🎊🎊FBI: Chapter 52/54

Chapter 52: John Garrett on His Way to Despair

What happened next was very simple.

Dante deactivated the Will Green Light barrier, then shot Mike Peterson in the neck.

Right in the jugular.

The injection took immediate effect—Mike stiffened, then collapsed.

Correspondingly, the destructive, highly unstable orange-red energy coursing through his veins slowly receded, replaced by the purplish-blue hue brought on by the injection.

Dante casually holstered his gun, then strolled out of the aerial command center with Tony.

All that remained was to neutralize the Centipede compound and dismantle it completely.

Fitz and Jemma immediately got to work on that.

Skye trailed after them, clearly buttering them up.

"Dante, you actually pulled it off."

"Of course I did… but is now really the time for flattery?"

"You must be Skye, right? The hacker who sent the data back," Tony Stark nodded at her. "Heard your skills are top-tier. Managed to throw the entire FBI Communications Division into a tailspin. Stark Industries could use someone like you… ever think about joining?"

Before Skye could reply, a voice immediately shut Stark down.

"Tony, do you mind not poaching people in front of me? Skye's got some baggage, sure, but so do at least a fifth of the agents in the FBI. After clearing up the minor issues, she's still a probationary agent on our team."

Coulson stepped out, holding Mike Peterson's son by the hand, catching Stark red-handed in the act.

Then he hopped into a flashy vintage red Chevrolet.

Oh yeah, and he'd named it Laura.

"Skye, let's drop Mr. Peterson's son off at his aunt's place," Coulson said as he started the engine. "I can tell you more about Dante on the way."

"Okay!"

Skye climbed in without hesitation.

Watching Laura vanish around a bend, Tony Stark draped an arm around Dante's shoulder.

"Drink?"

Originally, Dante was thinking some dive bar downtown.

Stark instead dragged him straight back to Stark Tower in New York.

Transport? A Quinjet—which Stark had access to thanks to hacking Jarvis and snagging the activation codes.

"Believe me, Fury is going to call and absolutely lose it on you in a minute."

Dante stretched out on the spacious leather couch. The top-floor office of Stark Tower was absurdly oversized, like everything else in Tony Stark's life.

The Quinjet was shamelessly parked on the giant terrace like a party bus on a rooftop helipad.

"Hey, Fury's fault. I offered double the market price for a Quinjet and he still wouldn't sell me one! So I just borrowed it. What, that not allowed?"

"Lately, Fury's been tighter with money than Bruce Wayne's press secretary. Every time I ask him for R&D funds, he just ghosts me and gives me chump change. Tightwad."

"Then come work for me," Stark said. "Head of Security for Stark Industries. Ten mil salary, plus two percent equity."

Just like that, his poaching target switched from Skye to Dante.

Dante couldn't be bothered.

Instead, he walked over to Pepper Potts—who was holding a bottle of red wine—bowed, extended a hand, and laid a flawless, gentlemanly kiss on her fingers.

"It's an honor to finally meet you, Miss Potts." He straightened up and gave her a warm smile. "Tony's truly a difficult man to handle, isn't he?"

"You clever men are all fickle creatures," Pepper said, smirking.

"Ahahaha, you flatter me—I'm embarrassed."

"Who's flattering you?!" Stark barked, visibly uncomfortable at the sight of Dante kissing her hand. "You just met her—don't act like you two go way back!"

"Don't put it all on me," Dante countered. "Haven't you been holed up in Metropolis lately? I heard you even bought a stake in The Daily Planet just to chase after that big-time reporter Lois Lane?"

"Don't remind me. I've given up on Lois Lane," Stark sighed, the sparkle in his eyes dimming. "Twelve invites in a row—every one rejected. Guess the dazzling Tony Stark doesn't do it for her."

"Tch. Can you be more narcissistic?"

Dante side-eyed him. At least the man had some self-awareness.

If he'd kept chasing her after that, he might've caught an Iron Fist from the Kansas Big Guy himself.

