Chapter 54
***
Somewhere in the desert, next to a massive "clump" of various metals lying on the yellow sand, a portal window opened. A bald woman in the characteristic garb of a mage stepped out unhurriedly. She looked around and walked with a confident stride toward a crater visible a short distance away. Approaching it, the woman pulled out an ornate piece of jewelry, somewhat resembling a large eye, hanging from a chain around her neck.
The jewelry began to glow with a green light, and the crater rapidly started shrinking in size until it vanished completely. In the center of the flat area that formed in its place was a gray-skinned man, impaled on hundreds of metal spikes, writhing under invisible lightning strikes, and burning in red beams of an incomprehensible nature.
The bald woman nodded to her own thoughts and lowered her jewelry. Then, she raised her free hand. Golden magic circles immediately flared up around it and began to rotate.
The gray-skinned man, frozen in time, began to shrink rapidly. A sort of soap bubble formed around him, quickly gaining the density of glass. Finally, the entire composition condensed to the size of a Christmas tree ornament.
The bald woman nodded in satisfaction once more. The circles faded, and the green light stopped pouring from the jewelry. She walked over to the resulting sphere and picked it up.
"Long-livers have a thing about promises," she sighed. "I think a single second of death stretched out over tens of thousands of years is 'agonizing and long' enough to not be considered a windbag, wouldn't you say?" she murmured to herself.
She then pocketed the sphere, opened a portal, and stepped through it. A minute later, only the tracks in the sand offered any hint of what had happened.
***
Two weeks had passed since that conversation. I sat across from Howard Stark's desk, gloomy and sleep-deprived. The master of the office, meanwhile, was buried up to his neck in the papers from the folder I had brought him. It was a thick folder. A lot of papers. I had spent the entire two weeks working on it, using meditative techniques to extract the new knowledge I had managed to acquire "at home" from my memory.
I was myself again: hair cut in my usual style, cleanly shaven, and dressed neatly in properly fitting clothes without any particular flair.
And I was gloomy and lost in thought. A passport in the name of Victor Creed lay in the inner pocket of my jacket, with two plane tickets to Moscow tucked inside. Two tickets, one passport. But I figured Suo would sort out what to do about that to avoid any problems. Money and magic were on her side. The simple solution: request a passport just like mine, but not for her. The Sorcerer Supreme of the Earth Dimension couldn't hold citizenship in a single country. It wasn't right.
"Victor, this is astounding," Howard finally managed to tear himself away from the papers. "This is way beyond what you brought last time! These are years' worth of developments!"
I stayed silent. There was no point in responding to that statement.
"I think we could start production in three to five years. The first financial transfers through your scheme with Oscorp have already gone through. We can get to work."
I nodded and stood up, putting on my hat.
"You're leaving already?" he asked, surprised.
I nodded again. Being a man of few words had started to become a habit over these past two weeks.
"Well, take care then," he said, holding out his hand, looking slightly bewildered.
I shook his hand, nodded once more, and left the office.
The car was already waiting downstairs. The same one I bought right after Suo and I moved into the city. I climbed into the back seat, handed the driver a slip of paper with an address on it, and leaned back gloomily against the seat. It was going to be a long drive.
I mentally reviewed everything I had managed to do during this time. It didn't amount to much. I had merely put my affairs in order and closed the issues that needed closing, such as my conversation with Eric and making arrangements regarding my real estate in New York.
Eric. Eric had been incredibly happy to see me when I just showed up at his house for a visit. By myself. Alone. I knocked on his door, already haircut and shaved.
"Victor?" he had been taken aback for a moment when he opened the door. Then he looked around, apparently expecting to see Suo leading me by the hand, just like in the desert. But I was alone.
I cocked an eyebrow ironically and twisted my lips into a slight smirk. Having finished surveying the area, he peered closely at my face.
"Victor!" he exclaimed joyfully and threw his arms around me. I patted him encouragingly on the back. "I am so glad you're okay!"
I shrugged, letting him go. He hurriedly ushered me into the house.
"Raven! Honey! Set the table, Victor's here to visit!" he yelled into the house.
"Victor? Suo is here, right?" the blue-skinned woman asked, surprised, peeking out from the kitchen.
"No, he's alone," Eric couldn't hold back a smile.
"Alone?" she visibly tensed and scrutinized my face.
I gave a brief, welcoming nod and smiled without parting my lips, acutely aware of my fangs.
"So, you're alright?" Mystique asked, addressing me directly this time.
