Most powerful Hunter in Marvel Universe - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Surveillance and Sanctuary

The hotel room door closed behind Tony Stark with a soft click that seemed far too ordinary given the conversation that had just taken place. Veer stood alone in the space, already mentally cataloging everything he needed to do: pack his minimal belongings, book a flight somewhere far from California and SHIELD’s immediate reach, find a place where he could train in relative isolation.

He never thought to check for listening devices.

It was an amateur mistake, the kind that Zeno Zoldyck would never have made. The legendary assassin would have swept the room the moment he entered, would have detected any surveillance with the paranoid efficiency of someone who’d survived sixty years in a profession where carelessness meant death.

But Veer wasn’t Zeno Zoldyck. Not yet. Not even close.

The system gave him raw power—the aura capacity, the physical capabilities, the potential. But it didn’t give him six decades of experience. It didn’t give him the instincts honed through countless missions. It didn’t give him the automatic caution that came from knowing exactly how dangerous the world could be.

All of those things had to be earned. Learned. Built up through practice and, inevitably, mistakes.

This was about to be a very expensive mistake.

—

Three miles away, in a nondescript office building that officially housed a consulting firm and unofficially served as one of SHIELD’s many satellite operations centers, Director Nick Fury sat in a room that wasn’t supposed to exist, listening to a conversation that had just rewritten his understanding of what was possible.

The audio quality was crystal clear, picked up by a device no larger than a shirt button that Agent Coulson had planted during his “casual” encounter with Paramveer Singh. Standard procedure when dealing with unknown enhanced individuals: make contact, assess threat level, and bug them for follow-up monitoring.

Fury had expected maybe some useful intelligence about The Continental’s operations, or perhaps insight into how Singh had really located Tony Stark. What he got instead was something far more valuable and far more dangerous.

“That ‘glow’ you saw is called aura. Or life force, if you want to be poetic about it.”

Fury replayed the recording for the fourth time, his single eye fixed on the audio waveform display as if he could extract additional meaning through sheer force of will. Beside him, Agent Maria Hill stood with her arms crossed, her expression carefully neutral in the way that meant she was processing something significant.

“This power—aura manipulation, life force control, whatever you want to call it—it’s not like building a machine.”

“Enhanced abilities that can be taught,” Hill said quietly. “Not genetic. Not technological. Teachable.”

“Better than teachable,” Fury corrected, his voice carrying the rough edge it always had when he was working through strategic implications. “Systematic. He’s talking about it like there are established techniques, documented methods, a whole framework for developing these abilities.”

He leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing through possibilities and problems. “The Super Soldier Serum gave us Captain America. One man. When Erskine died, the formula died with him. We’ve been trying to recreate it for seventy years with limited success and a body count that would make most war criminals jealous.”

“And this could potentially create multiple enhanced individuals,” Hill finished his thought. “Without the need for specialized equipment, rare resources, or unique formulas.”

“An army of people with superhuman abilities.” Fury’s fingers drummed against the desk, a rare tell of his inner excitement. “Enhanced strength, speed, durability. Extended lifespan. And according to Singh, he’s not even at full potential yet. He specifically mentioned being able to live for a thousand years or more if he masters the advanced techniques.”

The recording continued playing in the background, Tony Stark’s voice asking about learning these abilities, Singh explaining the difficulty and requirements. Fury listened to it all with the focused intensity of someone who understood that this information was worth more than most countries’ annual defense budgets.

“There’s a problem,” Hill said, because there was always a problem. “Singh is aware of us. Coulson’s encounter made that clear. And he’s already planning to leave the country. If he disappears into the international mercenary network, finding him again will be difficult.”

“More than difficult,” Fury agreed. “The Continental doesn’t exactly cooperate with government agencies. And if Singh is as powerful as he demonstrated in Afghanistan, trying to take him by force would be…” He paused, considering. “Expensive. In terms of personnel and political capital.”

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at Los Angeles sprawling below. Somewhere in that concrete sprawl was a man who possessed knowledge that could change the balance of power globally. Knowledge that couldn’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands—which, from Fury’s perspective, meant anyone’s hands but SHIELD’s.

“We need that information,” Fury said, his voice carrying the finality of a decided course of action. “But we need it voluntarily. Or at least, we need Singh to think he’s giving it voluntarily.”

