Marvelous Meditations

Nathan jolted awake in a pitch-black room, gasping for air as if he'd been drowning in his sleep. His heart raced in his chest, the echo of a dream slipping away like shadows at dawn. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that clung to his skin.

Another nightmare.

They always came more frequently, more vividly, the closer he edged toward death. This one, at least, hadn't involved dead children—just the inferno that had swallowed him whole, tearing him from the safety of his old life and hurling him into the body of an orphan in this merciless world.

His breaths came slower, more measured, as he grounded himself in the present. The room was dim, but the faint glow of morning light seeped through the cracks in the curtains, casting a pale outline of his surroundings.

He stretched cautiously, feeling the familiar pull of soreness in his muscles. His head throbbed faintly, a dull reminder of the trauma his body had endured, yet the absence of acute pain was a welcome reprieve.

His mind drifted back to the moment he thought would be his last—lying battered on the ground, the sky split open by the roar of a descending missile. He had braced himself for the end, yet here he stood, against all odds. He exhaled, a long breath that felt like a cleansing of the soul before moving.

Nathan stood, every movement deliberate, and made his way to the mirror. The golden shafts of sunlight framed his reflection, illuminating his lean, scarred frame. His eyes—haunted, sharp—traveled down his chest, where the inked symbol rested: an hourglass filled with skulls instead of sand. The tattoo was stark, a grim centerpiece against his pale skin.

He reached up, fingers grazing the edges of the design. It wasn't a mark of vanity or a boastful display; it was a solemn token, a memento mori—a reminder that life was fragile, that death lurked around every corner, patient and unyielding.

For Nathan, it was a constant companion, an emblem of the life he had been thrust into, a life where survival was a delicate dance between fate and determination.

Nathan's lips curved into a wry smile as his eyes traced the network of scars decorating his body. Each mark told a story—stab wounds, bullet holes, burns—all chronicling a life spent on the edge. He'd gotten the tattoo in his teenage years, a stark reminder of mortality, but now it seemed almost redundant.

Any one of these scars could serve as a reminder just as well, if not better. Shaking his head, he stepped away from the mirror, ready to leave the room and piece together what had transpired while he was unconscious.

Before he could reach the door, it creaked open, and Silvija stepped in, balancing a bottle of water and a plate loaded with military rations. Her eyes met his, and she raised an eyebrow. "You're up earlier than expected," she noted, setting the food and water on the nearby table.

Nathan sighed, sinking into a chair. "Trust me, I'd have preferred a few more hours of sleep," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Silvija chuckled softly, her smile warm but teasing. "Well, we can't always get what we want, can we?" she quipped, giving him a light pat on the shoulder before adding, "Eat up. Let me get a good look at you."

He said nothing, merely uncapping the water bottle and taking a long gulp as she moved closer, inspecting him with a practiced eye. Her fingers brushed over his arm, checking for any lingering signs of damage. Satisfied, she gave his shoulder another gentle pat. "Good as new," she said with a grin. "Chitauri tech does wonders."

Nathan glanced at her, bemused but silent as he started on the food. The rations were bland but filling, and he ate methodically, his mind still foggy from sleep.

Silvija settled into the chair across from him, her gaze lingering on his face. "You were beat pretty bad, you know?" she remarked, a touch of concern threading through her voice. "You've really gone soft."

Nathan's eyes flicked up to meet hers, a subtle wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He said nothing, his focus remaining on his meal, but the hint of bemusement in his expression didn't go unnoticed.

Silvija leaned back, her eyes narrowing with a blend of exasperation and affection. "I look at you now," she said, a teasing lilt to her voice, "and I can't help but wonder..." She flashed him a challenging grin, her tone sharpening. "Are you the same man who used to hunt mutants and superhumans for a living?"

Nathan scoffed, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. "Of course not," he replied, shaking his head. "But this and that are completely different." He leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming against the table. "Back in the task force, we'd study our targets for days. We made contingencies for contingencies. Every move was calculated." He paused, a wince flickering across his face as memories of his recent fight resurfaced.

"But that guy with the damned katana? I knew nothing about him." He exhaled sharply, the frustration evident in his voice. "And unlike most mutants out there, he knew what he was doing."

Silvija nodded, her expression sobering. "Bushmaster was many things," she agreed, her voice low. "But a pushover? Not one of them." She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "He even handed me my ass before he beat you half to death."

Nathan raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he wiped his lips with a napkin. "Before I killed him, you mean," he corrected, his tone cool but firm. The humor in his eyes faded as his expression turned more serious. He set the napkin aside, leaning back in his chair. "Speaking of which... what happened to that missile?"

Silvija's smile faded, replaced by a contemplative frown. "It was handled by a mutant," she said, her tone measured. "One of Wolverine's people... someone who goes by Archangel."

Nathan's eyes narrowed, his expression turning thoughtful. "So Wolverine didn't come alone," he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice. "That's some good news, at least." His gaze sharpened, his focus shifting back to Silvija. "What about the Foreigner?" he asked, his tone more urgent now.

Silvija's expression darkened, her jaw tightening as she folded her arms. "Turns out, he was leading us by the nose from the start," she admitted, frustration lacing her words. "That guy you killed, Bushmaster... he was a decoy. The Foreigner had him disguised using some kid's mutant power."

Nathan's eyes widened slightly, the revelation sinking in. Silvija's irritation was palpable as she continued, "He figured either Bushmaster and his goons would finish us off, and if not, the missile would do the job. But since neither worked…"

Nathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let me guess," he interjected, his voice weary. "He's got a hostage? Probably the same kid you just mentioned?"

