fics I read

I like my weapons how I like my music: Heavy and Metal

Something I hadn't expected: apparently Extremis can't cure me of my sea sickness.

Combined with the fact that my innards were comfortably resting at a temperature hot enough to melt steel, 'projectile vomit' suddenly becomes a far more dangerous expression.

Still, at least Extremis kept me from feeling like absolute shit, and the journey towards South-Africa was progressing relatively quickly.

However, as there is virtually nothing to do inside the hold of a cargo ship, I was mostly stuck with either eating, sleeping or getting prodded and poked by Stein, who took the opportunity of having me in a position where I had nowhere to run to in order to perform a whole battery of tests.

While uncomfortable (Stein has seemed to have developed quite a fondness for the pike he claims is a syringe. He keeps stabbing me with it), the test were very informative.

Turns out that the Hulk-blood and the Extremis serum not only played nice with each other, they apparently worked on top of each other, due to the different ways they used to enhance me. The effect was a multiplication instead of a sum.

Extremis basically supercharged my muscles and organs, raising the temperature of my body to ridiculous extremes, while giving me super strength and regeneration (it was why the lithe Extremis woman had been able to match me blow for blow, despite the fact that I was twice her size and wearing power armour).

Hulk-blood enhanced me in a different way, as it made my muscles and bones not only larger, but immensely denser as well (the Hulk and Abomination had become so durable that bullets simply bounced of their skin).

So, baseline human with Hulk-blood = Big, though human who is strong enough to bend steel.

Baseline human with Extremis virus = Strong, regenerating human running quite a fever.

With me, things were somewhat different.

Extremis didn't have to work with ordinary, puny human muscles, but with muscles enhanced by Hulk-blood to be larger and denser than normal, which on their own made them plenty strong already.

The result?

Supercharged, superheated Hulk-enhanced muscles. Basically, I was stronger than any human injected with Hulk-blood, and I was capable of reaching higher temperatures than any human enhanced by Extremis.

As was made clear to me when I started bench-pressing one of the shipping containers, the veins in my arms glowing brightly in the dim belly of the hull as my bulging muscles exerted themselves in lifting multiple tons of steel and cargo.

It wasn't effortless, but considering the container weighed in at somewhere around 3 tonnes, I should either be wearing power armour for this or be squashed flat like a bug. Instead, I had been lifting the container for half an hour now, the massive regeneration keeping my muscles from tiring, though probably not indefinitely.

Briefly, the urge to find someone to test my strength against overwhelmed me when I lifted the container with the ease that I did, the haze that came over me right after injecting myself with Hulk-blood rushing back with some familiarity, but I was quickly snapped out of it when I realized that the heavy hitters on the Avengers can probably lift 10 times that.

And there are beings out there who are even stronger than they are.

That quickly cooled my enthusiasm (figuratively of course, considering the Extremis-fuelled volcano that now seemed to live inside of me), but I quickly came out of my funk by experimenting with my new powers.

I had never realized that breathing fire could be so fucking awesome!

I felt like a dragon or something, and (much to Stein's annoyance) I kept the rest of the journey randomly spouting great bursts of flame, then grinning like a loon at my newfound status as living flamethrower (which are awesome on their own. Having one in your throat only multiplies the amount of awesome to critical levels).

Sadly (sarcasm much?) our wonderful sea-trip had to come to an end as we made port in Cape Town, South-Africa (and no matter what Stein tells you, I did not end up on my knees kissing the ground, tearfully thanking it for not moving so damn much. I already destroyed the pictures so there's no proof).

Still, we had finally made landfall, on the 16th of August, 2011, which gave me around half a year to finish Step 5: get money, while also completing Step 7: take Ulysses Klaue's stuff.

Unfortunately, I still had to actually find Gollum. Fortunately, I had Google Maps, and I knew that Hulk fought the Hulkbuster-armor in Johannesburg, so I could just find the nearest beach and start looking there for Klaue's derelict ship. Unfortunately, it's a fourteen hour drive from Cape Town to Johannesburg, and taking a plane there was out of the question.

Most unfortunately though?

Johannesburg is an inland town: there are no shores anywhere near it.

When I discovered that I spent a good twenty minutes roaring in anger, fire literally spewing from my mouth as I cursed the producers of Marvel Studios for not doing their goddamned research before making their movies (then again, I only discovered the problem just now, so was being a tad hypocritical, but at the moment I didn't care).

Eventually I calmed down enough to realize that whatever I was going to end up doing, I couldn't stay hidden inside the cargo ship forever (especially since they had begun unloading it), so my best bet was to simply make my way to Johannesburg, and then use a outwards spiralling search-pattern to find Klaue.

But first, I had to get off this ship.

Getting on the ship had been surprisingly easy: in the dead of night, when the only people present were exhausted firemen trying to contain the hellish nightmare the pier I had fought on had turned into, I came in with sealed boxes with our equipment inside from underneath the water (I had almost forgotten that since I had salvaged most of my armour from the Navy model drone, it also doubled as a submarine), then put those boxes inside the containers that I knew where meant for Cape Town (which were easy enough to find, as most shipping manifests were shockingly easy to get to if you had a motivated, hyper-intelligent genius on your side). Then, when they were scheduled to be shipped out, me and Stein simply hid ourselves inside one of them and presto, we were on board a trans-Atlantic voyage.

Now, we simply did the same but in reverse.

During the day, the containers (and therefore, us as well) were offloaded from the ship and stacked onto the harbour, waiting for their further distribution by train or truck or whatever other mode of vehicular transportation.

When night fell, I kicked open the door of the container I had hid in, and started ripping open the doors of the units in which I had stuffed Stein and the rest of our stuff. While I began loading everything in a single container, Stein went off to find us a truck which we could borrow for an unspecified amount of time, without asking (stealing is just such a harmful word, you know?).

While Stein went off to procure our transportation, I kept on working as fast as I could, trying to get everything done before someone (dockworkers, drugdealers, hell, maybe even a few spies. In this universe, anything was possible) could show up and notice us.

Which is of course, the exact moment someone did show up.

It was a group of four men, and judging by their shifty expressions, lack of protective gear, and the way too fancy suitcase the guy in front was carrying, cuffs linking his wrist to the handle, I could tell they had just as much right being here as I had.

Which meant, none at all.

Thankfully, I was standing in the shadows cast by the container I was currently stuffing to the brim with advanced scientific equipment, so the dealers (of what exactly I didn't bother to think about) could only see a giant silhouette.

Turning towards them (making sure my features stayed hidden in the shadows) I focused on willing the heat in my eyes to increase, which as Stein had told me, made them glow up like a pair of overheated coals.

"You saw nothing. Keep moving." I growled, trying to do the Christian Bale version of Batman while I spoke (which meant that I sounded like I sprinkled gravel over my cereal every morning).

However, when combined with their already existing nervousness, it appeared that my deep rumbling voice, glowing hellish eyes and massive shadowed frame sufficed to get my meaning across, and resolutely not looking my way, they hurriedly walked onwards, towards whatever nefarious meeting they had planned.

I paused in my work long enough to keep an eye on them until they turned a corner and were out of my sight, before I hurriedly finished my work, trying to get all of it done until either they regained their courage or until someone else showed up who proved to be less easy to scare off.

Thankfully, I was almost done when those dealers showed up, and within three minutes everything was packed up and ready to go. It took another two minutes for Stein to show up (as he had never driven a truck before, his arrival was heralded by the sound of an engine and gearbox, slowly being tortured to death).

Hitching up the container to the truck was somewhat of a hassle, but between my super strength and Stein's intellect (not to mention several Google-searches and YouTube instructional videos) we got it done right as the dawn hesitantly shone its first lights upon the shore of South-Africa, as we drove off into the remains of the night.

Like I said, it's a fourteen hour drive from Cape Town to Johannesburg, and every time it was Stein's shift to drive again (which always made me feel slightly guilty towards the engine of our truck) I spend pouring over maps we had liberated from whatever tourist info centre we came across.