I nodded and shrugged. I have to say, she didn't really like me all that much in general. I don't even know why. It wasn't like I had ever personally "stepped on her tail." Or did she just think I was a bad influence on Eric? Well, in that case, she ought to meet the canon Magneto, if she thinks her husband is somehow "less than ideal" now.
"It's Victor! What kind of gray-skinned moron could possibly kill him? That's not even a funny joke," Eric beamed from ear to ear.
Hmm. Apparently, no one had explained to the kid who Apocalypse was. Well, I ought to fix that.
"Come in, have a seat," Mystique nodded toward a spot at the kitchen table.
At Xavier's, it was customary to have tea in the living room. Eric and Raven were a bit more down-to-earth in that regard.
I didn't need to be told twice. The woman started setting the table. Eric sat down next to me. On the third chair, Pietro "materialized."
"Hey, Uncle Vic," he greeted me in his usual style, eagerly reaching for the candy bowl Raven had just set on the table.
Soon, Wanda came down from her room on the second floor.
After lunch, Eric and I sat on a bench in the gazebo in his backyard.
"You haven't said a single word today," Eric noted. "Did something happen?"
"Why did you go with the gray-skinned guy?" I asked seriously, turning to look him straight in the eyes.
"What do you mean?" Eric was slightly thrown off. "You were with him, and Charles..."
"Did you notice that Charles was unconscious and I was completely out of it?"
"Um... I did notice," Eric admitted. "That's why I went. I had to get you guys out of there..."
"So, in order to 'get us out,' you climbed into the gray guy's 'machine'?"
"Um... Well... It was obvious that you got stronger... bigger," Eric tried to justify himself.
"And what about the part where I was completely out of it? Where my brain wasn't working? He actually burned my brain to a crisp. Or is it 'all brawn, no brains' now?"
"Alright," he surrendered. "I messed up, I messed up. Next time, I'll keep in mind that you might be acting under compulsion too. On the other hand, if I hadn't done it, he would have just killed me and that would be that. I didn't have any defense against his power. You can't block that with iron..."
"So why are you looking so pleased?" I eyed him with suspicion.
"You have no idea how much I benefited from that 'machine'," he broke into a satisfied smile. "All my teeth are as good as new, even the ones they knocked out with a rifle butt in Auschwitz. I de-aged by about ten years overall, and my hair is black again! I don't dye it anymore; this is my natural color now," he said, grabbing a lock of his hair to show me. "And... well... generally speaking... the wife is happy. Even though she grumbled a lot at first," he rubbed the tip of his nose.
And honestly, I hadn't really paid attention to it before, but all my superhuman senses unanimously agreed that Eric was healthier, stronger, younger... Hmm. I had wanted to read him the riot act using a textbook example of the negative consequences of having too much faith in me, but it turned out to be the exact opposite. Eric believed in his brother, followed him, and the result was that he got younger, stronger, and healthier. And the fact that he almost became a slave to a power-crazed ancient psycho was just a minor, temporary inconvenience.
Well, damn. I sighed heavily, acknowledging my failure as an educator. Then I smiled genuinely. He was my brother, after all! If it did him good, why should I be upset?
"I'm happy for you," I patted him encouragingly on the back. Not hard. I still hadn't completely gotten used to my newly increased physical strength, so I was trying to be very careful to avoid any unforeseen accidents. Because jokes aside, Eric wasn't the only one who got stronger. I hadn't tested the limits of my power yet, but I suspect that if I used to only be able to flip a Tiger tank, now lifting one wouldn't be much of a problem either. "Keep it up, little brother!"
"I'm thrilled," he smiled. "You're used to having perfect health and feral strength, but for me, this is all brand new. It's like I used to be a sick, semi-paralyzed old man, and now I'm suddenly cured..."
"Don't forget to train," I told him instructively. "Any 'superpower' can easily turn into a 'super-gut'."
"I will, brother. Will you train me?" he replied, playing the good boy.
"I'm leaving, Eric," I confessed, looking away.
"For long? Where to? Did you find a new master?" he perked up with interest.
"No. To the Soviet Union. For a long time," I answered his questions in reverse order.
"To the Soviet Union? Are you serious?" Eric frowned. "They'll figure you out in two seconds over there, you said so yourself..."
"I was... invited. Persistently. Convincingly."
"Yeah, well, if anything happens, we'll roll those 'convincing' guys into the asphalt! We'll..."
"You don't understand," I interrupted Eric, who was starting to get worked up over nothing. "They aren't forcing me. And they aren't blackmailing me. There's a job for me there that I MUST do. And I will do it. And you have a job like that too. One that you, and only you, can and must do."
