Samuel Sterns stepped into the centre of his lab as he continued to review the figures on the tablet he held, his curiosity piqued by the familiar scrape of the heavy metal bolts sealing the exterior door as they withdrew. His next scheduled meal was in 347 minutes’ time, and there was a 97.8 per cent probability that Ross had left the base already, so it was unlikely that the man would be visiting him again today. He idly wondered what else it could be.
There was a 48 per cent chance that some sensitive new information had been made available that had to be provided to him verbally for security reasons—that was the most probable explanation, with every other possibility at less than five per cent, most not worth entertaining at all. He’d find out in a moment, in any case. Not worth the calories to think about it more closely.
Sterns waited, flanked by a pair of slab-like medical tables, their steel surfaces scuffed and stained, restraint cuffs dangling loosely at their corners beneath articulated surgical lamps. Ominous red LED strips lined recessed channels in the ceiling, casting a clinical, brooding hue across the room. A tall upright chair, padded and ominously utilitarian, stood beneath a heavier array of overhead rigging, leather restraints splayed open like waiting arms. Several rows of vertical lattice frames sat on tables draped in coiled tubing and glassware rigged for reflux reactions, distillations, and other complex chemical procedures—some still gently bubbling, others inert but stained by use. Wall-mounted cabinets brimmed with labelled chemical vials and syringes, while two open doorways behind him framed glimpses of a narrow office space and bedroom, the sheets of the bunk inside neatly folded.
The four-inch-thick steel door to his lab swung slowly aside, and an utterly unexpected person came into view through the bars of the secondary security door. Sterns lowered his tablet, eyes locked on the lead interloper before flicking to the two other figures close behind him. James Buchanan Barnes, the former Winter Soldier, vibranium arm and all, followed closely by Natalia Alianovna Romanoff and Clinton Francis Barton—Black Widow and Hawkeye. The Avengers.
Barnes had gone still the moment Sterns had come into view, and there was a pregnant pause as the two men stared, each seemingly as surprised as the other. Romanoff gently touched her companion’s non?vibranium arm and they exchanged a wordless glance before she pressed the button on the side of the small entry chamber, causing the security door isolating Sterns’ lab to slide open soundlessly.
The grouping made sense for a stealth infiltration of a secure military black site—two ex-SHIELD spies and the Winter Soldier—but any of the Avengers showing up here at all was an extremely low-probability outcome based on his existing model… only 1.3 per cent. What had led to this? Why were they here? There was a flicker of something approaching hope in Sterns’ chest, which was quickly smothered as the probability engine that protruded from the distorted remains of his skull thundered into action at the speed of thought.
Everything about the new arrivals, both consciously and unconsciously observed—their appearances, gear, movements, stances, microexpressions—was captured, catalogued, filed, and incorporated into his models. Sterns’ brain contained every single scrap of data that the government had on the Avengers and their known associates, thanks to the eidetic memory granted by his mutation, as well as databases worth of supplementary information. Sterns felt the malformed tissue of his brain pulse as the web of possibilities was narrowed, a trillion-trillion calculations done in an instant, far faster than he could consciously process. All he was left with were the results.
97.7 per cent probability that they were surprised by his presence—they were here looking for something or someone else. He was unaware of any plausible circumstances that might adequately explain their arrival, meaning an unknown factor or recent development was likely responsible.
Ross had met with Wanda Maximoff two days ago—according to schedule—then visited Sterns earlier today to get further advice regarding their in-progress plans. 92.2 per cent chance the Avengers arriving on the same day as Ross was not coincidental. On Sterns’ earlier reviews of the recording of Ross’s meeting, he’d noted that Wanda’s adverse reaction had been stronger than expected. 98.1 per cent chance that some exacerbating factor not in Sterns’ model had caused Ross’s approach to provoke an even more pronounced response than he had predicted.