“Standard recruitment protocols?” Hill asked.

Fury shook his head. “Singh’s too smart for that. He made it clear to Coulson that he wants nothing to do with government organizations. Trying to recruit him officially would just push him away faster.” He turned from the window. “We need someone who can get close to him. Someone he’d let his guard down around.”

“Coulson established initial contact—”

“Coulson terrified him,” Fury interrupted. “You heard it in Singh’s voice during their conversation. He knows we’re dangerous. He knows we’re watching. Sending Coulson back would just confirm his paranoia.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through personnel files. “No, we need someone different. Someone who doesn’t scream ‘government agent.’ Someone Singh would actually want to spend time with.”

His scrolling stopped on a particular file. The photo showed a woman with distinctive red hair and green eyes that looked both inviting and calculating in equal measure. Her personnel record was impressive in ways that weren’t entirely quantifiable—mission success rates that defied statistical probability, an ability to extract information that bordered on supernatural, and a talent for making targets trust her completely before they even realized they were targets.

“Natasha Romanoff,” Fury said, more to himself than to Hill. “Black Widow.”

Hill’s eyebrow rose slightly. “That’s… aggressive. Romanoff is our best undercover operative. Using her on a single asset—”

“This isn’t a single asset,” Fury cut her off. “This is potentially the most important intelligence acquisition of the decade. Maybe the century. Knowledge of teachable superhuman abilities? The strategic implications are unlimited.” He pulled up Romanoff’s current assignment status. “Where is she now?”

“Tracking a weapons deal in Prague. Low priority. We can extract her.”

“Do it. Brief her on everything—the Afghanistan rescue, the conversation we just heard, Singh’s capabilities, everything.” Fury’s mind was already planning the operation. “But emphasize that this is a soft approach. No aggression. No obvious surveillance. Just… friendly contact. Someone interesting he happens to meet.”

“Singh mentioned in the conversation that he likes women,” Hill noted, pulling up the relevant section of the transcript. “Beautiful women on beaches, specifically. He’s heading somewhere to retire.”

“Perfect.” Fury’s expression was grim satisfaction. “Romanoff can be very friendly when she wants to be. And Singh did explicitly say he’s attracted to women, so that’s an angle we can use without it being obvious manipulation.”

Hill looked uncomfortable, which was saying something for someone with her level of operational experience. “Sir, you’re essentially ordering sexual entrapment of an asset.”

“I’m ordering professional intelligence gathering using all available tools,” Fury corrected, though his tone suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t particularly care about the semantics. “Romanoff’s an adult. Singh’s an adult. If they happen to develop a connection during her assignment, that’s just effective tradecraft.”

“And if he discovers she’s SHIELD?”

“Then Romanoff will handle it. She always does.” Fury closed the file and turned back to Hill. “Get her back here within twenty-four hours. I want her briefed and deployed before Singh disappears completely. And Maria?” He met her eyes. “Keep this compartmentalized. The knowledge that teachable superhuman abilities exist? That information is need-to-know only. If the World Security Council finds out before we secure it, they’ll want to politicize it. If other countries find out, it becomes a race. Right now, we have a brief window where only we know what’s possible.”

Hill nodded, already pulling out her phone to make the necessary calls. “I’ll arrange extraction for Romanoff immediately. Anything else?”

“Yes. Start a file on this ‘aura manipulation’ or whatever Singh called it. Everything we know, everything we can research. I want our science division looking into whether there’s any documented history of similar abilities. Mystic traditions, ancient practices, anything that might give us independent verification of what Singh described.”

“You think there might be others who know about this?”

“The Continental knew enough to employ Singh,” Fury pointed out. “And he talked about these techniques like they’re established knowledge in certain circles. There might be a whole community of people with these abilities, operating under our radar.” The thought clearly bothered him. “Which means we’ve been blind to a significant portion of enhanced individuals. That’s unacceptable.”

Hill left to make the arrangements, and Fury was alone with the recording and his thoughts. He played it one more time, listening to Singh explain the difficulty of training, the years it took to master basic techniques, the potential for both power and danger.

“You could hurt yourself or others,” Singh’s voice said on the recording.

Fury smiled without humor. That was exactly what worried him—and exactly what made the information so valuable. Power that could hurt. Power that could protect. Power that could change everything.

