"And here I thought you were a man who prided himself on adhering to agreements, Ranger." Nick Fury's voice crackled, a gravelly rasp laced with barely suppressed fury. "Yet, you casually break them. You vanish, utterly out of contact for weeks, and the next I hear of your… activities… it's from the goddamn President of the United States himself, practically screaming down my one good ear." A weary sigh.
"He was kind enough to offer me two distinct options regarding your current status, Ranger. Option one: deploy any and all available assets to capture you, alive if possible, for… debriefing. Option two," Fury's voice dropped, taking on a grim finality, "authorize a tactical nuclear strike on your last known position and the unfortunate New Jersey town currently under your… care."
Fury let that hang in the air for a beat. "So, consider yourself fortunate that you are still drawing breath, Ranger. You are accumulating enemies at an alarming rate. You're painting a target on your back so large, it's visible from orbit. You had better be damn sure you can survive the inevitable fall when it comes."
"Bestie! My dearest, one-eyed confidant!" Ranger's voice was a symphony of mock delight, a stark, infuriating contrast to Fury's grim pronouncements. "Thank you so much for that timely reminder of President Ross and his delightful temperament, a charming blend of toddler tantrum and Napoleonic arrogance that might just rival the combined egos of Stark and Strange. You truly are the best of friends, looking out for me like this." He paused, a theatrical hum of thought.
"Oh, and speaking of our grumpy old man, the one currently playing President? I believe I forgot to mention a rather pertinent detail during our… spirited exchange earlier. Those nukes he so desperately wishes to deploy, either on my person or on my rather charming new turf? He can't actually fire them. Not most of them, anyway. Why, you ask, my dearest bestie?"
Ranger let out a soft chuckle. "It's because, in a moment of proactive crisis management, I may have… assimilated… control of the launch systems for a significant portion of the nation's strategic arsenal. Barring, of course, the purely manual ones, the charmingly antiquated relics of a bygone era. And I happen to know the precise, GPS-verified locations of those too. So, unless our dear President Ross harbors a secret desire to experience nuclear winter firsthand from within his own command bunker, he might want to reconsider issuing that particular launch command."
"You are playing an exceptionally dangerous game, Ranger." Fury's voice was a low, dangerous growl now, the earlier exasperation replaced by a cold fury. "A game that you are unlikely to walk away from alive."
"Of course, I am, bestie! Where's the fun in a game without stakes?" Ranger retorted, his tone still infuriatingly light. "Though, I must confess, I might have opted for a slightly safer, more… silent approach to my current endeavors, had it not been for a certain Director of a certain clandestine organization who seemed rather intent on testing my bottom lines, my moral ambiguities, and the full spectrum of my rather unique capabilities. Oh," he added, as if an afterthought, "and let's not forget his charming plan to introduce me to mutant gentlemen for what sounded suspiciously like a rather aggressive 'snow bunny' gangbang scenario back on Krakoa." Ranger's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"You had absolutely no intention of ordering those mutants to cease their rather enthusiastic welcome, did you, Nick? You just watched. Observed. Calculated. As I was assailed by attack after attack, you were coolly estimating my power output, my defensive parameters. I have to say, bestie, my little heart is quite broken by this betrayal."
"My relationship with the majority of the mutant population can now, as they say, be kissed goodbye. I believe I am currently just a notch below Bolivar Trask on their collective 'most hated' list. And for that, I have my dearest bestie and his strategically deployed 'homies' to thank. Truly, words cannot express my gratitude."
Fury didn't hesitate, his voice now an icy whip-crack. "And so what if I did, you arrogant bitch? So what if I ensured you wouldn't be making any new, inconvenient mutant friends? You are a danger, Ranger. You were a danger from the millisecond you materialized in my most secure facility. You were a danger the moment you effortlessly accessed schematics that should have been beyond your reach. You were elevated to this level of scrutiny, this level of… proactive management… precisely because you are just that: a danger. To yourself. To others. To the fragile, pathetic illusion of order we try to maintain."
Fury roared, his voice distorting the comms. "And what do we do with threats like you, Ranger? We contain them. We bring them under control. Or, when all other options are exhausted, we eliminate them."
"Woah there, bestie! Such passion! Such conviction!" Ranger exclaimed, though his voice now held an undercurrent of something colder, harder. "I am truly heartbroken that you've finally revealed your true colors. But then again, the elders always did say, didn't they? Betrayal always wears the face of a friend. And one can only sigh with a certain grim relief when the mask finally slips, revealing the true face beneath. Sooner rather than later, preferably."
