Not So Friendly Anymore

Chapter 26: Battle of Wakanda III

The corridors of the Wakandan prison were eerily silent, save for the soft hum of the vibranium-powered lights. Peter walked beside T'Challa, his steps measured and purposeful, while the King of Wakanda exuded his usual air of calm authority. They were heading toward the interrogation room, where Taskmaster awaited them.

"You've done me a great service, Peter," T'Challa began, his voice low but sincere. "Without your help, Hydra's plans could have brought devastation to Wakanda. For that, I am grateful."

Peter glanced at him, his mask retracted to reveal his face. His expression was neutral, almost bored. "You don't need to thank me for doing my job, T'Challa," he replied evenly. "Stopping Hydra is what I do. Whether it's in Wakanda, or New York, they're the same scum to me."

T'Challa chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Still, your efficiency is something to be admired. Your methods... perhaps a little less so."

Peter smirked but didn't respond. The two walked in silence for a moment before T'Challa spoke again, his tone turning serious.

"Do you think you can make Taskmaster talk?"

Peter's smirk widened into something sharper, colder. "Oh, he'll talk," he said, his voice carrying a dark edge. "By the time I'm done, he'll be singing like a canary." He glanced sideways at T'Challa, his tone turning grimly humorous. "I can't promise he'll have all his limbs attached, though."

T'Challa paused for a moment, then chuckled again, though there was no humor in it this time. "As long as there's enough of him left to answer my questions, I don't particularly care what condition he's in."

Peter's eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam in them as he nodded. "Good. I work better without limits."

They reached the heavy vibranium doors of the interrogation room, where two Dora Milaje stood guard. With a subtle gesture from T'Challa, the doors slid open, revealing the sterile, dimly lit chamber beyond.

Taskmaster sat in the center of the room, his arms and legs shackled to a vibranium chair. His mask had been stripped away, revealing his bruised and bloodied face. His eyes flicked between Peter and T'Challa, the flicker of unease barely masked by his trademark bravado.

T'Challa stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back as he addressed Taskmaster with a calm, commanding voice. "This can be easy," he began. "Tell me what Hydra is planning, and I will ensure you walk out of here alive and unharmed. Wakanda has no interest in keeping you, Taskmaster. We want information, nothing more."

Taskmaster scoffed, leaning back as far as his restraints would allow. "Yeah? And what if I don't feel like talking, Your Highness?" He sneered, his tone laced with mockery. "What're you gonna do? Lecture me to death?"

T'Challa remained impassive, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "If you do not cooperate, we will have to resort to more... unpleasant methods of persuasion," he said evenly.

Taskmaster's sneer deepened, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "You don't scare me. Neither of you do. I've fought gods, kings, and monsters. You're just another name on the list."

T'Challa's faint smile transformed into something colder, sharper. The kind of smile that sent a shiver of primal fear down Taskmaster's spine despite his bravado. "Good," T'Challa said, his voice like steel. "I would have hated to disappoint my friend here."

He turned to Peter, who stood silently by the wall, the faint writhing of the symbiote adding to his menacing presence. "Do whatever you must," T'Challa said calmly, his tone final. Without another word, he turned and left the room, the heavy vibranium doors sliding shut behind him.