During those long sweltering hours on the road (or at least, Stein kept complaining that they were sweltering. I barely even registered temperature anymore, always feeling comfortably warm) my mood kept getting worse and worse as I realized how truly fucked I am due to the MCU-producers not knowing their topography.

Because there is no such thing as a shore near Johannesburg, I now had no idea where to go look for Gollum other than in an ever widening search pattern. Finding Ulysses by just going around and looking for him would take ages, and while I had some time before Loki showed up, I wanted to be back in America well beforehand.

So, after getting rid of the map in frustration (it burned up in my hands after my realization that it was absolutely useless in helping me find Klaue, which annoyed Stein to no end as he now had no idea where we were going), I spent the rest of the trip to Johannesburg (a full six hours of either staring out the window, or trying to keep the old truck going after the abuse it suffered under Stein's inexperienced driving) sulking about my problem, plotting and dismissing hundreds of idea's as how to get my hands on that shiny Vibranium.

It was only due to the efforts of some misguided idiots that I finally found my answer: we were carjacked.

Or at least, that was the intention of our would-be robbers. We were still about an hour out from Johannesburg, finally hitting asphalt again, when out of the underbrush on either side of the road sprang three beat-up cars. They quickly sped up, two riding in front of us, two on either side of the cabin, and two behind us.

There was a lot of shouting involved, and guns being waved, and while Stein was clearly panicked by the violent demands for us to stop the truck, I couldn't help but grin.

"Stein. Stay down. I'll handle it."

Taking a good look at the thuggish looking brutes waving around pistols and machine guns, the scientist simply gives a jerky nod, before slamming on the brakes, killing the engine and diving underneath the dashboard (in the process almost making the cars behind us slam into the container, and given the fact none of them wore seatbelts I could see the criminals getting thrown around their cars when the drivers were forced to slam on the brakes as well. That should teach you: always wear your seatbelt).

As we all come to a stop in a great cloud of dust, a lean guy jumps out of the car on my side of the cabin, waving around a machine gun while yelling at me to open the door or else get my brains splattered across the ceiling.

I make no reaction to show I had even heard him, sinking a little further down in my seat instead. This clearly infuriates the car thief, as he runs up to the cabin, hand outstretched to the door handle, ready to rip it open-

BLAM!

-right as I kick it straight off its hinges, sending it (and with it, the would-be mugger) crashing back into the car with enough force that it completely crumples around the impact, killing both the thug and the driver, and at the least knocking out the occupants on the other side of the car.

In the shocked silence that follows, I jump out of the truck, sprinting towards the two cars at the front of us with a speed that would put a cheetah to shame. Heat is starting to build up inside me, and even though I couldn't see it, I just knew my eyes are lighting up like gateways to Mephisto's bedroom.

Within seconds, I reach the car on the right, and in a beautifully executed Spartan kick, slam my booted foot at the top of the frame where the front and back door meet. The car nearly tips over from the force of my blow, and before it can settle back down, I reach into its belly and lift it straight from the ground.

By now, the four thugs in the other car have gotten out, two on either side of it, but they have yet to open fire, a mistake for which they pay for with their lives. I throw the car at the two guys on the left side of the other vehicle, with enough speed that it catches them both and then keeps on flying for about 10 feet, before it comes crashing down and slides along another 5 feet, reducing them to paste.

While this is happening, I have already ran towards the remaining two car thieves, vaulting over the boot of their car before nailing the guy in the front with a sweeping kick that slams into his chest, which blasts him into his accomplice with enough force it shatters both their bodies.

RATTATTATATA!

And now the rest have caught on, opening fire with their machine guns and pistols, the truck completely forgotten in their rage and panic.

I quickly duck behind the car, before grabbing the underside and with a heave, throwing it on its side. Then, I pick it up by the axels and using it as a battering ram, charge for the guys on Stein's side of the truck.

However, between the larger distance between this group and the one I had just disposed of and the way dragging the car slowed me down, I don't manage to actually catch any of the guys (three this time), instead ploughing into their car with my makeshift shield, totalling both vehicles with an ear-deafening crash.

They had to jump out of the way from my charge though, and were more disoriented than me from their sudden tumble in the dust and the bang that had just gone off right next to their ears, so I still have the initiative.

I turn towards the two guys on the right, and before they can point their guns at me, I leap towards them, grasping each head in one of my hands, before I bring them together like I'm trying crack a couple eggs for my omelette.

Though I prefer my omelettes with a bit less brains, thankyouverymuch.

As I straighten however, a gunshot rings out behind me, and pain explodes in my lower back.

Intellectually, I knew that apart from a headshot (and maybe even then) I had nothing to fear from small-arms gunfire, as I could survive it. Still, knowing that you're going to be fine after getting shot, and actually getting shot I discovered are two vastly different things.

I might have screamed, but if I had, then the noise was drowned out by a further six gunshots barking across the battlefield, each shot hammering into my back with enough force it felt like I was getting punched by the berserker Extremis woman all over again.

The shots throw me towards the ground, as I land on my hands and knees in whatever remained of the ex-car thieves heads, pain and heat flaring all over my back, even as bits of grey matter stick to my pants and shirt.

But with the heat, comes rage.

That urge to let loose, to truly test my strength, that ever-present itch that had been at the back of my skull ever since I had taken part of the universe's most infamous rage-monster into myself flared back to life again, roaring to finally be unleashed.

And so I let it.

As the soon-to-be dead man hesitantly approaches my hunched form, I suddenly yell out in rage, the temperature inside me reaching extreme new heights, my shirt catching fire in a great ball of flame, revealing my ridged spine and raised ribcage.

Straightening myself, feeling the bullets stuck in my back being pushed out from their entry wounds while also slowly liquefying, I turn back towards the idiot who shot me, flames dancing around my torso, the air shimmering around my body as tarmac melts underneath my feet.

The guy has just enough time to swallow and lift the gun towards me, before I'm suddenly right there, my white-hot glowing hand shooting forwards, fingers outstretched, slamming through his ribcage and emerging through his back, though there is no blood as the massive wound was immediately cauterized.

Lifting the corpse stuck on my arm, I turn towards the two remaining cars at the back of the truck (I could see the muzzles of their guns flashing, I could hear the shots ringing out, I could feel their bullets impacting my flame-wreathed from. I just didn't care), before reaching back like a pitcher at a baseball game. Then I throw the guy I had turned into a shish-kebab at the car on the right, sending him straight through the front window and into the boot.

That was apparently too much for the guys in the remaining car, as they stopped shooting, jumped in and tore off without even looking back. The other criminals weren't so lucky, as I had just broken their car, so they were stuck with me.

With desperate eyes they glance at each other, before resuming their shooting at my flaming form, yelling as loud as they could to mask their own fear, all the while slowly backing away as I advance, trying to keep some distance between my white glowing fists and their vulnerable bodies.

It was useless.

The beast inside me was raging to its heart's content, but I was still there, and I subtly reminded it that we also had a ranged option. And with that, I stop, opened my mouth, and breathe the biggest flame I had ever seen in either life so far (and I between the two lives I've had, I've seen Rammstein in concert five times, so that's saying something).

With my massive body also came massive lungs, and I kept up my flame throwing for a full five minutes, long enough for all the screams to die out. When I ran out of breath (and enemies to fight) the inner beast (which I was surprised to find I even had, as I had chalked up my more aggressive impulses to my own changed personality, rather than an internal alter-ego) subsided and I got control over my body again.

And promptly threw up.

The smell of burned flesh is horrible, yet was everywhere around me. The feeling of a human being dying underneath your hands is somehow worse, yet I kept picturing the man I had shoved my arm straight through, over and over again.

I fell to my knees on the ruined road (some small, numb part of me noticing I was naked again) simply staring at the vision of hell that was before me.

That I had created.

Dimly, I heard the remaining door of the truck open, before hesitant footsteps approached me.