"Still, it wasn't a total loss. My investment in The Daily Planet went up ten percent in just a few weeks. That's over fifty million in profit! In the information age, media's a gold mine."

…

After they'd chatted and had a few drinks, things finally circled back to the real topic.

"Dante, when I got Coulson's call, I rushed over not just because of our friendship—but because he mentioned this incident involved Extremis."

"Oh? You interested in that stuff?"

"Not exactly me—more like the FBI. A while back when I was in Metropolis, this senior FBI agent kept visiting, trying to cozy up to me. Wanted a project collab with Stark Industries. Even offered to buy a chunk of the company outright."

Dante frowned.

Something wasn't adding up.

Given Stark's connection to Fury and Coulson, if the FBI really wanted to pursue this kind of cooperation, Fury would've handled it himself—or at least sent Coulson.

Tony Stark wasn't just some tech bro—he was the tech bro.

"In our meetings, the guy kept trying to probe for info about Extremis. Offered to share top-secret FBI data, even unreleased tech—just to help improve the side effects of Extremis."

As Tony spoke, a face flashed through Dante's mind.

Someone obsessed with body-enhancing tech…

Could it really be him?

"Tony, let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

"This senior FBI agent… his name wouldn't happen to be John Garrett, would it?"

"Yes, yes, yes! That's the name!" Tony slapped the table, fired up. "Guy was clearly hiding something. Super cagey. Never talked straight business."

"So I strung him along. Said I don't handle operations personally, and that I had to run things by the board. But… jokes on him. I don't even have a board. Pepper runs everything now! Haha!"

"You sound way too proud of being a hands-off boss."

Pepper shot him a look like she was five seconds away from delivering him a punch.

Dante tuned out their bickering.

His mind was elsewhere.

John Garrett. Level 8 FBI Agent.

Also a top HYDRA leader. Old-school double agent.

To the world, he was "The Clairvoyant."

His power? Level 8 FBI clearance—and HYDRA's intelligence network.

Every time Dante thought about that, he wanted to laugh.

Garrett had played both sides, brokered intelligence like a Wall Street commodity, and built a cult of believers who thought he was omniscient.

Unfortunately for him, the so-called "Clairvoyant" was on borrowed time.

A few months, maybe a year left at most—before he kicked the bucket from complete organ failure.

He'd been one of the first test subjects in the Death Soldier program decades ago.

Half his organs had already been replaced with mechanical ones.

Now, he was just using Extremis to hold death at bay.

And yes, he was the mastermind behind the Centipede Project.

His goal? Enhance the human body. Extend life.

The result? A ticking time bomb. The Centipede formula was wildly unstable.

So Garrett tried to erase all evidence—via explosion.

But he didn't count on Dante and Coulson's team rescuing the final Centipede subject.

And with his clearance, Garrett likely already pieced everything together.

Now? He'd be after the secret that resurrected Coulson.

Too bad for him—Grant Ward, Garrett's original plant on the team, had already been "converted" by Dante.

Now Ward was their internal HYDRA-sniffing bloodhound.

And the mystery of Coulson's resurrection?

Even with Level 8 clearance, Garrett couldn't crack it.

So now he was out of options.

A dead end.

"Nice work, Tony… Here's the play: keep stringing him along. Use any excuse—just make sure you act interested in cooperation."

"He pissed you off or something?"

"He's the one behind the Centipede Project."

Tony's expression shifted.

So the traitor was internal.

He wanted to roast Dante and the FBI for sloppy security—but then he remembered Obadiah.

"…Sigh. Same struggle, different agencies."

Tony clapped Dante on the shoulder like they were long-suffering war buddies.

Dante immediately swatted him off.

"Don't drunk-cry on me. Go find Pepper. I'm heading back to HQ."

Better to brief Fury about Garrett first.

(To be continued.)

Special thanks to Patrick Darmon for sponsoring this extra chapter 🎉🎉🎉

Chapter 53: Prison Break, Brother

"Skye! This is Fitz! Respond if you hear me!"

"Skye, copy that!"

