Chapter 50: Technical Support from Tony Stark
"Can the surveillance footage be restored? If so, how much can we recover, Fitz?"
Dante immediately pushed Skye aside—who was still trying to glue herself to his side—and switched to work mode.
Fitz nodded. "Theoretically, yes. But the data's corrupted—badly. The time code's completely desynced. So we might be able to reconstruct a rough outline of the scene, maybe a partial profile… but don't expect precision."
"No time sync? What if I give you the audio from that moment? I was using a self-built long-tube sound collector to directionally pick up lab audio from nearby. But the static was terrible, so I thought it was junk. Still… for someone like you, scrubbing static should be easy, right?"
Skye, now calm and functional, stepped up with a look to match her tone. "The audio file's in my truck."
Fitz and Simmons instantly entered what could only be described as a nerd trance. A blizzard of science babble followed—half physics, half gibberish. No one else had a clue what they were saying until the two exchanged glances and nodded with synced smiles.
"Thanks a ton."
"Having audio would help a lot."
Coulson watched his team, the air between them smooth and unstrained, and couldn't help but smile.
People like Skye? Recruited every year by the Bureau—same as big tech firms tossing out six-figure offers to any hacker who successfully torches their firewalls.
And at the top of that food chain?
Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff.
Name known worldwide. Face? Ghosted.
As long as you weren't HYDRA, the FBI was happy to play ball with anyone.
That said, Coulson had picked up on something Skye mentioned earlier.
Her truck.
"All your equipment's been stored in your 'broken truck,' just like you said. And, yeah—you were right. We couldn't crack the encryption."
"I'll say it again—that's not a 'broken truck!'" Skye looked genuinely offended. "And it's no surprise you couldn't crack it. Since I'm officially working with you now, I can tell you—the encryption's linked to GPS. It only unlocks once the truck's in the right location."
She sounded very smug about this little trick. And honestly? She'd earned it. Even an agency as advanced as the FBI couldn't crack her encryption.
Dante opened his personal terminal, tapped a few times, and handed it to her.
"FBI agents already drove your truck back to the alley where we found it… Oh, and they also gave it a full interior and exterior cleaning. On the house."
"What! No!!"
Skye wailed at the screen, staring at her old truck—now so spotless it gleamed like a mirror.
"My gritty, sexy, battle-worn body! You monsters! I made it look old on purpose!"
Watching her flip out, Dante scratched his head.
In the end, the person who went with Skye to retrieve the audio file from her truck was Dante.
It was supposed to be Coulson and Wade Wilson, but Dante volunteered.
Wade Wilson might be one of the Bureau's top agents, but in Dante's mind, the threat level Mike Peterson posed was closer to "Avengers applicant" than "standard perp."
"So how long are you gonna keep staring at me like that?"
Skye gave him a side-eye. Her infatuation with Dante's whole "mysterious power guy" vibe had finally taken a coffee break.
Clunk.
The truck door swung open, revealing an interior that was... shockingly spacious.
A dozen different monitors and devices blinked away—some new, some retro. The whole place screamed post-apocalyptic punk hacker den.
"You're still technically a Rising Tide plant. We haven't exactly forgiven you yet." Dante rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I shouldn't even be part of this junior squad. The only reason I'm here is because Captain America's vitals normalized after thawing out, but he still hasn't woken up. Otherwise? You'd be dealing with Coulson and Cap right now."
"What!? Captain America!? Like... the Captain America? Nazi-punching, HYDRA-kicking legend!?"
Skye was fully lit up now—but her fingers never left the keyboard. Hacker instincts > fangirl instincts.
"He's actually joining this special task force?"
"In theory, yeah. But come on. He's been in a popsicle state for almost a century. Gonna take some serious mental recalibration before he's combat-ready again."
Dante sighed.
If he were in Cap's boots, waking up in this century would feel like a slow-motion horror movie.
A hundred years of frostbite later, he'd find himself in a world that barely recognized him.
The only ties left to his past?
An old flag, and an older woman—fading fast, body frail, mind frayed.
The same woman he'd once promised everything to.
Just like when a fragile Peggy Carter held Cap's hand and whispered…
"Sometimes, the best choice is to start over."
"We've… been apart too long."
"Too long."
Love doesn't die with time—but it can fossilize into lifelong regret.
Dante wiped a hand across his face. Being sentimental wasn't always a great habit.
"I get it, I get it. Like when I was growing up in the church-run orphanage, the nuns gave me the name 'Mary Sue.' When I finally left and tried to integrate into society, I realized just how cursed that name was."
Skye shut her laptop, pulled the memory card, and turned to Dante with a half-smile.
"But life goes on, right?"
"You done?"
"Everything you need is right here." She held up the memory card. "And I already pinged Mike Peterson… Think you can handle him?"
"You mean handle him how?"
"Handle him in a don't let him explode way." Skye stared him down. "He's a father. He has a kid."
For all her chaotic hacker energy, Skye's heart was still intact.
