Luke's POV
~Bridge~
After taking a few minutes to catch my breath—and casually hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database like it was a late-night crossword—I made my way up to the bridge. Thor and Coulson were already deep in conversation, so I did what I did best: slid in unnoticed and listened like I belonged.
"As soon as Loki took the doctor," Coulson was saying, tapping a few keys. A photo of a brunette flashed on the screen. "We moved Jane Foster. We've got an excellent observatory in Tromsø. She was asked to consult there very suddenly yesterday. "
He added with an assuring smile, "Handsome fee, private jet, very remote. She'll be safe and sound."
Thor nodded slowly, his eyes lingering on Jane's photo. "Thank you," he said in a soft voice. "It's no accident Loki took Selvig. I fear what he plans for him once he no longer needs him. Erik is a good man."
"Well," I said, drawing Thor's gaze with a casual smirk, "coming from the God of Thunder, that's high praise indeed."
The three of us started walking the length of the bridge. The Helicarrier thrummed steadily beneath our feet.
"He talks about you a lot." Coulson added, looking to Thor with a small smile. "You changed his life. You changed everything around here."
Thor's expression darkened. "They were better as they were," he said, almost to himself. "We pretend on Asgard that we're more advanced, but we—we come here battling like Bilgesnipe."
Coulson blinked in confusion and caught completely off-guard. "Like what?"
Thor gestured with a flourish, as if that would help. "Bilgesnipe. You know, huge, scaly, big antlers. You don't have those?"
"Yeah," Coulson replied, face blank. "Pretty sure that's a no."
I couldn't hold it in—I let out a sharp laugh and gave Coulson a solid pat on the back. "Don't worry, Agent Coulson. Some cultural references just don't survive the test of time."
Thor looked between us, slightly confused but smiling anyway.
"Huh! Well, they are absolutely repulsive," Thor said, grimacing. "Big, smelly, and with a tendency to trample anything in their path."
He stepped toward the window, staring out over the sea of clouds. "When I first came to Earth, Loki's rage followed me here and your people paid the price for that. And now, it feels like history is repeating itself. In my younger days, I sought out war—welcomed it, even."
I folded my arms, leaning against the nearest console. "Yeah, I've walked that road too," I admitted. "Tried to justify the bloodshed by calling it justice, calling it revenge. But really? It's just noise—noise covering up something broken. My father once said, 'A war born from anger only ends with more graves than answers.' Took me a while to understand that he wasn't just talking about armies. He meant me. If I kept chasing ghosts, I'd end up wrecking everything he died trying to protect."
"War hasn't started yet, Luke," Fury said, his voice low but firm. He turned to Thor. "You think you can make Loki tell us where the Tesseract is?"
Thor and I exchanged a silent uncertain glance.
Thor exhaled slowly, his eyes back on the horizon. "I do not know," he said. "Loki's mind is... far afield. It isn't just power he wants anymore. It's vengeance against me. There's no pain would prise his need from him. Not easily."
Fury stepped down the stairs. "A lot of guys think that," he muttered. "Right until the pain starts."
Thor turned, narrowing his eyes slightly. "What are you asking me to do?"
Fury's tone dropped into something colder, sharper. "I'm asking, what are you prepared to do?"
Thor grew quiet, his brow deeply furrowed. "Loki is a prisoner," he said after a moment.
"Yeah," I interrupted, throwing my arms out in exaggerated disbelief. "But he's strutting around like he owns the place. That doesn't exactly scream 'defeated' to me. He's up to something—we just don't know what yet."
Without a word, Thor nodded and offered a quiet farewell before turning and walking away. This left Fury and me alone on the bridge, shortly before Coulson also hurried past us and departed.
I let out a sigh. "Just once," I muttered, "I'd like to be wrong about a guy like Loki. But I don't think today's that day."
