Marvel Hunter - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Concrete Jungle and the Agent

The landing gear of the C-17 Globemaster kissed the tarmac of Edwards Air Force Base with a screech of rubber and a heavy shudder.

For the soldiers on board, it was just another landing. For the three civilians in the back, it was the sound of resurrection.

The rear ramp lowered slowly, groaning hydraulically, revealing a slice of the California afternoon. The light here was different from Afghanistan. It wasn’t the harsh, blinding white glare of the desert that promised heatstroke and dehydration. It was a golden, hazy warmth, filtered through the smog and ocean air of the West Coast.

Tony Stark stood up. He was still wearing the oversized grey suit he get from military base, which hung off his emaciated frame. His arm was in a sling makeshifted from a bandage.

He walked to the edge of the ramp.

A black Audi sedan was waiting on the tarmac, flanked by two military jeeps. A woman with strawberry-blonde hair was standing next to the car. She was wearing a black skirt suit, her posture rigid, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Tony stopped. He took a deep breath, tasting the jet fuel and the distinct lack of sand.

“Look at that,” Tony murmured. “Not a terrorist in sight.”

He walked down the ramp. Veer followed a few steps behind, his tactical bag slung over one shoulder, his face obscured by a pair of aviators he had ‘borrowed’ from a sleeping soldier. Yinsen trailed behind them, looking around with the wide, bewildered eyes of a man who had expected to die in a cave and was now standing on American soil.

As Tony approached, Pepper Potts’s professional mask cracked. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked like she hadn’t slept since the day he went missing.

“Miss Potts,” Tony said, his voice quiet.

“Mr. Stark,” she replied, her voice trembling.

They stood there for a moment, the distance between boss and assistant vanishing, replaced by something raw and unspoken.

“Your eyes are red,” Tony observed softly. “Tears for your long-lost boss?”

“Tears of joy,” Pepper lied, a small, watery smile breaking through. “I hate job hunting.”

“Yeah, well, vacation’s over,” Tony said.

He leaned in, and for a second, it looked like he might hug her properly. Instead, he awkwardly patted her shoulder, a gesture that screamed of a man who wanted to reach out but didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

Veer watched from the bottom of the ramp. He felt a strange sense of voyeurism. He had watched this scene on a screen a dozen times in his previous life. Seeing it in 4K resolution, feeling the emotional weight of it, was different.

“It’s real,” Veer thought. “These aren’t characters. They’re people.”

Tony turned back, gesturing to Veer and Yinsen.

“Pepper, this is…” Tony paused. He realized he didn’t actually know Yinsen’s first name, or Veer’s last name. “This is the team. The A-Team. Without the van.”

Pepper looked at Veer. Her gaze lingered on his tactical gear, the combat boots, and the way he stood—too still, too alert.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him. “For bringing him back.”

Veer nodded once. “Just doing the job, Ma’am.”

“And this is Dr. Yinsen,” Tony introduced, putting a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “He’s… a guest. Indefinitely. Put him in the guest house. Get him whatever he needs. Visa, passport, clothes. Everything.”

“Of course,” Pepper noted it mentally.

“Right,” Tony clapped his hands, a manic energy seizing him. “Let’s go. I want a cheeseburger. An American cheeseburger. Then I want a press conference.”

Pepper blinked. “A press conference? Tony, no. You need a hospital. We have a medical team waiting.”

“I don’t need a doctor, I need few burger,” Tony snapped, walking past her towards the car. “And call the press. I need to shut down something.”

“Shutting what down?” Pepper asked, chasing after him.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Tony deflected.

Veer watched them go. He saw Happy Hogan open the back door for Tony, his face beaming with relief.

Tony paused at the car door. He looked back at Veer.

“Hey, kid. Get in. We’re going to grab food.”

Veer shook his head slowly.

“I don’t do press conferences, Tony,” Veer said. “And I don’t do hospitals. Too many cameras. Too many questions.”

Tony frowned. “So what? You’re just going to walk off the base? You’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ll find my way,” Veer said. “I have my own contacts. You have my account number. Send the money.”

