Chapter Text
Chapter 4
“You wouldn’t have happened to bring me a cape, would you? As you can see, I am in desperate need of a good cape,” The pale man looked expectantly at Peter.
“What?” Peter asked, completely dumbfounded.
“You know, a good cape with nice epaulets and everything?” He turned to Zola, “This new generation just does not understand good fashion, do they, my dear Doctor Zola?”
Zola turned, exasperated, to Peter, “I would apologize for his behavior, but Doctor Nathaniel Essex is the man you asked for.”
Peter sighs, realizing that he would have to spend an entire trip with this man. He nods to Zola.
“Well then,” Zola said. He presses a button on his wrist comlink and suddenly Nathaniel Essex’ arms come together at the wrists and elbows.
“Whoa, whoa,” Essex exclaimed, “what is this?”
Zola pressed another button on his comlink and the field protecting Essex’ cell disappeared. Essex looked around the prison, but remained in his cell.
“Come on, Essex,” Peter motioned to the man to come out of his cell, “you’re going on a trip with me.”
“Ooooo,” Essex said, stepping out of the cell, “you’ve come to free me?” Peter grabbed him by the shoulder and began to lead him out of the prison toward the lift to the surface. “You know, with this new information, I will forgive you for not bringing me a cape,” he leaned in close to Peter’s ear and whispered, “I’m still mad about it though.”
Two Months Earlier
“Did you find it?” Sharon Carter was leaning against the side of the doorway, watching Steve Rogers thumb through a pile of physical folders, a rarity these days, on top of a desk. Inside the Avenger they had relative security, so Steve knew Sharon wouldn’t be concerned about spilling secrets.
“Not yet,” He responded, not looking up.
“Going to ask how I knew about it?” Sharon walked into the office and the door slid down into place.
“Do I need to?” He looked up at her.
“I suppose not,” she sits down on the desk.
“I should have put it together earlier,” Steve said. He looked back down at the pile of folders. He pulled a folder out of the pile and handed it to Sharon. “Here it is.”
“Damn it, Fury,” Sharon whispered.
“Sure does explain a lot,” Steve said, “Nick did love to recruit.”
It had only been 5 hours, but Peter could swear his hair was already graying. Nathaniel Essex was going to be the death of him. From his time in the Raft, he could tell that it was designed to take the prisoners’ sanity, but clearly Essex had survived the experience because his sanity was already in pieces.
“The Kaminoans are now galactically renowned for their cloning prowess, but honestly the Khommite technique was much more impressive,” Nathaniel was nattering on about some genetic thing to an audience of Stormtroopers that did not respond, “though I suppose, since Palpatine wanted to hide a clone army, Khomm wouldn’t be the best place to hide it, given its proximity to Coruscant.”
Peter yawned, trying to get Essex to stop talking, or at least make him pause, but it did nothing to break his momentum.
“And, I suppose that the Emperor wanted a human army and the Khommites only really specialize in Khommite biology,” he mused, “I suppose he did make the right decision. Don’t you agree, Agent Parker?”
Peter turned to him and eyed him with disgust. It was clear the man was a genius, but he also had no morals. He had no idea what Osborn wanted him for, but it couldn’t be good whatever it was.
“I believe the Emperor did not commission the Clone Army,” Peter said. He now knew that it was not strictly true, Palpatine had manipulated events to get the army made, but he wasn’t supposed to know that. He was, however, interested in how Essex came to know this fact.
“Oh, the naivete of youth,” Essex chuckled, “of course the Emperor ordered the clone army, he engineered the entire conflict to take power. That’s kind of what Sith Lords do.”
“What do you mean?” Peter leaned in. Of course he knew most of this already, Commander Rogers had filled him in on Palpatine’s machinations, but he had no idea what a ‘sith lord’ was.
“Oh, the Emperor was a Sith Lord, so was Darth Vader,” Essex explained, clearly delighted that he had knowledge that someone he viewed as an inferior wanted. “They’re the enemy of the Jedi. Count Dooku was a Sith Lord too. He was actually Palpatine’s apprentice, he was in charge of both sides.”
“They have force powers?” Peter asked, wary of the accuracy of this information, but he wanted it just the same.
“Oh yes,” Essex nodded, “they just use the Dark Side. It’s much more efficient if you ask me. Much easier to make things happen.” He paused. “I was actually working for Dooku, trying to create force sensitive clones to use against the Jedi.”
Peter’s eyes widened, and all of a sudden, he realized exactly what Norman Osborn was trying to do.
“I do apologize, Miles,” Norman Osborn said, “but your services are no longer required.”
In the main office of the Imperial Palace, Miles Warren was on his knees in front of Norman Osborn’s desk. Osborn himself stood just behind the desk, smiling down at Miles Warren. Behind Miles were two Death Troopers, both with their E-11D rifles pointed at Miles’ back.
“You need my help, Osborn,” Miles said, “you can’t achieve what you want without me, nobody else can do this.”
“I’m afraid that is simply not true,” Osborn said.
“Nobody knows where Mount Tantiss is,” Miles said. He looked up at Osborn, fire in his eyes. He was convinced that his coup attempt wouldn’t have consequences because of his importance to Osborn’s plans. “And Kamino is no longer an option after Rampart had Tipoca City destroyed.”
“You overplayed your hand, my old friend,” Osborn said. He turned around to look out the window into the Coruscant skyline, “The Tarkin Initiative can no longer protect you.”