"Jemma hasn't checked in for three minutes—I'm afraid she's already fallen to that guy!"

"Damn it! We have to avenge Jemma… but can just the two of us pull it off?"

"Sigh, forget the two of us—even Oliver and Wade got taken out. Beating him is impossible. We still need to finish the mission."

Skye crouched behind a massive tree. She looked grimy and worn, but aside from some scrapes, she was mostly unharmed.

She had just gotten through to Fitz and learned that Jemma had sacrificed herself.

It was also a clear message: the enemy was on another level.

One-on-one fights, group ambushes, traps, drugging—every tactic they had, they'd tried it all.

Useless.

"I've collected three stars. What about you, Fitz?"

"I've got two. We need ten total to clear this thing—ah!"

Skye froze as she heard Fitz let out a blood-curdling scream through the comm.

Then… silence.

The channel went dead.

Skye instinctively made the sign of the cross over her chest, whispering a prayer for Fitz.

This enemy was terrifying.

But she wouldn't quit. She was a Federal Bureau of Investigation agent—she didn't give up just because the odds sucked.

Skye! You've got this. You can do this!

With that mental reset, Skye took one confident step forward.

And got yanked upside down into the air by a snare trap.

She just stared, blankly.

How many times had this happened now?

At first, she would scream. Now, she just calmly wondered why this trap was here again.

Right on cue, a colorful snake slithered down the rope toward her.

"Hey, hey, hey! No way this is happening again! Dante, you bastard, help!"

Just as the viper's foul-smelling body was about to brush her foot, whoosh—a green arrow pierced both the snake and the rope.

Someone in an FBI combat suit leaped out of nowhere and caught her mid-fall.

Skye blinked, looking up at Dante's face.

Just as she started to blush—

He let her go.

Let. Her. Go.

"Skye, this isn't me being mean," Dante said, watching her tumble to the ground and groan while clutching her butt. He looked half-amused. "That trap you just tripped? Fitz and Jemma left that one behind. It was during our last training session. Dynamic duo, right there."

As their field supervisor, Dante was still responsible for training Skye and helping the Coulson Team whip their new recruits into shape.

Granted, he didn't last long at the FBI Academy before bailing—but that was only because he'd been assigned to train a bunch of hormonal, angsty teens.

Which, mentally speaking, was roughly the same difficulty as training Harley Quinn.

These new Coulson Team recruits? Not as bad. At least they followed orders.

Except Wade Wilson. That guy was a walking paradox of effort and laziness.

And this wasn't sarcasm—Wade's "slacking off" was literal slacking off. In nearly a month of jungle training, he'd spent half the time beefing with a river.

"Dante, you know me. I always pay back my debts," Wade had said once. "First day I got here, I hid in the river. Didn't expect those damn piranhas to bite my lychees. Had to teach them a lesson."

Aside from that minor... dietary revenge arc, Wade's performance had been nearly flawless.

Oliver Queen? Don't even need the last name. The man belonged in a rainforest. He was more comfortable here than in a living room.

Those two were the team's front-liners before Captain America officially joined.

As for the rest of the recruits…

Yeah. Long way to go.

Skye was doing best, all things considered. She was a street-raised orphan who'd played hide-and-seek with the FBI for years. Survival was in her bones.

Fitz and Jemma? Talented in their own fields, but… field ops? Not really their thing.

Still, with time and grit, they'd hit baseline competence.

But…

"Barry Allen, your athletic ability is honestly… mind-blowingly bad."

Dante really couldn't figure it out.

This was Barry Allen. The future Flash.

How was he so clumsy? So slow?

"Agent Dante! I know my shortcomings! I'll keep working hard!"

Dante facepalmed.

Kid had heart, though. Total Justice League material. A real team conscience.

After taking a moment, Dante opened a portal back to FBI Headquarters.

"You haven't defeated me. You didn't even finish collecting and delivering the star tokens. But, since I'm just that overpowered…"

"I hereby declare this tropical rainforest training camp—successfully concluded!"

And with that, he booted each recruit into the portal like luggage on a moving sidewalk.

