Marvel: Familia System

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As the chaos unfolded on the racetrack, six figures remained seated in the luxury viewing area, a bubble of calm amid the panicked crowd. Nero leaned back casually, resting his chin on one hand, his sharp eyes fixed on the action below. Next to him, Maria sat with her arms crossed, her posture relaxed but attentive. Anthony and Sofia, seated a row ahead, were unbothered, sharing a bag of popcorn between them as if they were watching a summer blockbuster instead of a battle that had everyone else scrambling for safety.

Diego watched the spectacle with a faint smirk, occasionally tossing glances at the terrified onlookers pushing their way toward the exits. "Think Stark's gonna pull this one off, or is this guy gonna make Monaco his retirement party?" he quipped, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

Anthony shrugged, not taking his eyes off the fight. "Odds aren't bad. Stark's suit looks like it's limping, though." He gestured with his chin toward the racetrack, where sparks erupted as Tony deflected another whip strike. "I'll give him… five more minutes before he figures out some half-assed solution to win."

Nero, as always, took his time, his expression neutral as he watched Tony rip the reactor from Vanko's suit in a reckless lunge. Sparks exploded, the faint echo of the shockwave even reaching their high vantage point. He finally sat up straight, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve.

"Maria, Diego," Nero said, his voice cutting through the faint din of distant sirens. "Go bail Ivan out."

Diego grinned, already standing and stretching lazily. "What's the play? Snatch him outright, or wait for the dust to settle?"

"Quickly," Nero replied, his tone firm. "Subtle's not required, but don't make a mess. Blame Hammer for it."

Maria stood, stretching her arms as if she were about to take a casual stroll. Diego's grin widened, his movements deliberate as he adjusted his blazer and stepped closer to the balcony railing.

"Subtle's overrated anyway," Diego said, brushing nonexistent lint from his sleeve. He turned to Maria. "Ladies first?"

"Keep up," Maria replied, already stepping over the railing. She dropped lightly onto the lower terrace, her figure disappearing into the chaos below. Diego followed, his descent less about speed and more about flair, landing with an unnecessary flourish before straightening his lapel.

Nero watched the wreckage below. Stark's damaged suit glinted under the harsh sunlight as he struggled to move toward the exit, the remains of Vanko's exosuit still sparking faintly on the track. Security swarmed the area, but it was clear they had no idea what to do with the wreckage—or with Stark, who seemed seconds away from collapsing.

Maria reached the edge of the chaos first, the panicked crowd surging around her like water against a stone. Her movements were effortless, the subtle shimmer of her illusionary abilities bending perception just enough that people instinctively moved aside without realizing why. Diego followed close behind.

"We're close," Maria said, her voice barely audible amidst the cacophony. She sidestepped a pair of fleeing race officials, her gaze locked on the smoldering remnants of the fight ahead.

Diego let out a low whistle as he surveyed the scene. "Stark really knows how to make an impression. It's almost artistic."

The two of them slipped past the last line of security personnel, unnoticed thanks to Maria's carefully placed illusions. They approached Vanko's collapsed form, the crude exosuit sparking intermittently. The faint glow of his arc reactor cast jagged shadows across the cracked pavement.

Diego crouched beside Vanko, tilting his head as he studied the man's battered condition. "You think he's still functional?"

"Functional enough," Maria replied curtly. She placed a hand on Vanko's shoulder, her voice low. "Can you move?"

Vanko's eyes flicked open, bloodshot and filled with fury. He rasped something in Russian, his voice barely audible over the chaos. Diego leaned in, smirking. "I don't think that was a 'thank you.'"

Maria ignored the remark. "We're getting you out of here. Don't resist, or this gets a lot harder."

Vanko's gaze shifted between the two of them, his breath labored. He grunted, his head lolling slightly to the side. Maria took that as assent. She gestured sharply to Diego. "Grab his arm."

Diego sighed theatrically but complied, hoisting Vanko up with surprising ease. "You really should've stretched before your big show," he muttered, steadying the man as they began to move.

Diego shifted Vanko's weight slightly, the man leaning heavily against him as they moved toward an unmarked car parked in the shadow of a collapsed barrier. "So," he said, glancing at Maria, "how exactly are we pinning this on Hammer? Not that I'm against throwing him under the bus, but details help."

Maria smirked faintly, her voice low but clear as she walked ahead. "People will see what I want them to see."

Diego raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate, or are we just improvising?"

Diego chuckled, shifting Vanko's weight as they walked. "So, what are they seeing, Maestro?"

Maria didn't answer immediately. She lifted a hand with a subtle flick of her fingers, and a wave of distortion rippled outward. Diego blinked as the scene in front of him changed, his smirk widening into something closer to genuine surprise.