SHIELD would have that power. One way or another.

—

Twenty-three hours later, Natasha Romanoff sat in a briefing room in the same non-existent office building, reviewing the file on Paramveer Singh with the methodical focus that had made her SHIELD’s most effective field agent.

The mission parameters were unusual but not unprecedented. Make contact with the target. Establish trust. Extract information about teachable superhuman abilities. Do it without revealing her SHIELD affiliation unless absolutely necessary.

In other words: seduce, befriend, or manipulate as needed to accomplish the objective.

Natasha had done this dozens of times before. She’d gotten close to arms dealers, terrorist financiers, corporate executives, and once a minor European royal who was selling state secrets. This should be straightforward.

Except Singh wasn’t a normal target.

The footage from Afghanistan that SHIELD had acquired through various intelligence channels showed someone with capabilities that bordered on superhuman even before accounting for the “aura” revelation. Three hundred and fifty-one confirmed kills in a single night. Metal doors torn from their hinges. Speed that outran explosions.

And he could teach others to do the same.

“Your cover will be simple,” Fury’s voice came from the speaker system. The Director wasn’t physically present for the briefing—he rarely was anymore—but his presence was felt regardless. “You’re a tourist. Former military, now traveling the world on savings. You happen to be in the same location as Singh. You happen to be interesting enough that he wants to talk to you.”

“Where is he now?” Natasha asked, studying the most recent surveillance photos. Singh looked young, maybe early twenties, with features that suggested Indian heritage. Attractive enough, fit, but not standing out in any obvious way. The kind of person who could disappear into a crowd if he wanted to.

“Flight records show he purchased a ticket to Goa, India yesterday,” Maria Hill’s voice replaced Fury’s. “He landed approximately six hours ago. Local assets tracked him to a beach property he purchased for cash—small house, isolated location, perfect for someone who wants privacy.”

“So he’s serious about retiring,” Natasha observed.

“Or serious about hiding,” Fury countered. “Either way, that’s where you’re going. We’ve arranged accommodations at a nearby resort. Close enough to make contact, far enough not to be obvious.”

Natasha continued reading the file, noting the details that would matter for establishing a connection. Singh’s age, his background as a mercenary, his apparent discomfort with the killing he’d done based on psychological profile analysis. The mention of wanting to watch beautiful women on beaches—that was useful, if somewhat crude as an exploitation angle.

“The recording mentioned he has no interest in homosexual relationships,” Hill added, probably reading Natasha’s thoughts. “He explicitly stated attraction to women. That’s your opening.”

“Understood.” Natasha had used her appearance as an asset countless times. It was just another tool in the arsenal, no different from her weapons training or her linguistic skills. “Timeline?”

“Immediate deployment. Your flight leaves in three hours. We need you in position before Singh becomes too settled or too paranoid about SHIELD following him.” Fury’s voice carried weight. “Romanoff, I want to be clear about the priority here. The information about these abilities is more valuable than almost any other intelligence you’ve ever gathered. Whatever it takes to get him to teach you, to explain the methods, to demonstrate the techniques—do it.”

“Whatever it takes,” Natasha repeated, her voice neutral. She understood what he was implying. What he was authorizing. “And if he discovers I’m SHIELD?”

“Then you use your judgment. You’ve talked your way out of worse situations.” A pause. “But try not to let it come to that. The goal is long-term access to this knowledge, not a one-time extraction.”

The briefing continued for another thirty minutes, covering contingencies and protocols and the technical details of maintaining her cover. Natasha absorbed it all with practiced efficiency, her mind already working through approach strategies and conversation frameworks.

By the time the briefing ended, she had a complete picture of the mission and the target. Paramveer Singh: enhanced individual, mercenary background, recently wealthy, seeking isolation and training. Psychologically vulnerable after recent trauma of mass killing. Lonely, despite his claimed desire for retirement. And in possession of knowledge that SHIELD needed.

She could work with that.

Three hours later, Natasha was on a plane to India, her cover identity established, her appearance shifted to “tourist casual” rather than “field operative.” She’d approach this like any other mission—with professionalism, patience, and whatever tools proved most effective.

If Singh wanted to watch beautiful women on beaches, then she’d be the most interesting woman he’d ever seen on a beach.

And if he wanted to teach someone his abilities? Well, she’d be a very motivated student.