"What job?" he asked, intrigued.
"The gray guy launched thousands of missiles into the sky. And now all that iron is hanging over our heads in various orbits. And hidden among the harmless junk are thousands of live nuclear warheads. They need to be removed. All that trash needs to be cleaned up."
"Where do I put them?"
"Figure it out yourself," I bared my teeth in a grin. "You're the smart one here, Professor Lensherr."
"Oh, come on," Eric waved me off. "I'm serious."
"If you're serious, then sell them if you want. Any country would kill for nuclear weapons right now. If you don't want to do that, launch them into the Sun. But the orbit needs to be cleared. You can consult Charles. He's got a good head on his shoulders; maybe he'll suggest something useful."
"I'll definitely consult him," Eric nodded.
"Alright, take care of yourself, little brother," I hugged him and headed for the exit. I hate long goodbyes.
"You too," I heard his words at my back.
I didn't get far. Less than a block away, I stopped.
"You wanted to talk?" an unfamiliar woman dressed in the everyday clothes of a low-level office worker stopped in front of me.
Mystique. The disguise was almost perfect, but you couldn't fool my nose. Maybe that's what made her so nervous? Yet she was much calmer around Charles, even though he could easily pick her out through any disguise, too.
"I did," I confirmed. Indeed, during lunch, I had discreetly slipped her a scrap of paper with exactly those words: *we need to talk*.
"I'm listening," she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Kurt," I said simply, and she flinched. "Are you going to tell him?"
Mystique narrowed her eyes and tensed up. If she had a tail, it would be lashing furiously against the ground and her sides right now, perfectly illustrating her state of mind.
"I felt that you were dangerous," she said slowly. "Even during our very first meeting. Your gaze was too targeted."
I remained silent, waiting for a specific answer to a specific question.
"And how much do you know?"
"Enough," I cut her off. "So, are you going to?"
"I don't know," she looked away.
"Kurt is a good kid," I said. "He deserves the truth... and a mother."
"Will Eric understand?" she bit her lip.
"It's better coming from you than from someone else."
She jerked her head up and glared at me with pure venom.
"You wouldn't dare!" Mystique hissed.
"I'm flying out today. This is your business," I shrugged. Then I stared straight into her eyes. My gaze was incredibly heavy. And incredibly unpleasant. "And don't you dare raise your tail at me. Did you forget who I am? I can remind you."
She looked away and "pinned her ears back."
"I remember," she replied hollowly. "I am not your enemy."
"Good," I nodded. I turned around and walked away toward the car waiting for me around the corner.
That was this morning. Before my meeting with Stark.
Now, I was driving to the cemetery. To the grave of Abraham Erskine, an old friend whom I had allowed to be killed. His wife and daughter still lived in New York. The government hadn't "screwed" them: they were given citizenship and honestly paid a survivor's pension, even if it wasn't particularly large. But with the Stark Industries shares I had "bequeathed" them on Abraham's behalf—before I fled to the war to escape my conscience (I had prepared the "will" and the shares themselves even before Erskine's death)—it was more than enough for a normal, nearly comfortable life. At the very least, it was plenty to pay off the mortgage on their house and cover the education for Esme and her kids. It wasn't millions, of course, but giving them millions would have been more dangerous. Anita, left without a husband, wouldn't have been able to handle millions. Someone would have taken it from her, one way or another.
But this way, with my occasional oversight, their lives hadn't turned out so bad. At least I didn't feel ashamed of that.
Arriving at the destination, I got out of the car, leaving the driver inside, and navigated the rows of tombstones toward a very familiar spot.
If he were alive right now, what would he say about how I had managed his discovery, his legacy? What would he say to me?
I stood by his grave in silence. My heart felt heavy.
That day, after my meeting with the Leader of the Nations, Suo had been silent for a long time at first. Then, she started asking questions. I only answered one: "What does this de Saint-Exupéry have to do with anything?"
"We are responsible for those we have tamed," were the only words I said that day. They were the only words, but they answered everything at once and explained it all...
"Are you going to the Soviet Union, VictOr?" Nicole asked quietly, approaching from the side.
It would have been naive to assume that buying tickets in the name of Victor Ivanovich Creed using a Soviet passport would slip past the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I hadn't even hoped for that.
I nodded, answering her question.
"Why? Didn't you run away from there?"
I simply shrugged.
"VictOr, please explain to me what is going on. I am not your enemy."
"We are responsible for those we have tamed," I gloomily repeated my thought aloud. "We are responsible for those..."
