Most powerful Hunter in Marvel Universe - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Dangerous Men and Dangerous Organizations

The California sun hit differently than the Afghan desert. Same celestial body, same burning intensity, but filtered through layers of coastal air pollution and refracted off glass skyscrapers until it felt almost gentle by comparison. Veer stepped off the military transport plane onto the tarmac of Edwards Air Force Base and had to resist the urge to kiss the ground like some cliché movie scene.

He was in America. The heart of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Ground zero for approximately seventy percent of the apocalyptic events that would unfold over the next decade.

The thought should have been terrifying. Instead, it just felt exhausting.

The flight from Afghanistan had been long and uncomfortable, filled with military debriefings that Tony had deflected with increasing irritation, medical examinations that everyone except Tony had submitted to, and long stretches of silence where Veer had pretended to sleep while actually running calculations about his immediate future.

One hundred and twenty million dollars. The number still didn’t feel real. He’d confirmed it three times during the flight via encrypted messages to his Continental contact. The money was real. The contract was fulfilled. Within seventy-two hours, he could walk into any Continental location worldwide and withdraw enough wealth to never work another day in his life.

The question was: what came next?

Several black SUVs waited on the tarmac, along with enough security personnel to invade a small country. Rhodes was coordinating with base personnel, his expression suggesting he was approximately done with today and it wasn’t even noon yet. Ho Yinsen stood off to one side, looking overwhelmed by everything—the technology, the efficiency, the sheer American-ness of it all.

And there, stepping out of the lead SUV with the kind of purposeful grace that came from years of managing chaos, was Pepper Potts.

Veer recognized her immediately from the movies, though seeing her in person carried a different weight. She was attractive in an understated way, professional in a power suit that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent, and currently radiating the kind of controlled emotion that suggested she was about three seconds from either crying or punching someone.

Tony saw her and froze mid-step, his usual sarcastic façade cracking like cheap paint. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Pepper was striding forward, and Tony was meeting her halfway, and they were embracing with an intensity that made everyone else on the tarmac suddenly find other things to look at.

“Mr. Stark,” Pepper said, her voice muffled against his shoulder, making the formal title sound absurd given how tightly she was holding him.

“Miss Potts,” Tony replied, and his voice was thick with emotions he definitely wasn’t equipped to process in public. “I believe I’m late for several meetings.”

“You’re fired for the extended unauthorized absence.”

“Can’t fire me. I own the company.”

“Then I quit.”

“Can’t quit. You’re the only one who knows where anything is.”

They pulled apart slightly, and Pepper’s hands came up to frame Tony’s face, her eyes scanning him like she was confirming he was really there. “You look terrible.”

“I look like I spent two months in a cave. Because I did. But I’m working on the ‘dramatically improved appearance’ part. Give me a shower and forty-eight hours.”

“Seventy-two. And a hospital visit. And approximately eight hundred interviews with various government agencies who want to know what happened.”

Tony’s expression soured. “Can we skip the government interviews? I’m not feeling very patriotic right now.”

“No.” Pepper’s tone shifted to something Veer recognized from the movies—the voice of someone who’d spent years managing an unmanageable genius. “But we can schedule them strategically. After you’ve eaten. And showered. And possibly slept for more than twenty minutes.”

“You’re assuming I can still sleep. Jury’s out on that one.”

They continued like this for several more exchanges, each word technically professional, each gesture screaming intimate familiarity. Even the soldiers loading equipment were exchanging knowing looks. Rhodes was smirking openly.

Veer used the distraction to gather his minimal belongings—basically just his phone and the blood-stained tactical gear he’d been living in for the past twenty-four hours. Time to disappear before anyone asked uncomfortable questions about his methods or his body count or his complete lack of official status in this country.

He was halfway to the base’s main gate, walking with the kind of purposeful stride that suggested he belonged there, when Tony’s voice called out.

“Hey! Murder Machine! Where do you think you’re going?”

Veer turned to find Tony had extracted himself from Pepper and was jogging over, looking like the movement hurt but refusing to show it. Behind him, Pepper watched with the expression of someone who knew she’d lost this particular argument before it started.

“Leaving,” Veer said simply. “Job’s done. You’re home safely. My part in this story is finished.”

“Just like that? No dramatic farewell speech? No ominous warning about the dark path I’m on?”

“You’re Tony Stark. You don’t need ominous warnings. You’ll figure out whatever dark path you’re on all by yourself, probably while drunk and listening to AC/DC.”

Tony’s grin was sharp. “You know me so well, and we’ve known each other for less than a day. That’s either impressive intuition or you did way more research on me than a simple rescue mission required.”

