of transactions and shell companies. At the center sat Obadiah Stane, a spider in an expanding web of suspicious money movements.
"These transfers," Hill highlighted several streams of data, "all terminate in regions controlled by the Ten Rings. Conservative estimate puts the total around $2.5 billion over the past six months."
Fury stood, pacing before the displays. "Right when Stark was in captivity. Stane's been playing both sides - funding the very terrorists who grabbed Tony."
"There's more," Coulson interjected. "Ms. Potts has been making inquiries about shipping manifests, specifically related to prototype weapons systems. She's digging, and Stane's bound to notice."
"If he hasn't already," Fury growled. He stopped pacing, decision made. "Coulson, get to Potts before Stane does. Whatever she pulled from his system, we need it. Hill, I want every cent Stane's moved tracked and documented. When we take him down, I want it to stick."
"And Stark?" Hill asked.
Fury turned back to the satellite image of the destroyed base. "Let him play vigilante for now. He's disrupting the Ten Rings' operations, doing our job for us. But have Barton's team ready. The moment this powder keg ignites, I want boots on the ground."
"Sir," Hill hesitated, "what if Stane makes a move against Stark directly?"
"Then we'll find out exactly what kind of weapon Tony brought back from that cave." Fury's expression hardened. "Because something tells me it's a hell of a lot more than just an escape plan."
As his agents departed, Fury studied the complex dance of money and power displayed before him. Stark Industries had become a battlefield, and the casualties could be catastrophic if they didn't play this exactly right.
"Your move, Stane," he murmured to the empty room. "Just remember - I've got my eye on you."
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POV Max
The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the abandoned building as Maximus pressed his back against the cold concrete wall, his heart pounding. Jackson signaled from the other side of the dark hallway, his hand gestures sharp and precise in the dim light. Three fingers. Two. One.
Maximus emerged from his hiding spot, following Eagle's fluid movement through the shadows while Maverick provided rear security. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, weeks of rigorous training evident in every synchronized step.
"Clear on the left," Jackson whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of machinery.
"Clear on the right," Eagle confirmed, somehow sounding half-asleep even during a stealth mission.
Maverick couldn't resist adding, "There are as many enemies here as there are of Jackson's wins in sparring."
Jackson silently glared at him, clearly uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know, quite the impressive number," Maverick said with a mischievous smile.
The others, unfazed, continued their way, ignoring the joke as they ventured deeper into the facility, passing empty rooms filled with abandoned equipment and scattered papers. The mission parameters were simple: locate the hostage, secure the classified files, extract without being detected. Standard S.H.I.E.L.D. training, or so they thought.
"You know," Maverick murmured as they cleared another room, "for an enemy base, this place really could use some decorating tips. Maybe a nice potted plant, some cushions..."
"Shut up," Jackson ordered, but Maximus caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. Even Eagle's perpetually sleepy expression flickered with amusement.
Finally, they reached the last hallway leading to their target. The tension was palpable in the air, and Maximus felt his pulse quicken. This was the moment their training had prepared them for. Jackson raised his fist, signaling the team to stop.
The silence was absolute. But just as it seemed like nothing could break the stillness, an almost imperceptible click shattered the quiet of the hallway. In the blink of an eye, Eagle dropped to the floor with disorienting speed. His body collapsed like a stone, rigid, in absolute silence.
For a moment, no one moved. The tension gripped the air. "Eagle!" Maverick's strained whisper escaped as he ran toward his fallen teammate. "Come on, man, this isn't nap time!"
But Eagle didn't move. His skin was cold to Maverick's touch, his face frozen in an expression of slight surprise.
"Contact!" Jackson's warning shout came a split second before more gunshots tore through the air. Maverick barely ducked in time as concrete shrapnel exploded from the wall behind him.
"Take cover!" Jackson ordered, diving behind a steel cabinet. Maximus hid behind a concrete pillar, his mind racing. This wasn't supposed to happen. The mission report hadn't mentioned this level of resistance.
"What's the play?" Maverick shouted over the intensifying fire, any trace of humor gone from his voice.
Jackson's face was a mask of focused determination. "Go! Complete the mission. I'll hold them here!"
"We can't leave them!" Maximus protested, but Jackson cut him off.