"Bitch, I am not your bestie." Fury snarled. "Remember that. Every time you open your smart mouth."
"Yeah, yeah, I understand. Crystal clear. Our beautiful, burgeoning friendship, tragically cut short in its prime. A moment of silence for what might have been." Ranger paused dramatically. "Still, I must say, Director, it's a fascinating study in contrasts. The previous Avengers, the team you painstakingly assembled? You couldn't truly control them, not Stark, not Thor, not even Rogers in the end. Yet you supported them, enabled them, perhaps even… trusted them, in your own twisted way. And this new iteration, these Neo-Avengers? You don't even seem to be a significant part of their command structure, yet you don't appear to be desperately trying to bring them under your thumb. So, what makes me so very special, Nick? What makes you believe that I, of all beings, could be controlled by you? That if you merely throw a stick in any given direction, I will wag my tail and dutifully retrieve it?" Ranger's voice was a silken, dangerous purr.
"Pray tell, Fury. Is it my devastatingly innocent face? Or is it, perhaps, because you believe you have Natasha Romanoff securely under your control, a convenient lever to be used against me?"
"I don't believe I can control you, Ranger." Fury's voice was flat now, devoid of its earlier rage, a cold statement of fact. "I just know that, for the good of this planet, someone needs to."
"Newsflash, Fury." Ranger replied, his voice equally flat, a final, dismissive period. "You can't." He cut the connection.
---
Ranger's feet touched down with a whisper on the familiar, slightly worn pavement of Bleecker Street. The air here always hummed with a unique, almost palpable energy, a subtle thrum of arcane forces. He scanned his surroundings, his internal sensors cataloging the mundane and the mystical. He found the address easily: 177A. The Sanctum Sanctorum. He stood before the imposing, ornate wooden door and was about to raise his hand to knock when it creaked open silently, seemingly of its own accord.
"Sorcerers and their charmingly theatrical little tricks, am I right, Wong?" Ranger remarked, stepping over the threshold into the dimly lit, antique-laden foyer.
Wong stood there, arms crossed, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. "Strange is expecting you, Mr. Ranger." He offered no further pleasantries, merely gesturing with his head down a long, shadowed corridor. "Follow me."
Ranger fell into step behind him, his gaze sweeping across the eclectic collection of artifacts, the ancient tapestries, the bookshelves groaning under the weight of forgotten lore. "Wong." he began, his tone casual, "a small request, if I may? I find myself in need of procuring some… enchanted capes. Five of them, to be precise. Four suitable for children, say, about… yay big." Ranger held his hand out, indicating Leo's dad approximate height. "And one for an adult. A rather deserving father, in fact."
Wong glanced back, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Ranger shrugged. "A promise was made. I intend to pay, the precious esteemed librarian and guardian of the mystical repository, and now, Sorcerer Supreme. The capes needn't be imbued with any truly potent magic. Perhaps just enough to allow a child to hover a few inches off the ground for a short period? Party tricks, essentially. For impressing impressionable young minds."
"We usually craft defenses against interdimensional horrors. Not hover-capes for birthday parties." Wong replied, his voice a dry monotone, his gaze fixed forward.
"Ah, but the current Sorcerer Supreme does seem to have ample time for… extracurricular activities." Ranger remarked, a knowing smirk in his voice. "Such as participating in underground, dimension-hopping fight clubs against Abomination, surrounded by a cheering, gambling crowd. Or so I've heard." He casually tossed a small, surprisingly heavy pouch towards Wong. It clinked with the distinct sound of gold. "Consider this a generous down payment for the aforementioned capes. And perhaps a small consultation fee for your time."
Wong caught the pouch effortlessly, his expression unchanging, though his fingers tightened around it for a fraction of a second. His feet never stopped moving. He reached a large, ornate door at the end of the corridor. "Strange is within." He gestured for Ranger to enter. "You will have your capes by the time your… consultation… with him is concluded." With that, Wong raised a hand, a sling ring already glowing on his fingers, and with a swirl of orange sparks, opened a portal and stepped through it, vanishing without another word.
Ranger entered the room. It was a vast, circular library, shelves stretching to an impossibly high, domed ceiling, filled with ancient, leather-bound tomes. A massive orrery turned slowly in the center of the room, and the air hummed with contained power. Doctor Stephen Strange stood by a large window overlooking a swirling, impossible vista, his Cloak of Levitation billowing slightly behind him. He turned as Ranger entered, his expression one of cool, intellectual arrogance.
"Mighty rude of you, Ranger." Strange began, his voice precise, edged with a familiar superiority. "To arrive so unannounced. Not even the courtesy of a magical missive, or a raven, or whatever arcane equivalent you might employ."