"Michael? Michael, what's going- oh Jesus!"

I could hear the scientist retch behind me, but still I didn't move from my kneeling position, noticing that I'm not crying. Whether that is because my tears keep evaporating, or because I'm still in shock I don't know, and frankly, at the moment I don't care.

"Michael? What the hell happened?"

It takes a monumental effort before I managed to work my jaw enough to from words, and when I finally manage to, they surprise both Stein and me as well.

"I lost control."

Because that's what all this was. This was what happened when a superhuman (a category which as of this year, suddenly includes me) loses control: others die.

I had never been a fan of DC's 'no killing rule', especially when it came to irredeemable psychopaths like the Joker, nor did I ever really buy into the whole 'humans hate/fear mutants' that the mutant storylines were based on (people somehow cheer for the Avengers, but hate mutants, while some Avengers aren't even human at all? Where's the logic in that?) but looking at the devastation around me, which I caused because I became angry enough to lose control?

I got it now. When people could do things like this, especially when they get angry, you cannot help but be afraid. Because even without superpowers, humans were capable of doing horrible things after just one, really bad day. Throw in superpowers, and the damage people could do to each other would monumentally increase.

This wasn't supposed to happen though. Not to me. Not in a Self-Insert. Those were all wish fulfilment stories, a little bit of mindless fun. Become friends with your favourite superhero, shag your celebrity crush(es), be adored by your allies, feared by your enemies and all that.

'Except, you chose to do none of those things, did you?' a tiny voice (either my conscience or Ant-man) whispered inside my mind.

"Michael? What are we going to do?"

Stein's hesitant voice dragged me from my morose contemplations, and feeling as if my head was made out of lead, I raised it enough so I could look him in the eye, exhaustion filling every part of my being.

"We're going to go with my original plan. Before all… this happened. We ask them where we can find Klaue."

"Do you think they know where he is?"

"If they don't, they'll know someone who does."

Turned out that Stein and me were both right, the guys who were left alive (five men, out of a group that started out with roughly twenty or so) didn't know where Klaue was, but they did know someone who probably did.

Some small-time weapons dealer, who bought from the massive stocks that Klaue and his like had on hand, and sold them in turn to the various gangs in and around Johannesburg, like the one that had tried to rob me.

Getting the location had been easy enough. While they all feared the weapons dealer enough to not snitch on him for authorities or rival gangs and the like, they feared me on a whole other level.

What came after was significantly more difficult though.

"What are you going to do to us?!"

It was one of the survivors, yelling at my back as I turned away to walk back towards where Stein already has the truck ready to go. Looking over my shoulder at the desperate man (who flinches when my glowing eye sets on him) I briefly stand still to order to think about his question?

What was I going to do with them?

The smart thing to do would be to quickly kill them. If I let them go, then best case scenario is that they grab more weapons and friends and come back to try again, or worst case scenario is that they blab about me and my abilities to the wrong people (which at the moment includes just about everyone, but S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra are at the top of the list, and they definitely will find out).

On the other hand, I have definitely had my fill of killing (my hand piercing through a man's torso, the fire from my arm searing his flesh), and the thought of disposing of these men as well makes me vaguely ill.

Before I could make a decision either way, I suddenly remember the car that got away from me, probably three men inside. So, cat's already outta the bag, no need to kill these guys as well since containment is no longer an option either way.

I realize I'm rationalizing, and that it's probably a bad idea, but I can't bring myself to care with the stench of burnt human still filling my nose.

So all I did was shrug at the man, turning away from him and his friends, walking towards where Stein is waiting.

"I'm not gonna do anything. Just don't get in my way."

And with that, I jumped into the cabin, and Stein drove off, towards where the next lead to Ulysses Klaue and his Vibranium is located.

Finding the arms-dealer's hideout is easy with the directions the carjackers gave me. Getting in is even easier. It's located in the back of a whore house, with your stereotypical goons one either side of the door, which is probably locked from the inside with a heavy bolt, a small flap allowing for someone to give a passwords or something.

I just walk up without saying anything, ignoring the warning scowls the guards send my way, smash the head of one goon (they're pretty big. I'm bigger) into the wall, kick the other one in the knee, then knee him in the chin, before I kick the door into the hideout, taking mortar and the bolt with it.

As I step inside, shocked silence greets me.

All around the room are stacks of cash, crates filled with weapons and ammo, while a dozen or so guys are seated on ratty couches or at dingy tables. They were all either playing cards, video games, or with the half-naked women in their laps, and the scent of drugs is an almost physical thing, hanging in the air.

Some slowly reach towards their guns as the people inside regain their footing, the women clearly not knowing whether to scream or go hide in a corner.

All movement is halted as I remove the ratty blanket I had thrown over myself as a makeshift cloak in order to walk the back-alleys of Johannesburg relatively unseen. However, as I throw it off myself, I show them just how huge my muscles are, the raised ribcage jutting out from my skin, the glowing pulses in my chest showing my heartbeat.

"Anyone here by the name of Mandingo?" I rumble, my voice and expression clearly conveying just how done I am with all of this shit, and someone better answer me within the next ten minutes or this part of Johannesburg goes up in flames.

A tall guy with dreadlocks warily steps up, an Uzi (or at least, I think it's an Uzi. I wouldn't know, I've never really been a fan of guns) grabbed securely in his hands, his fingernails blackened from filth and drug abuse.

"I am Mandingo, freak. What the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want?" he spits, but I can clearly see through the front he's putting up for his gang.

If he wasn't terrified of me, he would've already shot me for being in his secret hideout uninvited.

Completely unbothered by the multitude of weapons that are within reaching distance of some of the worst scum in South-Africa, I take a few slow, measured strides towards Mandingo, until were about an arms-length away from each other.

Even from this distance, I'm looming over the arms dealer, who has to crane his neck a little to look me in my burning eyes, something he clearly has difficulty with. Most of them do, I notice, the dim lighting of the hideout throwing my glowing veins and pulsing heartbeat in high contrast.

"I want Ulysses Klaue."

That clearly takes him by surprise, as he briefly forgets his fear.

"What? Fuck no! I ain't telling you fucking shit, you motherfu-"

Faster than anyone can react, I've reached out, my massive hand closing around his throat and lifting him high above my head, making his feet dangle way above the floor. Immediately I hear the sounds of hammers being cocked but I ignore them, instead heating up my hand just the tiniest bit.

Immediately, the sounds and smells of burning flesh fill the hideout (I have to force myself not to hurl as an image flashes before my eyes of my hand piercing through a man's torso, the fire from my arm searing his flesh) Mandingo screaming bloody murder.

"Tell your men to stand down. Now."

"Stand down! Stand the fuck down assholes!"

As the men lower their weapons I drop Mandingo to the floor, letting him smack down with a meaty sound as he keeps writhing in pain from his burned neck.

"I'm gonna ask you again. And this time, you're going to tell me everything I want to know. And trust me, Mandingo: their ain't gonna be a third time."

I bend down, grabbing the wailing arms dealer by his dreadlocks, hauling him up so I can look him in his blood-shot, panicked eyes.

"I. Want. Ulysses Klaue."

"All right! All right! I'll tell you! He's down at the Three Rivers, near Eikenhof, just South from here!" Mandingo screams out in a panic, any thoughts of keeping his dignity in front of his gang forgotten after his near-death experience.

Unfortunately I don't know where that is.

With that realization, I drop him to the floor again and straighten up, looking over the other gang members, who are all looking at me with a combination of wariness and anger. I look back down at the whimpering Mandingo, before I make my decision.

"I'm taking you with me."

And with that, I grab him by the neck (making him cry out again, this time cursing me, my ancestry, and the ancestry of the goat my mother has apparently lain with in order to conceive me. Or something like that, I don't really bother with listening) and turn around, making my way towards the exit, before I pause as my gaze falls on a duffel bag filled to the brim with cash.

I bend down, zip it up and sling it over my shoulder.

"And I'm taking this as well."