"That's an order! Do it for Eagle: complete the objective!"
Maximus locked eyes with Maverick, seeing his own conflict mirrored there. But his training took control. Together, they turned and sprinted toward the exit, leaving behind Jackson's cover fire.
They were so close now. The hostage was in sight, the objective within reach. And then it happened. Without warning, a blinding flash filled the space, and everything disappeared. The tension, the chaos, the scorching heat of the flames... it all vanished in an instant. Maximus blinked hard as his eyes adjusted to the pure whiteness of the simulation room.
The absolute whiteness of the simulation room faded, revealing the familiar training capsule. Maximus blinked, disoriented, as the neural interface disconnected. Around him, his teammates were coming to, each showing varying degrees of confusion.
"What just happened?" Maverick groaned, pulling off his interface helmet. "I was about to do something incredibly heroic and probably stupid."
Eagle, who moments ago had been "dead" in the simulation, stretched lazily. "Maybe the system just couldn't handle your ego anymore."
"This has never happened before," Jackson said, frowning as he stood up. "A simulation doesn't just stop like that."
Fitz's worried voice came from the control booth a few meters away. "Something's wrong with the neural interface. The readings are all over the place, but I can't pinpoint the source of the disruption."
Maximus watched as two more scientists hurried around the capsule, checking the readings and muttering to each other. It felt strange not having Ward there—normally, he'd be the one taking charge of the mission, analyzing the situation. But he'd graduated early, leaving Jackson to assume the leadership role.
"Could it be a system malfunction?" Jackson asked, walking over to the control booth where Fitz was frantically typing on several screens.
"No, no, the diagnostics are clean," Fitz replied, his Scottish accent thickening with anxiety. "It's as if something external is interfering with the..."
The ceiling speakers crackled and interrupted him. Clint's voice filled the room, unusually stern. "Attention all cadets. This is a level 3 alert. Return to your quarters immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill."
"Level 3?" Maverick whistled low. "Well, there goes my afternoon nap schedule. Though I guess Eagle has enough stored up for all of us."
Despite his joke, there was a sharp edge to his voice that Maximus rarely heard before.
"We need to go," Jackson said firmly, heading toward the door. "Fitz, you too. Leave the diagnostics."
Fitz hesitated, his hands hovering over the keyboard. "But the data... if something's interfering with our systems..."
"That's an order," Jackson interrupted, his tone brokering no discussion. "Level 3 means a potential threat to the country. No one stays behind."
Maximus remained silent as they left the training area, his mind racing. In his months at S.H.I.E.L.D., he'd learned that threats could come from anywhere, even from within.
They passed other groups of cadets being led back to their quarters, the usual chatter replaced by tense silence. Even the research labs, usually bustling, were growing dark, their occupants evacuating with practiced efficiency.
The tension was reflected in everyone's faces. Jackson walked ahead with firm steps, but his fists were tightly clenched. Eagle followed behind, seemingly relaxed, though Maximus noticed how his eyes scanned every corner. Maverick, on the other hand, maintained a carefree facade, though his shoulders were more tense than usual.
They arrived at the dormitory, and Jackson was the first to enter. He placed his gear next to the bed and pulled out a small strategy book, flipping through the pages with focus. Maverick, on the other hand, dramatically dropped into one of the chairs, staring at the ceiling as if trying to find answers in the metal panels.
"Well," Maverick said, stretching, "if we're stuck here, what better time to claim the bed by the window? I think it's only fair that someone with my experience gets that privilege."
Eagle, who had collapsed onto his bed, slowly opened one eye. "Sure, the bed by the window. I guess with your ego, you need all the space so the fresh air doesn't overwhelm you."
Jackson, setting the book aside and lifting his gaze, interrupted with a teasing smile. "If anyone deserves that bed, it's me. I need a good rest after your snoring, Maverick."
"I don't snore!" Maverick protested, leaning forward with an offended expression.
Maximus couldn't help but let out a dry laugh. "Maverick, you sound like a Quinjet trying to take off with a broken engine."
"Seriously?" Maverick put a hand on his chest, feigning indignation. "After everything we've been through? The training, the missions, that time I covered for you when Barton almost discovered you accidentally shot him with that rubber bullet?"
