Once inside the doorway, I looked around for something to prop it open. However, the hallway was quite nondescript. There was a folding chair sitting in the hall, but other than that, nothing else was there. The flooring was linoleum with brick walls on either side. If not for the emergency lighting and the ajar door revealing the sewer interior, I'd have thought this was a hallway in any generic office building. At the other end of the hallway was a very sturdy looking door. I groaned. I hoped I hadn't used all my luck on getting the exterior door to open. However, as I walked up to the rather intimidating looking blast door, it hissed open. That's odd. With all the effort put into securing the front door, one would tend to think the armored interior door would be similarly secured.
The interior was larger than I'd expected, with higher roofs and a lot of space in the first room. This wasn't a repurposed maintenance room, this was a proper bunker carved out in the New York sewer system. Emergency lighting strips along the walls cast everything in an eerie green glow, revealing what was clearly a professional operational facility.
I found myself in what appeared to be the central command area. The space was laid out with military efficiency, but clearly hadn't been maintained in years. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and the centerpiece—a large planning table—was an absolute mess of scattered papers, maps, and operational documents spread haphazardly across its surface. Folding chairs were stacked neatly in one corner, and I could see two main corridors leading off to the left and right of the complex.
Curious about what I'd find, I headed down the right corridor first. The hallway branched off into several rooms, and I could hear the faint hum of ventilation equipment somewhere deeper in. I briefly glanced into what appeared to be a communications room. There were multiple radio units, computer terminals, and what looked like early satellite communication equipment were arranged on a desk, with cables snaking across the ceiling and disappearing deeper into the corridor. Clearly the occupants felt the need for some sort of C2(Command and Control) capacity in this bunker.
I found what appeared to be an equipment staging room with built-in lockers lining the walls. Opening the first locker, I spotted three distinctive yellow AIM "beekeeper" suits hanging on hooks. The familiar hazmat-style uniforms looked almost comical in the green emergency lighting, but they were clearly functional. My blood went cold. AIM experimented on people - I remembered one of the Scientist Supremes had experimented on her own daughter. And I had no paper trail, no identity, no one looking for me. If they came back and found me here, I could just disappear into their labs and no one would ever know. My stomach dropped.
However, I opened the second locker and found a Wild Pack uniform in Silver Sable International's distinctive orange and gray colors. I paused, confused. The third locker contained an unmistakable SHIELD jumpsuit with an eagle logo and ID badge. My analytical mind kicked back in, cutting through the panic. This didn't make sense. AIM didn't do elaborate false flag operations using multiple identities - that was well outside their wheelhouse. Their approach was usually more direct: steal tech, create weapons, deploy Adaptoids. But masquerade operations involving mercenary companies and intelligence agencies? Get it together, I told myself. You're running on fumes and letting your imagination run wild. Think logically. The inconsistency forced me out of my fear spiral and back into a more analytical frame of mind .
Adjacent to the barracks, I found changing rooms—individual stalls with curtains for privacy. Beyond those, the corridor continued deeper into the complex.
Following the corridor further, I discovered what appeared to be an R&D room. Here I spotted something that made my breath catch. Mounted on a dummy was some sort of suit. It was sleek, compact, and clearly functional. It had a dark bodysuit base with yellow accents and trim, topped by a distinctive crested metal helmet with large circular goggles. The integrated jetpack was built into the back of the suit, with what looked like control mechanisms built into the gauntlets. The whole ensemble had a very 50's aesthetic.
Those oversized goggles stared back at me, triggering a memory I couldn't quite place. Then it hit me—Rocketeers. I'd seen these suits before, connected to some organized crime group. Something about dire wraiths too, though the details were fuzzy.
But standing here, looking at the suit and its blueprints scattered across nearby workbenches, a chill ran down my spine. This wasn't some fly-by-night operation. The craftsmanship, the research, the sheer infrastructure of this place—it spoke to something much deeper. Criminal organizations that had been operating in the shadows long before any hero knew they existed, building networks and resources that spanned decades.
The comics had only shown us glimpses. Reality, it seemed, was far more extensive.
I needed to stop relying on my comic book knowledge and start researching real intelligence. Look into the connections I hadn't seen and the operations that happened between panels.
