Chapter 219: Wanted
In the end, the meeting broke up without a single signature.
In the now-empty conference room, Bryan, having just been rejected in front of everyone by a room full of superheroes, stood frozen in place like a wooden post, taking a long moment to come back to himself.
In his head, the words the heroes had thrown at him kept replaying on a loop, along with the way they'd walked out, the expressions on their faces, the movements of their hands.
The fragments kept flashing through his mind, over and over.
With each replay, the expression on Bryan's face shifted through a whole range of moods.
Finally, he slammed a furious fist down on the conference table.
Bang!!
"Terrorist organization... those people, they're the real terrorist organization here!!" Bryan snarled through gritted teeth.
His hair, normally combed back with military precision, had come completely undone in his fury.
Beside him, Anka watched Bryan, looking as if he wanted to tear Matthew and the others apart with his bare hands, and after a moment of silence, asked, carefully, "Bryan... do we submit exactly what they said, word for word?"
Anka deliberately put weight on the words "word for word," giving Bryan a meaningful look.
Hearing that, Bryan, who a second ago had been perfectly still, slowly lifted his head.
His expression had returned to something composed now, entirely neutral, and there was even a faint, unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The only thing giving him away was the fist still resting on the conference table.
The knuckles, clenched so tight they cracked audibly, told Anka clearly enough that whatever was going on inside this man right now was nowhere near as calm as his face suggested.
She even noticed, without Bryan seeming to realize it himself, that in his anger he'd crushed the copy of the accord that had belonged to Matthew, the one sitting on top of the stack, into a crumpled ball.
"Word for word..." Bryan murmured.
"How could it possibly be word for word." He murmured it while tipping his head back, staring up at the ceiling.
The cold white light overhead fell across his face, lending it an unexpected, sinister edge.
"Given that all of them were such selfless 'superheroes,' devoting themselves entirely to Earth's safety, we obviously owe it to them to put in a good word upstairs on their behalf."
"So—" Anka ventured.
Bryan let out a cold laugh. "Edit it."
"Not just edit it. Rewrite the whole thing."
"As for how—"
"Anka..." Bryan looked over at her. "You already know."
Anka: "..."
"Fine." Anka nodded.
Half a day later.
After a round of careful edits, Bryan made his way back to UN headquarters in New York, delivering both the "original record" and the SHIELD Accords into the hands of his superior.
At that moment, the UN headquarters building stood lit up against the night sky.
From outside, the glowing windows looked like squares of light embedded in the darkness.
Inside one spacious office, a beam of light fell from above.
The light illuminated only a small area at the center of the desk, leaving the rest of the room dim and indistinct, impossible to make out clearly.
As if whoever occupied this room had no interest in being seen too clearly at all.
Suddenly, a callused hand reached into the light, closed the folder in front of it, and picked up another.
The hand belonged to the current United States Secretary of State, the same Thaddeus Ross who'd once hunted Dr. Banner in The Incredible Hulk.
He sat back in his tall leather chair, his gray hair combed without a single strand out of place.
He turned through the opened accord documents from beginning to end.
On every single page, someone had checked the box marked "refuse."
And in the signature line beneath it, not a single name appeared.
Once he'd finished reading, Thaddeus Ross set the accord documents down slowly and picked up the original meeting record beside it.
He went through the whole thing slowly.
The only sound in the room, apart from the air conditioning, was the faint rustle of paper turning.
No one could say how much time passed.
Thaddeus Ross drew a slow breath, set the original record back down on the desk, and finally looked up, his gaze settling on the man across from him, who'd been standing with his hands folded since the moment he'd walked in.
"Bryan."
Thaddeus Ross's voice wasn't loud, but it carried the particular weight of someone used to being obeyed.
"Bryan, I need you to walk me through today's meeting, start to finish."
"Every attitude. Every word, exactly as it was said. Every gesture... I don't want you to leave anything out."
Hearing this, Bryan, having already prepared his account, drew a slow breath and began speaking, his tone measured.
"Mr. Secretary, today's original plan called for the meeting to be co-chaired by myself and our recorder, Ms. Anka."
"I was responsible for decision-making and relaying information up and down the chain. Ms. Anka handled the record."
"The meeting was scheduled to begin at exactly ten o'clock in the morning."
"At ten o'clock, every attendee except Matthew Lawrence was present and accounted for."
His pace was neither too fast nor too slow, pausing exactly where a pause belonged, stressing exactly what needed stressing, every syllable placed with precision.
He didn't launch straight into complaints, piling on exaggeration and outrage.
After all, opening with something that sounded like a child running to tattle would leave a bad, unprofessional impression on his superior, and it would also make his real intentions far too obvious, far too quickly.