One of the bigger grunts opens his mouth in anger, the grip on his gun tightening, but I suddenly twist towards him, my eyes nearly bursting into flame with the heat I'm channelling through them, making him stop in his tracks, fear flashing over his face.

Tracking my hellish gaze over the other occupants of the room, I challenge all of them to try and stop me.

None of them do.

And so, with a cash-filled duffel bag over my shoulder and with a cursing and spitting arms dealer in my hand, I turn my back on Johannesburg.

As Stein and me are walking up to what Mandingo assured me was Klaue's base I was surprised to find that it wasn't a ship, before I kicked myself for forgetting the timeline (Klaue only gets the boat in 2015 I remember now).

So looking for the non-existent coast had been a bad idea from the start, as the weapons merchant wasn't even based there yet.

It's yet one more thing that hammers home to me that, while I had abhorred Mary Sues in my previous life, not being one now sucked in the extreme. Just one more mistake that I really cannot afford to make, because this world isn't like my old one, because this is a world of Gods and Monsters and I'm just a nerd trying to get through it all alive.

The hide-out is apparently a warehouse that seems to have been abandoned decades ago, graffiti on every wall and most of the windows smashed in.

Basically, it looks like crap.

I turn a sceptic eye on Mandingo, who visibly gets nervous under my scrutiny.

"This is the place?"

"Yeah man, I swear man. This is where that fucking Klaue is, I come here all the time to do my business man." The arms dealer hurries to tell me.

"Really. All the time, you say. Then you go first."

"What?"

And with that, I grab him by the back of his stained shirt with one arm, reach back, and throw him through the front door, which yields under the criminal's impressive momentum in a wonderful shower of wood splinters.

Ignoring the pained groans from Mandingo and the panicked shouts from inside, I step into the warehouse, Stein making sure he stays behind me, which is rather easy as I am almost twice his size.

What greets me are several mountains of crates, cashes, storage units an even a few cubicles.

Oh, not to mention well over a dozen gun barrels.

I'm not worried however, as this time, I'm wearing my armour, fully kitted out with every weapon I could fit on it, which means that I outgun all of these men combined.

Hell, my tank gun alone would be enough to take out most of them, but I'm keeping that one as an ace up my sleeve for now. I don't know what Klaue will do, or what kind of toys he has, so better be safe than sorry.

I'm done making mistakes.

"Well, what's all this then?" A voice comes out of one of the cubicles, and as I hear the sound of an office chair rolling, Gollum himself peaks around the corner, one eyebrow raised in questioning, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, what seems like a Desert Eagle in the other.

Walking forwards, my boots clanking on the bare floor with metallic slams at every step, I ignore his henchmen training their weapons on me as I walk further inside.

"Meneer Klaue. Ik heb een voorstel voor je."

The Belgian man is clearly surprised at my Dutch, but even though he grins at hearing the closest thing to his mother tongue in what is likely decades, he remains wary.

"Really? En wat voor voorstel heb je dan, waarvoor het blijkbaar nodig is dat je mijn voordeur intrapt?" Klaue asks, arrogance lining his voice, though he seems to take me more seriously as he realizes I'm in power armour, standing up and putting away his bottle of Jack.

Stein taps me on the shoulder, and as I tilt my head to show that I'm listening, he hesitantly asks a question.

"Mr. McCole, what are you two saying?" he whispers, though in the vast space of the warehouse this is useless, his voice rebounding of the bare walls.

"I just told him that I had a proposition for him, he wondered what kind of proposition involves me kicking down his door." I reply, not bothering to keep my voice down, before I turn back towards Gollum, who seems to be amused at our byplay.

"Het soort voorstel dat ons allebei schatrijk zal maken." I say to him, trying to catch his interest by promising him riches.

"Aha." Klaue grunts, and his disbelief is almost visible as his gaze tracks my armour from my boots up to my helmet, finally resting on the turret of my tank gun that sticks out over my shoulder.

"Is dat Stark's speelgoed dat je daar hebt?" he asks about my armour.

"Als je mijn voorsteel aanneemt, dan kan het jouw speelgoed worden."

Again a tap on my shoulder, and as I turn back towards Stein he clearly looks uncomfortable with being the only person in the room who doesn't understand what's going on.

"What are you saying now, Mr McCole. I don't like the way he looks at us. Or rather, at the armour."

"I just told him that if he accepts my deal, the armour is his."

Ignoring Stein's outraged sputters behind me (for all the he claimed that as a geneticist he had no business helping me build power armor he rather acts affronted at the thought of losing something he has invested days of work into), I turn back towards the Belgian arms dealer, who I can tell is really intrigued by the possibility of getting his hands on Stark's latest tech.

The arms sector took a historically large hit when Tony Stark pulled Stark Industries out from weapons manufacturing, and despite people like Hammer trying to jump in and fill the gap, people all over the world only hungered even more for Stark tech, which had just become even more exclusive.

What is it they say about artists? The best thing they can do for their art is die?

As far as people like Ulysses Klaue were concerned, that's exactly what happened, and the thought of getting his hands on post-Iron Man tech was clearly catching his fancy.

"Ik neem aan dat er bij zo'n mooi aanbod ook een heftige prijskaart is inbegrepen. Wat moet je ervoor hebben?"

At his question as to what I want in return for my armour, I simply grin, hands outstretched in a grand gesture, as if I was a showman presenting my greatest prize.

"Vibranium. Alles wat je hebt."

At that, Klaue's expression immediately closes off, and in a flash he has trained his hand cannon on my helmet, his thugs quickly following his example.

"Geen sprake van. Het is niet te koop. Wegwezen met dat kut harnas van je, of ik blaas een gat door je kop!"

This time, I almost expect Stein's tapping on my shoulder, the scientist looking extremely worried at the amount of guns that are now pointed in our direction.

"Michael! What the hell did you say? What the hell did he say?!"

"Oh, I told him that I wanted all of his Vibranium in return for the armour, he told me it isn't for sale and that I should leave before I get a hole shot through my head."

"Aha. I see."

"In dat geval zal ik maar gaan. Maar voordat ik vertrek, mag ik misschien nog één ding zeggen?"

Frowning at my request to say one last thing, Klaue makes a 'get on with it' gesture with the cannon in his hands.

"Oke, je hebt waarschijnlijk wel eens gehoord dat wij Nederlanders grappen maken over Belgen, toch? Nou, probeer deze maar eens op te lossen: Hoe vermoord een Belg een vis? Hij laat hem verdrinken!"

Other than a snort from one of the goons surrounding me and the furious expression on Klaue's face, there's no reaction at all, besides the frantic tapping on my shoulder from Stein, whose clearly freaking out about the look Gollum is sending us.

I head his question off before he can ask it, not taking my eyes off the infuriated weapons dealer.

"Before you ask, I just insulted both him and his entire people."

"What?! Why?!"

"I thought it was funny."

"What are we going to do?!"

"You are going to duck."

"What?"

"Now."

And with that, Stein hits the floor as I activate the submachine guns hidden underneath the plating on my arms, which are still outstretched in my showman pose. The moment Stein ducks, I fire up all the repulsors on the left side of my armour, and as I get hurled around in a circle I keep my fingers on the triggers, gunfire spraying out in twin cones of death, taking down everyone who wasn't fast enough on the uptake to duck alongside Stein (Klaue and two others are the only ones left alive, not to mention Mandingo, who seems content to simply lie very still were I threw him).

As I come to a stop in the classic hero pose (by accident this time, as I'm extremely dizzy and I almost fell down before I managed to catch myself in a way that at least looked cool), one of the guys that ducked in time, nails me in the head, making my helmet jerk back as the bullet glances off in a shower of sparks.

In response I blindly fire in his direction until I hear a cry of pain and a wet smacking sound.

Standing up straight, I see Klaue looking at me (or rather, my armour) in something close to amazement before he unloads his clip with a snarl. I let the bullets ping off my armour until I can hear his gun click empty, before I slowly approach him.