Camp Echo One was a prison black site, though Sterns was the only prisoner at the moment, and if they weren’t here for him… his mind made a few quick assumptions and ran the possible scenarios. Most likely? 83.3 per cent chance that Wanda Maximoff was currently missing and the Avengers were acting on reasonable suspicion that Secretary Ross had instigated her abduction, given their clash.
Had Ross acted without informing him and abducted the woman? 6.1 per cent probability. Highly unlikely. Sterns felt something ugly twist inside his chest as he thought about the man, but quickly dismissed it. Ross was generally predictable, but when it came to Wanda Maximoff, Sterns was operating only with moderate-low confidence—it had quickly become clear that he was lacking key data points that were needed to model her behaviour accurately. Assuming that she was currently unaccounted for, there was a 92.9 per cent likelihood that some unknown factor was to blame. It was impossible to deduce anything more specific with the information currently available to him.
The three Avengers filtered into the room, body language alert as they quickly took in their surroundings and Sterns’ appearance. He felt a little self-conscious—not too many people had seen him since he’d been imprisoned, and he was aware that the tumour-like growths of brain matter that had burst through his skull and the sickly green pallor to his skin lent him a vaguely monstrous appearance. The ominous look of his lab would be a further negative factor in navigating this encounter. There was a 99.1 per cent chance that James Barnes, in particular, would exercise excess caution and suspicion due to negative mental associations with facilities he had previously been held at.
Even so, based on his situation and what they likely already knew of him, Sterns could still extrapolate an 89 per cent probability—with high confidence—that the Avengers would be sympathetic to his situation and willing to aid him.
This was an opportunity. An alternative. Based on current state alone, there was an 87 per cent probability that Ross would keep his word and issue Sterns with a pardon once he became president. When he’d initially agreed to that deal, the probability had been 95 per cent. If he incorporated the data derived from the existing downward trend into the model… 63 per cent. With low confidence. If there were further incidents like the Battle of New York, or the ELIZA AI… There were theoretical models, chains of probability—less likely, but no less worrisome—where the chances that Ross would keep his word dropped to less than five per cent, wholly dependent on external factors that Sterns had no control over.
“You’re Samuel Sterns.” Romanoff was the first to break the silence, a touch of suspicion in her tone.
“Y-yes,” Sterns responded, deliberately letting his nerves leak through so he would stumble over the word a little. He looked between the three of them, a pleading expression on his face. “Please. You have to help me,” he said. His eyeshine glinted gamma green in the light of the lab.
--
As the rear ramp hissed down and the Quinjet’s interior flooded with late afternoon light, Natasha could see Steve and Sam already waiting just beyond the hangar threshold. She and Bucky descended first, flanking their new, unexpected passenger. Clint followed behind, keeping a watchful eye on Sterns, though the man hadn’t so much as twitched wrong the entire trip.
The others’ eyes went straight to the newcomer. Nat didn’t blame them. Sterns looked… well, awful. The swollen, tumorous cerebral growths were mostly covered by the hood of a borrowed jacket, but the waxy green cast to his skin and unnatural glint in his eye left little room for illusion.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Bruce is in the secure labs,” Steve said quietly, falling in beside them. “Shuri’s joining us, too, given…” he trailed off, eyes flicking briefly to Sterns again.
Nat nodded. They kept their pace brisk, sheltering slightly in the lee of buildings where they could, but the compound wasn’t designed to keep peoples’ movements overly hidden. There were eyes in the sky, of course, and even with their regular surveillance sweeps there was no way of knowing just who might be watching. The labs were the most heavily secured part of the compound, so it made sense to utilise them, given that they’d just extracted a supposedly-MIA high-risk asset from a secret military prison.