"Still think things wouldn't get interesting?" Fury asked, stepping up beside me, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
I snorted. "Not like this," I admitted, hands shoved in my pockets. "I was trained to calculate outcomes—variables, projections, the whole predictive algorithm routine. I can usually guess how a situation might go based on past patterns and existing data."
Fury arched a brow. "And yet here we are."
"Yeah, well," I continued, tilting my head slightly, "statistically, I had about a 62.8% prediction rate that pulling me out of semi-retirement would end in a minor incident—rogue agent, one possibly possessed scientist, meeting the original super soldier. Not an alien warlord with a magical glow stick trying to open a space portal."
He chuckled, barely, as I kept going.
"I also figured there was a 37% chance I'd regret agreeing to this, a 12% shot I'd land back in the hospital—which, for the record, has never actually happened—and a solid zero percent chance of getting a halfway decent cup of coffee through all this mess."
"So, regrets?" Fury asked, giving me a sideways look.
"Eh," I shrugged. "Coffee shops are just more comfortable. The chairs don't squeak, the lighting won't give you a headache, and most importantly, the espresso machine isn't actively trying to kill you."
"Depends on the barista," Fury deadpanned.
"Touché," I smirked. "Still, back there? That whole bit where we were all standing around pretending Loki didn't have the upper hand? Yeah, that wasn't in any of my simulations. It's like playing chess and suddenly realizing the other guy's already in your kitchen, helping himself to your milk."
Fury stopped and stared at me for a beat. "You ever consider your simulations weren't wrong... just incomplete?"
"Yeah," I muttered, scratching the back of my neck. "That's the part that bothers me."
He gave a single nod, his usual poker face softening a bit. "Look, here's the deal. You're not here because of what you calculated. You're here because when the numbers go sideways... you still push through."
I didn't say anything at first. Just stared out at the clouds.
Then I sighed. "That was almost poetic, Fury. You okay? Blink twice if they've replaced you with a less serious model."
He smirked, just a little. "Get some rest, Luke. You'll need it."
I scoffed. "You say that like it's an option."
With that, he left me alone with my thoughts—and, as usual, far too many variables.
...
~The Lab~
After several hours of wandering the helicarrier's halls, untangling the existential knots in my brain, I strolled back into the lab. Sometimes, aimless walking is the only way to make sense of anything in a world constantly threatening to implode. Outside the windows, the sun was peeking over the horizon, illuminating the clouds below.
"Apologies for the delay, gentlemen," I greeted them with a lazy grin. "I took the scenic route through the abyss of my thoughts."
Stark and Banner, both hunched over a glowing screen, their eyes darting across lines of encrypted text and system diagrams, barely acknowledged my presence.
"Don't sweat it, kid," Stark said, waving a dismissive hand without glancing up. "Just wrapping up decrypting the deepest vaults of one of the planet's most formidable intelligence agencies. No big deal. But hey—take a look at this."
He angled the screen toward me. My eyes tracked over the interface—rows upon rows of files stamped "TOP SECRET," pulsing red as if daring anyone to open them.
"Well, I'll be damned," I muttered, letting out a low whistle. "You actually breached their firewall? Consider me… moderately intrigued."
"Breached it in forty seconds last night," I added, flexing my fingers with theatrical flair, typing nothing into the air. "Didn't bother digging through, though. Figured it was just more bureaucratic sludge and maybe the Pentagon's chili recipe."
"You hacked S.H.I.E.L.D. and didn't even peek?" Banner asked, his tone hovering between disbelief and reluctant admiration.
"Espionage requires follow-through. I lack that," I said, shrugging. "Also, I was tired."
But then, as we scrolled through more of the data, the mood shifted. The deeper we dug, the uglier it got—unauthorized weapons programs, surveillance networks monitoring powered individuals, buried reports on past experiments that never made the news.
"This is insane," I muttered, jaw tightening. "They weren't just building defenses... they were planning contingencies for everyone—even us."
Banner's brows furrowed as he clicked deeper into a locked folder. "Uh, Luke..." he began, hesitating.