Tony hesitated. He looked like he wanted to argue, to keep his saviors close. But he also saw the look in Veer’s eyes behind the sunglasses. It was the look of a man who valued anonymity above all else.

“Fine,” Tony said. “But the offer stands. You need a job, you call Happy.”

“Stay safe, Iron Man,” Veer muttered under his breath, too low for anyone to hear.

“What?” Tony asked.

“I said, eat a burger for me.”

Tony grinned, flashed a peace sign, and ducked into the car. The convoy peeled away, leaving Veer standing on the tarmac with the heat of the engines fading behind him.

He adjusted the strap of his bag. He needed to disappear.

Veer walked.

He didn’t stay on the base. He used Zetsu to slip past the perimeter patrols, moving like a ghost through the chain-link fences and scrub brush until he reached the public highway.

He found a bus stop near a dusty diner and sat down on the bench.

He wasn’t in a rush. He had time to think.

The System interface hummed in the back of his mind, a constant companion.

[Synchronization: 53.4%]

He was halfway to becoming Zeno Zoldyck. But was 53% enough?

He looked at the traffic passing by on the highway. Minivans. Sedans. People going to work, listening to the radio, worrying about taxes and groceries.

They had no idea.

“The timeline,” Veer mused, ticking off the events on his fingers.

First, Iron Man. The villain was Obadiah Stane. The Iron Monger. A big suit, but ultimately just a man in a machine. Tony could handle it. Veer didn’t need to intervene. In fact, interfering might mess up Tony’s character development. Tony needed to face Stane to truly become a hero.

“Verdict: Skip,” Veer decided.

Next, Iron Man 2. Ivan Vanko. Whiplash. A guy with electric whips and a grudge. Dangerous, sure, but mostly a threat to Tony personally, not the world. Plus, Black Widow and War Machine would be there.

“Verdict: Monitor, but likely Skip.”

Then came The Incredible Hulk. That was happening concurrently, or soon. The Abomination rampaging through Harlem. That was a localized threat. The Hulk would smash him. As long as Veer didn’t decide to take a vacation in Harlem, he was safe.

Then, Thor. A small town in New Mexico gets flattened by the Destroyer. Loki plots to destroy Jotunheim. High stakes for Asgard, but for Earth? It was just a weird weekend in the desert.

“So far, so good,” Veer thought. “Small scale. Manageable.”

But then… 2012.

The Avengers.

The Battle of New York.

Loki opening a wormhole above Stark Tower. The Chitauri army pouring in. Leviathans—giant armored space whales—swimming through the air. A nuclear missile launched by the World Security Council at Manhattan.

That was the turning point. That was when the power scale of the universe shifted from “rich guys with tech” to “gods and aliens.”

“I have around 4 years,” Veer calculated. “Four years until the Chitauri invasion.”

Right now, with his current stats, could he survive the Battle of New York?

Maybe. He is definitely stronger than Captain America. But he is definitely weaker than Tony Stark, who have various weapons.

Same goes for Hulk or Thor.

He could probably rip a Chitauri chariot out of the sky with his strength. But a Leviathan? Could he stop a Leviathan with just raw strength and basic Ren? Unlikely.

And if he drew too much attention, if Loki decided to mind-control him with the Scepter? He had no defense against magic.

“I need to get stronger,” Veer realized. “I need to level up Zeno’s Dragon Dive. I need to level up other skills.”

And to do that, he couldn’t play superhero. He needed solitude. He needed resources.

“Two hundred million dollars,” Veer whispered. “That’s enough to buy a private island, build a training dojo, and disappear for four years.”

He would become a hermit. He would train until his fingers bled, until his aura was as dense as steel. When the sky opened up over New York, he wouldn’t just be a survivor. He would be a predator.

He stood up as a bus approached.

“That’s the plan. Get the money. Vanish. Train.”

He stepped onto the bus, paid the fare with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, and moved to the back.

He blended in. Just another young man in a hoodie and sunglasses, lost in the sprawl of California.