Four years. Sterns had spent the last four years locked away in Camp Echo One, imprisoned without a trial, working on weapons and technology research, all for the promise of one day receiving a presidential pardon for crimes that Ross had scapegoated him for in the first place. Secretary of State was just a stepping stone—Ross had been using Sterns to game out a path to the presidency, using the man’s enhanced intellect to facilitate calculated, precise manipulations of the political process, the public, and even the current negotiations around the Enhanced Anti-Terrorism Bill and the actions of the Special Joint Committee. Natasha had never liked Ross and thought she’d had a good read on him, but it turned out he was even more ruthless and self-centred than she had thought.
Bruce and Shuri were in Lab 3B when they arrived. Shuri was seated off to one side, a slight frown creasing her forehead, while Bruce wore a hole in the floor pacing back and forth. As the rest of them entered the room, Bruce stopped dead, staring at their guest.
“Sterns?” Bruce breathed. A flurry of emotions warred their way across his face—worry, guilt, suspicion.
The corner of Sterns’ mouth twitched in a weary smile. “Mr Green,” he said mildly. “It’s been a while.”
“You… God, I thought… I didn’t know what happened to you after Grayburn.” Bruce swallowed hard, a hand half-raised like he wasn’t sure whether to reach out or not. “I’m sorry. What happened to you—none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t—”
Sterns shook his head. “No. I’m the one that’s sorry. You tried to warn me and I should have listened. I was na?ve. You were right about everything.” There was no accusation in his tone.
There was a long silence.
Shuri was the one who broke it. “You should be dead,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“I should be,” he agreed. “I very nearly was. But I’ve been stable for some time. The mutation was… uncontrolled, at first. Ross used my own work on suppressing Bruce’s events to temper my transformation.” There was anger there, underneath his words, though he was trying to keep it hidden. “When he realised the extent of its effects on me, what he could use me for… he increased my gamma exposure, to try to enhance my mind further.”
“Ross did this to you on purpose?” It was Bruce’s turn to sound angry.
Sam shook his head, arms crossed, incredulous. “Jesus.”
Steve’s expression was thunderous—the last time Nat had seen him this angry was in Wakanda. “Wanda was right about Ross. He’s crossed every line. He scapegoated you to save his own career, imprisoned you without trial… No court would have convicted you for your involvement in the Harlem incident, which is why he buried you and didn’t let it get to one. You were already a victim, here, and Ross didn’t hesitate to destroy your life for his own personal benefit. We’re not going to let that slide.”
“He’s going to assume the worst,” Sterns said. He looked toward Nat, catching her eye. “Your sudden absence from DC in the middle of your legal challenges will be noticed, if it hasn’t been already. 88 per cent probability that he’ll immediately link your absence to my escape. Ross doesn’t know that Wanda Maximoff is missing, so he won’t guess that you’re reacting—he’ll think you’re escalating, planning an attack on him.”
“What’s he going to do?” Clint asked, expression pensive.
“If he were asking me to game out scenarios for him, I’d advise damage control as the best approach. Start getting ahead of things to try to minimise whatever you were planning,” Sterns said, then shook his head. “On his own? Ross’s first instinct will be to escalate right back. The exact degree is a little less certain. 21 per cent chance there’s already a sniper team en route to this compound, with orders to eliminate me if possible. Worst case… 43 per cent probability that Ross goes direct to the President, selectively reveals details about my imprisonment, and advances an argument that the Avengers have become a rogue paramilitary threat. The President trusts his opinion, but will be wary of the public’s response to a direct attack on the Avengers. If Ross goes to him, 39 per cent chance he authorises a strike. 17 per cent possibility as an outcome, overall, once you follow the chain of statistical probabilities.”
“Shit,” Bruce swore. “We need to get Rhodey to talk to the President first, head that off.”
The gears were turning in Nat’s head as she played out some hypothetic moves in her own mind. “We should go public. Immediately. If Ross already assumes we’re going to attack him, it’s not like we’ll be making things worse. We need to blow the whistle on what he did to Sterns. Make it public, loud, impossible to walk back. It might be our best shot to constrain his ability to respond.”
“He’ll spin it,” Sam warned.