“What are you going to do?” Miles shouted. “Are you going to become a Khommite?”
Norman Osborn raises a finger and brings it down. The Death Troopers nod.
BANG.
A flash of light as Miles falls over, dead. Shot in the back.
“Please remove the late Sava Warren,” Osborn ordered. He smiled, watching the speeder taxis pass by.
The Death Troopers picked up Miles Warren’s body and dragged him out of the office. The door opened in front of them and Helmut Zemo entered. He stared at the body, turning up his nose at the smell of burning flesh.
“I see you have dealt with Warren,” he commented to Osborn. He turns to face Zemo, “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes,” Osborn responded, motioning for Zemo to join him at the window, “come, we have much to discuss.”
Zemo nodded and joined Osborn at the window. He took a moment to look out over the city, admiring the level of technology that the upper levels of Coruscant had achieved. Zemo came from a Mid Rim planet called Etai, descended from Heinrich Zemo, who had been an ally and friend of the late Emperor Palpatine.
“What are your feelings about Coruscant?” Osborn asked after a moment.
“It… is a nice city,” Zemo said, attempting to be as diplomatic as possible.
“You miss your home on Etai,” Osborn commented. He turned his head to face Zemo.
“I have been known to get homesick from time to time,” he said.
It was true, while he reveled in Coruscant’s advancements, he missed the mines of Etai and the power he felt from the people looking up to him. They recognized his superiority in a way that Core Worlders didn’t.
“I would like to place you in Tarkin’s old position,” Osborn said after a moment.
“Grand Moff?” Zemo asked, astounded.
“I need someone I can trust to run the Mid and Outer Rims effectively,” Osborn explained.
“You trust me?” Zemo raised an eyebrow under his purple mask. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Are you questioning me?” It was a threat, and Zemo clocked it immediately.
“I merely want to know whether I am being saddled with an assignment that is of no importance. Sir,” Zemo answered.
“Ah, I see,” Osborn didn’t believe him, but it appeared he didn’t care much either. “No, I do trust you. Well about as much as I trust anyone.”
Osborn walked over to his desk and picked up a datapad. He pressed several buttons and then handed it to Zemo. He looked it over and assessed the data. This was privileged information. He wasn’t even sure if Otto Octavius, the new Director of the ISB knew this yet.
“Lieutenant Parker informed us that he was being held somewhere in the Unknown Regions,” Osborn told him.
“That would explain why we haven’t been able to find the rebels,” Zemo commented. “They’re still hiding with the Chiss.”
“Yes, and expeditions into the Unknown Regions are not exactly known for being successful,” Osborn said. Zemo nodded. He was right, they were called the Unknown Regions for a reason. “It is only a matter of time before they strike, and I would like someone with both political and military acumen preparing the defense of the Empire.”
“It’s a tall ask,” Zemo thought aloud, “we still really have no idea the capabilities of the Chiss Ascendancy.”
“You will have access to all the funds and troops you would require,” He assured.
“I want the Hydra .”
Peter looked at the reflective orange field that kept him from leaving the cell. He had been staring at his reflection for the last several minutes. He was starting to grow a beard, and it was probably the ugliest thing he had ever seen. He laughed, but there was no humor in it. The depression of being a prisoner was finally getting to him.
He sighed to himself and looked down. He turned and walked to the back of the cell, wallowing in his own self pity.
He barely heard the footsteps coming into the prison. He subconsciously just assumed it was the pretentious man who came to give him his food. Despite that, something made the hair on his arms stand up.
“Mr. Parker,” the voice came from behind him, and suddenly his reaction made sense, “I believe it is time we spoke.”
Peter turns and sees Commander Steve Rogers standing in front of him, a real physical folder in his hand. Peter froze. He had recognized him from the voice, but was still in awe of the man actually coming to speak to him.
“What…,” Peter stammered, “what what about?”
“I apologize for listening in on your conversations with Ms. Jones and Mr. Leeds, but I wanted to be apprised of what you said,” he was being polite, a touch formal, but polite and genuine.
Peter’s mind was racing. He couldn’t fathom what this would be about. What would Steve Rogers, leader of the Rebel Alliance, want with him? He was just an ISB Agent, he had no real value, no secrets that he could divulge, not really. Not anything they didn’t probably already know.
“I noticed you brought a name when talking with Ms. Jones,” Steve continued, “Your aunt’s name.”
“May,” Peter said before he could stop himself, “May Parker.”
“Yes, May Parker,” Steve said, he nodded, pausing to give Peter a moment to process what was happening. “You see, I recognized the name, but I couldn’t remember where.”
Peter’s entire frame of mind changes as he thinks about the implication of Steve Rogers’ words. Where could he be going with this? Where could he possibly be going with this?
“And I was right,” Steve continued, “you see, before he disappeared, Nick Fury turned a lot of his files to me. Some of the files included past operatives that Fury had had, both in the Clone Wars and the days after the Empire took over.”
“I thought Fury disappeared before the Clone Wars ended,” Peter said, again without thinking about it. It was as if he innately trusted Steve Rogers.
“Well, he disappeared from the Republic,” Steve said, “but he resurfaced a few years later with a network of operatives that were undermining the Empire. I… inherited that network when he disappeared again about a year ago. My point however, is that I find it highly unlikely that May Parker was assassinated by a Rebel Cell,” he paused and took a breath, “because May Parker was a Rebel Agent.”