A man like him, the kind who could read a room and say exactly what needed saying to whoever was in front of him, already understood that a lie works best served half true, letting his own opinions and demands slip in without anyone quite noticing.
"At ten thirty-two... Matthew Lawrence finally arrived."
"He was a full thirty minutes late." Here, Bryan paused briefly.
"At the start of the meeting, I personally raised some concerns about this, expressing the view that a meeting of this caliber deserved equal respect from every attendee."
"But upon entering, Mr. Lawrence disregarded my remarks entirely, walked straight to his seat, and at no point offered any apology to the attendees who had been waiting on him for half an hour."
His phrasing was remarkably precise.
That phrase, "expressing some concerns," glossed cleanly over the fact that what he'd actually been doing was loudly condemning Matthew.
He also left out the part where those comments had come to an abrupt halt, and his tone had done a complete reversal, the instant Matthew actually arrived.
Every one of those details had been quietly folded away under the phrase "expressed some concerns."
Listening to Bryan's account, Ross said nothing, only narrowing his eyes slightly.
Seeing that, Bryan kept going. "During the meeting, Erik Lehnsherr... that is, Magneto..."
"...displayed clear hostility and disrespect toward our personnel on multiple occasions."
"When I briefly stepped away due to a physical discomfort, he actually used his mutant abilities to forcibly drag me back into the conference room from the restroom."
His voice dropped slightly here, as if he were holding back real anger.
"As you're aware, the toilets inside SHIELD's facilities are all metal... and I happened to be seated on one at the time..."
"Without my consent, Mr. Erik used his control over metal to transport the entire toilet, and myself along with it, straight to the center of the conference room..."
A brief pause.
"In front of everyone..."
Bryan paused for a moment, his expression not changing in the slightest, though something like tears seemed to be welling faintly in his eyes.
As if to say, I've been wronged, but I won't make a fuss about it.
A perfectly calibrated pause, one that let the listener fill in the entire picture on their own.
Hearing this, Ross's fingers, resting on the desk, pressed down with a bit more force than before, though he still said nothing.
Seeing that, Bryan continued. "None of the other attendees made any move to stop Mr. Erik's actions."
"Most of them were laughing. Others treated it as some kind of farce."
"Mr. Tony Stark, before leaving, stated publicly that he 'hates it when other people tell him how to use his own things.'"
"Steve Rogers, the former Captain America..."
"...went so far as to directly accuse the United Nations, claiming our process is 'long-winded and useless,' and questioned whether the UN panel might end up infiltrated, the same way SHIELD was."
"And finally—"
"Not a single person signed the SHIELD Accords, this document meant to safeguard the security of the entire world..."
"Mr. Secretary... not one." With that, Bryan concluded his account.
His expression remained deferential throughout. His tone remained measured.
Once Bryan finished, the office fell into a long silence.
Ross sat in his chair, hands folded on the desk, his gaze fixed on Bryan's face.
A long moment passed.
He pulled his gaze away, letting it settle instead on the document sitting on top of the stack of accords.
Its cover was crumpled with wrinkles, the corners completely deformed, as if it had been crushed tightly in someone's fist and then carelessly flattened back out.
Looking at that copy, Ross reached out and pulled the mangled document toward himself.
"...This."
"What happened here?"
The copy in Ross's hands was the very one Bryan had crushed in his own anger earlier.
Hearing the question, Bryan lowered his head.
His eyes settled on the thoroughly wrecked document in Ross's hands, and he was quiet for roughly two seconds, giving off the distinct impression of someone who'd rather not say, but since he'd been asked directly, felt obligated to answer honestly.
"Mr. Secretary, this copy belonged to Mr. Matthew Lawrence."
Bryan's voice grew softer, his expression a careful mix of resignation and discomfort.
"When I asked Mr. Lawrence to confirm whether he intended to sign the accord, he pulled this copy out of my hands and, in front of me and every other attendee, crushed it into a ball."
He lifted his eyes to meet Ross's. "Then... he threw the crumpled document at me."
"I believe that was meant to express his dissatisfaction with all of us."
"I tried to say something at the time, but my position carries little weight. No one was inclined to listen to me."
"Let alone that particular individual, someone standing at the very top of what this planet has to offer."
Listening to Bryan's account, Ross still said nothing.
He simply sat with his head lowered, looking at the crumpled document, the light catching his eyes in a way that made them flicker between shadow and gleam.
No one could say how much time passed.
He raised a hand slowly, gesturing for Bryan to leave the office.
Then he leaned back into his chair, slow and deliberate.
"None of them will sign, is that it..."
"Fine, then."
"If none of them intend to sign... then none of them will get the chance to..."