Meanwhile, miles away, the press conference was in chaos.

Tony Stark sat on the podium, chewing on a Burger King cheeseburger like it was the finest delicacy on earth. He refused to sit behind the podium. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, forcing the reporters to sit with him.

Obadiah Stane stood in the back, smiling his shark smile, trying to control the narrative. Pepper stood to the side, looking anxious.

“I never got to say goodbye to my father,” Tony was saying, his voice rambling but intense. “I never got to say goodbye to my father… I have questions I would have asked him. I would have asked him how he felt about what his company did.”

He stood up then. He walked to the podium.

“I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability.”

The cameras flashed. The world held its breath.

“I had my eyes opened,” Tony said. “I came to realize that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up.”

He looked at the camera.

“And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International.”

The room exploded.

Reporters shouted. Stock prices plummeted in real-time. Obadiah Stane rushed the stage, trying to physically herd Tony away from the mic.

Pepper gasped, her hand covering her mouth. She hadn’t known. He hadn’t told her.

“Tony!” Stane hissed, grabbing his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I’m fixing it, Obie,” Tony said, pulling away. “I’m fixing it.”

In the chaos, no one noticed that Tony wasn’t just talking about the company. He was looking past the cameras, past the lights. He was thinking about a cave.

…

Veer got off the bus in downtown Los Angeles.

The city was loud. Cars honking, people shouting, the constant drone of urban life. It was a sensory overload compared to the desert, especially with his heightened senses.

He pulled his hood up. He plans to go to ‘The Continent’ branch, and wait for the transfer.

“Mr. Singh?”

The voice was polite. Bland. Utterly unthreatening.

Veer stopped, and turned slowly.

Standing on the sidewalk, looking out of place in the grimy alleyway, was a man in a crisp black suit. He was balding, with a receding hairline and a face that was remarkably forgettable. He had a small, polite smile plastered on his face.

“It is Mr. Singh, isn’t it?” the man asked. “Or do you prefer Veer?”

Veer’s muscles tightened. He recognized the man instantly.

Agent Phil Coulson.

“I prefer to be left alone,” Veer said, his voice flat.

“I understand,” Coulson nodded, taking a step forward. “Long flight. Traumatic experience. You just want a shower and a bed. I get it.”

“Who are you?” Veer asked, playing the role.

Coulson reached into his jacket pocket. Veer’s eyes tracked the movement instantly, calculating the speed. If he pulled a gun, Veer could kill him three times before the barrel cleared the holster.

But Coulson didn’t pull a gun. He pulled out a badge.

“Agent Phil Coulson,” he said. “I’m with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

Veer stared at the badge. “That’s a mouthful.”

“We’re working on it,” Coulson said with a practiced self-deprecation. “I was hoping we could have a little chat. About your last mission.”

Veer didn’t smile. “Sorry, I don’t share details about my mission.”

“Of course,” Coulson said. “But our organisation operates a little outside of standard corporate NDAs. We’re very interested in how a single freelance contractor managed to infiltrate a heavily fortified Ten Rings encampment, neutralize two hundred and fifty-one hostiles—we counted the bodies via satellite, by the way—and extract a high-value target without suffering a scratch.”

Coulson paused, his eyes sharpening slightly.

“And how you managed to tear a blast door off its hinges. The metallurgy report from the ruins was… puzzling.”

Veer kept his face impassive. They knew. Of course they knew. SHIELD had eyes everywhere.

“Adrenaline is a hell of a drug,” Veer deadpanned.

“Adrenaline lets a mother lift a car off her baby,” Coulson countered smoothly. “It doesn’t let a man decapitate a terrorist with a slap. We have autopsies pending on the bodies your friend Mr. Stark didn’t incinerate.”

The air in the alleyway grew heavy.

This wasn’t a fight. It was an interrogation disguised as a conversation.

“Are you here to arrest me?” Veer asked.

“No,” Coulson said. “Not yet. But you are a foreign national on US soil without a valid visa, involved in an international incident. We could hold you. Indefinitely. In a facility that doesn’t officially exist.”