Continuing down the corridor, I caught a glimpse of what was clearly an armory through an open doorway - weapon racks lining the walls, most empty but some still holding equipment. I made a mental note to explore it more thoroughly later, but first I wanted to examine those scattered papers in the central area.
With that in mind, I returned to the central area to examine the scattered papers on the planning table more carefully. Maps of New York City were spread everywhere. There were street maps, subway tunnels, building schematics, even what looked like police patrol routes. Red circles and arrows had been drawn across various locations, with timestamps and notes scrawled in the margins. This wasn't just a abandoned fallback location, they had actively been working on something.
What the hell were they planning? I wondered, studying the markings more closely.
That's when I spotted it—a single sheet of paper that had been left partially hidden under one of the street maps.
I pulled it out and read:
OPERATIONAL BRIEFING - EASTERN ACQUISITIONS DIVISION CLASSIFIED - SECRET
TARGET: CAVORITE CRYSTAL SAMPLES
Intelligence: HYDRA contact confirms Viper planning second Cavorite heist after Silver Samurai's failed attempt
Value: $100M+ energy amplification technology, post-Strucker HYDRA fragmentation creates opportunity
Constraint: Post-el Tigre losses limit East Coast to 60% capacity - Rocketeers EMERGENCY ONLY
Target Intelligence: Structural plans acquired via memory extraction from Jackhammer's associate. Subject's memory subsequently altered - no operational security breach. Layout confirms sewer access points and optimal extraction routes
CONTROL: Operations will be directed from Bunker-7 due to suspected SIGINT monitoring of primary facility communications
OUTSIDE ASSETS: AIM/Silver Sable International(SSI)/SHIELD uniforms acquired ✓
FALSE FLAG PROTOCOL:
Team Alpha (AIM) - 0300hrs strike HYDRA Facility 7-Delta, eliminate Viper's cell, acquire CavoriteTeam Beta (SSI) - Distract NYPD/SHIELD with jurisdictional incidentTeam Gamma (SHIELD) - "Respond" as UN cleanup, extract evidence
OUTCOME: HYDRA blames AIM, Corporation acquires advanced technology, rivals weakened
TIMELINE:
H-15 - Team Beta initiates police contactH-HOUR - Team Alpha strikes HYDRA Facility 7-DeltaH+15 - Team Alpha secures Cavorite, terminates all personnel, begins sewer extractionH+20 - Civilian reports gunfire, Team Gamma responds as "SHIELD backup"H+25 - Team Gamma arrives at facility, begins crime scene processingH+45 - Team Beta concludes "warrant dispute," disperses via separate routesH+60 - Team Gamma completes evidence sanitization, depart as ground convoy.H+75 - All teams clear operational areaH+90 - Rendezvous at secondary staging point
AUTHORIZATION: PENDING VIPER ACQUISITION OF SAMPLE - STANDBY FOR GO ORDER
The paper was timestamped with March 03 1979.
The Corporation, I realized. This has to be a Corporation facility. They were the only criminal org that deployed the Rocketeer battlesuits in force consistently.
I racked my brain, trying to recall everything I knew about the Corporation. My memory was foggy, they'd only been in two storylines, and neither were very memorable.
They were some kind of criminal organization that operated like a business. Corporate structure, I remembered that much. They'd been active in the late seventies, and got broken up around '79 maybe? An evil senator of the week was involved. Stivak? Kligger? Something like that. There had been East and West Coast divisions, which made sense given this was clearly an eastern seaboard operation. There was a Midwest division, but I couldn't recall what happened to them.
The Rocketeers had been their flying muscle, but they weren't just thugs with jetpacks. They were part of something bigger, more sophisticated. I vaguely remembered the Corporation having infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. at some point, which would explain how they'd gotten their hands on advanced technology and intelligence.
What else? There'd been superhuman operatives. Moonstone had gotten her start in superpowered crime with them, I think? And that shapeshifter? Vamp or Animus, something like that. They'd recruited from multiple sources, building a network that combined traditional crime with cutting-edge technology and political influence.
Most importantly, they'd gone defunct around 1979. Which meant this base should have been abandoned for five years by now.
I looked around more carefully, really examining the details I'd initially missed. The inner door hadn't been locked—it was just motion-activated. There was dust over everything, enough to suggest the place had been sitting untouched since it was evacuated. And now that I was paying attention to the dates, all the papers scattered around the briefing table were from late 1978 and early 1979.