The illusion was masterful. Onlookers and cameras would now see a Hammer Industries convoy, the vehicles plastered with sleek logos, barreling through the wreckage. Men in tactical gear, their faces obscured by black helmets, appeared to rush the scene with brutal efficiency. Two figures emerged, each carefully sculpted in the illusion to resemble prominent Hammer security personnel, bending over Vanko's fallen form. In this version of events, they weren't rescuing him—they were capturing him.

"Wow," Diego said after a moment, his tone a mix of admiration and disbelief. "That's brutal. You're not just pinning this on Hammer—you're turning them into the villains."

Maria kept her gaze forward, her steps measured. "People see what they want to see. Hammer's been playing at being Stark's competitor for years. A little nudge, and suddenly they're the ones funding rogue operations."

Diego snorted. "A nudge? This is a full-blown shove off a cliff."

Maria glanced back at him briefly. "You'd be amazed how far people fall when you give them the right push."

Behind them, the illusion played out flawlessly. One of the fake Hammer operatives dragged the illusory version of Vanko toward a sleek black van that didn't exist, while another waved a gloved hand toward the panicked crowd. Maria didn't bother hiding her satisfaction as security personnel on-site began shouting into radios, trying to piece together what was happening.

Ivan Vanko's eyes cracked open to an unfamiliar ceiling, the dim light above him casting sharp shadows on the walls. His muscles screamed in protest as he shifted slightly, metal restraints biting into his wrists and ankles. The room was cold, clinical, yet stripped of the sterile polish he'd expect from a hospital or government facility.

Four figures stood in front of him, their faces partially obscured by low light and masks. Their postures were unyielding, their presence heavy. The one in the center, taller than the rest, leaned slightly forward, his mask marked with a faint red streak down its left side.

Vanko coughed, his voice hoarse. "Who... who are you? SHIELD? Americans? Stark's dogs?"

"You're not important enough for SHIELD," Nero said, staring down at him. "And Stark? He'd rather have you rot on the track than waste a second talking to you."

Ivan clenched his jaw, his mind racing to process the situation. These weren't government agents. Their posture lacked the stiffness of bureaucrats. And they weren't Stark's people—too composed, too deliberate. He spat on the floor, his lip curling. "Then what do you want? Kill me or let me go. Don't waste my time."

Diego chuckled, leaning against the wall, his arms folded as he glanced at Nero. "Feisty for someone who just got dragged out of the wreckage like yesterday's trash."

Nero raised his hand, silencing Diego with a slight gesture. The room fell quiet except for the faint hum of unseen machinery. He stepped closer to Vanko.

Nero stepped closer, the faint hum of unseen machinery in the cold room underscoring his presence. Vanko's bloodshot eyes flicked toward him, attempting defiance but faltering under exhaustion and pain. Diego leaned against the wall, content to let Nero handle the heavy lifting, while Maria stood just behind him, arms loosely crossed, her gaze sharp and unreadable.

"Ivan," Nero started, his voice steady, "you're a smart man, so I'll skip the theatrics. You're angry. You've spent years trying to make the world feel your pain. You picked Stark because of your father's history with Howard. The question is... was it worth it?"

Ivan's lips curled into a sneer. "Howard Stark... a thief, a liar. My father—genius. Your world took everything from him. From me."

Nero tilted his head slightly. "Howard Stark did your father dirty. That much is true. He built his empire off ideas your father helped create, and when the Cold War paranoia flared, Howard sold weapons to the same military that killed your people. Your father retaliated, sold what he could on the black market to level the playing field. I don't blame him for that."

Ivan's sneer wavered, confusion flickering across his battered face. "You think you understand?"

"I understand enough," Nero replied simply. "Your father was deported, his reputation destroyed, but he still had his mind. His brilliance. Same as you. You had the tools to build something better, to rise above Howard Stark's betrayal." He took another step forward, his tone hardening. "Instead, you chose to drown in your father's bitterness. You turned genius into vengeance."

Ivan growled low in his throat, pulling weakly against his restraints. "You do not know what it is to lose everything. To see your family crushed under the weight of men like Stark."

Nero's gaze didn't waver. "You're wrong. I know exactly what it's like. But I also know revenge for revenge's sake is a fool's game. You wasted your brilliance trying to kill a man who doesn't even know your name. And now, you're in this room, powerless and bleeding."

Diego spoke up from his spot against the wall, smirking. "Hate to break it to you, but if this was your big legacy move, you might wanna rethink the branding. 'Guy with whips' doesn't exactly scream 'genius.'"

Ivan glared at Diego but turned back to Nero. "You mock me, but you take me from the Americans. Why? To mock my father too?"

Nero shook his head slowly. "See, this is your problem. You lump people into one box and act like they all deserve the same reaction. Why does every American deserve your hate because a few wronged you? Should I hate all Russians because you're here, wanting to kill me?"

