NOVEL WEB Chapter 16: Chapter 16
Shameless Note from a Shameless Author 😎
Chapter 16 is another one of those I had in reserve (yeah, past me was a bit of a planner... bless 'em). 😅 Honestly, I haven't had much time to write lately due to some personal stuff going on, but I'm hoping things calm down soon so I can get back to it. 🙏
We're officially at the starting line of the MCU! 🥳 Not much left before we hit the next arc, the Tombstone finale. After that, we'll have a time jump to the preparations for the Battle of New York. And YES, Max's Solo Leveling system is finally coming! 🎉
Thanks for your patience and for sticking with me while I deal with everything. I promise what's coming next will be worth the wait. 💪
So yeah, enjoy this chapter, drop your theories, throw me some constructive hate if you want (but with love pls 🥺👉👈) and get ready because the best is still to come.
— With love, your writer on pause (but surviving). ❤️
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Maximus woke with a start, his body aching and drenched in sweat. Sunlight filtered faintly through the window of the medical bay, and the sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils. His stomach growled loudly, a harsh reminder that he'd missed breakfast—again. Fragments of the morning's sparring session flooded back: Maverick's hits, the overwhelming exhaustion, and the moment his body simply gave out. Shame mingled with frustration as he sat up slowly, groaning at the stiffness in his muscles.
Lunch couldn't come soon enough. He shuffled into the dining hall, tray in hand, and spotted his new teammates already seated together. Jackson waved him over with a warm smile, making room for Maximus to join them.
The routine was starting to feel familiar after three days of intense training. The mornings were packed with hand-to-hand combat drills, alternated with firearm instruction that left Maximus's arms trembling from the recoil. The afternoons were devoted to weight training and endurance exercises, pushing their bodies to the limit.
Despite being so new to all of this, Maximus began forming a connection with his fellow cadets. Maverick's relentless teasing, which had initially made him feel uncomfortable, had turned into a source of amusement rather than annoyance. And while Grant Ward remained somewhat distant, there was a sense of unspoken respect among them all, as if they were already starting to understand each other, even without words.
After finishing his lunch, Maximus glanced over to where Clint Barton was seated, deep in conversation with a familiar redheaded woman - the same one who had knocked him down on his first day attempting to infiltrate the training grounds.
Without hesitation, Maximus rose from his seat and approached Clint. "Can I talk to Fury?" he asked, his voice steady despite the nerves bubbling within him. "I'd like to get out of the facility for a day to see how my mom is doing."
Clint exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before setting down his fork. His expression softened slightly, but maintained its professional edge. "It's complicated, Max. Protocol states that cadets remain on-site until completing their training phase. No exceptions."
Natasha studied Maximus with calculating eyes, her presence adding weight to Clint's words. She remained silent, but her slight head tilt suggested she was analyzing every aspect of the situation.
"Look," Clint continued, leaning forward slightly, "I can bring it up with Fury, but you need to understand something." He paused, making sure he had Maximus's full attention. "Fury doesn't make decisions based on sentiment. He looks at the bigger picture - security risks, training integrity, potential complications. Even if your request makes sense to you, it might not align with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protocols."
Maximus's shoulders tensed, but he held Clint's gaze. "I just need to know she's okay."
"I get it, kid." Clint's voice carried a hint of sympathy. "But prepare yourself for a 'no.' And if that happens, remember - there's usually a reason behind Fury's decisions, even if we don't always see it."
After Maximus walked away, Natasha turned to Clint with a raised eyebrow. "The boy's got guts, approaching you during lunch."
"He's definitely not lacking in confidence," Clint agreed, picking up his fork again. "Though his form still needs work. Did you see him during sparring this morning?"
"Saw him hit the mat at least six times," Natasha replied with a slight smirk. "But he got up every time. That counts for something."
Clint nodded, finishing the last of his meal. "He's determined, I'll give him that. Reminds me of someone else who didn't know when to quit." He shot Natasha a meaningful look.
"I never hit the mat six times," she countered, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.
"No, you were too busy putting others there." Clint stood, gathering his tray. "Speaking of which, any progress with the Budapest situation?"
Natasha's expression turned serious. "We'll discuss that later. You've got a meeting with Fury to handle first."
Clint made his way to Fury's office, his steps echoing through the empty corridor. The director's workspace was as imposing as ever - large windows overlooking the facility, minimal decoration, and an atmosphere that demanded attention.