…

Back on the long-missed 31st floor, Dante entered the command center.

Seeing the familiar overworked faces of Fury and Professor X, he couldn't help but grin.

"Yo. Busy, you two fossils?"

"I'm growing less and less fond of your attitude."

Fury looked up at him.

"You have any idea how much chaos we've had lately? The Star Team's off on an armed exercise, and the Coulson Team's stuck in jungle combat training! If I hadn't deployed Maria and Natasha to help out, Melinda's temper would've had her kicking down my door!"

Dante plopped onto Fury's stupidly expensive leather couch and gave both directors the same dumb, deadpan stare.

"Okay, but nothing serious happened while I was gone. I've been watching my terminal. Just a few low-tier bio-zombie attacks—didn't even need to activate B.O.W.s. Some brats from the Academy wiped those out on the way to class."

He gestured lazily. "So… ever think of just assigning missions to them?"

"They're not mature enough."

At the mention of the Academy kids, Professor X finally looked up. His dark circles were practically etched in.

Fury probably had them too, but his skin tone gave him stealth mode.

"Not mature doesn't mean not strong. And there's a shortcut to maturity," Dante said, smirking. "Give them course credit for missions. Boom—instant responsible agents."

The guy had no mercy. Not even for child labor.

But…

It was a damn good idea.

Fury and Professor X locked eyes for a full 0.1 seconds.

Consensus reached.

Kids had energy for days. No reason for them old-timers to keep doing all the legwork.

Worst case? Assign a field agent to monitor them.

"Anything else? If not, I'm out. I've been away from my squad too long. Time to return to the frontlines."

"Return my ass. I've got a mission for you."

Fury finally remembered why he'd summoned Dante in the first place.

"A mission? Me, solo?"

"Up to you. It's not complicated, but it is connected to the American government..."

Fury tapped on his terminal and sent over the mission dossier.

Dante opened the file.

Read the first line.

Frowned.

"A federal prison was sold to a private operator, and now there are supernatural incidents? You messing with me?"

"Do I look like I've got time to mess with you?" Fury growled. "I'm so busy I wish I could split my one eye into two!"

He paused, then composed himself. "On the surface, it's nothing major. But the issue is, we sent four agents in already—and they all came back confused, with zero memory of the prison."

Memory loss?

Dante immediately looked at Professor X.

He gently shook his head.

"All four agents were screened by every telepath we've got. Conclusion: not caused by psychic interference. No signs of drugs or hypnosis either."

And that was saying something.

When it came to telepathic screening, if the FBI claimed to be second-best globally, no one dared claim first.

If Mutants couldn't find a trace, that ruled out telepathy.

But drugs or hypnotic conditioning? That was murkier.

He'd have to go in himself to be sure.

Then he saw the name of the prison.

And that's when the system finally spoke up again.


---

[Mission: Prison Break, Brother]

[Mission Briefing: Experienced FBI agents have returned mentally scrambled. What secrets lie within Fox River Prison? Oddball inmates, a mysterious escape plan, a warden who never leaves... everything reeks of misdirection. And in the prison's deepest, darkest levels… they say you might just find traces of "God."]

---

Fox River Prison!?

You've got to be kidding me—that's literally from Prison Break!

Great. Now prison break arcs were supernatural too?

And honestly, how do you make something more supernatural than T-bag's name?

"I'm assigning this one to you. Shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"Right. Since we don't know what's causing the memory wipes, it's better to limit how many agents go in. But logistics? Yeah, we'll need a team."

Dante tapped into his comms.

"Have Fitz, Jemma, and Barry on standby at the aerial command post. I'll need research support."

"And tell Skye to track down Ingrid. I need a fake identity and intel package."

(To be continued.)

Special thanks to Patrick Darmon for sponsoring this extra chapter 🎉🎉🎉

Chapter 54: Identity Questions

Fox River.

Literally translated: Fox River.

Located in Joliet, Illinois, this prison had been operational since the last century.

The local government sold it off for an eye-watering price to a wholly-owned private enterprise.