The last guy alive throws away his gun and backs away as I turn to look at him. For a moment both me and him stand absolutely still, before my tank gun suddenly swoops low and takes aim at him, prompting a small "oh god" and a wet stain at the front of his pants.

"You saw nothing. Leave."

Giving a hurried nod, the hardened mercenary high-tails it out of the warehouse, not even looking back once at his former employer.

I step up to Klaue, hauling him to his feet with one hand (the new model of my armour leaves my hands free, making his eyes dart to the glowing veins with surprise, even as he starts sweating at that much heat so close to his face.

"Je Vibranium, Klaue. Alles wat je hebt."

He growls at my demands for his hard-earned(stolen) miracle metal, but he refrains from antagonizing me, the combination of his feet dangling of the floor and the heat steadily burning his shoulder keeping him from spouting off.

"Of wat? Arresteer je me?"

I almost chuckle at his idea of me arresting him, before my other hand glows white and comes up in a cutting motion, severing his arm just below the elbow. I drop him to the ground (more to keep the smell from getting to me, but it hopefully comes across as callousness instead) where he lies screaming in pain, clutching at the cauterized wound.

I shut him up by placing my armoured boot on his chest, and pressing down slightly, which causes his eyes to fly to my helmet.

"Dat kan het laatste stukje zijn van jezelf dat ik verwijder, of het eerste. Jouw keuze. Waar is het Vibranium, Klaue?"

Between the option of his arm being either the first or the last piece I remove from him, the weapons dealer is quick to choose the latter. Directing me to the back of the warehouse, at the bottom of a small mountain of cashes and other crates, Klaue, who is looking decidedly bleak from shock, points out the largest crate.

"Daarin."

I grab the crate by its sides, before ripping it from underneath the larger stack, not caring when it comes crashing down like a bad game of Jenga, my eyes glued to the box in front of me. Without ceremony, I rip open the lid with my bare hands, and there it is.

The metal I have crossed an ocean and a country for, a journey during which I had evolved to a new form and during which I had a minor existential crisis.

All there, neatly packed in tubes, right in front of me.

Vibranium.

"Step 7: Complete."

AN: Step 7 is complete, but at great cost. Not only has my anonimity basically shriveled up and died a painful, ignoble death, I have also begun to question my role in this story I'm in. Or rather, what kind of story I'm in, or if I'm even in a story at all. The line between what's real and what's fictional blurs with each passing day. On the other hand, with what I took from Mandingo as well as what Klaue has squirreled away here is enough to keep me and Stein going for a while, though it's no permanent solution. Step 5 is still in progress.

Firing up the Torch

"You want me to do WHAT?!"

Wincing slightly from the sheer volume the mutated scientist produced, I rub one of my ears as I repeat myself.

"I want you to lace my skeleton with Vibranium."

Vibranium is truly a miracle metal. It's one of the hardest, densest materials out there, but weighs about as much as steel, and the way it deals with kinetic energy is literally out of this world. If I were to lace my bones with it, then there was no force on Earth which could break them.

I could take a punch from the Hulk to the face and only loose a tooth (which would grow back in a minute or two)

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Stein was sharing my enthusiasm.

"Do you even hear what you are saying! You want me to put metal on your bones! I'm not sure how well you did in Biology classes, but newsflash: metal isn't supposed to go there! You. Will. Die! Even if the procedure to get the metal through your skin, muscles and fat onto your bones doesn't kill you, you'll effectively be suffocating your bone marrow and not last the week. Even if, if, I would be able to get the metal on your bones and not immediately kill you, do you have any idea how hot the inside of your body is? You could melt the metal straight off you skeleton and then what?! I'm telling you it cannot be done!"

At that I frown. Because I know that it has in fact been done. Multiple times, even. For all that Adamantium is treated as a legendary metal that's rarer than an honest politician, there are a rather large number of individuals running around with the stuff inside their bodies.

Though didn't Wolverine die due to Adamantium poisoning, both in the comics and in that (awesome!) movie? I still wasn't sure how my healing factor stacked up to his, and that's not even considering whether or not he exists in this universe (though I think he does, as the Howling Commandoes are a thing, and Logan used to partner up with them occasionally).

So, given Stein's sheer outrage at my suggestion, the chance that lacing my bones with Vibranium will indeed kill me is significant (not to mention that even if it doesn't, it might still end up useless if I turn out to be hot enough to melt it, which is a possibility).

I thought back on my newfound conviction after my road rage incident, and decided to honour it now as well, no matter how disappointed I was by not being able to become indestructible.

No more mistakes.

Giving a deep sigh, I try to placate Stein.

"Fine. No metal on my bones, I got it. But I'm not walking away from this empty-handed Stein. I will use that Vibranium."

"Then build an armour out of it! That's what metal's for!"

"And do you know how to smelt and mould Vibranium to make armour out of it?"

"Well… no, not exactly…"

Giving a deep sigh, I plop back down on the workbench in one of the cubicles that Klaue had stored inside his warehouse. We haven't moved yet, partially because we don't really have anywhere to go, and partially because I suspect people have become aware of my existence, and some of those people will try and track me down.

Once they succeed, I'd much rather sit on a huge pile of military grade weaponry then be caught off guard somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

"I need an edge, Stein. I've been making bigger and bigger waves, but other than getting Extremis, I haven't become more powerful. Vibranium was supposed to be that edge, and now you're telling me I can't fucking use it!" I roar, jumping from the chair, flames spewing from my mouth, the air beginning to shimmer due to the heat I'm giving off.

Stein remains remarkably unfazed (seems that his time with me in the cargo hold while I was experimenting with my newfound status as resident flamethrower has done wonders for his nerves) simply fixing me with an incredulous stare.

"More powerful? Michael, you bench-pressed a shipping container! You throw cars around like they're toys! You breathe fire for God's sake!"

Containing my frustration (and heat) with great difficulty, I slump back down again, my head cradled in my hands.

"There are beings more powerful than me Stein. Hulk and Abomination are just a few of them. Aliens, gods, there are people out there who can lift ten times what I can. And I think that eventually, I'll piss off every single one of them."

Glancing up at the scientist, I gave him a wry grin.

"Indestructible skeleton now making more sense to you Doc?"

Stein seems briefly stunned, before giving a sigh of his own, crossing his arms with a scowl on his misshapen face.

"I'm still not doing it Michael. I'm not going to murder you."

Giving a slow nod, I lean back into my chair (which groans under my weight) as I close my eyes and massage the bridge of my nose.

Seems like I need to revise my Twenty-Seven Step Program. Step 7 had been acquiring Vibranium. Step 8: using the Vibranium (or acquire any other sort of edge) turned out to be significantly harder to complete

"Fair enough. But that leaves us with a cache of miracle metal, not to mention the attention of the criminal underbelly of South Africa. I'm not selling the metal, but I can't use it either. So, what are we going to do Stein? Because this trip of ours seems to be shaping up to be one enormous shit-show."

For a moment Stein remains silent, and I'm thinking he's given up and decided to leave or something, before his voice suddenly jerks me away from my musings.

"Give me three days."

Glancing at him with a raised eyebrow from underneath my hand in confusion, Stein (still with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face) seems to ponder something, before looking back at me.

"You need an edge right? I can't think of a way to make you even stronger than you are now, not without other materials to work from, but I can make you smarter."

Giving a significant look at his massive cranium (which adds almost a foot to his height) I sit up straighter, excitement hesitantly growing inside of me.

"You mean you-"

"Cracked it? Sort of. I could give you my brain size and the increased intellect that comes with it right now, but I doubt you'd go for that, and given how often you get shot at, having a massive brain for a target doesn't sound very smart. What I've been working on for these past couple of months is a way to increase a being's intellect, without giving them my deformity."

"And you know how to do that?"

"Give me three days and I will."

For the next two days, I barely even see Stein anymore, as he is holed up in the cubicle in which I have dumped all of our equipment and which has now been transformed into Stein's makeshift lab.