It was a threat wrapped in velvet. The bureaucratic hammer.

Veer looked at Coulson. He respected the man. In the movies, Coulson was the heart of the Avengers. But right now, he was the face of a shadowy government organization that put people like Veer in jars to study them.

Veer decided to change the dynamic.

He let a little bit of it leak out.

Just a drop.

He didn’t use Ren. He just released his Killing Intent—the concentrated projection of a predator’s will.

It was the feeling of standing in a cage with a tiger that had just decided to eat you.

The air temperature in the alley didn’t change, but Coulson felt a sudden, primal chill race down his spine. The hair on his arms stood up. His heart skipped a beat, his brain screaming RUN.

It lasted for less than a second.

Veer smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was the smile of Zeno Zoldyck looking at an interesting insect.

“I was sponsored by Tony Stark for a temporary visa,” Veer lied smoothly, the pressure vanishing as if it never existed. “It’s being processed. And I don’t plan to live here, Agent. I like my privacy. As soon as my payment clears, I’m gone. Maybe South America. Maybe Asia. Far away from your jurisdiction.”

Coulson blinked. He took a shallow breath, trying to steady his hand, which had instinctively twitched towards his sidearm. He hadn’t felt fear like that since… well, ever.

“Our organisation’s jurisdiction is global, Mr. Singh,” Coulson said, his voice steady but losing some of its warmth.

“Then I guess I’ll have to be careful,” Veer said.

He adjusted his bag.

“Tell your boss, I said hello. And tell him to not waste his time on me, a nobody.”

Veer turned around.

“Wait,” Coulson called out.

Veer didn’t stop. He walked towards the busy street.

“If you break the law here,” Coulson warned, his voice echoing in the alley, “if you hurt innocent people… we will find you.”

Veer stepped into the crowd and vanished.

Coulson stood alone in the alley. He rubbed his arms, trying to rub away the phantom chill. He pulled out his phone and dialed a secure number.

“This is Coulson.”

“Report,” came the voice of Nick Fury.

“He’s here. The assessment was correct. He’s… enhanced. Significantly.”

“Did you bring him in?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?” Fury demanded.

Coulson looked at the spot where Veer had been standing. He remembered the feeling of absolute, crushing dread. It felt like looking into the eyes of a dragon.

“Because, sir,” Coulson said quietly, “I don’t think we have a cage that can hold him.”

…

Malibu, California

Tony Stark stood in his workshop. He was staring at the holographic display of the Mark I armor designs he had smuggled out in his head.

“Jarvis,” Tony said.

“Yes, sir?” the AI replied.

“Open a new project file.”

“Title?”

Tony looked at the designs. He looked at the crude, bulky armor. Then he thought of Veer. He thought of the speed, the silence, the efficiency.

“Mark Two,” Tony said. “And Jarvis? I want to run a simulation.”

“What parameters, sir?”

“I want to know how to build a suit that can track a target that moves faster than the eye can see,” Tony said, his eyes narrowing. “And I want to know how to reinforce the plating to withstand… let’s say, twenty tons of directed force.”

“That is a very specific scenario, sir,” Jarvis noted. “Are we expecting Godzilla?”

“Something like that,” Tony muttered. “Upload the data. And Jarvis? Transfer the funds to the offshore account.”

“Already done, sir. Two hundred million dollars.”

…

Veer’s Location: Unknown

Veer sat on the bed of a cheap motel room. He held his phone. A notification popped up.

[Bank of Geneva: Transfer Received. $200,000,000.00]

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

200 million + 95 million US dollars from ‘The Continent’ hotel.

He is rich. He is free.

Veer lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The Marvel Universe was vast. It was dangerous. Gods, monsters, aliens, and wizards were all waiting in the wings.

But for the first time since he arrived, Veer didn’t feel like a victim.

He had the money. He had the power. And he had the time.

“Four years,” he whispered. “Let the training begin.”

He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a month, he slept without a weapon in his hand.