Fury looked up from his desk as Clint entered. "Agent Barton. Progress report?"
"Maximus is showing improvement," Clint began, standing at ease. "His physical conditioning is getting better, though he's still behind the others. But he's resilient, adapts quickly, and doesn't give up easily."
"And?" Fury's single eye fixed on Clint, knowing there was more.
"He wants to visit his mother." Clint watched Fury's expression carefully. "Asked me about it during lunch. I explained the protocol, but..."
"But you think we should consider it," Fury finished, leaning back in his chair.
"The kid's worried about her. It could affect his focus during training if we don't address it."
Fury stood, walking to the window. "Clare Jones isn't just any mother, Barton. You know that. There are... complications."
"Sir?"
"I'll handle it," Fury said firmly, his tone indicating the end of the discussion. "For now, keep pushing him. I want to see how he handles pressure."
Clint nodded, understanding the dismissal. As he turned to leave, Fury spoke again.
"And Barton? Tell Romanoff I need that Budapest report on my desk by tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir." Clint closed the door behind him, leaving Fury alone with his thoughts and the weight of decisions that would shape not just Maximus's future, but potentially much more.
Fury's hand tightened around his coffee mug as he watched Clint disappear through the door. The coffee had long since gone cold, forgotten during hours of reports and decisions that seemed to multiply with each passing minute. His office, usually a fortress of control and order, felt suffocating with the weight of mounting responsibilities.
The Maximus situation was just one piece of an increasingly complex puzzle. Fury's eye drifted to a thin folder on his desk - Romanoff's overdue Budapest report. Two years had passed since that mission, yet she consistently found ways to avoid documenting it. He almost smirked, remembering how she'd once claimed a computer virus had eaten her first draft. The woman could dismantle a terrorist cell without breaking a sweat, but paperwork? That was apparently her kryptonite.
"She's good, Barton," he muttered to himself, recalling his initial skepticism when Clint had brought her in. "Damn good. But diplomatic skills of a honey badger."
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. Maria Hill strode in, her posture rigid with urgency. "Director," she said, not waiting for acknowledgment, "Agent Coulson has returned."
Right on cue, Phil Coulson appeared behind her, still dusty from the field. His usually immaculate suit showed signs of harsh desert conditions, but his composure remained unshakeable.
"We found him, sir," Coulson reported, his voice steady despite obvious exhaustion. "Tony Stark is alive."
Fury set down his coffee, giving Coulson his full attention. "Location?"
"Northern Afghanistan, near the Pakistani border. Remote mountainous region." Coulson pulled out a satellite image, spreading it across Fury's desk. "Local shepherds found him wandering the desert, delirious but alive. He'd apparently escaped some kind of facility hidden in the mountains."
"Condition?"
"Dehydrated, malnourished, but mobile. There's something else..." Coulson hesitated, an unusual tell from the typically unflappable agent. "Preliminary reports indicate some kind of device embedded in his chest. Our medical team hasn't gotten close enough for proper analysis, but it's definitely giving off energy readings."
Fury's eye narrowed. "The Ten Rings?"
"All evidence points to them, yes. But something doesn't add up." Coulson tapped the map. "The facility where they held him was completely destroyed. Not just damaged - obliterated. And the accounts from locals describe some kind of... flying metal man escaping the explosion."
"Flying metal man," Fury repeated flatly. "Stark's been busy."
"The U.S. government has been notified," Hill interjected. "They're mobilizing to retrieve him now."
Fury stood, walking to his window. Below, cadets ran drills on the training field, their movements precise and coordinated. Somewhere down there, Maximus Jones was probably still nursing his bruises from morning sparring, unaware of how the world was shifting around him.
"Keep our people in position but maintain distance," Fury ordered. "I want eyes on Stark until he's back on U.S. soil, but we stay invisible. Whatever happened to him out there, whatever he built..." He turned back to face his agents. "The Tony Stark who went into that desert isn't the same one who came out."
"Sir," Hill stepped forward, "should we prepare for potential fallout? If Stark really has developed new weapons technology-"
"Tony Stark doesn't build weapons anymore," Fury cut her off. "Look at the pattern - destroyed facility, dramatic escape, that thing in his chest... No, he's not building weapons. He's becoming one."
Coulson and Hill exchanged glances, processing the implications. The silence in the office grew heavy with possibility and concern.
"Keep the surveillance subtle," Fury continued. "And Coulson? Get some rest. You look like you've been dragged behind a camel."