The second he opened the file, I knew what he'd found. My name glared back at me in bold type, a full dossier beneath it. Not just medical records or mission logs—this was something else entirely.
"They've got a file on you too," he added quietly.
"That?" I said, trying to keep my voice light. "Just a little failsafe my old man built into me. Back when I was still an experiment and not just a guy with sarcasm issues and a broken coffee addiction."
Stark finally looked up, eyes narrowing. "Failsafe?"
I leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Yeah. Project Sentinel had rules. One of them being: never create something you can't unmake. The idea was, if I ever went rogue, got mind-jacked by the enemy, or decided to wipe out a city just for fun—there'd be a way to shut me down. Hard reset. A kill switch."
Banner looked horrified. "That's... extreme."
"No, Bruce," I said quietly. "That's insurance."
"Do you know where it is? The switch?" Stark asked, his voice low.
I didn't answer right away.
"I know what to look for," I finally replied. "Although I don't know if it's active. And I sure as hell not sure who's holding the trigger."
Banner exchanged a glance with Stark. The implications were obvious.
And suddenly, this whole thing wasn't just about Loki anymore.
Bruce exhaled, shoulders easing slightly. "Yeah, okay... that tracks," he said, though a trace of unease lingered behind his glasses. "But, you know, wiring a kill switch into your head isn't exactly the hallmark of a healthy working relationship."
I gave a half-shrug, the corner of my mouth tugging up in a tired smirk. "Welcome to my life, big guy. Trust is a luxury I was never designed to afford."
Then my tone shifted, fingers tapping the screen as I zeroed in on a particular file. "But this? This is what's really bothering me. And it's probably going to rattle a certain star-spangled blonde when he finds out."
Stark leaned in beside me as the screen zoomed in on a list of archived schematics and inventory logs—clearly marked: HYDRA-Origin Tech.
"Why is S.H.I.E.L.D. stockpiling weapons from the same psychopaths Steve put in the ground seventy years ago?" I asked, tapping a line that referenced recovered blueprints from a HYDRA facility in the Alps. "And don't give me the 'research purposes' line, I've seen how that usually turns out."
Before anyone could get a word out, Fury's voice cut sharp through the air. "Mind telling me what the hell you think you're doing, Stark?"
We all turned. He was already there—arms crossed, that signature glare carved in deeper than usual.
Stark swiveled in his chair with the flair of a Bond villain mid-monologue. "Glad you brought that up, Director," he said, voice dripping with mock intrigue. "Because, believe it or not, we've been asking ourselves the exact same thing about you."
Fury's expression stayed stone-cold. "You three are supposed to be tracking down the Tesseract—not poking around in top-secret files like a bunch of overgrown hackers with no sense of limits."
He turned to Stark, then to me. "And just because you've broken into a few government systems before doesn't mean you get a free pass to do it again."
Bruce stepped forward quickly, aiming to ease the tension. "The model's set," he said, motioning to the screen. "We're scanning for the gamma signature as we speak. Once it spikes, we'll have a location within half a mile."
I blinked. "That was quick. Either I've been sleeping on Banner's tech skills, or I'm getting rusty."
"Little bit of column A, little bit of column B," Stark quipped, not even looking up.
Then he tapped the screen again, pulling up a folder marked PHASE TWO. "Sure, we'll find your shiny cube—nice and tidy. But here's a curveball—what exactly is Phase Two?"
Right on cue, Steve marched into the lab, eyes blazing like he'd just come face-to-face with a ghost. He dropped something solid onto the table with a heavy thud—an old HYDRA energy weapon.
"Phase Two," he said through gritted teeth, "is S.H.I.E.L.D. using the Cube to make weapons."
I narrowed my eyes at Fury. "You're creating WMDs powered by alien tech? Seriously? Are you completely out of your mind, or just nostalgic for mutually assured destruction?"
Fury didn't flinch. "We had no idea there was going to be an invasion."
