PROJECT P.E.G.A.S.U.S. — NEW MEXICO DESERT — NIGHT
The New Mexico desert was alive with panic.
The sprawling S.H.I.E.L.D. research facility, usually a sterile fortress of order, now looked like an anthill someone had just kicked over. Men in suits barreled down corridors with laptops tucked under their arms. Soldiers in combat gear hustled crates of sensitive equipment onto waiting Humvees, tires shrieking against the sand as convoys peeled out into the night. Above it all, a disembodied voice blared from hidden loudspeakers: "All personnel evacuate immediately. Priority Alpha. This is not a drill."
Out of the black sky, a helicopter swept in low, rotors chopping the air into a deafening roar and kicking up waves of grit that stung the skin.
On the landing pad below, Agent Phil Coulson stood with his hands neatly clasped behind his back, unbothered by the dust storm swirling around his polished shoes. His dark suit was impeccable, his sunglasses even more so, and he regarded the approaching helicopter with the faintest ghost of a smile — the kind of expression that suggested he might be thinking about what to have for dinner later.
The chopper touched down hard enough to shake the ground. The side door swung open and Deputy Director Maria Hill jumped down first. Every inch of her radiated cool, tactical precision — her navy uniform spotless, her hair pulled back, her sidearm already resting at her hip like she might need it in the next thirty seconds.
Close behind her came Director Nick Fury himself, striding out of the helicopter with the long, deliberate steps of a man who could order a nuclear strike without breaking stride. His black trench coat whipped in the desert wind as he stalked toward Coulson, one eye glinting with irritation that was only partly about the dust.
"How bad is it?" Fury demanded before his boots had even stopped moving.
Coulson gave a polite little shrug, his voice calm. "That's the problem, sir. We… don't actually know yet."
Fury stopped, fixed him with his good eye, and growled, "You know I hate it when people lead with 'we don't know.'"
"Yes, sir," Coulson replied smoothly. "That's why I kept it short."
Fury grunted, clearly deciding it wasn't worth wasting a glare on him, and motioned toward the facility doors. "Walk and talk."
—
The air inside was thick with ozone and urgency. Staff scrambled through the radiation section of the building, white lab coats flapping behind them as they carried what little they could salvage. Overhead, sirens wailed and red warning lights pulsed along the walls.
Coulson led the way, Hill and Fury at his heels.
"Dr. Selvig picked up an energy surge from the Tesseract about four hours ago," Coulson began. His tone was casual, almost conversational, as if he were discussing a minor scheduling conflict.
Fury's brow furrowed. "NASA didn't authorize Selvig to test anythin' tonight."
Coulson shook his head, adjusting his tie. "He wasn't testing it. He wasn't even in the room. The Tesseract just… turned itself on."
Hill's eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry — it did what?"
"Spontaneous event," Coulson clarified. "Nobody touched it."
Hill glanced sideways at him, deadpan. "That's… not ominous at all."
"Current levels?" Fury asked, his voice low.
"Climbing," Coulson admitted. "When Selvig couldn't shut it down, I called for an evac."
Fury's jaw tightened. "How long to get everybody out?"
Coulson hesitated just a beat too long. "Campus should be clear in the next half hour."
Fury stopped in his tracks and leveled him with a look that could've peeled paint. "Half an hour? Coulson, do I look like I got half an hour to you?"
Coulson straightened his tie again and said without missing a beat, "No, sir. You strike me as more of a ten-minute man."
Fury's lip quirked. "Damn right. Do better."
Coulson gave a little nod — a tiny bow of acquiescence — and peeled off to start issuing sharper orders.
Hill stayed at Fury's side as they descended a stairwell toward the lower levels.
"Sir," she said quietly, "evacuation may be… futile."
Fury glanced at her, one brow arching. "Oh, here we go. Do tell."
"If we can't control the Tesseract's energy," she continued, keeping her voice even despite the tension in her jaw, "there may not be a minimum safe distance."
Fury stopped halfway down the steps, fixing her with a flat stare. Then he said, deadpan, "So what I'm hearin' is… we tell everybody to go back to bed and just hope it don't blow us all to hell?"
Hill blinked. "That's not what I—"
"Good," he cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Cause I already told Coulson we're on a ten-minute clock, and if I tell him to reverse the evac now, he'll have a damn aneurysm."
She exhaled, almost a sigh. "I just thought you should know the risks."
"Oh, I know the risks. I also know the mission. Which reminds me…" Fury glanced down the hall toward a row of steel security doors. "I need you to make sure every last Phase Two prototype is on a truck and rolling before this thing cooks us alive."
Hill's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sir," she asked evenly, "is that really a priority right now?"