The emergency lighting flickered slightly, reminding me that this whole place was running on backup power. No fresh supplies. No signs of recent activity. Just the halting remnants of whatever automated systems had been left running when everyone fled.
The picture suddenly became clearer. This base had been abandoned in a hurry by the original owners. The Corporation hadn't gradually wound down operations, they'd been forced to evacuate quickly, leaving behind sensitive documents, equipment, even that Rocketeer suit. The timeline made sense now:
The Corporation's leadership had started getting arrested, their network had been compromised, and before they could implement their false flag operation against HYDRA, they'd had to cut bait and run before the government swooped them up. The people running this base had probably gotten word that the feds were closing in and legged it out.
Personally, I wondered why they didn't engage in any asset denial, even though the federal government had never found this facility, it would clearly still make sense to destroy the prototype rocketeer suit, the blueprints for the suit, and the operational plans scattered haphazardly all over the table.
Suddenly, my train of thought was derailed by the rumbling of my stomach. Theories on why the bunker was abandoned would have to wait for later, as I hadn't eaten since last night. I decided to explore the left corridor to see what other facilities might be available. Walking down the left hallway from the central area, I passed what looked like a bunk room and came across a small kitchen. The kitchen had a relatively sleek looking microwave, and several pantries. After looking through the first 4 pantries, which were empty aside from spiderwebs, I ran across 5 sealed tins in the fifth.
The first can I grabbed made me pause. It was oddly pristine. No rust, no dents and a label that looked far too crisp for something that should have been gathering dust down here since the late seventies. "Nutritionally Enhanced Lima Beans - Military Grade," it read, stamped with some corporate logo I didn't recognize.
When I checked the dates, my eyebrow raised. Canned in 1975, expiration 1987. I turned the can over twice, making sure I'd read it right. Standard canned beans lasted five years at the outside, maybe six if you were feeling lucky. Not twelve. Food preservation technology had clearly taken some serious leaps forward.
I inspected the drawers. No can openers. Bugger. Grabbing the can of beans, I walked back towards the central area. Think I'll have to improvise. I needed to find the armory I'd glimpsed earlier. Heading back down the right corridor, I found it branching off from the main hallway. Walking into the armory properly for the first time, I got a better look at what this facility had in terms of small arms. The walls were lined with weapon racks, most of them now empty, but enough remained to paint a picture of a seriously well-funded operation.
Just inside the entrance, three sleek rifles sat in what appeared to be charging cradles. I was going to assume these were some sort of directed energy weapon. Managing not to be completely distracted by seeing a directed energy weapon in real life, and by the implications thereof, I moved deeper into the armory. Walking past what looked like a rack that had mostly contained ballistic assault rifles, I found what I had been looking for. A wall held 5 utility belts, each with a combat knife sheathed neatly. Grabbing one utility belt off the wall, I walked back to the kitchen to open my beans and look for utensils.
Opening the top of the beans with the knife, I scrounged around the drawers, finding a collection of dusty plastic utensils. After giving a spork a quick rinse (the water was surprisingly still on, probably tapped into the municipal pipes), I dug into the beans. On the first bite, I was shocked. These beans tasted significantly better than they had any right to after being packaged for so long. Then I remembered that Earth-616 was notably more advanced than our earth, and at least some of those advances have to have improved food preservation.
Spooning the beans into my mouth reminded me of home - specifically, my dad's terrible attempts at making them. They always came out slightly under-cooked. My mother would roll her eyes when she got back and saw my dad's beans in the pot. My brother and I would exchange looks across the dinner table, trying not to laugh at dad's wounded expression when we reached for the hot sauce.
The memory hit me like a body blow. They probably thought I was dead by now. My mother brooding in silence, dad staying stoic and refusing to show how much it was eating him alive, my brother blaming himself somehow. They'd never know what happened to me - just an empty space where I used to be, waiting for phone calls that would never come.
The enormity of being completely severed from everyone I'd ever loved crashed over me all at once. I was emotionally compromised on top of the adrenaline crash, and that was a dangerous combination in a place like this. I needed to think clearly, and right now I couldn't.
I decided the wisest course of action was to get some rest. Tomorrow I'd take stock of my resources and hopefully be able to look at my situation with fresh eyes.