"No," I shot back, "but you were damn well preparing for one. And not to defend civilians. To escalate. That's the difference."
Steve let out a frustrated sigh and motioned toward the computer. "I've been trying to make sense of this, but it's running slower than a typewriter stuck in molasses."
I arched a brow. "You sure it's the machine that's slow, Steve? Feels like it might be the other way around."
Fury stepped forward, hand raised in a calm but firm gesture. "Rogers, we've pulled every piece of intel we could find on the Tesseract. I get that you're angry—but that doesn't mean we—"
"Gonna stop you right there, Nick," Stark interjected, his voice clipped, dripping with sarcasm and something sharper underneath. "Were you lying?"
He spun the monitor around. Onscreen, a grainy feed played—technicians assembling a missile. At its core, that unmistakable blue glow. The Tesseract.
The room fell silent. Not just tense—condemning.
Stark nodded toward the footage. "So, about that whole 'we gathered everything' line... you forgot the part where you're turning it into a bomb."
Steve crossed his arms, eyes cast down for a moment before settling hard on Fury. "I guess I was wrong about you, Director," he said quietly. "The war's over, but nothing's changed."
Right on cue, Thor and Romanoff stepped into the lab. The tension spiked again, especially when Bruce's gaze locked onto Natasha.
"Did you know about this?" he asked, voice low, tight, and edged with something dangerous.
Natasha's reply was calm, measured. "You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?" Her tone wasn't sharp—just steady, controlled. Professional. She knew exactly what was building inside him.
Bruce let out a dry, hollow laugh. "I was in Calcutta," he said, voice thick with irony. "Pretty sure I was well removed."
"Loki's manipulating you." Natasha said, eyes sweeping the room before landing on me. "That's what this is."
I stepped in before she could say more. "If Loki had either of us under his thumb," I said, locking eyes with her, "you wouldn't need to ask. You'd already know. Not because we confessed—because this place would be burning. The Helicarrier would be in pieces, half the crew out cold, and we'd be buried under a heap of scorched metal."
I took a step closer, voice steady. "You've read my file. Heard the stories. You know I can think of a hundred ways—no, a thousand—to bring this whole flying fortress out of the sky without breaking a sweat. But I haven't. Because I don't have a reason to."
Romanoff remained composed. "It wasn't an accusation," she said evenly. "Just doing my job."
Bruce kept his eyes fixed on her. "Your job?" he echoed, his voice edged with frustration. "What exactly does that involve? Taking notes? Running profiles? Treating us like test subjects?"
She tilted her head, one brow arched. "You didn't show up because I smiled pretty," she said, dry amusement in her voice. "You came because you knew something didn't add up."
"And I'm not walking away," Bruce replied, turning back to the terminal. "Because whatever's happening here... it's bigger than Loki."
He tapped through several folders until a set of sleek, weaponized blueprints filled the screen—precise, dangerous, unmistakably intentional.
"Looks like a missile," I muttered, stepping closer. "A big one. Prototype's using Tesseract energy in the core."
Bruce tapped the screen, his expression hard. "Like Luke said—I'd like to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction."
He adjusted his glasses, eyes still locked on the display. The silence that followed was thick—and telling. No one had an answer they were willing to say out loud.
Fury didn't blink. His stance stayed firm, jaw clenched. He pointed—first at Thor, then at me. "Because of them."
Thor blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Me?" he asked, brow furrowing.
My jaw clenched. "What the hell are you talking about?" I said sharply, throwing my hands up. "How does any of this fall on us?"
Fury let out a slow breath. "Back in the '50s, Cold War paranoia had the brass scrambling. The President greenlit a black-budget project—codename: Project Sentinel. Objective was simple—create another super soldier. Not one, ten. A whole new breed of enhanced operatives. Faraday led the charge. Brilliant mind. Borderline unstable. He believed evolution wasn't just natural—it could be engineered."
I narrowed my eyes. "I know the story. I was one of the prototypes."