Which, for the first time in a while, left me with time on my hands.

Time, and a prisoner.

Slowly, as Stein is tinkering away and I look at the stirring Klaue (who passed out from shock shortly after I finally managed to get my hands on his Vibranium) the beginnings of a plan fall into place.

When Klaue wakes up, he sees me sitting not ten feet away from him, and hurriedly scurries away from me until his back hits one of the mounds of crates that are stacked throughout the bottom level of the warehouse.

"Shit! The fuck do you want from me, freak!" Ulysses spits out, grasping the stump of his left arm in pain.

He's clearly wondering why he's not dead yet, but the answer is rather simple; he's still useful. I have no doubt that for taking his arm he'll try to find a way to eventually kill me, so I have no qualms taking him out permanently, but before that he will still help me.

Whether he wants to or not.

Klaue is one of the biggest arms dealers in the world, a rather reputed name in certain circles of the shady underground of selling tools of death and terror.

So naturally, he has contacts all throughout the U.S. Government and Army.

I'm only interested in one though: Erik Killmonger.

Currently in Black Ops racking up quite the kill count for the American government, the cousin of T'Challa could turn out to be the key I needed in utilizing Vibranium.

"Ulysses. Je gaat een telefoontje voor me plegen."

At hearing my request for him to make a phone call, and seeing my fanged grin, Klaue visibly swallows his nervousness.

"En waarom zou ik jou helpen?"

Why should he help me? Well, how to convince him? Oh, wait, I got it!

Without a word, my hand lights up until it's burning a glowing white, air shimmering around it from the immense heat that it's giving off. Slowly glancing from the lightsabre my hand has become to the sweating Klaue, I just raise an eyebrow.

Ulysses is quick to make the call.

All of this is a smaller part in the bigger plan to complete my most ambitious Step yet.

Step 9: Use Wakandan information or technology to make use of my cache of Vibranium

"You really like that damned thing, don't you Doc?"

Stein lets out a tired grin at my grunted assessment and the weary look I'm sending at the syringe (*cough* medieval longsword *cough*), giving a shrug even as he starts prepping my arm (the alcohol dissipates the moment its rubbed on my skin, but between my glowing veins and massive healing factor, the prep work is more a thing of routine than necessity).

"It has grown on me. Watching you squirm away from it every time remains funny."

He's completely unfazed by the glare I send him, and without warning, shoves the needle into the brightly glowing vein in my arm.

"MOTHERFU-"

Thankfully, because of Extremis the pain in my arm quickly vanishes, but it doesn't appear to do anything against the migraine that suddenly explodes in my brain. With a muffled groan of pain I fall of the chair I'd been sitting on, curling in on myself as my head feels like someone is taking an axe to my forehead with an unhealthy amount of sadistic enthusiasm.

While the pain isn't all consuming like the Extremis-transformation had been, this one feels somehow worse, the pounding against the inside of my eyes increasing with every heartbeat, my brain feeling like it's either liquefying or exploding.

Or maybe both.

The Hulk-transformation had taken a little over six hours to complete (with me only conscious for about three of those) while the Extremis-transformation had taken only half that.

This serum took effect immediately, and the pain started to gradually ebb away after about an hour and a half, but the migraine stayed with me for the next two days.

I hadn't quite known what to expect from suddenly having my IQ nearly doubled (and though not exactly off-the-charts, it had been nothing to sneeze at either), but all that I could say about it was… that it was weird.

No, but I mean, like really fucking weird.

It wasn't as if I had suddenly gained tremendous arcane knowledge or something, I didn't automatically just knew new things.

But I understood them.

Before, I had a rudimentary knowledge of why the arc reactor worked, but now I also understood how it worked, understood the way Stark had utilized the fields created by the coils of the reactor to keep itself from blowing up in a spectacular way.

Everywhere I looked, I just understood what it was, how it worked and why it worked, while idea's flashed through my mind faster than they ever had before.

From my kneeling position on the floor, I gaze up in wonder at Stein, who is looking back at me with a tired smile on his face at my amazement.

"This is how you see the world… all the time?"

"Breath-taking, isn't it?" the geneticist replies, and all I can do is nod, as my eyes have fallen on his laboratory, and my basic scientific knowledge (which before had just about grasped the basics of Stein's work) now apparently was enough to extrapolate the functions of most machines, and predict the likely outcome of combining the various chemicals the scientist had stocked in his lab.

I'm drawn from my reverie by the sound of something heavy slamming on the table next to me. Turning around, I raise my eyebrows (still on my normalish face thankfully, it was the first thing I checked for after the pain ebbed away enough for me to regain control over my limbs) at the tower of science books Stein has just dumped on our desk, giving me a somewhat savage grin.

"What is that?"

"Homework."

"What."

Stein simply laughs at my flat reply (the bastard) and turns back towards his laboratory, his earlier tired slump now replaced by an air of victory.

"You didn't think I would just give you the second best brain on the planet and not have you use it? The procedure didn't give you any new information you don't already know, it just allows you to absorb and combine new information on a whole different level of speed. So, get to absorbing. After you're done, its online college courses for you, and after that, chess games with me. Until then, good night."

Staring at the tower of books and the retreating back of Stein, I can't help but call out at the scientist.

"It's noon, you know!"

"Don't care! Go study!"

With a grin (and a killer-headache) I sit down at the desk, and pick up the book at the top of the small hill.

"An Introduction to Molecular Chemistry, by Dr. S. Stein… oh come on, you referenced your own books?! Only asshole professors do that you know!"

"Go study!"

Still grinning, I crack open the book and prepare to enhance my knowledge of the science this wacky universe runs on (because on a fundamental level, something must be different, given the fact that some things that happen in here were considered blatantly impossible in my old one) when I'm stopped by an incredulous snort from the chained up Klaue on the only other office chair in the corner.

"Jullie zijn gestoord. Compleet getikt."

At his exclamation that me and Stein are completely mad, I just let out a fanged grin, channelling the heat in my eyes (ow! ow! ow! stupid migraine) until they are glowing with a hellish light, making Gollum flinch away.

He doesn't interrupt my study session anymore after that.

As I'm reading and expanding my knowledge at an incredible speed, I keep grinning to myself.

"Step 8: Complete."

Night has fallen, and in the near-darkness of the warehouse, I'm playing chess against myself fully clad in my armour, my only company a clearly nervous Ulysses Klaue sitting across the desk from me.

I'm not really sure what makes him more nervous, me in front of him, or the fact that somewhere out there, there's an elite Black-Ops team led by an unstable psychopath with a chip on his shoulder.

I like to think it's me, since given the sheer balls he has displayed in all his mcu appearances and during his 30 year long stint of making a fool out of Wakanda I don't think he's all that afraid of anything that might be out there, but I'm an unknown that has crippled him, captured him, and has only fed him water for the past three days.

As one of the walls to the warehouse is blown inwards, I reflect that it's probably not me.

A squad of six, heavily armed men in tactical gear burst through the hole they had just made, their weapons already aimed at me.

Which is when the IED's, hidden underneath the floorboards in that wing of the building, explode in a great fireball, wiping the team of contract-killers from the face of the earth.

To my assailant's credit, there's only a short lull in the fighting, before smoke grenades are tossed inside through the broken windows on the ground floor, while I hear smashing coming from the windows on the second floor, where another squad has now landed on the various walkways there, while a third squad bursts through the door I had just installed yesterday.

Which, of course I rigged with more explosives.

The group at the door taken care of, I stand up and turn towards the walkway behind me, where the operatives have already ducked down and opened fire (my chess set is absolutely ruined, while a cursing Klaue is hiding underneath the desk).

Smoke starts to fill the open space of the warehouse, but it has hardly any effect on any of us (with the exception of Klaue, who is the only one without a helmet and whose cursing has transitioned into coughing).