Growing up an orphan herself, the last thing she wanted was to see another kid dragged into a horror show.
That's why she'd tried to help Mike in the first place.
"Then you picked the only path."
"Great. Now watch out behind you!"
The second Skye looked up, she spotted Mike Peterson already raising a glowing fist behind Dante.
But before the words even left her mouth, Dante—like he'd been waiting for this exact beat—spun around with perfect timing and grabbed Mike by the neck.
Boom.
Straight into the wall. Left a dent.
"Who are you..."
"Hmph hmph hmph! That's the right question!"
Dante smirked and shook his head.
"Urm FBI?!"
"Skye! You betrayed me!? You said you came to help! You said these government suits would hurt us!"
Mike had already been skating on thin mental ice—unemployed, homeless, full of rage.
Now throw in a spliced Extremis knockoff called Centipede, and he was basically a glitching firework.
Skye's "betrayal" was the final straw.
Adrenaline slammed into overdrive. His blood vessels glowed a burning orange-red.
Even a random bystander could tell he was about to go nuclear.
And they'd be right.
Mike Peterson had officially become a living thermobaric bomb.
Then, from the back of the truck, came a small, shaky voice:
"Dad? Daddy?"
That one word hit harder than any punch.
Mike froze.
Dante let out a slow breath and barked at Skye.
"Get the kid out of here! Now!"
Then he turned and shouted at Mike.
"Listen to me, Mike Peterson! Your kid is right there! You want to kill him too!?"
"So calm down! Now! That's the only way I can help you!"
Mike struggled, trembling, but Dante was stronger. Way stronger.
He held him in place.
And slowly… finally… the trembling stopped.
Tears spilled down Mike's cheeks.
An adult's breakdown doesn't always come with screaming.
Sometimes, it's just quiet surrender.
Dante had him locked down.
But now came the real issue.
He could neutralize the explosion—if he killed Mike.
But after seeing that kid?
Dante couldn't do it.
Couldn't end a father's life in front of his son.
And just then, the communicator buzzed.
"Hello, hello! You alive, Dante? It's me—Tony! Coulson said you guys hit a little snag, so I figured… hey, I'm bored, I like attention—let's offer some tech support!"
"Since when are you Coulson's guy?"
Chapter 51: Born a Monster
Dante had originally planned to call in the Science Duo for help.
But Coulson, apparently committed to maximum drama (or maybe minimum risk), went ahead and pulled in Tony Stark.
Wasn't he supposed to be in Metropolis hanging out with Lois Lane?
Guess not.
Apparently, one phone call was all it took to summon the billionaire playboy himself.
Honestly, calling in backup at the drop of a hat had become the FBI's new favorite habit. Not that Dante could blame them. Their biggest asset right now? A ridiculous number of Agents and even more ridiculous contacts.
"Aren't you with Coulson too?" Dante snapped over comms. "He called you and you just showed up?"
"I just think it's easier talking to a guy with a receding hairline than a completely bald guy," Tony quipped. Then his tone shifted. "Hacker Girl sent the audio file while she was on the run. I'm here now, trying to figure out how to neutralize Centipede."
"Adrenaline. Emotional spikes triggering a surge in adrenaline—that's what kicks the stitched-up Extremis reaction inside Centipede into overdrive."
Dante said, glancing at Mike Peterson, whose glowing orange veins were starting to pulse again.
No time left.
Without hesitation, he opened a portal and dragged Mike straight through.
"Dante—wait, WHAT THE—"
Tony Stark spun around just in time to see Dante drop out of thin air, casually dragging a walking time bomb into the lab.
"You seriously just brought a human thermobaric bomb into an airborne command center!?"
The portal had led them straight into the lab above the Coulson Team's command module. Currently occupying said lab: Fitz, Jemma, and one international playboy genius.
Dante activated his Green Lantern transformation mid-stride, answering Tony while throwing up hardlight constructs.
"I could have dumped him in the desert, sure, but if you figure out a cure, how would you get there in time?"
Layer after layer of green Will Light snapped into place, encasing Mike in a containment shell that pulsed like a high-tech sarcophagus.
Dante wasn't about to play chicken with a guy wired up like a nuke. The barrier would hold. He was sure of it.
The mission wasn't about neutralizing Mike Peterson—it was about saving him.
"Fitz. Jemma. Now's your moment."
"Oh my God… okay, so his emotional state links to his metabolic rate—so every emotional spike just shortens the detonation timer—"
"Stop repeating what I already know," Dante said, exhaling slowly. "Focus. I've got him locked down. Even if he explodes, nobody in here's getting hurt. So, if the trigger's emotional and adrenaline-based… fake his death. Didn't you design a tranquilizer gun?"
"Right!" Jemma rushed over to grab the prototype. "But the power's not calibrated—"
"Genius idea," Tony cut in, plucking the tranquilizer gun from her. "I'll take it from here."