Just like that, the facility transitioned from a public to a private prison, but the original inmates continued serving their sentences right there.

Now, as everyone knows hospitals and schools tend to function "better" when they're privatized.

So naturally, prisons follow the same magical logic.

After all, look at Arkham Asylum and Belle Reve.

The former? Gotham's elite talent incubator.

The latter? Amanda Waller's recruitment center for the Suicide Squad.

It's like private prisons have to stir up trouble just to justify their existence.

Fox River was no exception. It had already booted four FBI agents straight back out—empty-handed and memory-wiped.

Dante had re-interviewed them himself. And the accounts were terrifyingly consistent: the moment they stepped through Fox River's gates… was also the moment they were somehow outside again.

That sense of space-time dislocation still had them too rattled for fieldwork.

Now Dante stood outside, eyeing the Victorian-style structure. Aside from the usual decrepitude of old architecture, there wasn't anything obviously wrong.

But he didn't have much time to gawk.

Moments later, Dante—dressed in a prison jumpsuit—was led into Fox River under guard escort.

He glanced back at the slowly closing gate and gave a subtle nod.

No weird distortions. No reality-warping feelings.

So it probably wasn't one of those kinds of anomalies.

The hallway was dusty, the floors worn.

To his left, just past two sets of towering steel fences, was the inmates' exercise yard.

And with his vision?

Yeah, he locked onto two familiar faces almost immediately.

Wentworth Miller.

Dominic Purcell.

Correction: Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows—the prison break duo themselves.

"Damn. Miller's face really is way too good-looking."

Dante muttered to himself.

He figured once he got inside, he'd try to get close to the leads. Something definitely wasn't right here...

Because this universe?

This universe was sick.

Whoever created it? Probably needed therapy.

After clearing the corridor, Dante arrived at the registration gate outside the cell block.

"Prisoner name."

"Dante Alighieri."

"What crime did you commit?"

"Isn't that already in the file?"

"Hmph! You're a prisoner! You answer when I ask! What crime did you commit!"

"I shot a green-haired clown with white face paint—right between the eyebrows—and stole his female subordinate," Dante replied casually, counting on his fingers. "Oh, and I later crushed the skull of some sunglasses-wearing wannabe philosopher."

As he recounted his highlight reel, Dante inwardly cursed Ingrid.

She totally sabotaged his profile out of spite. She was probably still salty from that morning argument.

The woman was vindictive.

Still, for him, identity fabrication wasn't exactly difficult—mostly because everything in the file was technically true.

He had killed those people. The information was real. And if it came from the FBI's records, the U.S. government would treat it as gospel.

The prison clerk stiffened, then sat up straighter.

"This one's a serious case. Shouldn't he be in… wait, what? Only five years? General Population, Block A, Cell 40?"

He gave Dante a few extra glances.

Two murders and the guy only gets five years? Doesn't even get transferred to max security?

How much did this dude's family bribe the prison execs?

Still, he kept his expression poker-flat.

"Alright, you're inmate number 114514. Starting today, you'll serve your sentence here in Fox River Prison."

"Good behavior may reduce your sentence, in accordance with federal law."

With that, the cell block door opened, and Dante stepped into the real mission zone.

The inmates were currently outside for rec time, so the interior cells were empty as he passed through.

Honestly? The general population cells here were pretty decent.

Other than that, no paranormal signs yet.

"You've arrived. Cell 40. Get in."

As the guard opened the door, he gave Dante a shove.

Bit aggressive.

Which only made what happened next that much funnier.

The guard stumbled and landed on his ass.

Meanwhile, Dante just stepped in like nothing happened and calmly closed the door behind him.

The guard blinked up at the closed bars, dazed.

Inside the cell were two beds.

Dante picked the one that hadn't been used yet and sat down, taking in the layout.

Truthfully? He'd lived two full lives and had never even gotten a parking ticket—let alone been tossed in jail.