"I don't understand, VictOr," Nicole sighed.
"Stalin," I said quietly. "It was me who injected him with Erskine's serum in '51. And somehow, he found out about it..."
"You?! Stalin?" Nicole was astounded, even losing her train of thought. "Wait, wait, but how? Stop... You know the formula?" she stated rather than asked.
"Naturally," I still didn't lift my gaze from the tombstone. "I was the head assistant. And I know what Vita-Rays are, too."
"But why Stalin? Why him?"
"I am Russian. And I never hid that fact. And Stalin... Stalin is the best thing that has happened to my country since Rurik. You wouldn't understand."
"Why wouldn't I understand?" Nicole bristled indignantly.
"You're French. You protect the interests of America," I shrugged.
"You protect the interests of America yourself by investing money in Stark Industries."
"You're mistaken. Stark Industries is a private company founded by my friend, owned by me, my brother, and Howard. There isn't a single government dollar in it. The government doesn't own a single share. Only taxes. But we are already planning the relocation of our main manufacturing facilities to China, and our capital, along with the main office, to Switzerland. We'll lose money on it, of course, but the losses will pay for themselves in two or three years."
"Are you serious?"
"Quite," I shrugged. "The process has already started. Stark Industries is no longer an American company. It is becoming a transnational corporation."
"But you were born in Canada. You fought for America in the War of Independence..."
"I am Russian. And the war... I wasn't fighting for America; I was fighting against Britain."
"I didn't think you were interested in politics," Fury sighed.
"I'm not," I shrugged again.
"But what about all this? Stark Industries, Stalin?"
"Stark Industries is pure business, no politics. And Stalin... I promised Abraham that I wouldn't let his discovery go to waste. And I didn't, by placing my bet on Stalin. There was no one to bet on in America. And I don't like the Brits."
"Hold on, you kept this secret for so many years, and now you just up and told me? Why?"
"Because the formula no longer has any value."
"Did the Soviet Union replicate the formula?" Fury frowned.
"No," I shrugged. "Although I assume they have some developments in that direction. Just like you do, I imagine."
"Then why has the formula lost its value?" Nicole's frown deepened.
"Because every child in the Soviet Union between the ages of three and eleven possesses Rogers' powers."
"Intelligence reported something similar, but no one believed them. Although, it is almost a confirmed fact that a secret unit of three hundred men orchestrated the coup in France."
"I am a citizen of France, Nicole," I said, pulling out my red passport. "Former France. Now it's the French ASSR. Which means I am now a citizen of the Soviet Union."
"So, this entire coup... this incredibly complex, massive operation... was all just for you?" Nicole froze as the sheer scale of the intrigue began to dawn on her.
I remained silent, as no answer was required.
"VictOr," she began in a completely different tone after a moment of silence. "I am not your enemy. If you don't want to go, if you're being forced, I can protect you. A new identity, new citizenship somewhere in Brazil or Australia... Just say the word. I can see you aren't yourself. This is weighing on you."
"So that the Brazilian SSR or the Australian SSR pops up on the map?" I chuckled. "They won't have nuclear weapons for at least a couple of years."
"You know about the missiles too..."
"I don't just know; I saw the guy who launched them."
"Who is he?" Nicole immediately snapped into "agent mode."
"En Sabah Nur. A millennia-old mutant with power equal to some gods. Worshipped in Ancient Egypt as a god. His other name is Apocalypse."
"Is he the reason you've gotten taller?" she clarified.
I nodded.
"And where is he now?"
"Dead."
"Just dead?"
"Well, I wouldn't call his death simple," I grimaced, recalling how terrifyingly Apocalypse had screamed when Eric's iron spike drove straight into his mouth. *One* of the spikes. "You can ask James. He was there too."
"I definitely will," she nodded. "But you didn't answer. I can protect you, VictOr."
"You don't need to," I sighed. "How can you not understand? 'We are responsible for those we have tamed'! I am responsible... There is no coercion. France was just a demonstration of what I'll have to deal with. An illustration of the capabilities of my... students. I'm going to teach a New Generation of humans, Nicole. I don't give a damn about politics, but I am the one who created them, and I bear the responsibility for them. That is exactly why I'm going. Don't interfere with me, Nicole."
"I won't, VictOr," she said, gently placing her hand on my shoulder. And then her head. "Will I be allowed to visit you?"
"If you want to," I stroked her hair. "Like I said, I don't give a damn about politics."
"You've changed," she said quietly. "You've gotten softer..."
"Possibly," I didn't argue. "Possibly..."
***
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