Jarvis immediately scanned the weapon, blueprint data and bullet composition popping up across Tony's HUD like he was reading a digital comic book.
"Hmm… if you're going for true suspended animation, you'll want less paralysis and more rigor mortis. Add some low-toxicity sea snake venom, and we're in business."
"There's some in the lab!" Jemma bolted over to her bio-shelf. "But it's too strong. It needs to be diluted."
"Dilute it twenty—no, fifty times. Your bullets were already close to perfect. Just fine-tune them."
Tony didn't hesitate for a second.
Dante nodded to himself. Coulson made the right call bringing this guy in.
In the original Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. plotline, Fitz and Jemma eventually developed the perfect suspended animation serum in about two hours.
But here?
This timeline was already scrambled.
Skye's arc was diverging. The Coulson Team's path had gone off-road. Dante wasn't about to bet lives on plotline consistency.
And even if he dropped hints, there was no guarantee this version of FitzSimmons could deliver in time.
Fortunately, Tony Stark existed.
And when you dropped a peak-level human intellect into the mix, things moved.
Jemma focused on mixing the venom, preparing the custom shot.
Fitz, knowing Peterson's body had been reinforced by Centipede, modified the bullet to activate on contact and deliver the serum through surface absorption.
Dante considered volunteering to just stab the guy directly. He was more than capable of restraining Peterson long enough to force the shot.
But no—better to let the kids handle it.
Boost morale. Preserve initiative. Let the rookies feel like heroes.
Tony clearly had the same idea. He kept quiet.
Mike Peterson, meanwhile, sat motionless—trapped within the Will Light barrier, powerless to do anything except watch.
Eventually, the silence cracked.
"They call you Dante? Are you in charge?"
"That's right. In this emergency, I'm calling the shots. All responsibility's on me."
"I see… Then can you make sure the FBI takes care of my son?"
"You sure about that? 'Cause honestly, the best person to take care of your kid... is you."
Dante leaned forward, watching Mike carefully.
"And you don't have to panic. Our Coulson Team's stacked with the best agents we've got. We'll figure out what's inside that arm of yours. But before we do... I've got a question for you."
Mike clenched his jaw, trying not to react emotionally. Barely managing. Then nodded.
Dante pulled up a chair and sat down, like he was conducting a job interview—with a guy glowing like a lava lamp.
"Peter Parker once said: 'With great power comes great responsibility.' You've got power now. Can you carry the responsibility that comes with it? Can you live with the consequences?"
"Sure, you've got strength beyond normal humans. But does your son? Can you always be there for him?"
"What happens when someone uses him to control you? Forces you to do things you don't want to?"
"There's a guy out there called the Clairvoyant. Supervillain specialty: blackmail, manipulation, control. He implants electronic eyes to track targets. Commands their actions. Once he's used you up—missions done, bones broken—he turns you into a guinea pig for his cybernetics project."
Each sentence hit harder than the last.
Mike was drenched in sweat. Breathing like he'd run a marathon.
"I don't understand any of that… All I know is, with Centipede, I'm strong. I can work ten times harder at the factory. I can provide for my family."
"So even if that means hurting your kid, you're okay with that?"
Dante's final question left Mike Peterson completely speechless.
"I get it. Making choices sucks." Dante tapped the Green Light barrier. "But life is choice. You don't move forward until you make one."
"…I just want to support my family."
"You don't have to worry about that. Even if Centipede is removed, the enhancement effects won't vanish entirely. Sure, they'll decay—probably down to thirty percent—but even then, you'll still be stronger than most."
"Plus, you're a victim. The Bureau compensates victims of these kinds of cases."
Slowly, painfully, Mike emerged from the emotional spiral.
He made the call.
He let it go.
Centipede—his shortcut, his anchor—gone.
But his burden?
Lighter.
Dante had told him the truth: you don't move forward without a choice.
...
Under the pressure of a ticking time bomb, the Science Duo may have panicked a little—but their hands didn't slip. Not once.
Ten minutes later, Coulson arrived at the lab with the rest of the team.
Skye. Mike's son.
The full squad.
"Dante! Tony! What's the status?"
"Final step," Dante said.
He watched Fitz load the tranquilizer bullet into the chamber. Hands shaking.
Fitz raised the gun, trying to steady his aim at Mike inside the glowing barrier.
"Agent Dante, please… drop the barrier."
Dante smiled, then gently took the tranquilizer gun from his hands.
"You've done great."
Fitz's hands were shaking like a man with advanced Parkinson's. No way Dante was letting him take the shot.
One twitch, one miss, and everything would go to hell.
"O-okay…"
Fitz nodded, exhaling slowly.
But there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
Coulson caught it.
He understood.
Fitz and Jemma weren't just research geeks. They didn't want to be locked in some lab forever.
They wanted field work.
They wanted impact.
That's why Coulson chose them.
So he gave them both a shoulder pat and a smile.
"You two are still a long way from being full-fledged field agents."
Then he glanced at Skye.
"But the three of you? Keep at it."