Ch-23: Who are you?
[Mysterious POV]
A tall man with broad shoulders and a confident stride stood in the dimly lit hotel room, methodically packing his suitcase. His outfit, a well-tailored brown suit paired with a crisp white shirt, spoke volumes about his attention to detail and taste.
Each item was folded neatly and placed with precision, reflecting his disciplined nature. At the bottom of the suitcase, hidden beneath a false layer, lay a neatly folded navy blue outfit with red lines, a knife and a pair of revolvers.
The man then checked the clock on the wall. It was 8:30 PM, and the ship was scheduled to depart in an hour. His mission in the United States was finally complete, and he was ready to return to England. Just then, a faint rustle caught his attention. He turned to see a slim envelope slide under the door.
With a slight, nearly unnoticeable frown, he walked over and picked up the envelope. The seal was unmistakable, a sign from his handlers. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper inside. To an ordinary person, it would appear to be a letter from a mother to her child, but the man was no ordinary person. He quickly decoded the letter, focusing on the strategically placed words that formed the hidden message: "Hydra aboard Queen."
His brows furrowed in seriousness at the message. Then, he tore the letter into small pieces and disposed of them in the wastebasket.
He picked up the suitcase, killed the lights, and locked the door behind him.
Downstairs, he approached the front desk and handed the key to the hotel staff. "Thank you for the stay. It was quite comfortable," he said, his voice carrying the unmistakable British lilt of an upper-class upbringing, combined with the hardened edge of a seasoned soldier.
The receptionist nodded, smiling. "Glad to hear it, sir. Safe travels."
The man tipped his hat and walked out the front door, the bell ringing softly behind him. He stepped onto the bustling street, raising his hand to hail a taxi. One pulled up almost immediately, and he climbed in, placing his suitcase beside him.
"Brooklyn Piers," he instructed the driver, his tone firm and authoritative.
The driver nodded, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. "Right away, sir."
In half an hour, the taxi reached the pier where the RMS Queen Mary loomed, its three large smokestacks silhouetted against the night sky. The massive ship exuded an air of grandeur and purpose, its decks bustling with activity as crew members and passengers prepared for departure. The man paid the driver and stepped out, his eyes scanning the scene with practiced vigilance. He approached the gangway, where a uniformed officer was checking tickets and inspecting luggage.
"Ticket, please," the officer requested, his tone courteous yet firm.
The man handed over his first-class ticket with a slight nod. "Here you go."
The officer examined the ticket and glanced at him, then at his suitcase. "Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Taylor. Welcome aboard."
"Thank you," The man replied, his voice steady.
He walked up the gangway and boarded the ship, blending seamlessly with the throng of passengers. Once he reached his cabin, he quickly placed his suitcase on the bed and opened it. His movements were swift and precise as he retrieved the hidden utility belt, two revolvers, and a knife. He strapped the belt around his waist, ensuring it was concealed under his coat, and holstered the weapons.
Satisfied with his preparations, he left his room, moving with purpose through the narrow corridors of the ship. He navigated past a few guards with practiced ease, his footsteps silent on the metal floors. His destination was the workers' quarters, a less scrutinized area where he could gather more intel.
The man slipped into the locker room, his eyes searching for an outfit that would allow him to blend in. He found what he was looking for: a worn denim jacket with a faded Navy insignia on the sleeve, a crumpled white sailor's cap, rugged canvas pants adorned with a subtle anchor emblem on the pocket, and a faded black neckerchief.
Discarding his current outfit, he donned the worker's clothes, adjusting the jacket and cap to fit snugly. The transformation was remarkable; he now looked like just another sailor preparing for the voyage. Satisfied with his disguise, he checked himself in the small, cracked mirror inside the locker.
After completing his disguise, the man was ready. He moved swiftly through the ship's dimly lit corridors and staircases, making his way to the upper deck. His plan was to start his search from the top, scanning for any suspicious activity or potential Hydra operatives.
As he crossed the massive deck of the Queen Mary, the sound of metal clinking caught his attention. The noise was followed by the unmistakable sound of something being reeled in quickly. Instinctively, he turned towards the source of the noise, his senses on high alert.
Out of the shadows, a figure clad in a black suit from head to toe landed gracefully on the deck. The suit was sleek and form-fitting, with a faint shimmer that suggested advanced materials, perhaps even experimental technology. The figure's movements were fluid and precise, betraying a high level of training and skill.
The man's pupils widened in surprise and suspicion. This figure could very well be a Hydra agent, given the advanced technology and the stealthy entrance. Without hesitation, he placed his hand on the revolver holstered under his coat, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.
"Who are you? What is your business on this ship?" he demanded, his voice steady but firm.
The figure turned towards him, the black mask obscuring any facial features. For a moment, there was silence, the tension between them palpable. The figure took a step forward, raising a gloved hand in a gesture of caution.
"I'm not here to harm you," the figure replied, their voice modulated and calm.
The man's grip on the revolver tightened, his eyes narrowing as he studied the figure. "And why should I believe you?" he asked, his tone skeptical. "For all I know, you could be one of them."
"One of whom?" The figure asked, voicing his confusion.
The man replied even more aggressively, "Don't play dumb with me, mate."
The figure raised his hands in a placating gesture, the gloved fingers spread wide. "Listen, I'm just on my way to England, nothing more. The name's Ethan."