"You were the only one that worked," Fury said flatly. "But 'worked' is a flexible word. After Faraday died in '92—circumstances were... questionable—the whole program collapsed. Records buried. The rest? Didn't walk away clean. We tried to contain it, shut it down quiet. Didn't go as planned."
"Complications like me?" I asked. "Or complications like Jason?"
Fury's face darkened, a shadow tightening his features. "That's not a discussion for now."
"Isn't it?" I said, voice low and steady. "Because the moment this turned into a war, the truth got jettisoned with it. They say truth is the first casualty of war, right? You've been burying it for decades. So tell me—does that make Jason one more casualty on your list?"
Fury didn't respond. He didn't have to.
"Right," I muttered, more to myself than to him. "It's never the time. Especially when people like us start demanding answers."
Fury's face didn't give anything away, and he pushed forward without missing a beat, turning to Thor. "Last year, Earth got a visitor from another world—someone who thought settling a personal vendetta meant tearing apart half a town. That was our wake-up call. We didn't just find out we're not alone out there... we found out we're painfully outgunned."
I let out a groan, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "That explains why there were so many weird sensor pings in New Mexico. I thought my equipment was glitching."
Thor stepped forward, voice firm and unwavering. "My people desire only peace with your realm."
Fury arched a brow, his reply edged with dry realism. "Maybe. But it's not just your people we've got to worry about, is it? You're not the only ones out there—and definitely not the only ones with power. The world's filling up with things we can't stop. Can't control."
Thor's voice echoed through the lab, heavy with warning. "It was your work with the Tesseract that called Loki—and his allies—to it. You have sent a message to the realms: Earth is ready for a higher form of war."
Steve blinked, his brow furrowed like the words had hit sideways. "A higher form?" he repeated, clearly not buying it.
I stepped forward and placed a steady hand on Steve's shoulder. "Listen, Fury," I said, voice calm but edged with warning, "you're messing with something way beyond your grasp. That cube? It pulses with instability. It's not just dangerous—it's volatile. And it doesn't care who's holding it."
Fury's eyes narrowed. "We didn't have a choice. We were already behind. We needed something—anything—to even the playing field."
"Level the playing field?" I snapped, motioning toward the monitor still lit with classified schematics. "You're stockpiling weapons powered by something you can't even begin to control. That's not defense—that's a blueprint for catastrophe."
I stepped in, voice dropping. "And don't think for a second I've forgotten about Jason. You want to talk about things slipping out of control? Start by telling me what really happened to him. I've let a lot slide—but this? This isn't bold. It's reckless. And not even the kind that comes with a plan."
Stark leaned back in his chair, arms folded, voice soaked in sarcasm. "Oh sure, because if there's one thing history's nailed, it's stockpiling unstable tech and hoping for the best. Nothing says 'peace' like a glowing cube and a side of mutually assured destruction. What's next, Fury? A drone army with a friendly logo?"
The room practically vibrated with tension. Fury's eyes locked onto Stark, his voice a quiet growl. "Remind me, Mr. Stark—how'd you make all that money again?"
Steve stepped in, irritation creeping into his tone. "If Stark still made weapons, he'd be waist-deep in this mess already—"
Stark whipped around, expression tightening. "Wait, I'm sorry—what?" His voice cut like a blade. "Did Captain Righteous just take a swing at my entire redemption arc? You serious right now? I shut down the weapons division. Years ago. After Gulmira, after Afghanistan—after I realized what everything I've built was being used to do exactly this. I've owned that. I've changed. Maybe check the files before you start throwing moral grenades."
"Truly, I had hoped for more from your kind," Thor said, his tone laced with disappointment. "I believed mankind had risen above such petty quarrels."
I muttered under my breath, "Honestly, I kind of wish we hadn't. Things were a lot simpler when we were just flinging poo and calling it a day."
The room turned colder in an instant, tension thickening like storm clouds ready to break. Voices rose, tempers snapped, and through it all, that painfully familiar itch crept up the back of my neck—an instinct I'd learned never to ignore.