The plane carried her toward India, toward a target who didn’t know he was about to be targeted, toward knowledge that could change everything.

—

Veer stood on the balcony of his new beach house, watching the sun set over the Arabian Sea, and felt something close to peace for the first time since arriving in this world.

The house was perfect. Two bedrooms, an open living area, a kitchen he’d probably never use since he planned to eat out most days. Large windows that let in ocean breeze and natural light. And most importantly, a location far enough from civilization that he could train without worrying about witnesses.

Goa had been a good choice. Tourist destination, which meant foreigners weren’t unusual. Beautiful beaches, which satisfied his stated desire for retirement activities. And enough international presence that SHIELD’s surveillance would be diluted among thousands of other travelers.

He’d paid cash for six months upfront, using one of his Continental-provided identities. The owner had been delighted to have such an easy transaction and hadn’t asked questions about why a young man wanted to rent a beach house alone for half a year.

Now came the hard part: actually training.

Veer had spent the flight from California planning his training program, analyzing which techniques would provide the most efficient skill development. The system’s mechanics were clear—practicing advanced techniques gave experience to their component basic techniques. Which meant instead of grinding out Ten and Ren separately, he could train Ko and level multiple skills simultaneously.

Ko was perfect for his needs. It combined Ten, Zetsu, Ren, Hatsu, and Gyo into a single technique where all of a user’s aura concentrated into one body part. The offensive and defensive potential was enormous, and more importantly, practicing it would level up five different skills at once.

The drawback was significant—concentrating all your aura in one location left the rest of your body completely unprotected. A knockout punch if you landed it. A guaranteed defeat if you missed and got hit anywhere else. It was aggressive, risky, and required absolute precision.

It was also exactly the kind of high-stakes training that would force rapid improvement.

Veer activated his aura, feeling the familiar warmth of Ten spreading across his body. Then, slowly, deliberately, he began the process of condensing it.

The technique required multiple steps performed simultaneously. Ten to contain the aura and prevent it from dispersing. Zetsu to stop aura flow in all other body parts. Ren to increase the total amount of aura. Gyo to focus everything on a single point. And Hatsu—his Dragon ability, still barely understood—to add the final element of technique-specific power.

His right fist became his focus point. Veer visualized all his life energy flowing there, gathering, compressing, intensifying. The sensation was strange—his arm felt heavy and powerful, while the rest of his body felt oddly vulnerable, like he’d removed armor from everywhere except that one location.

He threw a punch at the air, and the force surprised him. The movement created a small shock wave, a visible distortion where his fist passed through space. Not devastating. Not anywhere near what a master could do. But noticeable. Measurable progress.

A notification appeared in his vision.

[Ko practice initiated]

[Experience gained: Ten, Zetsu, Ren, Gyo, Hatsu]

[Current Ko proficiency: 0.1%]

Veer smiled. It was a start. A tiny, insignificant start that would require thousands of repetitions to show meaningful improvement. But it was progress, and progress was all that mattered.

He practiced for another hour, throwing punches at nothing, shifting Ko between different body parts, learning the rhythm of condensing and releasing aura. His body screamed with exhaustion by the end—maintaining Ko was far more draining than simple Ten—but the satisfaction of improvement made it worthwhile.

Tomorrow he’d start a real training regimen. Morning Ko practice. Afternoon meditation to recover aura capacity. Evening work on other Nen techniques. And throughout it all, the passive Ten technique running in the background, slowly accumulating experience even while he slept.

Four years until 2012. Four years until the Battle of New York. Four years to become strong enough to survive what was coming.

It seemed like a lot of time until you broke it down into daily training sessions and realized how slowly real mastery developed.

But Veer had money, isolation, and motivation. That would have to be enough.

He went inside, made notes on his first training session, and prepared for bed. The system showed his updated status with the tiny improvements from today’s work.

Tomorrow would bring more progress. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Slow, grinding advancement toward a goal that seemed impossibly distant.

He fell asleep to the sound of waves and didn’t dream of anything but the quiet satisfaction of having started the long journey toward becoming something more than he currently was.

Outside, in the darkness beyond his new home, the first pieces of SHIELD’s operation were already moving into position.

But Veer, exhausted and content with his first day of training, remained blissfully unaware that his peaceful retirement was about to become significantly more complicated.