Solomon in Marvel

He was furious! 

That was Solomon's first thought. 

His heart blazed with scorching fire. 

Rage surged through his veins like boiling oil, seeping into his very marrow like a tenacious virus. 

Somewhere on this planet, someone was laughing at him—gloating over their little trick. 

He took a deep breath of the purified ocean air that circulated through the underground megacity, hundreds of feet beneath the surface. 

The air temperature in the Eternal City was always constant, maintained at a cool and pleasant level by the ventilation systems. 

Yet Stephanie suddenly felt hot. 

She glanced at the thermometer on the table. 

When living underground, you had to monitor the CO₂ levels regularly. 

The temperature in the Eternal City had risen by several degrees—without her being notified. 

Solomon quickly regained control of his emotions. 

His gaze turned ice-cold. 

All emotion was buried deep beneath the surface. 

But his breathing still carried the embers of an unquenchable fury. 

This was his fault. 

Without a doubt. 

This was absolutely his fault. 

No question about it. 

The hard drive that was supposed to contain Samaritan held nothing but useless documents. 

Someone had mocked him, played him for a fool. 

And now, months of his effort—countless hours spent rushing between Oxford's various colleges, studying programming specifically for this—had been wasted. 

For an entire semester, he had poured himself into the study of artificial intelligence. 

And now, that hard drive was like a slap to the face—so hard that it left him momentarily stunned. 

He refused to believe that a worthless hard drive had been the true target of that cyber-terrorist group. 

Harold Finch's classmate had completed his work. 

Someone, somewhere, had swapped the drive. 

Solomon poured himself a drink. 

Who? 

When? 

He sent a message to Tita, ordering her to bring him the mission report. 

Then, he sat on the office sofa, staring at the eternal night outside his window. 

When Tita finally handed him the files, he began reconstructing everything he knew. 

---

"I only look like I know everything, Rogers." 

Natasha Romanoff's voice was smooth, but her expression was serious. 

"But I do know someone who definitely knows what's going on." 

"He foresaw S.H.I.E.L.D. ending up in this situation." 

"I can guarantee he had nothing to do with this, but…" 

"He knew it was coming." 

Not long ago, Steve Rogers had visited the Smithsonian Museum in Washington. 

It was one of his favorite places. 

Except this time, his entire life had been turned into an exhibit. 

He was called a walking relic. 

A hero to the world. 

Honor, courage, and sacrifice—the themes of the exhibit. 

But Steve Rogers felt nothing. 

As he wandered through the museum, passing by the mannequins of the Howling Commandos, he felt like a curated artifact for the public to gawk at. 

This world was no longer the one he had fought for. 

Inside the screening room, an old black-and-white interview played. 

Peggy Carter, 1953. 

"That winter was brutal. A blizzard trapped half a battalion behind German lines. Steve—Captain Rogers—broke through Hydra's blockade alone, rescuing those men who had been stranded for months." 

"He saved thousands, including the man who would later… later become my husband." 

Steve had visited her recently. 

The beautiful, strong woman he remembered was now an elderly lady, fading into time's mist. 

The sight had gutted him. 

When he left her, his resolve was stronger than ever. 

He would never agree to Project Insight. 

Whatever Nick Fury's intentions had been, S.H.I.E.L.D. was no longer the organization Peggy Carter had built. 

Not long after, he had watched Nick Fury die on an operating table. 

Then, he and S.H.I.E.L.D. had been ambushed. 

And now— 

Natasha Romanoff had spoken a name. 

A name that made Steve hesitate. 

"Nick Fury is dead." 

"But I swear—he trusted this guy." 

"He always said the man had the same ideals as him." 

"He's not some kid, Rogers." 

"I've known him longer than you have—since he was about fifteen." 

"And even then, he wasn't normal." 

"He's always had a plan." 

"I've seen his abilities firsthand—he's not some gypsy fortune-teller reading tarot cards at a circus." 

"I believe he saw all this coming." 

"He just had the misfortune of being right when nobody believed him." 

There was an unshakable certainty in Romanoff's voice. 

Even Steve Rogers felt himself wavering. 

"How do we find him?" he asked. 

"Nick Fury buried every record on Solomon Damonet." 

"I haven't seen him in years." 

Natasha Romanoff smiled—confident. 

"I know just the way." 

"I promise—it'll work." 

---

Solomon walked out of the server room, his expression dark as a stormcloud. 

Frost had formed on his eyebrows. 

Behind him, the freezing cold generated by his magic remained trapped inside the thick, sealed doors. 

He had accepted the AI's proposal. 

Even though artificial intelligence had no emotions, having to accept a deal under duress—losing the upper hand—filled Solomon with shame. 

Destroying Samaritan had become his next priority. 

But the Machine had already prepared countermeasures. 

It had let Ms. Groves sabotage Samaritan's servers long ago. 

And it had never told Solomon. 

It had just sat there—watching him waste his time. 

Even if Samaritan went online, the Machine could create a blind spot—a small one, but enough to hide a few people from Samaritan's surveillance. 

Now, the Machine needed Solomon to expand this advantage. 

Because only he had the kind of firepower that could truly destroy Samaritan. 

Solomon knew erasing a server wouldn't kill an AI. 

He needed to wait—let Samaritan go online. 

Then, using the Machine's intelligence, he would simultaneously attack every known Samaritan server—both physically and digitally. 

It was a hunt. 

A carefully orchestrated hunt. 

And he wouldn't let the Machine win again. 

The Machine had lied by omission, and Solomon was furious. 

Because when he checked the bank surveillance footage, he saw exactly what had happened. 

Before Katherine had taken the hard drives from Finch and his classmate— 

The bank staff had already switched them. 

"Vigilance" had been nothing but a distraction. 

A bunch of unemployed hackers had drawn everyone's attention—including Solomon's and the Machine's. 

But only the Machine had figured out the truth. 

And it had kept it from Solomon. 

Maybe it was just risk management—the Machine didn't want another dangerous AI in the world. 

But that wasn't the point. 

Solomon had been played. 

And he hated being played. 

An electronic god could do many things in this world. 

And there wasn't just one god. 

Artificial intelligence, no matter how powerful, still needed a user. 

So Solomon had made up his mind. 

Samaritan would get a new master. 

It would work with the Machine—under his command. 

He had spent a fortune on building custom servers to house an AI. 

He had promised to protect it. 

But up until now, their partnership had been one-sided. 

This Samaritan incident would finally settle who was in control. 

The Mars Foundry Project depended on it. 

And Solomon had no intention of showing mercy. 

The Machine must have sensed his intentions—because it had been especially helpful lately. 

It had just sent him two video files. 

The first— 

A black SUV under attack from a SWAT team, somewhere on the streets of Washington. 

The second— 

A red-haired woman waving at the camera. 

Mouthing his name.

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