Veer felt a cold thread of concern. Tony Stark wasn’t just a genius engineer—he was a genius, full stop. The kind of mind that noticed patterns, that picked up on details other people missed, that could extrapolate entire scenarios from minimal data. If he started questioning how Veer knew things…

“Basic mercenary work,” Veer said, keeping his voice level. “Know your client. Know what motivates them. Know what they’ll do when the pressure’s off.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Tony’s eyes were sharp despite the exhaustion. “And the basic mercenary work led you to exactly the right compound, at exactly the right time, with exactly the right approach to kill everyone without setting off alarms? That’s some exceptional basic work.”

“I’m an exceptional mercenary.”

“You’re something,” Tony agreed. “I haven’t figured out what yet. But I will.”

They stared at each other for a moment, both aware they were circling around truths neither could fully voice. Then Tony’s expression shifted to something more genuine.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “For the rescue. For not letting them use me to build weapons. For getting Ho out alive. For…” He gestured vaguely back toward where Pepper waited. “For making it possible to come home to that.”

“You’re welcome,” Veer said, and meant it. “Use it well. The second chance. Not everyone gets one.”

“Cryptic wisdom from the murder machine. I’ll add it to my collection.” Tony pulled out his phone. “Give me your number. When the money clears, I want confirmation. And maybe later, if you’re still in the country and I need someone who can punch through walls, I’ll call.”

“I won’t be in the country long,” Veer said, but he provided the number anyway. Some bridges were worth keeping, even if you never planned to cross them again.

Tony input the digits, then looked up. “The media’s going to be insane. You know that, right? They’ll want to know who rescued me. They’ll dig into your background.”

“Let them dig. I’m a ghost. Multiple identities, minimal footprint, and I’ll be out of the country before they connect dots that don’t exist.” Veer paused. “Besides, you’re Tony Stark. You’re more than capable of dominating a news cycle all by yourself.”

“Damn right I am.” Tony extended his hand. “Good luck, Veer. Try not to kill anyone unless they really deserve it.”

Veer shook the offered hand, feeling the strength in Tony’s grip despite his ordeal. “I’ll do my best.”

He turned and walked away, resisting the urge to look back. Behind him, he could hear Tony returning to Pepper, their voices fading as distance increased. Within minutes, the SUVs were loaded and leaving, taking Tony Stark back into the world of wealth and power and the destiny that would transform him into Iron Man.

And Veer was alone on a military base in California, one hundred and twenty million dollars richer and absolutely determined to stay as far away from the main plot as possible.

The plan was simple: collect the money, disappear, train in isolation, and wait. The MCU timeline was mostly predictable for the next few years. Iron Man would deal with Obadiah Stane—that was his villain, his story, and frankly not world-ending enough to require intervention. The weapons dealer might have built his own armor, but Tony would handle it.

Iron Man 2 would bring Ivan Vanko, the son of Anton Vanko, seeking revenge for his father’s deportation. Another personal villain. Another problem Tony could solve, especially with War Machine backing him up. Dangerous, certainly, but contained.

Then The Incredible Hulk. Bruce Banner’s story would play out primarily in New York, and while the Abomination was a serious threat, the Hulk would ultimately triumph. Property damage would be extensive, casualties would be tragic, but it wasn’t an extinction-level event. Not something that required a mercenary with assassin powers to intervene.

Thor would be more complicated. Loki with the Destroyer, the Bifrost potentially weaponized, the threat of planetary annihilation. That was getting into dangerous territory. But Thor and his allies would handle it. They had to, because that’s how the story went.

But 2012. The Avengers. The Battle of New York.

That was the line. That was where everything changed. A portal in the sky, an alien army pouring through, a nuclear missile aimed at Manhattan. That was world-ending. That was the kind of threat that killed millions if the heroes failed.

He had until 2012 to get stronger. Significantly stronger. Strong enough to survive whatever came through that portal if things went sideways. Strong enough to help if the Avengers needed it. Strong enough to protect himself and maybe a few others in the chaos.

The math was simple: it was currently 2008. Four years. With daily 0.1% merger increases, he’d reach maybe 63% by then without additional killing. If he could find ways to accelerate the merger through training and application of skills, maybe he could hit 70% or 80%.

Zeno Zoldyck at 80% merger would be formidable. Not Avengers-level, perhaps, but dangerous enough to matter. Fast enough to survive. Strong enough to make a difference.

He just needed to stay away from SHIELD, avoid the main plotlines, and focus on getting stronger. Simple. Straightforward. Completely—

“Excuse me, Mr. Singh?”

