Za Nashu Druzhbu

Once again, Agent Crown found himself caught in a death trap, surrounded by Russian terrorists; a common enough occurrence that he was nonplussed towards the ordeal. Of course, being Agent Crown meant that one had to have nerves of steel regardless of how often they were placed in a death trap. The fall of the USSR was ushered in shortly after the Invasion of 1981, thanks in large part to Rex Robinson’s technological break throughs with alien technology. Despite the seeming finality of the situation, there were former Soviet officials and KGB operatives who sought to reinstate the USSR through extreme measures. Agent Crown was sent to halt one such plot which involved infiltrating the terrorist cell and getting “very close” to its leader: a Russian woman named Milka Federoff.

Crown was still wearing the tuxedo he took to the Moscow gala and was silently grateful that he wasn’t searched when captured and chained to a missile jutting out into the night sky. On the launching platform, Milka approached alongside some of her men. Behind them was the large, former KGB operative and super-soldier known as Red Steel (aka Anton Varkov).

“I’m surprised by his youth,” she said to Anton in her native Russian, “You’ve fought Agent Crown enough times, he should be closer to your age.”

“MI6 has many agents,” Red Steel answered, “They choose their best to go on certain missions. They are given the same codename, wear expensive clothes, order fancy drinks and draw attention to themselves unlike most agents. The British want us to think it’s one extraordinary man that’s been going on all these missions since the start of the Cold War. He’s the ‘Boogey Man’. Little more than Western propaganda.”

“Whoever he is, he is still extraordinary,” she stroked his cheek then addressed him in English, “Tell me Crown, did you truly think you would come out on top?”

Crown raised a single eyebrow and dryly told her, “In all fairness, I finished on top most nights.”

Milka angrily slapped him, then turned to Red Steel, “Send this British swine to Hell!”

“At least it’ll be warmer,” Crown took one last look at frozen Russian tundra surrounding him.

Red Steel smiled at Crown, turned to a nearby control panel and punched a series of coordinates to send the missile to Buckingham Palace. “Goodbye, Crown,” he said mockingly as the missile shot off into the air and as it sailed through the night sky, Crown struggled against the high-velocity wind and the restraint if iron shackles. He flicked his wrist and a small, red beam emitted from the cufflink on his suit. The laser cut through the chain and he suddenly found himself dangling by the second shackle. He continued to fight against the blistering winds, raising his hand once more to send a laser into the control panel on the underside of the missile. Once the panel burst open, he pulled himself up and quickly began rewiring the projectile. “Return to sender,” he said to himself once the task was done and the missile curved in the air and made its way back to the Secret Russian base. He used his laser to quickly cut the final restraint and once he dropped, he pulled a hidden cord inside his suit jacket. A moment later, a black parachute emerged and he safely glided to a snow bank below

Meanwhile, at the launching platform, Red Steel was the first to notice the missile returning to base. “Run!,” he shouted in Russian before hurling himself off the ledge. It was too late for Milka and her men, however, as a good portion of the base went up along with them. Meanwhile, Red Steel hit the snow several feet below, his superhuman strength protecting him against serious injuries. “We’ll meet again,” he growled as he dug his way free from the snow and debris.

Years later, Sean Pierce stood over Anton’s grave in a Russian family plot. It had been years since they had gone by Red Steel and Agent Crown respectfully and even longer since they considered each other enemies. Old spies rarely kept friends, so he and Varkov took what they could get, but that was gone now. He was once told that as a spy, if you manage to achieve a long-lasting bond, you will live to see that friendship end in death or betrayal. He saw both alternatives play out in a day. About an hour after Anton was killed during the Resurgence, Kisi Yeboah informed Pierce about Rex Robinson’s involvement in the Invasion of 1981 and how it related to the battle that took the lives of Anton and hundreds of others. Behind Pierce, the rest of the Badges stood solemnly. “Goodbye, you big scary Russian man,” Dave Bronson said aloud. Since the formation of the IMD during the early 2000s, Anton worked as a trainer, teaching the agents how to utilize their powers in combat as well as how to fight as a single unit. They would need a new trainer now but that could wait.

Repairs were being made to the Lyon headquarters after the U’ntari attack so the team was temporarily located in the Interpol headquarters in Manchester. Meanwhile, Ryan Bennings requested a member of the IMD join the team he was forming (a response to what he felt was poor consolidation during the Resurgence). Pierce was wary but felt the situation would be worse if he wasn’t involved in some capacity so he made plans. Additionally, he was requested to make an Associated Press release regarding the aftermath if the Resurgence, particularly the fate of Rex Robinson. All in all, it had been a harrowing week.