"Guys," I said, stepping forward, voice low and tight, "this isn't right. Doesn't it feel a little... staged? Like maybe this is exactly what Loki wants?"
No one heard me. The shouting rolled on. Perfect.
Banner finally spoke, his voice tight with strain. "Luke's right." He glanced around the room, eyes narrowed. "This is Loki's game. He twists things. Makes us doubt each other. We're already tearing at the seams—and we haven't even left the Helicarrier."
He let out a sharp breath, visibly trying to stay calm. "We're volatile. A mix of power, pride, and no real leadership. If this keeps going—"
"Dr. Banner," Fury interrupted, his voice firm and sharp, "stand down. Now."
I moved in before it could escalate. "Easy, Director," I said, lifting a hand. "He's got a point—and right now, he's not the threat."
I turned to Bruce. "You okay? We're good?"
My voice was calm, steady—just enough to keep him anchored.
Banner gave a slow nod, though his breath was still uneven. "I'm trying," he said quietly.
"Try harder," I muttered, mostly to myself, then looked around at the rest. "Can we maybe just not hand Loki exactly what he wants for the next five minutes?"
Stark chimed in, hands in his pockets, wearing that smug grin like he hadn't just stirred the pot. "Come on, what's the worst that happens? The big guy lets off a little steam, right, Cap?"
He clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder.
Steve shrugged it off instantly, eyes hard. "Back off, Stark. You know why we don't want him losing it."
Stark's grin only widened. "Do I? Because at this point, I'm kind of hoping you try and stop me."
Steve stepped in, tone sharp as steel. "You're a real tough guy... in that suit." He started circling Stark, his voice low and deliberate. "Take it off. What are you then?"
"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist," Stark fired back without hesitation.
I stepped between them, both hands raised like I was breaking up a bar fight. "Alright, how about we table the testosterone contest until we're not on the verge of a crisis?"
But Steve wasn't backing down. His gaze stayed locked on Stark. "I've known real soldiers—men without fancy gear or inflated egos—who bled for every inch they gained. I've read your file. You only ever fight when it's on your terms. You're not the guy who makes the hard call. You're not the one who throws himself on the wire so someone else can make it out."
Stark snorted. "Please. I'd just cut the wire."
Steve's jaw tightened. "Always looking for the easy out."
He turned toward the rest of us, forcing a stiff smile. "Maybe he could use a crash course in the classics."
Then he looked back at Stark, and the warmth was gone. "You've got tech. Great. But stop pretending that makes you something you're not. You're not a hero. You're playing dress-up."
That landed. Stark's stance sharpened. "A hero like you?" he shot back, stepping in close. "You're just a lab experiment in a flag suit. Everything 'special' about you came out of a syringe."
I shoved an arm between them, pressing Stark back with both hands. "Enough. You want to throw punches, save it for the training deck. Right now, we've got bigger things to deal with than your bruised egos."
But the line had already been crossed. Steve's expression was pure fire—controlled, but barely.
"Put on the suit, Stark," he said, voice low and cold. "Let's see what's really under all that armor."
Thor's clearly more amused than concerned. "You mortals and your constant bickering," he said, half-mocking, half-disdainful. "So fragile. So short-sighted."
"Yeah, tell me about it," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Should've stayed at that café. Overpriced latte, sure—but at least when things blew up, it was just bad espresso. And this?" I gestured around at the chaos. "This is the team that's supposed to save the planet? We are monumentally screwed."
Fury stepped forward, voice sharp. "Agent Romanoff," he said coldly, "escort Dr. Banner back to—"
"Where?" Bruce cut in, his tone suddenly ironclad. "You rented out my room already?"
Fury hesitated. "The containment was meant to be temporary—"
Bruce's eyes narrowed, "Don't insult me, Nick."
Bruce stood still, fists clenched, breathing ragged. His voice came low and raw. "In case you needed to kill me. But you can't. I know. I tried."