"What can I say, Doctor?" Ranger retorted, his tone equally dry. "I attempted to send a strongly worded letter via conventional post, but apparently, Director Fury and President Ross misplaced the forwarding address for the Sanctum Sanctorum. Tragic, really."
"They are not worthy of such knowledge." Strange stated, a dismissive wave of his hand. "And frankly, if it were not for certain… unavoidable incidents… that thrust our existence into the public sphere, the wider world would, and should, remain blissfully ignorant of our presence. So." he gestured towards a pair of surprisingly comfortable-looking armchairs, "Tea, Mr. Ranger? Or something stronger, perhaps, given your recent… exertions?"
"Tea would be acceptable, thank you." Ranger replied. As if summoned by the words themselves, a delicate porcelain teacup materialized on a nearby table, followed by a steaming teapot that gracefully poured a fragrant, amber liquid. Ranger took a seat, the cup levitating smoothly into his hand.
"To what, then." Strange asked, taking the other chair, his own tea appearing in a similar fashion, "do I, and the Sanctum, owe the… pleasure… of this unexpected visit from a man of your rather… explosive… reputation?"
"I find myself in need of your unique talents, Doctor Strange." Ranger stated, getting straight to the point. "Specifically, your assistance in facilitating a two-way, precision teleportation. To a rather remote, uninhabited planet. Approximately ten times the size of Jupiter. Solid core, stable atmosphere, negligible indigenous threats. And, crucially, located well outside any known galactic shipping lanes or sensor nets."
Strange raised an elegant eyebrow, his fingers steepled before him. "An intriguing, if somewhat grandiose, request. And pray tell, why should I, a Sorcerer of the sanctum, tasked with protecting this entire reality from mystical threats, divert my considerable energies to assist you in what sounds suspiciously like an interstellar joyride, or perhaps something far more… nefarious?" He took a slow sip of his tea.
"You have, as you are undoubtedly aware, accumulated a rather… impressive… list of powerful enemies, Mr. Ranger. Individuals and organizations that even the Sanctum Sanctorum would prefer not to antagonize unnecessarily. What assurance do I have that aiding you will not embroil us in your myriad conflicts? And, more to the point, what guarantee do I possess that, having delivered you to this remote celestial body, I would be inclined to retrieve you?"
"Because, Doctor Stephen Strange." Ranger said, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable weight, "I have come to bargain."
As he spoke, the Reality Stone materialized between his fingertips. "And should the art of the bargain prove insufficient for your tastes." he continued, his gaze locking with Strange's, "I possess… other methods of persuasion. Methods which, if employed, would undoubtedly draw a great deal of further, highly unwelcome, cosmic attention to this little blue planet of ours. Attention that, I suspect, neither of us would particularly enjoy dealing with at this present juncture. We wouldn't want that, now would we, Doctor?"
Strange's eyes, usually so full of arrogant certitude, widened almost imperceptibly. His teacup paused halfway to his lips. "Impossible." he breathed, the word a shocked whisper. "The Stones… they were destroyed. Atomized. How… how do you possess this? This cannot be." He leaned forward, his professional composure momentarily shattered, his gaze fixed on the pulsating gem.
"Nothing is truly impossible, Doctor Strange." Ranger remarked, taking another calm sip of his tea. "Especially not when the fundamental forces of creation decide they are rather disinclined to be… unmade." He let the Stone vanish from his fingertips.
"For your troubles, Doctor, for your expertise in arcane cartography and transportation." Ranger continued, his tone now all business, "II'll trade you intel on the Infinity Stones' fate for your precision teleport. One sentence. That's my payment. Non-negotiable. Would that suffice as adequate compensation for your services?"
Strange sat back, his mind clearly racing, wrestling with the implications of what he had just seen, what he had just been offered. He slowly, deliberately, placed his teacup down. His hands moved, a subtle, arcane gesture, and the spilled tea on the table beside him, and the slight tremor in his own hand, vanished as if they had never been. He was the Sorcerer Supreme once more, cool, controlled, calculating.
"Yes, Mr. Ranger." he said finally, his voice a low, resonant baritone, betraying none of his earlier shock. "Such a fee… such a piece of knowledge… would indeed suffice."
"Oh." Ranger added, as if an afterthought, a faint, almost mischievous smile touching his lips. "And I still require your autograph on those five capes for young Leo and his friends. Non-negotiable, I'm afraid. A promise was made."
Doctor Strange let out a long, slow sigh, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of infinite realities. "Of course." he said, a hint of weary resignation in his voice. "The capes. Naturally."