Ivan scowled but said nothing, his breathing ragged as he struggled against his restraints.

"Howard Stark was Howard Stark," Nero continued, his voice sharp but calm. "Sure, Tony shares his last name, his blood, his fortune. But he doesn't even know who you are. He doesn't know who Anton Vanko was or what Howard did to him. You're trying to kill a man who's never heard your name."

"And if he knew?" Ivan shot back, his eyes narrowing. "What makes you so sure he wouldn't have done the same?"

"Maybe he would," Nero said bluntly. "Maybe not. You didn't care enough to find out. You just picked up your father's grudge and ran with it, dragging whatever was left of your brilliance through the mud."

Ivan growled, but his voice wavered. "You don't understand. You stand here, lecturing me, but you do not know what it feels like to lose everything."

Anthony stepped forward, his arms still crossed. "You're not the first person to lose everything, Ivan. You think that makes you unique? It doesn't. What makes you stand out is how you decided to burn every bridge in sight instead of building something better."

Ivan's gaze shifted to him, his expression hardening again. "Better? When the world is rotten? There is no better."

Diego snorted. "Wow. That's a real motivational poster right there. 'The world sucks, so let's make it worse.' Inspiring."

Nero glanced toward Nigel, the flicker of patience in his eyes extinguished. "I'm done with counseling," he said bluntly. "I have neither the time nor the inclination to coddle you." His gaze shifted to Nigel. "Cloud, explain what we're offering and what the alternative is. Make sure he's fully cooperative. You know what to do otherwise."

Nigel stepped forward, carrying the faint weight of authority. The others stepped aside, giving him room without needing instruction. Vanko's eyes tracked him warily, the faint rattling of the chains the only sound in the room.

Nigel crouched slightly, leveling his gaze with Vanko's. "Listen carefully, Ivan," he said, his tone cutting cleanly through the tension. "This isn't a negotiation. It's a one-time offer. We give you an opportunity, and you walk out of here with your life. You waste it, and we make sure no one ever finds what's left of you."

Vanko's lips twisted into a bitter smile, blood staining his teeth. "Opportunity? From thieves in the shadows?"

Nigel's eyes locked onto Ivan's, the pale grey like shards of frozen glass. "Thieves or not, we're the only people who wouldn't outright kill you," he said. "You better cherish that, boy."

Ivan snarled faintly, pulling against his restraints with what little strength he had left. "I cherish nothing from liars and cowards. If you had any strength, you wouldn't talk—you'd act."

Nigel tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. "You don't understand strength. Strength isn't about tantrums and vengeance. It's about knowing when to use force and when not to. You? You wasted your strength, and now you're at my mercy."

Nigel stepped closer, unhurried, his shadow falling over Ivan. "It's time to choose," he said, his voice cutting through the static tension like a blade. "You can keep clinging to your father's grudge and rot, or you can do something that actually matters."

Ivan's glare remained defiant, though his body sagged against the restraints. "I will not be your pawn."

Nigel sighed. Without hesitation, his hand flicked upward, releasing a pulse of purple light from the ring on his finger. The beam entered Ivan's forehead with precision, disappearing into his skull. A second later, Ivan's body jerked once before going completely still, his head slumping forward. The restraints around his wrists and ankles remained taut, but there was no longer any resistance. Not a single drop of blood was shed.

"Stubborn bastard." Nigel muttered, lowering his hand and stepping back. There was no anger in his tone, only resignation, a faint trace of pity bleeding into his words.

Anthony leaned against the wall, pulling his mask off. He tilted his head toward Ivan's lifeless body. "Didn't we need him?"

Nigel turned, shaking his head. "You think Capo cares about this level of technology? An arc reactor? We could build one in our sleep if we wanted it. Capo gave him the chance because he saw a parallel—a man ruined by the actions of others, blinded by a legacy of betrayal." He paused, his gaze hardening. "But Ivan couldn't see past his hatred. That's what killed him, not me."

Diego straightened from where he leaned in the corner, shrugging his jacket back into place. "So much for poetic justice," he said lightly. "And here I thought we were all about redemption arcs."

Maria's eyes flicked toward Nigel, as she entered the room. "Redemption isn't a gift. It's something people have to take for themselves. He chose not to."

Anthony glanced at Nigel again. "You sure Nero's gonna be fine with this? He doesn't seem like the 'waste resources' type."

"Capo doesn't waste resources," Nigel replied. "But he also doesn't cling to them when they're flawed beyond repair. Vanko was brilliant, but his brilliance was buried under layers of bitterness and self-destruction. Capo gave him a chance—more than anyone else would've."

Diego laughed quietly, pushing off the wall. "Well, that's one way to save on room and board. Guess we're done here."

Maria stepped away from the door, "Let's go. Donald is back."

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