Silence fell. Everyone turned.
"I got low," Bruce continued, eyes unfocused, voice cracking. "I didn't see a way out. So I put a bullet in my mouth... and the other guy spit it out."
He paused, staring at no one in particular.
"So I moved on. I found something else—helping people. It worked. I had control... until you pulled me back into this circus and made me a threat again."
He turned his eyes to Romanoff.
"You want to know my secret, Agent Romanoff?" he asked, voice like a whisper on the edge of breaking. "You want to know how I stay calm?"
That's when I saw it—the scepter. Faint glow pulsing from its tip, gripped tight in Bruce's hand. The atmosphere shifted, just enough to feel it in your teeth.
"Bruce," I said, steady and clear, hands raised, trying to sound more human than commanding. "Put down the staff."
All eyes turned to him. The tension snapped taut in an instant, the air buzzing with something volatile and wrong. And just like that, the whole ticking time bomb thing stopped being a metaphor.
He glanced down at the scepter, startled—as if he hadn't realized it was in his hand until that moment. His grip loosened, and with a steady breath, Bruce set it down carefully on the table.
Right then, the monitor gave a sharp beep, its screen flashing to life with a glowing set of coordinates.
"We've got a location," Bruce said, his voice more grounded now as he stepped toward the console. "Sorry, kids. You don't get to see my party trick after all." he added not giving a single glance to a single one of us.
"The Tesseract?" Thor asked.
"Confirmed," Fury replied, eyes narrowing as he read the display. "We've got a solid lock."
Steve stepped forward, "Look, all of us—"
But Stark was already heading for the door. "I can get there faster."
"Stand down," Thor commanded, stepping forward. "The Tesseract is not some trophy. It is an object of immense cosmic power. It must be returned to Asgard, where it will be secure."
"And what about Loki?" I cut in, eyes on Fury. "He doesn't just walk away from this with a slap on the wrist. He didn't start the fire, but he sure enjoyed pouring gasoline on it."
I folded my arms. "And no offense, Nick, this whole mess is a direct result of your, shall we say, less-than-forthcoming briefings. You and I are going to have a long chat about transparency and trust after this, by the way. A very long chat."
Fury didn't argue. He gave a sharp nod, jaw clenched, expression locked down. The time for excuses was over—he knew it.
At the door, Stark paused and glanced back at Steve. "You coming, Spangles? Or just tagging along to lecture me the whole way?"
"You're not going in alone," Steve said, stepping forward. "We do this as a team—whether you like it or not."
Tony gave a smirk. "You gonna try and stop me?"
"Put on the suit," Steve said evenly. "Let's find out."
They locked eyes, the air between them crackling again—tight, coiled, about to break. And there I was, right in the middle, once again resisting the urge to shout that this really wasn't the time for a testosterone contest.
But who was I kidding?
Apparently, it was always the time.
"I'm not above punching a senior citizen," Stark fired back, that trademark smirk plastered on his face. He was provoking now.
Steve stepped in closer to Stark, "Put on the damn suit," he said. "Let's end this."
I raised both hands, cutting between them. "Okay, how about we don't turn this into a flex-off right now?" I gestured vaguely at the two of them. "Unless we're competing to see who can get us all killed faster."
Before anything else could spark, I felt it—that sudden pressure deep in my chest, the kind that hits right before the sky falls.
And then everything did.
A violent shockwave ripped through the Helicarrier, slamming into me like a freight train. Metal screamed. Lights shattered. I moved just in time.
Instinct took over—I shoved Fury hard toward the nearest bulkhead, sending him sliding to cover. My other arm hooked around Romanoff and Banner, pulling them close as the ceiling came down in chunks.
A second later, the blast wave ripped through us. Smoke. Screaming steel. Shattered systems. Alarms howling like the end of the world.
And just like that, the argument didn't matter anymore.
Something far worse had started...
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To be continued...
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