Ivan had started skeptical—the whole Loom of Fate thing sounded like mystical nonsense, like something from a bad action movie. Killing people based on predictive fabric? That was absurd on its face.
But then John had explained about the Dragon Balls.
They'd been the Fraternity's sacred relics for generations. That the organization had deliberately released them into the world to give humanity hope, to allow wishes beyond the Fraternity's control.
And Ivan knew the Dragon Balls were real. He'd held one, sold it, and recently receive the real information of the sphere on his mind.
If those were genuine then maybe predictive assassination wasn't as crazy as it sounded.
"So when you came collecting Dragon Balls," Ivan asked slowly, "were you gathering them for the organization? Bringing them back under Fraternity control?"
John shook his head. "No. I was collecting them for myself. Personal wish."
Ivan's eyes widened. "What did you wish for?"
John studied him for a long moment, then apparently decided Ivan had earned the truth. "With your current status, you're not qualified to know this. But I'll tell you anyway—I resurrected my wife, Helen. She'd been dead. The Dragon Balls brought her back."
Ivan's breath caught. Resurrection. Actual, literal resurrection of the dead. Not metaphorical, not spiritual—physical return from death.
"Is there any chance," Ivan said carefully, "that I could meet her? Confirm this?"
"If you become one of us," John replied.
For the next hour, John detailed the Fraternity's current operations—the global Assassin Brotherhood network, the Continental Hotels serving as neutral ground, the mission statement that had evolved under Smith Doyle's leadership.
"The foundation of civilization is fragile," John said, his voice carrying the weight of creed. "We must become guardians of our own society. We are designers of our actions and bear the consequences—whether glorious or tragic."
He leaned forward, intensity clear in his posture. "When people blindly follow so-called truth, remember there is no absolute truth. When behavior is constrained by morality or law, remember that any constraint can be broken."
"We work in the darkness to serve the light," John continued. "We are assassins. Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
The ancient Assassin's Creed, refined and evolved but still carrying echoes of centuries past.
"Now," John said. "Tell me your choice."
Ivan smiled slightly. "Knowing all this, do I really have another choice?"
"You could remain a business partner," John corrected. "Shareholder in Vanko Industries, access to resources and capital, but no deeper integration with the Fraternity."
Ivan blinked, genuinely surprised. "That's actually an option?"
"We're not a cult," John said dryly. "We prefer willing members over coerced ones."
Ivan extended his hand without hesitation. "Your organization is fascinating. I like it very much."
"I want to join," he said firmly. "And becoming a superhero will make fighting criminals much easier."
John shook his hand, grip firm. "Welcome to the Fraternity, Ivan Vanko."
Three Days Later - Private Jet to Monaco
Ivan had spent the past seventy-two hours in a whirlwind—formal oath ceremony, assignment to John Wick's operational unit, briefings on Fraternity history and protocols, and introduction to other members including several vampires and werewolves that had thoroughly demolished his understanding of reality.
Now he sat in a private jet's luxury cabin, heading to Monaco to meet Smith Doyle, accompany by John Wick, and Bulma. Fox had remained behind to handle Vanko Industries' incorporation paperwork and initial facility setup.
Ivan studied Bulma with professional curiosity. The teenage genius who'd built hover cars and second-generation combat scouters. Her technical expertise was clearly extraordinary—potentially exceeding his own in certain areas, though his pride resisted admitting it fully.
Convoy to Monaco Hotel
The cars moved through Monaco's streets in formation—security vehicles front and back, the principals distributed across three luxury sedans. Smith and Tony shared one vehicle, with Happy driving and maintaining professional silence. Pepper had been relegated to a different car, giving the two men privacy for conversation.
Tony's patience lasted approximately three minutes. "Alright, enough with the scenic tour commentary. What's actually going on with Natalie? You said we'd discuss face-to-face."
Smith shifted in his seat, organizing his explanation. "Her real name is Natasha Romanoff. And yes, she's one of mine."
Tony's eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. "She's Fraternity? You put an assassin in my legal department?"
"Don't panic," Smith said quickly. "She wasn't sent to kill you or infiltrate Stark Industries for corporate espionage."
"Then why—" Tony started.
"She has another identity," Smith interrupted. "She's also a SHIELD agent. Has been for years."
Tony stared at him for three full seconds. Then he looked at Happy. "Happy, forget everything you're about to hear. Never mention it to anyone."
"I didn't hear anything, boss," Happy confirmed, eyes fixed on the road.
Tony turned back to Smith, voice dropping to intense whisper. "Dude, what are you doing? You have an undercover agent inside SHIELD?"
"I don't trust them," Smith said bluntly. "They've been stonewalling my supervisory authority, hiding information, making excuses. I wanted eyes inside their operation."
Tony's expression shifted from shock to eager excitement. "Oh man, this is perfect. We're partners, right? Best friends? So when you inevitably uncover SHIELD's dirty secrets, you're taking me along for that raid."
Smith smiled at Tony's enthusiasm. "Don't worry, when the time comes, you'll definitely be involved."
"For now," Smith continued, "just cooperate with Natasha. She's probably monitoring you because of the palladium poisoning situation."
Tony nodded slowly, processing. "Okay, I can work with that. Feed her harmless information, maintain cover, et cetera."
"Good." Smith reached into his jacket and pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth. "Now, different topic. I have something else to discuss."
He unwrapped the cloth, revealing Ivan's miniature arc reactor. The device sat in his palm, blue-white light pulsing steadily.
Tony froze, staring at the reactor. His brain processed what he was seeing, rejected it, then processed it again.
"Don't tell me," Tony said slowly, "that Bulma reverse-engineered this from my designs."
His voice carried hurt beneath the accusation. "She's literally the only person I know with the capability, and she actually did it? That's a betrayal of trust, man. She's wasted working for you."
Tony felt personally slapped. He'd stood before Congress three days ago declaring it would take competitors five to ten years—possibly twenty—to replicate his technology. And now Smith was showing him a functional arc reactor.
"It wasn't Bulma," Smith said calmly.
Tony's confusion deepened. "Then who? You don't have any other engineers with that kind of capability. Even with stolen blueprints, building a functional miniaturized reactor requires incredible expertise."
"Do you know Anton Vanko?" Smith asked.
Tony's brow furrowed as he searched his memory. "Never heard of him. MIT graduate? CalTech? One of dad's competitors?"
"Anton Vanko and your father," Smith explained, "jointly developed the original arc reactor decades ago. They were partners, colleagues, friends even. But they disagreed fundamentally about the technology's application."
"Your father wanted to use it for public good—clean energy, humanitarian advancement. Anton wanted military contracts and commercial licensing—maximum profit from the innovation."
Tony's expression had gone very still. "And?"
"Howard kicked Anton out of the company," Smith continued. "Used his government connections to have Anton deported back to the Soviet Union. Anton spent the rest of his life in effective exile, forbidden from conducting research, watching Howard build an empire on their shared work."
Smith held up the reactor. "Anton kept his own copies of the original designs. And his son, Ivan Vanko, successfully miniaturized the reactor using those blueprints."
"Three days ago," Smith said, "Ivan contacted me through John. He wanted investment capital and legitimacy. So, I gave him both—founded Vanko Industries as a Universal Capsule subsidiary."
Smith met Tony's eyes directly. "And he joined the Fraternity."