192. The Cost of Trust. (Patreon)

Pepper POV:

Maya convinced me to move to the outskirts of Miami with a string of half-formed reasons that, at the time, sounded reasonable enough. We’ll be safer there. Fewer eyes. Easier to escape if things go bad.

Now, standing by the window with the curtains lifted just enough for me to peer out, every word felt hollow.

The house was quiet in that way that pressed on the ears. Suburban quiet. Manicured lawns, palm trees swaying lazily in the night breeze, sodium streetlights humming softly like they were trying to lull me into complacency. I scanned reflections, silhouettes, anything out of place. Old habit. Old fear.

Behind me, Maya sat on the sofa, legs crossed, posture relaxed. Too relaxed.

“So,” She said casually, as if we were just two women killing time in a hotel lounge, “what’s Tony like?”

I didn’t turn around.

“To you, I mean,” She added. “Not the public Tony. The man.”

I let the curtain fall back into place and folded my arms. “He’s true to his words,” I said after a moment. “Most of the time.”

That earned a soft laugh.

Maya smiled but it wasn’t sharp or mocking. If anything, it was… wistful. Her eyes drifted somewhere far away, past the walls, past Miami, maybe past time itself.

“When I met Tony,” She said slowly, “it was Switzerland. Bern. Nineteen ninety-nine.”

She leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “He was different then. Bombastic, brilliant and reckless. He flirted like he breathed. For him it was effortless. Like a snake charmer who knew the music would always work.”

I felt knuckles going white but I said nothing.

“I knew,” She continued, “that he would leave the next morning. I knew I wasn’t special to him but I still slept with him.” Her lips curved faintly. “Because when you’re young, you tell yourself that maybe this time will be different.”

She rose from the couch and walked toward the door.

“And of course,” She said lightly, “he bailed.”

The door opened.

“But he left a consolation gift.”

Two men stepped inside. Everything happened at once and yet far too slowly.

They flanked her without a word. One on my left, one on my right. Their hands closed around my arms, iron grips digging into muscle and bone.

“Maya,” I said sharply. “What's this?”

She didn’t look at me right away.

“The thing is,” She said instead, almost apologetically, “Peter Parker was right.”

She finally turned, and the sadness in her expression was real enough to hurt.

“I’m not a great scientist,” She went on. “Tony delivered half the pie. I couldn’t bake the rest. Not in a decade, not with funding, not with time, not with desperation.”

She exhaled. “That kind of failure… it changes you.”

“This isn’t personal, Pepper,” She said, stepping back toward the door. “It’s just... well.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Business. Let’s call it business.”

One of the men raised a cloth toward my face.

“Wait!” I yelled, adrenaline finally tearing through the fog. “How did you even get me to agree to come here?”

Maya stopped and then she smiled.

“Well,” She said, reaching into her pocket, “turns out that while I fall short of monsters like Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Ivan Vanko or Bruce Banner…”

She produced a small rectangular lipstick case and held it up between her fingers.

“I am still a genius.” She clicked it open. “An average one,” She admitted. “But a genius nonetheless.”

She stepped closer, turning the lipstick so I could see it properly.

“Looks simple, right? But it’s a pheromone evaporator. The wax is bioengineered. Induces trust in anyone exposed to it.” Her eyes flicked to herself. “Especially when the source of the pheromone is the same person you’re talking to.”

Cold crept down my spine.

“It doesn’t work on everyone,” She said conversationally. “Strong-willed people can resist it like Spartan IVs but fear helps. That missile barrage at the mansion?"

She tilted her head.

“That earned me your trust. Made you just a little more… pliable.”

The cloth came down over my nose and mouth.

I tried to fight. I really did. But the world blurred, my limbs turned heavy and the last thing I saw was Maya Hansen’s face. Soft, regretful and resolute at the same time as everything went dark.

Natasha POV:

I dropped in just in time to see them dragging Pepper’s unconscious body toward a waiting vehicle.

“Damn it.” I breathed.

I rolled onto one knee and snapped open the long, matte-black case beside me. The weapon inside gleamed under the moonlight.

Long Range Recoilless Asymmetric Carbine–1000.

LRRAC-1000.

Parker Industries didn’t build weapons to intimidate. They built them to end arguments.

The digital scope slid into place, HUD lighting up with a quiet chime. Warnings bloomed across my scope.

TARGETS CARRYING VOLATILE PAYLOADS

ESTIMATED YIELD: ~2 LBS TNT EACH

“Well,” I muttered, steadying my breath, “this just complicates things.”

“Indeed.”

I nearly pulled the trigger out of reflex.

I twisted, my Glock snapping toward the voice only to find three armored figures crouched beside me like they’d always been there.

MJOLNIR Mk. VIII. Scout variant. Sleek, lethal and silent.

One of them inclined her helmet slightly.

“Natasha Romanoff,” She said. “Spartan Command.”

I exhaled. “You guys have a habit of sneaking up on people."

“Occupational requirement of the Advanced Reconnaissance and Infiltration Division.” Another Spartan replied dryly.

“So,” I said, refocusing on the extraction below, “what’s the plan, fellas?”

The Spartan with SARAH-943 stenciled across her armor leaned forward, assessing the scene with machine precision.

“Direct extraction is impossible,” She said. “Probability of casualty exceeds acceptable thresholds.”

“That’s comforting.”

“But,” She continued, “a distraction with a defined purpose is viable.”

Before I could ask what that meant, BILLY-1235 raised his arm and fired a flare skyward. It burst into blinding white light, painting the street below in harsh contrast.

At the same moment, JEREMIAH-995 shouldered his own LRRAC-1000 and fired.

The recoilless crack was sharp yet silent.

I stared at him. “What did you just shoot?”

Sarah-943 didn’t look away from the scope.

“Insurance.”

Somewhere below, something detonated. Not close enough to kill but not far enough to ignore.

And the night, very suddenly, stopped being quiet.