Silvija smiled bitterly, her eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and admiration. "Pretty much," she confirmed, shaking her head. "Are you sure you weren't just playing dead? Because you've got this whole situation figured out."

Nathan chuckled softly, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's clear as day," he replied. His voice hardened as he leaned forward, his gaze locked on Silvija. "So, what's the Foreigner asking for? And how much are we going to have to give him?"

Silvija leaned in, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the table as she spoke, "It's a trade." Her voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of tension. "He wants the Muramasa Blade back... and Wolverine. He's given us 24 hours to deliver, or he kills the kid."

Nathan's frown deepened, his eyes narrowing. "And?" he prompted, his tone sharp and expectant.

Silvija let out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Well," she admitted reluctantly, "considering you've been out for six hours... that leaves us with 18 hours."

Nathan's gaze hardened, his expression unyielding. "You know that's not what I'm asking."

Silvija winced, her eyes flickering with a hint of guilt. "We talked about it," she said, her voice softer now. "Wolverine's willing to go. But my men... they think it's stupid. They say we'll be handing him all the cards, and we have no guarantee he won't just kill us afterward. And then there's our mission…"

Nathan sat back, absorbing her words, his mind already working through the implications. Silvija's ongoing conflict with the Foreigner had always struck him as a dangerous game of cat and mouse, a semi-serious vendetta born from the ashes of their failed marriage. But this time, it felt different. This wasn't just Silvija trying to kill her ex-husband; it was something far more complex.

He knew about the Foreigner's client, the man's bottomless pockets, and the extraordinary lengths taken to ensure Wolverine's death. The equipment, the facilities, the sheer audacity of buying out the population of an entire island—it all pointed to a mission fueled by more than just revenge.

Nathan's gaze shifted back to Silvija, studying her closely. She wasn't the type of woman to put her men in such danger for a personal vendetta. No, this went deeper. The rabbit hole was widening, and Nathan could see the shadows lurking at the edges.

After a long silence, Nathan let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. He had spent countless hours speculating about the identity of the Foreigner's client, mentally sifting through the possibilities. There were several names on his list, one in particular was of personal interest to Natahn, but without concrete evidence, it was just conjecture. To confirm his suspicions, he would need to get his hands on the Foreigner, quite literally, and extract the truth directly from him.

Silvija's client, however, was an enigma, if she even had one. Nathan had no leads, no hints, nothing to work with. What could possibly compel Silvija, a woman who rarely involved herself in matters beyond her own agenda, to entangle herself in this deadly game?

The thought gnawed at him, but he knew better than to press her. If Silvija hadn't shared the details, it was because she had her reasons, and when she decided to keep something close to her chest, not even the devil himself could pry it out of her.

He would have to wait, watch, and see how the pieces fell into place. If there were answers to be found, they would reveal themselves in due time.

Turning his gaze back to Silvija, Nathan gave her a meaningful look. "What about you?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity. "What do you think?"

Silvija crossed her arms over her chest, her posture tense but thoughtful. "It's Wolverine's life on the line," she said slowly. "And the Muramasa belongs to you. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Her expression hardened, the weight of the situation reflecting in her eyes. "In the end, it'll have to be your call," she continued, her voice low but firm. "We either comply with the Foreigner's demands or we fight back and put the kid's life in danger..."

Nathan leaned back in his chair, absorbing her words. The gravity of the decision pressed down on him. Complying meant handing over Wolverine and the Muramasa Blade, effectively surrendering their leverage and playing into the Foreigner's hands. Fighting back meant risking the kid's life, and although the Muramasa was important to him, he wouldn't jeopardize the life of an innocent child to obtain it.

After a long moment of contemplation, Nathan's gaze sharpened, a thought crystallizing in his mind. He turned to Silvija, his voice measured but tinged with intrigue. "Wolverine and his feathery pal, Archangel… they came together, right? But only Wolverine was fighting with us..."

Silvija tilted her head, considering his words. "Yeah, what about it?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

Nathan's lips curved into a subtle smile. "What do you think a guy with wings has been doing all this time while Wolverine and the rest of us were fighting for our lives?"

Silvija's frown deepened, but then realization flickered across her face. "He was probably surveying the island," she said slowly, piecing it together. "Getting the lay of the land, trying to find the mutant kids…"

Nathan nodded, his smile widening. "Exactly. And the fact that he came back likely means he found the kids—or kid—assuming there's only one."

Silvija's expression darkened, the weight of the situation settling over her again. "But why wouldn't they say something if they knew where the Foreigner was keeping the kid hostage?" she asked, frustration lacing her words.

Nathan shrugged, his demeanor calm but thoughtful. "Who knows? Maybe they weren't sure about our intentions. Maybe they didn't want to risk putting the kid in more danger. He should be their priority, after all."

He rose from his seat, stretching his shoulders as a newfound resolve hardened his features. "What I do know is that we might have just discovered a third option," he said, his voice carrying a hint of optimism. "And that we need to have a talk with our mutant friends."

Silvija watched him closely, a mix of skepticism and hope playing across her face. "You really think they'll work together with us?"

Nathan's eyes met hers, his expression unwavering. "If it means saving the kid and getting out of this mess with their lives intact, I think they just might."

With that, he strode toward the door, determination propelling him forward. Silvija followed, the weight of their precarious situation still looming, but with a flicker of hope ignited by this unexpected twist.

...

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