With that, Ross picked up the phone, his expression darkening, and dialed out.
After a brief exchange with whoever was on the other end, he hung up.
Two days later.
On the electronic billboards along the streets of New York, a news broadcast suddenly overtook the advertisement cycling on the screens.
Pedestrians on the street stopped in their tracks.
Of course, what stopped them wasn't the urgency of the news itself, but the sheer confusion of what was actually being broadcast.
The deep blue seal of the United States Department of Justice slowly materialized at the center of the screen.
The image shifted.
A DOJ spokesperson in a dark suit appeared at the center of the frame, a massive American flag behind her, an open file laid out in front of her.
Her expression was grave, her eyes fixed directly on the camera.
"The Department of Justice of the United States of America hereby issues the following public notice."
"Following investigation, the individuals listed below are suspected of numerous serious offenses, including endangering national security, violently resisting law enforcement, destroying public property, and assaulting federal personnel, and are now formally placed on the federal Most Wanted list—"
On screen, the DOJ seal shrank into the corner, replaced by a photograph.
[Matthew Lawrence (photo)]
"Matthew Lawrence."
"Owner of Umbrella Corporation, President of the Mutant Association, shareholder of Stark Industries, shareholder of Oscorp Industries."
"Suspected charges: treason, unlawful use of weapons-of-mass-destruction-level abilities to destroy federal facilities, assaulting federal law enforcement personnel, obstruction of justice, and refusal to comply with federal security registration requirements."
With every charge the announcer read out, a corresponding legal statute popped up on screen beside Matthew's photograph.
The characters piled up densely, packed so tight that just looking at them was enough to make anyone's scalp crawl.
Once Matthew's charges had been listed in full, his photo flashed, and a second photograph appeared.
[Erik Lehnsherr, Magneto (photo)]
"Erik Lehnsherr, codename Magneto."
"Suspected charges: using mutant abilities to kidnap and humiliate a federal diplomatic officer, threatening a federal official, and refusal to comply with federal security registration requirements."
Then came a third.
[Steve Rogers (photo)]
"Steve Rogers, former SHIELD agent, codename Captain America."
"Suspected charges: treason, openly defying federal security directives, inciting others to refuse compliance with statutory obligations, and making inappropriate public statements against the federal government."
After that, the photographs kept scrolling.
Black Widow, Hawkeye, Dr. Banner, Peter Parker, Wolverine, Professor X... even Thor had somehow been slapped with charges of his own.
The whole thing carried a strange, absurd quality.
After all, these were people who, one moment earlier, had been protecting the entire planet, and the next moment had become wanted fugitives.
And for anyone who actually understood the full scale of what these people were capable of, watching the wanted notices scroll by brought a distinctly strange look to their face.
Something surfaced in the back of their mind, a fragment from some old film...
[These foreigners have wronged us beyond all endurance, to the point that our nation now stands on the brink of ruin. Rather than cling to a shameful, borrowed survival and be mocked for ten thousand generations to come, better to rise and strike back, and settle this once and for all.
We hereby solemnly declare, this very day!
War against the Kingdom of England!
War against the Republic of France!
War against the United States of America!
War against the German Empire!
War against the Russian Empire...]
However resolute the declaration sounded, anyone with eyes could see the gap between the two sides.
At the same time, at the bottom of the screen, a line of bold red text began scrolling alongside the spokesperson's words.
"The individuals listed above have been formally designated as the federal government's top wanted targets."
"Any act of harboring, assisting, or providing financial support to any of them will be treated as a federal felony and prosecuted to the full extent of the law."
The words settled, and another line slowly appeared beneath it.
"Notice: should any wanted individual voluntarily and willingly sign the SHIELD Accords, that individual's wanted status will be rescinded by the United Nations."
"We therefore ask all wanted individuals to cooperate proactively, rather than making themselves the enemy of human society as a whole."
With that, she closed the file, lifted her head, and looked directly into the camera once more.
"The United States of America thanks its citizens for their understanding and cooperation."
"The rule of law is the foundation of all freedom."
"And to all of our 'former superheroes,' please, don't make the wrong choice here."
With that, the Department of Justice seal reappeared on screen, rotated slowly twice, and abruptly cut to black.
In its place, the advertisement that had been interrupted picked back up right where it had left off.
The news was gone, but no one on the street moved.
No one could say how much time passed.
Then, as if some invisible thread had yanked them all at once...
Everyone reached for their phones and started sharing the utterly absurd international news with everyone they knew.
The sound of dial tones, message alerts, and social media notifications rose up all around, one after another.
After that brief moment of stunned silence, the whole street erupted into noise louder than anything that had come before.
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