Not even bothering with the bullets that shatter against my armour (the few that find the gaps between my plating hurt with a lancing pain, but Extremis is quick to sooth and heal the wounds so I manage to grit my teeth and pull through) my tank gun swoops low and takes aim at the walkway my would-be-killers are stationed on.

Briefly, there's some panicked shouting, before the night is filled with the explosions my tank gun creates, completely destroying the walkway they had been standing on (and consequently, them as well).

Which is when finally, Killmonger himself enters the battle (given his singed and dusty uniform, he was probably thrown clear by the first chain of IED's and has only now recovered), as shown by him shoving a short sword through the base of my tank gun, sheering it off my armour almost completely in one masterful stroke.

I immediately react, my gauntleted arm coming around in a wild hay-maker, but Erik ducks in time, and uses the movement to spring forwards, aiming his sword at my abdomen the moment my arm passes over his head.

Right before it can pierce my armour however, my other hand shoots out, and stops the weapon cold in its tracks by gripping the blade, the razor-sharp steel cutting into my superheated flesh.

Even though he is more skilled, I'm still stronger and faster, and despite his shock at my unflinching catch of his sword with my bare hands, when he starts pushing, I don't budge.

The blade is already hot due to slowly being covered in my lava-like blood, but when I heat up my hand, the entire blade comes alive with a dull glow, smoke coming of its handle, forcing Killmonger to let go with an angered hiss.

Throwing the sword away, I lift my hands (already healed) towards my helmet, taking it off in a slow, dramatic movement (after thoroughly and triple checking the rest of Erik's squad is, in fact, dead), allowing the helmet to fall to the ground with a resounding clang.

"No more weapons. No more armour. Face me in combat, and prove that the blood of your father runs strong in you, N'Jadaka son of N'Jobu."

That grabs his attention.

With a snarl, he removes the mask from his own face (due to all of the broken windows of the warehouse, not to mention the two giant holes in its walls, the smoke has already dissipated) glaring at me with an intense gaze, which would probably have cowed me a bit, weren't it for the fact that he has to look up in order to meet my eyes.

It's amazing what height will do for your confidence, especially when it's stretching human limits.

"Who the fuck are you!? How do you know my name?! Did Wakanda send you!?"

At his roar, I simply chuckle, my deep, rumbling voice easily filling the ruined warehouse.

Slowly, I start removing the armour on my torso, and as I undo the last clasp, the plating falls away with a heavy clanging noise and my mutated body is shown to the world, my glowing heartbeat visible and steady.

"Do I look Wakandan to you?"

Taking a few steps back and dropping into a fighting stance at the sight of my enormous muscles and raised ribcage, Killmonger gives me a weary look.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Who I am is not important. You are, on the other hand. Or rather, on what you plan to do with your life."

At my confused look, I start stripping off the rest of my armour, leaving me in only my cargo pants and combat boots, all the while talking in a relaxed, easy manner.

"Do you want to keep killing for your mother's country, the country that spat on her, that locked her up, that killed her, until you're so full of scars you won't even recognize your own face when you look in the mirror?"

At me mentioning his scars he's visibly taken aback, his fists clenching as it slowly dawns on him that I know far too much about him than should be possible for a complete stranger.

"Or… will you honour your father?"

And that's the final nail in the coffin, as Killmonger slowly drops out of his stance, confusion warring with cautiousness on his face.

Eventually, the urge to know more about the man who has shaped his entire life wins out.

"What do you know about my dad?"

"I know that he was a great man. That instead of allowing one country to selfishly hoard amazing riches for themselves, he wished to share it with the world, to lift all of humanity to a higher level. And that he got killed for it."

I pause in unclasping the greave on my thigh, glancing at the now silent psychopath with a knowing look.

"By his brother, no less."

"What?!"

Killmonger is trembling in fury, and the only thing that's keeping him from attacking me is the fact that I apparently hold the answers he's been after his entire life.

"The current king of Wakanda, T'Chaka, tracked down your father after he was betrayed by a man he thought his friend. Your father was confronted by his brother, the king, then still the Black Panther, but instead of showing mercy to his own flesh and blood, he gutted his brother like a common criminal and took off, leaving you an orphan, and the grand plans of your father unfinished."

Approaching the fuming soldier, I keep talking, keep filling his heart with hate, until he's ready to be pointed in the direction I want him to go.

"The claw marks…" he whispers to himself, but in the silence of the warehouse (Klaue is wisely pretending not to be there at all) my enhanced senses easily pick up his words.

"Yes. The people of Wakanda call him king and protector, but you know better, don't you? You know the truth. The Black Panther is no hero: he is a murderer, a kinslayer, a man who would kill his own family rather than help other people. But what are you going to do about it?"

At my question, Killmonger's gaze snaps up to my own, as he bares his teeth in a snarl.

"I'm going to kill him!"

"You can't."

My words register with him almost like a slap to the face, making him stumble back half a step, before his rage roars back to life inside him and he's suddenly chest to chest with me (holy shit, I think this guy has balls made of Vibranium) stretching to his full height as he clenches his fists.

"Bullshit! I've trained and bled and killed, all my life, just so I can kill him!"

And with that, he takes a few steps back, desperate hands grasping at the clasps on his own body armour, before he tosses it off him with jerking, angry movements, displaying the crocodile-like scarring all across his torso.

Looking at me with a challenging expression, Killmonger opens his arms wide, showcasing his macabre trophies to the world (the world in this case just being me and Klaue, but he doesn't seem to care).

"Every carving stands for one more scumbag I took out. The hardest criminals and mercenaries anyone had to offer, and all of those shitstains are now nothing more than marks on my skin. I will kill the Black Panther!"

I turn my back on him (mostly so I can keep my face from showing my shock at seeing such extensive self-mutilation) and try to make my voice sound disinterested as I slowly walk away.

"You will try, I'm sure. But you will fail."

"I WON'T FAIL!"

At his roared exclamation, I pause, before dramatically half-turning, sizing him up with a single eye over my shoulder.

"Then prove it. Fight me."

My challenge takes him off guard, and his rage is quickly replaced by wariness once again.

"Why do you want me to fight you? "

"Because not only is the Black Panther not a hero, he isn't really even a man. He's a monster in human form, a… freak like me." I say with a wry smile as I turn to fully face him.

"The Black Panthers are enhanced by the Heart-shaped Herb, a powerful medicinal plant that enhances anyone who eats it. Traditionally, whenever the King is challenged for the throne by his kin or the leaders of the other tribes, he must be stripped off his powers. But you know what kind of man he truly is: do you really think that a murderer like him will stoop to your level?"

I cross my arms and give the fuming soldier a savage grin.

"No, if you were to challenge him, he would just as easily gut you as he gutted your daddy."

"He won't get the chance to even touch me." Killmonger growls, sinking a bit lower into his combat stance.

"So prove it. Last in a fight against me, show me that you can defeat a superhuman, and then we'll talk about how I can help you get your revenge. Fail, and you just prove you're useless to me. An American lapdog, not worthy of the blood of the noble N'Jobu."

And that appears to be enough to tip him over the edge, as he charges me with a roar of hatred.

He's fast, really fast, unleashing a flurry of spinning kicks that force me back, and though I'm quicker, he proves his far greater skill by using every failed attack to set up the next one, targeting weak points in the basic guard I've put up.

And all the while he is trying his level best to kick my head in, I'm watching his every move.

Learning.

It's only when he comes in with a sweeping kick at my left thigh that I counterattack, taking a page out of his book in how he uses the momentum of his body to fuel and chain his strikes as I turn and raise my knee, smashing it into his leg and throwing it back, making him lose his balance for just a split-second.

In a flash, I've extended the leg I've countered with, my boot slamming into his chest and throwing him back well over ten feet, where he crashes to the ground with nothing but a pained grunt.

As he quickly works his way to his feet (trying not to put any pressure on his cracked ribs), I slowly chamber my foot again, still standing in perfect balance on one leg, before I bring my other leg down and loosen my stance again.

Which is the moment Erik charges back in once more.