[Ethan's POV]
Even after his gesture, the man standing in front of him didn't seem to ease his grip on the revolver.
Multiple scenarios flashed through Ethan's mind. He could kill the man and store his corpse in the inventory to dispose of later, but that was a last resort. Considering the man in front of him hadn't fired immediately, Ethan deduced that he wasn't an immediate threat.
His bearing and accent suggested he might be British military or intelligence.
As Ethan's mind weighed the options, he thought incapacitating the man might work, but it wasn't feasible to keep someone unconscious for a seven-day journey.
Another possibility was to use the level-up he had been saving, allocating the stat points to Charisma and attempting to persuade the man, which was basically a gamble.
If he was successful he would be able to gain some network in the British intelligence but if he was unsuccessful, he could always kill him.
As for how to persuade him? Ethan could use the map of the concentration camps that Alfred had given him, it wasn't some special information and it could help prove his point.
Ethan decided to act quickly.
In less than a second, Ethan accessed the level-up stored in his inventory and allocated all 10 stat points to Charisma, bringing it up to 11. With a newfound confidence, he spoke, his voice calm and earnest.
"Look, I understand your caution. You don't know me, and I don't know you, but we seem to be on the same side. I'm here to assist the Allied forces in their fight against the Nazis. I suspect you might have similar objectives."
The man's eyes narrowed, still wary but showing a hint of curiosity. "You expect me to believe you're taking on the Nazis? Prove it, mate."
Ethan took a slow, deliberate step forward, making sure to keep his movements non-threatening. "I have information about their operations and plans, gathered from various sources."
Putting his hands in a pocket, he pulled out the map given to him by Alfred. He unfurled it and showed it to the man in front of him.
The man studied the map, his grip on the revolver relaxing just slightly. "Alright, mate, you've got my attention. But how do I know you're not one of them bloody Nazis trying to pull a fast one?"
"Because if I were, we'd already be fighting. You seem to be a capable operative, and from your stance and the way you carry yourself, I'd bet you're someone important in this war."
The man's eyes flickered with surprise as he considered Ethan's words.
Meanwhile, Ethan continued, sensing he was making progress. "My goal is to reach England and fight in the war. My family was killed by the Nazis, and I had to escape to America. I've dedicated my life to avenging them and putting an end to the Nazi threat. If you're still not convinced, then…I guess we can only fight it out."
The man narrowed his eyes, his grip on the revolver loosening just slightly. "That's quite the story, mate. But where did you get that suit? No normal bloke comes across tech like that."
Ethan took a deep breath, preparing his fabricated tale. "After escaping to the USA, I met a scientist who had also lost his family to the Nazis. I helped him rebuild, and when I proposed revenge, he built this suit for me. It's our weapon against the Nazis."
The man's gaze lingered on the suit, his expression unreadable. "I see." He paused, his eyes flicking to Ethan's masked face. "Alright then, mate, remove your mask. I need to see your face. No tricks."
Ethan hesitated, knowing that wasn't an option. "I can't show you my face because I don't trust you yet either…How about a temporary truce where we keep an eye on each other until we trust one another?"
The man's expression hardened, his jaw clenched in consideration. After a moment, he nodded curtly. "Alright, truce it is then. Name's James Falsworth, British Intelligence."
He holstered his revolver, "We've got Hydra spies onboard wanting to sabotage this ship because it's carrying supplies for the war to England. To prove you're not full of it, you'll have to help me take out these spies."
'James Falsworth', he repeated in his mind. The name felt familiar and Ethan repeated it in his mind again. Then it clicked.
'Union Jack! The British Superhero.'
His gamble of trying to convince a random British intelligence agent had worked and he had directly met a superhero.
James continued, "You can't be seen by others in a get-up like that. You'll have to hide or maybe change your disguise."
Ethan contemplated for a second on whether he should do it or not. And after a second, he arrived at the conclusion that showing the man one of his powers wouldn't be a bad idea and he could establish himself as a superhero as well, who is willing to fight for the Allied cause.
Ethan smiled behind his mask. "Oh, I forgot to show you something," he said, and then using his {Shadow Meld} skill he vanished from James's sight.
James immediately clutched his revolver, looking around in rapt attention.
A second later, Ethan emerged a few feet behind James, silently exiting the shadows.
But James instinctively aimed the revolver at him, eyes wide. "What the bloody hell was that? Some kind of magic?"
Ethan mentally commended him for catching that at the first glance but said, "No, it's not magic. It's my superpower. I can see in the dark and hide in the shadows. That's why I'm confident about taking on the Nazis."
James smirked, lowering his revolver. "Bloody hell, you're full of surprises. Alright, Shadow Man, let's see what you've got. But don't get cocky—there's more to this mission than meets the eye."
The ship's horn blared, signaling its departure from the harbor…
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A/N:- If you don't like the fact that MC said his "real" name then you're dumb as a rock. Why you ask? Or do you feel even more anger on that statement? Doesn't matter.
Anyways, now to why you're as dumb as a rock, we will think back to how Ethan is not an established identity of his in Marvel world, Austin Brooks can perhaps be traced back to Alfred if someone did some digging but nobody in the world knows who or what is Ethan. You understand? It's your reader's bias making you think he disclosed his identity, when he never had one to begin with. So calm down about that, y'all.