"You were the one who shot him," Maximus corrected, crossing his arms. "And you blamed me."
"Details," Maverick replied with a dismissive wave. He then stood up and headed for the contested bed, dramatically running his hand along the frame. "Look, we all know I'm the obvious choice here. I've got experience, charisma, and let's be honest, this natural light does wonders for my bone structure."
Eagle propped himself up on one elbow. "Experience? We started around the same time. Besides, if we're talking skill, maybe we should remember who came second in yesterday's test."
"That was because the weight on the final stretch was miscalibrated!" Maverick raised his hands in protest.
Before the argument could escalate, Jackson stood up, lightly banging his hand on the table. "Enough!" His voice echoed in the room, and everyone turned toward him. "This doesn't matter right now. Ward earned his place in the field, and we're still here for a reason. There's a level 3 alert outside, and the only thing we should focus on is being ready if they call us. So stop fighting over a damn bed."
The room fell into tense silence, interrupted only by Jackson's heavy breathing. Finally, Maverick collapsed back onto his bed with a sigh, and with a mocking glance, made a comment to Jackson.
"Come on, Captain Serious, relax a bit. No one's planning a civil war in here... for now."
Though Maverick's words tried to lighten the mood, the atmosphere remained thick with tension. Maximus stayed on his bed, looking out the window toward the sports complex, the vast space within the underground S.H.I.E.L.D. base. He couldn't help but wonder what the future would hold.
After a few minutes, a soft knock at the door broke the silence. They all tensed instantly. No one had knocked before, and with the growing anxiety over the level 3 alert outside the base, the tension in the room was palpable. Jackson, the first to rise, wore a serious expression. He walked toward the door, his body tense with every step. As he turned the doorknob, the door opened slowly, while the rest of the group watched silently. Even Eagle, who usually kept his usual calm, had risen from his bunk, looking on attentively.
What Jackson found when he opened the door was not what he expected. On the threshold rested a small, sealed cardboard box, with no sign of who had left it there. Jackson glanced around but saw no one nearby. Cautiously, he picked up the box and carried it to the central table, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings.
"What's this?" Maverick asked from his bed, raising an eyebrow. "How did you bring that in here? What if it's a bomb?"
Jackson shot him a slightly annoyed look. "It's not a bomb, don't be an idiot. We're inside S.H.I.E.L.D., remember? There's no way anyone can infiltrate. Unless..."
Maximus, curious, quickly stepped forward and approached the box. "So, what is it? Did you open it?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
Jackson shook his head. "No, I haven't opened it. I thought one of you could deal with it."
Eagle, who hadn't said anything until then, leapt up. His usually relaxed face showed a concentration that didn't go unnoticed. "Wait," he said, looking at Jackson seriously. "Was there no one outside? This doesn't sit right with me. It could be a bomb."
Maverick raised an eyebrow, casting Jackson a "told you so" look. The tension in the room increased as they all stared at the box, unsure of what to expect.
Eagle, keeping his cool, pulled out a knife from his gear and held it firmly, motioning for the others to step back. Maverick, moving aside with the others, quickly made a joke.
"Are you going to stab the box, Eagle?" he said sarcastically, though his tone also showed some discomfort.
Jackson intervened, visibly concerned. "Don't open it like that. If it's a bomb, it could explode and ruin a few things in here. And if it's something delicate..."
But before he could finish, Eagle had already thrown the knife. With surprising precision, it sliced the box right along the top, and the knife continued its course, bouncing off the metal wall of the room.
They all held their breath, waiting for an explosion. However, to their surprise, nothing happened. After a tense silence, Jackson cautiously approached the box. He opened it carefully and lifted the contents: an old flip phone. His face reflected surprise, followed by a look of confusion. Without wasting time, he flipped it open and watched as the screen began to slowly light up.
Maximus, ever curious, was the first to approach. Maverick, with his usual sarcasm, let out a relieved sigh.
"Well, at least it didn't explode. That's something," he commented, smiling mockingly.
The group gathered closer to the phone, all sharing the same question: Who had left this here? And what did it mean? Meanwhile, Jackson couldn't stop staring at the flashing screen, waiting for a response or some kind of clue about the origin of the mysterious device.