I have to hand it to the guy, even with cracked ribs he hasn't noticeably slowed down, and is even getting in closer now to add punches to his attacks, making sure to get shots in with short fast jabs, more striking true than missing.

And still I'm learning.

When he jumps up, I raise my arm to block his flying punch, briefly obscuring my vision of him, which he immediately exploits by ramming a knee into my diaphragm, and the moment he lands, he twists forwards with his elbow poised to strike the same place again, clearly trying to cripple me as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, as strong as he is, he isn't strong enough to really damage me, and instead of being winded by his knee strike, I'm still fresh and I twist my torso to the side, letting him slide in front of me.

I can see his eyes widen in shock the moment he realizes the opening he has left, but by then it's already too late.

Now behind him after his failed elbow strike, I shoot forwards, my massive arms wrapping around his middle, and before he can react I heave him upwards over my head, then slam him into the ground, striking the breath from his lungs.

As he lies there gasping for air, my boot crashes into his side, lifting him up and sending him flying into one of the stacks of crates, letting him fall to the ground at the base of the small mountain.

I patiently wait for him to regain his breath (2 minutes, having a few definitely broken ribs is probably not helping things any), and when he works himself to his feet he's swaying a bit, but the murderous look in his eyes hasn't dimmed in the slightest, and as he glares straight into my glowing eyes, he snorts in disgust, and spits out a wad of blood, before rolling his shoulders and getting back into his stance again.

This time, I'm the one to approach him, letting out a few testing punches of my own, our different levels of skill immediately apparent when compared to his earlier flurry of seamlessly chained attacks. In contrast, my own attacks are all very telegraphed and clearly not part of a greater combo like his were.

Erik manages to take advantage of my lack of skill, guiding away my heavy handed strikes rather than try and block their super strength. Each time he dodges, or forces one of my fists to the side, he exploits the opening he has created, by pummelling me with knee strikes and quick series of punches.

But he's tiring.

I'm not.

After nearly a full minute of me inexpertly wailing on the nimble form of Killmonger, he turns out to be just half a second too late to properly dodge one of my punches, which clips him in the shoulder.

Usually such a strike wouldn't be enough to create a proper opening, especially against someone of Killmonger's calibre, but when coupled with his current state and my enormous strength, it almost sends him spinning.

Immediately, like I've learned from him, I exploit the opening and punch him in the chest with a left hook, sending him crashing back into the crates, and as he's reeling, I turn in and punch him straight in the liver with my right, making him gasp out, though no sound escapes him. As he can't help but curl in on himself a bit (I don't care who you are, or how powerful you might me: a liver-shot from someone of greater strength will hurt like a bitch) I shoot towards his left side, fist raised high.

He brings up an arm in defence (impressive given the state he's in and how much faster I am) but it's useless as I let fly, my fist slamming through his feeble guard and into his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground.

I can feel his jaw dislocating under my fist, and when he goes down, for the first time during our fight he remains still for a moment, his world filled by exploding pain.

He impresses me however, by propping himself up on trembling arms, glaring at me with nothing but murder in his eyes. Then he goes and tops that, by grasping his dislocated jaw with one hand, and shoving it back into place with nothing more than a grunt (I feel slightly queasy at the sound of the bone popping back, though hopefully it doesn't show on my face).

And then he goes and tops that too, because before I can react, he comes up in a spinning kick that catches me in the back of my knee, making it collapse underneath me. While I'm brought low, he turns the spin of his kick in a leap towards the crate I had punched into, pushing off the moment his feet hit the wood, coming up in a cork-screwing back-flip, one leg snapping out and crashing into my cheekbone, making my head snap to the side.

The moment he lands, with me still off guard, he blasts off, nailing me in the chest with a flying knee, forcing me to the ground with him kneeling on top of my torso.

And he starts wailing on my face, roaring in pain and hatred all the while.

I can feel the impacts, but they don't exactly hurt; the best I can describe the sensation of his punches crashing into my super dense skin and muscles is like getting repeatedly shortly but firmly shoved.

Sure, you'll feel it, but it won't hurt you.

After about twenty seconds of him unleashing all of his fury, he slams his last punch into my face with a final yell of exertion. Slowly I turn my face back to look at him, wondering at what I can feel on my cheek.

Bringing a hand up to rub at the spot on my face, both me and Killmonger gaze in amazement at the glowing, burning blood on my fingers.

Looking at the shock I can see in Erik's eyes at the sight of the superheated liquid on my fingers, I just can't help myself, a grin growing on my face.

"All that… for a drop of blood."

And with that I come up and head-butt him in the chest, throwing him off of me. We both scramble to our feet, but he's tired and bloody and broken and other than a small cut on my cheekbone I'm still as fresh as when we started.

And with that I come back in again, this time my attacks noticeably better than five minutes before. I can see Erik's eyes widen when he realizes I'm chaining my attacks in the same exact way he has been doing all our fight.

Every time he finds an opening in my pattern and exploits it, the next time he tries to do the same thing, I block him perfectly. Every time he blocks or dodges one of my punches, the next one connects flawlessly.

All of it amounts to a merciless beat down, as I'm wearing him down bit by bit, while my regeneration keeps me at the top of my game.

It all comes to an end when he blocks one of my backhands. Seeing his midriff unprotected, my right fist snaps forwards in a perfect replica of the dozens of punches he has landed on me tonight.

Catching him full in the stomach, Killmonger slumps over with a pained grunt. Not letting up, I step forwards, bringing up my knee in a brutal strike against his chin, straightening his body with a snap, his feet nearly leaving the ground. As he slowly tips backwards, my hand shoots out, grasping him around the throat, before pulling him back.

I raise him high above me in the air with a single hand as I stride quickly towards the shot-up desk with a few great strides, before jumping up myself, and slamming down the black-ops soldier with an almighty crash straight through the furniture.

As I straighten myself, Killmonger doesn't get back up again.

I stand beside his broken form, gazing down at the man who once would have almost conquered the nation of Wakanda. He's barely clinging to consciousness and as he looks up at me, I can see the realization in his eyes.

He's dying.

I've done too much damage to his organs, ribs and spine for him to make a recovery without extensive surgery and extended hospital stay, both of which he isn't likely to receive in the rundown shithole that used to be Klaue's base.

But I can offer him something better.

As a door at the back of the warehouse opens, soft footsteps nearing us, I crouch down besides the broken Killmonger, keeping his gaze fixed on me.

"You are bleeding out, N'Jadaka son of N'Jobu, just as you would have if you were to challenge the murderer T'Chaka. But I offer salvation! I offer you a chance, to become stronger, to stand above the broken form of the Black Panther as I'm standing over you right now."

As I finish speaking, Stein comes up next to me, looking down at the JSOC Ghost with a closed-off expression, in his hand a syringe with a brightly burning serum inside.

Extremis.

Killmonger's eyes widen minutely at the sight of the mutated scientist, before his gaze tracks back towards me again.

"All you have to do…" I hold my hand out towards the marine "… is to accept."

Briefly indecision wars in his eyes, but eventually his pain and looming death, as well as the chance to do what I did to him to Black Panther, win out, and he lets out a feeble groaning sound, his hand slowly, trembling, rising from the splinters of the desk he's lying in.

And he clasps arms with me.

The moment he does, Stein steps forwards, injects Erik and then hurriedly leaves the scene of carnage the warehouse has become, not looking back as I follow after him, grasping an awed looking Klaue from the ground where he threw himself when I went for the desk he had been hiding underneath during my fight with Killmonger.

And behind us, the screams of Erik ring out into the night.

AN: While I still can't use the Vibranium, the first pieces of Step 9 fall into place, which will allow me to shape it to my whims once I've completed that part of my Program. Instead, I completed Step 8 by gaining an edge through enhancing my intellegence, which allows me to learn anything, which includes fighting, something I haven't gotten the time until now to really master, only knowing the basics of self-defenc. But with a new sparring-partner, that will change.