"That's oddly specific, sir," Coulson replied with his characteristic dry humor. "But accurate."
As his agents filed out, Fury returned to his desk, his mind already racing ahead to the ripple effects of Stark's return. Between Maximus's training, Romanoff's overdue paperwork, and now this - the game board was getting crowded. And somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan, whatever Tony Stark had become was about to change everything.
Fury reached for his cold coffee, then thought better of it. Some days called for something stronger, but those moments would have to wait. Right now, he had a world to keep spinning, whether it wanted to or not.
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POV Maximus.
- 1 Month later -
I splashed my face with cold water, letting the jolt wake me up. The mirror in the Academy's bathroom reflected someone different: the street kid was still there, but there was something new about him. The dark circles under my eyes remained, but the tense muscles and scrapes told a story of constant effort, of small yet significant steps forward.
"Are you going to marry that mirror or what?" Maverick joked from the doorway, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "Some of us would like to use the bathroom before the day ends."
"You're right. You should hurry; maybe you'll finally find your decent face," I replied, earning his trademark mocking grin.
While Maverick took over the sink, I leaned against the wall, letting my mind wander. Yesterday, I visited my mom. Since Clint spoke with Fury to intervene, they allowed me to see her once a week, always with an escort. I didn't know if they feared someone would try to attack me or if they thought I'd take the opportunity to escape. Probably both.
Remembering those visits always left me with a strange feeling. The first time they let me go, I thought she'd be happy. That I'd see something like pride in her eyes. But that wasn't the case.
"Of all the things you could've done, Maximus, why S.H.I.E.L.D.?" she had said with that tired, skeptical tone I recognized from when she disapproved of something. Joining S.H.I.E.L.D. was the last thing she wanted for me. According to her, everything around Fury was a magnet for chaos, and the last thing we needed was more trouble in our lives.
It took me days to convince her it was the right thing to do. I explained that Hydra was after us, that it was only a matter of time before they found our home. "It's not just about me, Mom. It's about us. Here, we're unprotected. At S.H.I.E.L.D., I can protect you, I can protect us."
But even then, she remained reluctant. During that first conversation, I tried persuading her to come back with me, to accept staying in a safe house under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protection. "I can't do this alone, Mom. I need you," I said, but she refused.
"I don't want to hear anything about Fury or S.H.I.E.L.D. again," she replied firmly. Her reasons ran deep, rooted in a past I didn't fully understand yet. Even now, after so many visits, she kept her distance. At least her new medication seemed to be working. Her body was stronger, her words more coherent. But even in her most lucid moments, there was a distance I couldn't bridge.
"Max! Are you asleep?" Jackson's voice pulled me back to the present. He was already dressed and carrying his gear. "Move it, or you'll miss breakfast."
I shook my head and followed him, trying to push thoughts of my mom aside. I could worry about her later; for now, I had to survive another day of training.
As Maverick began his usual routine of jokes on our way to the field, I recalled something my mom had said during my last visit. Her smile had been clearer, though brief. "I always thought you weren't like your father," she murmured, slowly moving her cup of tea. "But maybe you've always had his spirit… his stubbornness."
I wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a warning.
When we arrived at the training field, Clint Barton was already there, standing next to the obstacle course structure. With his relaxed posture and unmistakable air of authority, he waited for all the cadets to line up before starting his usual announcements.
"Alright, team, listen up. Today's not just any day," he said, scanning us with his sharp gaze. "It's test day. So, if you've been slacking off, your scores will show it, and believe me, I'll make sure you know it."
Eagle let out a quiet sigh from his spot. Despite his calm demeanor, he was already fully prepared, as always. Maverick, on the other hand, couldn't resist making a comment.
"What happens if we beat our scores, boss? Do we get a medal?"
Clint barely raised an eyebrow, but his response was swift.
"If you beat your score, Thompson, maybe I'll let you run it again with extra weight. Any other volunteers looking to try their luck?"
The laughter died down quickly as Clint continued. He gestured toward the course—the inclined climbing wall, the horizontal bars, the ropes. Every obstacle looked more intimidating than ever.
"You know the drill. Get to your starting positions, and when you hear the whistle, I want you to give it everything you've got. Don't do it for me—do it for yourselves."
I took a deep breath as I positioned myself at the starting line, trying to block out the doubts swirling in my mind. I had improved since that first week, but not enough. Still, something in me refused to back down now.
The whistle blew, and without thinking any further, I ran toward the first obstacle.