The vast farmland stretched out endlessly in every direction. It was the kind of place that felt forgotten by time — no roads, no neighbors, and not a single soul for miles. Dr. Rice stood in the middle of the open field, his lab coat flapping in the breeze, his face twisted with frustration.
"Damn it!" he snapped. "We're in the middle of nowhere! There's no one around and no cars either!"
It was true. This was rural America — massive plots of land owned by farmers who rarely needed outside help thanks to high-tech automated equipment. These families could manage thousands of acres with little more than a drone and a smart tractor. For a squad of mercenaries suddenly stranded without working vehicles, it might as well have been another planet.
Dr. Rice's fist clenched tightly, his veins bulging with suppressed rage.
"That bastard came prepared! He used an EMP — took out our comms and vehicles in one blow! He's been planning this all along!"
But despite how convinced he sounded, Dr. Rice was wrong.
Nathan hadn't planned any of this.
The EMP grenades weren't meant for the Essex Corporation. He had prepared them months ago, just in case he ever ran into HYDRA's exoskeleton soldiers again. It was only by pure chance that this rogue mission had thrown him into the old Wolverine timeline.
He had made decisions on the fly. Cutting Essex's communication lines and transportation was just quick thinking. But now, to his enemies, he looked like a genius strategist.
Meanwhile, Donald, bruised and scowling, barked out orders: "We need a vehicle. You two, with me. We'll head to the nearest road and find a ride!"
"Yes, sir!" the mercenaries replied in unison.
The small group took off at a run, vanishing toward the tree line, hoping to reach the highway and flag down a car before Nathan got too far.
---
Meanwhile...
Nathan's motorcycle raced across a narrow countryside road, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Fifteen minutes later, he finally reached a paved highway. The roar of the engine echoed into the hills behind him.
Seated awkwardly on the bike was X-24, the violent clone of Wolverine. His arms and legs were still bound in magnetic handcuffs, rendering him motionless. Despite the chaos earlier, his healing factor was already at work. The deep gashes across his back were gone. The bruises around his eyes were fading. Even the blood that had once spilled from his mouth had disappeared.
Nathan glanced at the clone from the corner of his eye.
"Looks like it won't be long before you're back to full strength."
The clone glared at Nathan with pure hatred — not a word spoken, but the message was clear:
"You're dead the moment I'm free."
Nathan returned the glare with a smirk.
"Yeah, can't let that happen. Your claws are still dangerous. I can't have you turning me into sushi."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, flat device with a red button on it.
"Luckily, I came prepared."
It was a neurotoxin injector — a custom device designed to suppress even the most dangerous targets. The toxin inside had been engineered specifically to combat healing factors like Wolverine's.
Though it wasn't as strong as the one the Grandmaster had once used on Thor, it didn't need to be. It was potent enough to shut down X-24.
As Nathan revealed the device, X-24's eyes widened.
His instincts screamed danger.
His body trembled, though he couldn't move. Panic surged in his veins as the reality hit: if he got injected, he would lose control — completely.
Nathan noticed the fear in his eyes and chuckled.
"Relax. It won't kill you. Just... quiet you down."
Click.
He pressed the injector against X-24's neck.
Three slender needles shot out, piercing the skin.
A small dose of neurotoxin surged through the clone's nervous system. Within seconds, the effect was visible.
The clone's muscles stiffened.
Then, his limbs drooped.
His eyes lost their violent gleam.
He went still. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
For the first time, X-24 felt fear.
The man before him — calm, tactical, always two steps ahead — wasn't just an opponent.
He was a monster in human form.
Nathan watched the paralysis take hold and nodded with approval.
"Perfect. Wolverine, at his peak, in my control."
He revved the bike again and sped off toward the east, checking the GPS in his head.
His next goal was clear: find a secure location and begin extracting the self-healing factor.
---
Back near the farmhouse…
Donald and the others eventually made it to the main road. After several minutes of waiting, they managed to hijack a pickup truck, toss the driver aside, and grab his phone.
They immediately contacted headquarters.
"We've been compromised. We need a new convoy. Send Caliban and Rice. We'll regroup and pursue."
Within half an hour, the reinforcements arrived.
Caliban, the mutant tracker, was still alive in this version of events — not blown up as in the original timeline. He stepped out of the vehicle, flanked by Dr. Rice, who was now seething with rage.
Before they could even exchange pleasantries, Rice snarled, "Caliban! Find X-24! I want his exact location!"
Caliban closed his eyes, tapping into his mutant ability. A wave of concentration swept over his face.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
He finally opened his eyes with a grim shake of the head.
"They're out of range... over 20 miles away. I can't lock onto them."
Dr. Rice looked like he'd swallowed a cactus.
"Twenty miles?! That freak... He's gotten away... with my life's work."
His fists shook violently.
"X-24 is my greatest achievement. A perfect clone. And now... some masked lunatic is experimenting on him!"
Rice turned to the convoy, voice breaking into a full-on scream:
"Steve Rogers... You'll pay for this!"
---
Elsewhere, in New York City…
High above the skyline, Captain America stood on the balcony of one of Stark's high-rise buildings. The wind tousled his hair as he looked over the urban sprawl.
He had barely stepped outside in recent weeks.
Ever since the Ultron–Sokovia incident, the Avengers had come under fire from governments and media alike. The deaths and destruction caused by Ultron had tainted their name.
Public trust was fractured.
And for now, Steve Rogers was in hiding.
As he leaned on the balcony, he suddenly sneezed. Then, a weird chill crawled up his spine.
"Strange," he muttered.
Beside him, Sam Wilson — Falcon — chuckled.
"Feels like someone's talking behind your back."
Steve sighed. "More like someone's aiming a sniper rifle at it."
He tried to brush off the sensation, but deep inside, he knew something was off.
He had no idea that someone, somewhere, was plotting against him — completely unrelated to Sokovia.
He was being blamed for something he hadn't even done.
Falcon noticed the unease on Steve's face and added, "You might want to keep a low profile for a while. Bad luck's flying around."
Steve nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'll be careful."
He had no idea how soon those words would be tested.
___________________________________
Get membership in patreon to read more chapters
Extra chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31