"Hmph. There are three roll calls a day—morning, noon, and evening. Exact times get announced by broadcast. Typically 6 AM, 12 PM, and 7 PM," the guard grunted as he stood up, clearly winded by his own weight. "Meals come after roll call. Work shifts start at 7 AM and 2 PM. Everyone back in their cells by 9 PM."

"Lights out at 10. After that, any disturbances get ignored."

Dante leaned against the bars and raised an eyebrow.

"So what you're saying is… weird stuff happens after 10 PM?"

"Cough, cough—I didn't say that."

The guard realized too late he'd said too much. He adjusted his cap like it could erase the slip, and walked off, baton in hand.

But from his reaction, it was clear—something was going on.

Dante couldn't help but feel a little worried for the brothers and their prison break plan.

Could they actually make it out in one piece?

After confirming the guard was out of earshot, Dante casually reached up and tapped his ear.

Hidden deep in his canal was a nearly invisible comm device from the FBI.

"Yo. Ingrid. Skye. I'm in."

"Ingrid here. Received."

"Skye online… so, how's that fake charge look?"

The smugness in Skye's voice made Dante's eyebrow twitch.

Ah. It was you. You little menace.

"Anyway, I'm in Cell 40." Dante walked over to the single table in the cell, flipped open one of the books, and scanned the notes scribbled inside.

"Confirmed. This is Michael Scofield's cell."

He wasn't here for the scenery.

Preliminary investigation had shown that supernatural activity in Fox River didn't start until after Michael and Lincoln arrived.

So Dante wasn't interested in them just because they were the leads of Prison Break.

They were also the most suspicious leads in the actual case file.

Back at HQ, Skye started hammering away at her keyboard.

After a few moments, she sounded perplexed.

"Dante, these two brothers… there's definitely something off."

"How so?"

"Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows—yeah, they exist in the federal database. Files look totally normal, nothing's been tampered with…"

"But?"

"But they've got zero digital footprint. Nothing. No online history. No personal records outside official ones."

"That's strange? What if they just don't use the internet?"

Dante scratched his head.

You want virology breakdowns? Biological theory? He was your guy. He'd inherited Spencer's whole suite of biochemical knowledge.

But the internet?

Eh.

"Not possible!" Skye snapped. "In this era, unless they live in a cave in the Himalayas, people always leave digital footprints."

"If those traces are gone, it's either a deliberate wipe for smuggling purposes—or someone's preparing to vanish and live under an alias."

Her tone was dead serious.

And kinda proud.

Which made sense. This was her turf. Back when she was with Rising Tide, she used to do this exact kind of data scrubbing.

Certified pro.

"I hear pride in your analysis. What's going on here…" Dante said, leaning back against the table. "So what's your read on the brothers?"

"Replacement. Identity replacement," Ingrid cut in. "Even though supernatural rumors only started after the brothers got here, I ran the full intel sweep on local reports."

"And?"

"A year ago, there were scattered reports of 'divine revelation and a divine vessel descending from the sky' at Fox River."

"And right after that…" Skye picked up, "Rogues Group bought the prison from the Illinois government."

Dante's eyes narrowed.

That timing was way too perfect.

But the part that really caught his attention?

The "divine vessel from the sky."

In most universes, a law enforcement agency following up on something like that would be laughed out of the room.

Here?

That was probably the most legit lead they had.

The mission brief itself had mentioned something about "traces of God" in the prison's deepest levels.

If anything, the divine vessel theory might be the core of the whole anomaly.

"I guess I'm gonna need to explore all of Fox River tonight."

"I've already hacked into their full surveillance system," Skye said. "I can take over any time—but the feed only covers up to max security. The death row block has no surveillance… Wait! Yard time just ended!"

"Alright. Cutting comms for now."

Dante shut off the mic, then casually picked the book back up.

Three pages in, he felt someone stop outside his cell.

"…Who are you?"

"I'm your new roommate. Dante Alighieri. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Michael Scofield."

Dante closed the book and nodded.

"The Interpretation of Dreams really is a good read."

"I didn't expect a structural engineer to be this into psychology texts."

(To be continued.)