A day later, reporters swarmed into the press room at the Manchester headquarters while Pierce peeked through a cracked door. One thing he hated about being a MI6 agent was dealing with politics and was glad he wasn’t a higher rank, else, it would be worse for him. Ironically, he agreed to be the Director of the IMD which meant he would be knee-deep in politics and, occasionally, give press releases. NATO was well aware of how the Resurgence ended, which meant all world powers were aware, but the public had questions that needed answers.

He got up to the podium and addressed international reporters as he patiently explained the information they received from Rex Robinson concerning the Invasion of 1981, his admission to a team of Badges in Boston and the subsequent decision to deliver him to the U’ntari to stop further bloodshed. That was the calm before the storm and what followed were increasingly aggressive questions. A reporter asked if the IMD felt they made the right decision and another questioned if the Cavalier or other heroes would be arrested. One reporter asked about the former U’ntari super-soldier Shujai who had been recently placed on probation. Another asked about the death of the Upstarts. Another brought up the fact that Rex Robinson founded the IMD and questioned if they could be trusted going forward. As Pierce responded to the questions with the calm often associated with Agent Crown, he was reminded of a meeting with Rex and the Interpol General Assembly when he was first elected director of the newly formed IMD. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure we got the right man for the job,” Rex said with a sure smile and a firm handshake. Pierce found himself wishing he could go back in time and punch him in his square jaw. Once all questions were answered, Pierce politely but quickly left the room. He knew many people would not be satisfied by the responses and there would be division. Nothing would ever be the same again and he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

That night, he poured himself a glass of Starka as a memorial to Anton as it was his favorite drink. He took a sip and tilted his head back, letting it roll around his tongue and as he did so, he continued to think back.

Shortly after being elected to the position of director, Pierce visited Anton to offer him a job. Anton had retired to his homeland after spending years in the Icebox for his past actions as Red Steel but he knew his drive and guile would be needed to shape future IMD recruits. As Pierce entered Anton’s home, he took notice of the bottle of Starka and a glass on the kitchen table.

“If I recall, this is Lithuanian,” Pierce raised the bottle to take a closer look, “I assume it was introduced to the Soviets during the annex?”

“That’s correct,” Anton reached into his cupboard and produced a second glass, “I developed a taste for it ever since.”

Pierce sat down at the table with a cheeky grin, “No Russian vodka? Where’s your national pride, man?”

“As long as we’re being stereotypical, Comrade Pierce…,” Anton sat on the other side and began pouring Pierce a glass, “I would offer you some Guinness but there is no sewer nearby. Apologies.”

“Fair play,” Pierce took the glass and examined it.

“Spy habits die hard,” Anton laughed as he poured himself a glass, “We’re more or less friends now so I have no reason to poison you, yes?”

“As you said… habits of an old spy,” Pierce calmly waited for Anton to take the first drink.

“So I am out of prison now and have no reason to go back,” Anton happily took the first sip, “Why has Agent Crown come to my home?”

“Rex Robinson has convinced Interpol to create what they call a Metahuman Division.”

“Ah, yes. I saw his speech to the UN. Typical American… They ask much of the world but somehow their requests always sound like commands,” he shook his head and took another drink.

“Perhaps but I have agreed to be the director.”

“You can’t retire like everyone else? What’s the matter with you?”

“Robinson can be very persuasive as you know,” he finally took a drink and examined the glass once more with satisfaction, “Bloody good.”

“Of course it is,” Anton took another drink, “So what does your new job have to do with me?”

“I have many candidates from around the world. Best of the best as they say. They’re damn good soldiers and spies already but after being infused with Neutronium, they’ll be granted powers and I want them to know how to utilize those powers properly in combat so they will need further training. Additionally, they are from different countries and organizations. I’ll need someone who can frighten them into fighting as a unit.”

“Are you asking me to train these people?”

“You trained KGB agents if I recall and you’re a metahuman yourself.”

“I understand but I am retired, you know.”

“You won’t be out in the field and let’s face it… retirement is boring. You need something to do,” the cheeky smile returned, “You know I’m right.”

“This, I cannot deny,” Anton considered the request, “I suppose payment would be more than the pension I receive now?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll say yes for now but I doubt I’ll stay long,” he reached out to clink his glass against Pierce’s, “Let’s toast… Za nashu druzhbu.”

In the present, Pierce finished his glass and placed it on the table in front of him, “Za nashu druzhbu.”

Next: Vulnerable