Veer stopped walking so abruptly he nearly stumbled. That voice. Pleasant, polite, carrying the kind of practiced friendliness that made you want to trust it immediately.

He turned slowly, already knowing what he’d see.

Phil Coulson stood ten feet away, wearing a suit that screamed “government agent trying not to look like a government agent” and holding a badge wallet open to display credentials that meant absolutely nothing to Veer except as confirmation of his worst fears.

“Agent Phil Coulson,” the man said, his smile warm and completely at odds with the predatory calculation in his eyes. “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We’d like to have a word with you about your recent activities.”

SHIELD. Of course it was SHIELD. Because Tony Stark was the son of Howard Stark, one of SHIELD’s founders, and there was exactly zero chance they weren’t monitoring his rescue and return. And that meant they knew about Veer, had probably been tracking him since he landed, and were now moving to assess whether he was an asset, a threat, or both.

This was bad. This was potentially catastrophically bad. SHIELD had resources that made The Continental look like a neighborhood watch program. They had surveillance networks, superhuman assets, weapons that could level cities. And they were very, very good at making problematic people disappear.

“That’s quite a mouthful of an organization name,” Veer said, keeping his voice casual despite the adrenaline starting to flood his system. “You guys ever consider an acronym?”

“We’re working on it.” Coulson’s smile didn’t waver. “We’ve been very interested in how you managed to locate and extract Mr. Stark when multiple government agencies and thousands of other operatives failed. That’s quite an achievement.”

“I’m good at my job.”

“You’re exceptional at your job. Three hundred and fifty-one confirmed kills in a single night. Compound and cave system cleared with zero casualties to the hostages. Weapons cache destroyed. And Mr. Stark delivered safely with minimal complications.” Coulson tilted his head slightly. “That’s not just good. That’s extraordinary. Almost superhuman.”

The word hung in the air between them, laden with implications. Veer kept his expression neutral, but his mind was racing. How much did they know? Had they done medical scans? Analyzed his capabilities? Were there surveillance systems in the cave that had captured footage?

“I had good intelligence and better luck,” Veer said. “Sometimes that’s all you need.”

“Intelligence from where? Our sources suggest you only arrived in Afghanistan two weeks ago. That’s barely enough time to establish local contacts, let alone develop actionable intelligence on a high-priority terrorist cell.”

Shit. They’d done their homework. Of course they had. SHIELD didn’t do things halfway.

“Business secret,” Veer said. “I don’t discuss my methods with potential competitors. But if you really want to know the details, you can ask my client directly. Tony Stark was there. He saw everything relevant.”

Coulson’s smile gained a slightly sharper edge. “Mr. Stark has already given his statement. It was… creative. He claimed you appeared like a ‘blood-soaked ninja,’ tore through terrorists ‘like they were made of paper,’ and demonstrated ‘physically impossible’ levels of strength and speed.” His tone made it clear he found Tony’s statement interesting but not entirely credible.

“Mr. Stark was traumatized and exhausted. I’m not surprised his recollection is a bit dramatic.”

“Is it dramatic? Or is it accurate?” Coulson took a step forward, his body language still friendly but with an undercurrent of something harder. “Because if you’re operating in the United States with enhanced abilities, we need to have a conversation about registration, oversight, and legal status.”

There it was. The implicit threat wrapped in bureaucratic language. Play ball with SHIELD, or face the full weight of a shadowy government organization that officially didn’t exist but had enough power to make people vanish.

Veer felt his jaw tighten. He forced himself to relax, to keep his breathing steady, to not react in any way that would confirm Coulson’s suspicions.

“I’m not operating in the United States,” he said carefully. “I’m a foreign national on temporary business. And before you bring up visa issues, I should mention that Tony Stark personally sponsored my temporary visa status as part of payment negotiations. It’s all legal and above board. Well, as above board as mercenary work gets.”

That was a gamble. He had no idea if Tony had actually done that, but it seemed like something the billionaire would do as a thank-you gesture. And even if he hadn’t, claiming it would force SHIELD to verify, which would buy time.

Coulson’s expression flickered—just for a moment, but long enough to confirm the gamble had paid off. Tony had indeed done something to smooth Veer’s legal status.

“Temporary visa,” Coulson repeated. “How temporary?”

“As soon as my payment clears, I’m leaving the country. Probably heading to Europe or Asia. Somewhere warm. Somewhere without desert caves and terrorists.” Veer shrugged. “The United States has been lovely, but I’m not planning to make it home.”

“That’s unfortunate. We’re always looking for talented individuals.”

