**Brooklyn, New York — 1942**
The war had yet to unleash its ferocity upon these streets, but its breath lingered in the air like coal smoke and cold metal, heavy and foreboding. It haunted the ration lines winding around cracked corners, shadowing the eyes of young boys who wore cardboard medals and dreamed of valor they would never experience. Brooklyn was loud, bitter, and bruised—but it had yet to meet Knull, a presence that would alter its course forever. The city's smog-shrouded dusk clung to him like an unseen cloak as he walked, veiled by the layers of the system that sought to suppress him. Gone were his void-etched armor and the halo of crimson sigils that had once marked him. Instead, he was dressed in a charcoal suit and tailored coat, perfectly polished despite the grime around him. His silver hair, now darkened, and eyes that glinted like molten iron disguised him as just another shadow in the city. Yet for those who dared to meet his gaze for too long, he was something altogether different—a harbinger of change.
The pulse of fate guided Knull through the lively streets brimming with chaos and noise. As he moved with measured grace, he honed in on one singular target, not by trail or scent, but by a deeper instinct. Each step seemed calculated, resonating with a purpose that thrummed beneath the surface of what people called reality. Finally, he arrived at his destination: a military complex where the air thickened with tension, and the stakes were as high as the ambitions of those within. There, he spotted her—Margaret Carter, clipboard in hand, her military uniform crisp despite the fatigue that clung to her. She radiated a commanding presence, a blend of strength and resilience, juxtaposed against the backdrop of men who often underestimated her. Yet she was not a woman to let her identity be defined by others; she was fire without flame, edge without arrogance.
As Peggy approached the steps leading to the complex, her thoughts were clouded with the burden of yet another dreary meeting, where her insights would be dismissed by those who saw her as merely a woman in a man's world. But just as she ascended, a voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts, slicing through the noise like a knife. "You're walking into a nest of fools." She froze, her instincts surging to the forefront as her hand brushed against her sidearm. The voice belonged to a tall, pale man leaning against the stairwell—a figure draped in a suit that seemed to enhance his otherworldly presence. There was something unsettling about him, not the kind of danger that inspired fear, but a deeper disquiet that curled around the edges of a woman's intuition.
"Excuse me?" she replied, leveling her gaze at him.
He tilted his head, an inscrutable smile playing on his lips. "That room is full of men who'll argue over breakfast while the world burns." He seemed utterly unperturbed by her withering stare, a calm that only intensified her curiosity.
Peggy narrowed her eyes, challenging him. "And who are you to say that?"
"Someone who's been listening longer than they have," he quipped, each word dripping with an assuredness that only made her more intrigued.
"OSS?" she suggested.
"No," he replied curtly.
"MI6?" she pressed, trying to piece together the puzzle before her.
A faint, enigmatic smile flitted across his face—a smile that held secrets she could not comprehend. "No."
"What, then?" she demanded, her patience wearing thin.
As he took a step closer, the air shifted, and Peggy felt a mixture of trepidation and fascination. The heat of his gaze was tangible, igniting something inside her that she couldn't readily identify. "Call me Knull," he stated smoothly.
Something about that name lingered in her mind, like a dream she couldn't quite recall, and the implications of his presence pulled at her curiosity. "You're trespassing," she stated flatly, summoning her authority with bravado.
"And yet, no one's stopped me. Curious, isn't it?" he replied, extending a gloved hand toward her, as though inviting her into a world beyond her comprehension.
"You're different, Margaret Carter. You don't want orders. You want a legacy. To be treated like an equal."
At his words, her breath caught in her throat. They hung in the air, heavy with meaning. As she grappled with her swirling thoughts, she felt a shift, an invisible click, echoing through her very essence.
Before she could articulate her thoughts, the moment was accelerated by an unseen force. "Thread Initiation: Forced," her mind registered, though she couldn't comprehend the depth of what was happening. **Symbiotic Thread: Bound.** The world around her morphed, though she felt no flash or explosion. Instead, it was as if something deep within her tightened, stitched into place by Knull's presence.
Her heartbeat stuttered, and she met his gaze, transfixed. Knull stood still—not a beckoning figure, but a compelling force. "Why me?" she finally managed to whisper, the words barely escaping her lips.
He leaned closer, and the distance between them vanished. "Because you're not waiting for orders. You're waiting for what comes after."
Silently, she absorbed his words. There was something electric between them, a bond that was unspoken but fiercely palpable. She didn't walk away—couldn't, even if she wanted to.
As Knull withdrew from her presence, he disappeared down the shadowy street without a trace, leaving Peggy reeling in solitude. That night, in her quarters, she found herself barefoot and breathless, the usual debriefing a mere bore in her distracted mind. All she could think about was the man named Knull—the stranger whose eyes had held her gaze longer than she thought permissible, whose words had seeped into her very being.
Later, as sleep pulled her into its embrace, she found herself lost in dreams woven with threads of darkness, visions of thrones swallowed by the void. She sensed fingers made of night wrapping gently around her spine, holding her steady rather than constricting her. In this realm, silence reigned, and promises hovered unspoken but implied by their presence. She awoke wide-eyed in the dark, not with fear but a thrill of awakening—her heart racing as she whispered his name, once.
**Knull's POV (Simultaneous)**
From a rooftop across the district, Knull became a part of the night, standing resolute against the wind, his eyes closed in contemplation. The world churned below him, the fabric of reality shifting in response to the connection he had initiated. [Thread Reaction: Building.] His senses heightened as he felt her—a surge of emotions rippling through the bond they had begun to forge.
She had said his name—once—and that was enough. A bond, real and rich, blossomed in the tapestry of her subconscious, intertwining their fates even before she knew it.
With a satisfied smile, Knull embraced the night, the promise of what lay ahead swelling within him like an ocean tide. It had begun. Two threads were bound and together, they would rise. The Dominion would awaken, and Brooklyn would never be the same again.