“Of course he will,” Nat agreed. “But so will we. We’ve got a media team and contacts of our own. If Sterns testifies publicly, I think there’s a path here. It’s risky, but so is doing nothing.”
“66 per cent chance that public opinion shifts against Ross, hard and fast, if we immediately release details through the right channels. I can provide a more detailed strategy to your media team,” Sterns said. His eyes had glazed over slightly. “86 per cent chance Ross pivots to a full smear campaign, rather than a military response. 51 per cent chance that the President judges Ross’s position to be untenable and removes him from his Cabinet, rising to 72 per cent if the Avengers apply pressure directly. Ellis's approval is already low—he can’t afford a messy, public fight with the Avengers right now. Public perception favours you too much.”
“And if we get you on camera?” Steve asked.
He paused, seeming a little unsure—Nat got the feeling that he was a little self-conscious about his appearance, and she could hardly blame him for that. “Complicated effects on public opinion. Overall, a five per cent increase in our favour. Low confidence.”
Steve nodded, then looked over at Clint. “Can you call Maria, get her on this ASAP? We need to loop Rhodey in, as well—we can’t blindside him with this.”
Before Clint went to leave, Natasha spoke up. “Any other updates?”
They needed to deal with this, obviously, but Wanda was still missing and, if Sterns was telling the truth, they’d just ruled out their most likely possibility. Where was she?
“I’ve spoken to our friends,” Steve said with a small shake of his head. “Nothing yet. Pietro’s still in Westview; he said he wanted to check around town a bit more. Carol isn’t in a position where she can investigate directly, but she’s asked us to keep her in the loop. Tony’s flight plan says he’s heading to South Dakota—he’s got Kingo on board, though he hasn’t touched base directly.”
There was a slight, almost imperceptible reaction from Sterns. Natasha was worried about speaking too openly in front of the man. He was a victim, yes, but that didn’t necessarily mean he could be trusted. She sighed. “I really hope Tony understands how delicate that situation is. If things spiral on that front…”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Tony knows what the risks are,” Steve said, his tone firm, but Nat thought there was a tiny bit of worry there.
Sterns tentatively raised a hand. “Ross is uninvolved in Wanda’s disappearance. There’s only a very slight chance that he would have moved on something like that without directly consulting me, first. High confidence,” he said. He paused for a beat, then spoke again, a touch of hesitation in his tone. “But I might be able to help you find her.”
That brought a fresh current of tension into the room. Bucky shifted his weight, his expression hard. Sam glanced sideways at Steve, his lips pressed together in a tight line. Shuri was unreadable. Nat studied Sterns for a moment before responding. “How does it work?” she asked finally.
“I’d need information,” he said. “Any data points you’re willing to share with me that I may not have access to already. Details on recent activities, interactions… I wouldn’t expect you to trust me with everything, but whatever you can share may allow me to narrow the possibilities. The more detailed and accurate my information, the better. There are some blanks in my models that make certain things difficult to anticipate—Wanda herself has proven extremely unpredictable.”
Sam let out a small snort at that. “You can say that again.”
Natasha didn’t flinch, but something twisted in her gut. The idea of letting this man poke through Wanda’s life, even in the name of saving her, set every protective instinct she had on edge.
“There are… complicating factors,” Steve said. “Things we can’t safely share.”
“Of course. But even limiting the parameters, giving me partially redacted information—anything at all that you feel is safe to disclose. Each data point helps.”
“Before that,” Shuri interjected, standing. “I would like to perform some initial scans, if you’re willing. It won’t take long—fifteen, twenty minutes to get a baseline. Every viable gamma mutation we’ve seen is unique, to some degree, and we could use more data points as well. If we can better understand what, exactly, has happened to the structure of your brain, it might shed some light on some of our research.”
Bruce nodded. “And we might be able to help you. Fix this, at least to some degree.”
Sterns hesitated a moment, staring at them. When he spoke again, his voice had a slight tremor to it. “Of course. Whatever you need,” he said.