“I’m not looking for employers. The Continental suits me fine.”

Something shifted in Coulson’s demeanor at the mention of The Continental. Just a subtle change, a tightening around his eyes that suggested he knew exactly what that organization was and didn’t love that they were in contact with someone SHIELD considered a person of interest.

“The Continental,” Coulson said neutrally. “They have an interesting reputation. Very professional. Very discrete. Very willing to work outside normal legal frameworks.”

“That’s why people hire them.”

“People like you.”

“People exactly like me.”

They stood in silence for a moment, two predators assessing each other, each trying to determine if the other was prey or competition. Veer kept his posture relaxed but ready, aware that Coulson probably had backup somewhere nearby, possibly snipers, definitely surveillance.

One wrong move and this could escalate badly.

“Well,” Coulson said finally, his smile returning to full friendly brightness like nothing hostile had been discussed, “I appreciate your time, Mr. Singh. If you change your mind about remaining in the country, or if you’d like to discuss potential contract opportunities, here’s my card.”

He held out a plain business card with a phone number and nothing else. No name, no organization, just a way to make contact if needed.

Veer took the card, knowing that refusing would be more suspicious than accepting. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You do that.” Coulson’s eyes were sharp despite his smile. “And Mr. Singh? Welcome to America. Try to stay out of trouble while you’re here. We’d hate for your visit to become… complicated.”

The threat was clear beneath the pleasant words. Behave. Don’t make waves. Don’t give us a reason to look at you too closely.

“I’ll do my best,” Veer said. “Trouble and I aren’t usually on speaking terms.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Coulson nodded politely and turned to walk away, his gait unhurried and confident. The walk of someone who knew they held all the cards and didn’t need to rush anything.

Veer watched him go, every instinct screaming at him to run, to activate Zetsu and disappear, to put as much distance between himself and SHIELD as physically possible. But running would confirm everything Coulson suspected. Running would turn him from a person of interest into an active target.

So instead, he waved casually at Coulson’s retreating back, turned around, and walked toward the base exit with the same purposeful stride he’d been using before. Not too fast. Not too slow. Just a mercenary finishing a job and moving on to whatever came next.

But his heart was pounding, and his hands wanted to shake, and the cold certainty settling in his gut told him that SHIELD was now aware he existed. They’d be watching. Waiting. Looking for any reason to classify him as a threat that needed to be contained.

Behind him, still walking away, Coulson rubbed his arm absently and suppressed a shiver. There’d been a moment during their conversation—just a brief instant when Singh had looked at him—where Coulson had felt something primal trigger in his hindbrain. The same instinct that kicked in when you were in the presence of an apex predator.

It was the feeling of being prey.

He’d felt it before, a handful of times in his career. Around certain enhanced individuals. Around people who could kill you before you finished blinking. Around threats that wore human faces but were something fundamentally other underneath.

Singh was dangerous. Not just skilled or trained or experienced. Genuinely, deeply dangerous in a way that made every threat assessment protocol in SHIELD’s database seem inadequate.

And he’d just walked away without any visible fear of one of the world’s most powerful intelligence organizations.

Coulson pulled out his phone and dialed a secure number. It rang twice before connecting.

“Coulson,” came the voice of his handler.

“Subject encountered and assessed,” Coulson reported, his voice steady despite the unease still crawling up his spine. “Definitely enhanced. Exact capabilities unknown but considerable. Claims to be leaving the country imminently.”

“Recommendation?”

Coulson thought about Singh’s eyes, about that predatory stillness, about the three hundred and fifty-one people who’d died in a single night and the complete lack of remorse in the man’s expression.

“Monitor but don’t engage,” he said finally. “Subject is aware of us now and will be cautious. Active pursuit might escalate to something we can’t control. Better to let him leave and flag him in international databases. If he becomes a priority target later, we can reassess.”

“Agreed. File a full report and continue monitoring Stark.”

“Yes, sir.”

Coulson ended the call and stood for a moment in the California sunshine, watching the military base bustle with activity. Somewhere out there, Paramveer Singh was disappearing into the crowd, carrying secrets and capabilities that SHIELD couldn’t quite quantify.

It bothered him. Threats you couldn’t quantify were the most dangerous kind.

But orders were orders, and some predators were better left alone until you had no choice but to hunt them.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Something told him that if it did, a lot of good agents would die before they brought Singh down.

If they could bring him down at all.

The thought followed him back to his car and stayed with him for the rest of the day—a small, persistent worry that refused to be ignored, like a splinter lodged too deep to remove.

Welcome to the MCU, indeed.