Fury turned his head and gave her that look — the one that could shut down even the most skeptical senior agent. "Until such time as the world ends, Hill," he said, his voice dropping into a growl, "we will act as though it intends to spin on. So get down there, clear out every damn piece of Phase Two tech, and get it movin'. You understand me?"
Hill's expression didn't change — not much, anyway. A faint trace of her usual dry wit slipped into her voice as she replied, "Crystal clear, sir."
"Good."
Hill spun on her heel and snapped at two nearby agents in tactical vests. "You heard the Director. With me. Let's move."
The trio jogged off toward the restricted labs, Hill already barking orders as she went.
Fury stayed behind for a moment, staring down the corridor toward the pulsing blue light of the Tesseract chamber. His eye narrowed at it, and under his breath he muttered, "You keep actin' up, and I'm gonna find a way to put your ass in a box."
Somewhere deep in the building, a crackle of alien energy flared as though it had heard him.
And he did not look impressed.
—
Nick Fury pushed through the double doors into the heart of the lab, the last place anyone sane wanted to be tonight.
The room was still packed with blinking monitors, humming machines, and that unnatural blue glow from the Tesseract sitting at the center of it all like a smug little star. But most of the scientists had already bolted — running past him in a steady stream, clutching clipboards, bags, or nothing at all — leaving behind only the handful of personnel who either didn't mind dying horribly or were too stubborn to care.
Fury stopped just inside, boots planted, trench coat swaying behind him as his one good eye swept the chaos.
"Talk to me, Doctor," he said, his voice low and even, which somehow managed to make everyone in earshot freeze.
From behind a large, humming machine, Dr. Erik Selvig popped his head out, blinking as though just noticing there were other people in the room. His shirt was rumpled, his glasses slightly askew, and he wore the perpetual expression of a man who was only barely keeping the universe from collapsing out of spite.
"Director," Selvig greeted dryly as he stepped into view, wiping his hands on his lab coat.
"Doc," Fury said with a faint nod. "Is there anything — and I mean anything — we know for certain right now?"
Selvig didn't smile, but something like dark humor danced in his eyes. "The Tesseract is… misbehaving."
Fury stared at him for a long beat, his good eyebrow arching up like a weapon.
"Is that supposed to be funny?" he deadpanned.
Selvig tilted his head slightly, as though considering it. "No," he replied, his Scandinavian lilt making it sound almost philosophical. "No, it's not funny at all. The Tesseract isn't just active… she's misbehaving."
Fury exhaled through his nose and muttered, "Well, damn. That's what I was afraid you meant."
Selvig was already walking toward a nearby workstation, gesturing for Fury to follow. "We tried pulling the plug," he explained, tapping commands into a keyboard. "Shut off the power. But she…" His shoulders rose in a helpless shrug. "…she just turns it right back on. Like she knows better than we do."
"She." Fury's tone was dry enough to parch the desert. "We're genderin' the cosmic death cube now?"
Selvig shot him a quick, faint grin, then pointed at the readouts. "If she reaches peak levels, Director… well. There won't be enough left of this building to argue semantics over."
Fury folded his arms and leaned over the monitor. "We've prepared for this, Doc. Harnessin' energy from space. That's what all this is about, right?"
Selvig stopped typing long enough to glance up at him, his expression grim.
"We don't have the harness," he said flatly. "Our calculations are far from complete. And now she's throwing off interference. Radiation. Not lethal, yet, but… low levels of gamma."
Fury gave him a long look, unimpressed.
"Gamma," he repeated, his voice dropping into a growl. "You're standin' here tellin' me it's just 'low levels' like that don't ruin somebody's whole damn week. That can be harmful, Doc. You know that."
Selvig muttered something in Swedish under his breath and turned back to his keyboard.
Fury straightened up and looked around the room, spotting a familiar figure crouched high on the catwalks above — all shadows and sharp angles. "Where's Barton?" he asked.
Selvig snorted without looking up. "The Hawk? Where else?" He gestured vaguely skyward. "Up in his nest. Watching. Brooding. You know."
Fury smirked faintly and tapped his earpiece. "Agent Barton," he called, his voice low. "Report."
From above, Clint Barton stepped into the light — black tactical gear blending him into the beams and railings. Without a word, he holstered his bow, hooked a rappelling line to the rail, and slid smoothly down to the floor.
He landed without so much as a thud and started walking toward Fury, hands casually at his sides like he wasn't armed to the teeth.
"You wanted eyes on," Clint said coolly as he approached. "I see better from a distance."
"Uh-huh," Fury grunted as the two of them fell into step, circling the edge of the lab in that quiet, predatory way that made everyone else instinctively move out of their path. "So, tell me — you see anything that might set this thing off?"
Barton's eyes flicked up to the glowing Tesseract, then back down. His voice stayed low, steady. "No one's come or gone. Selvig's clean. No contacts. No IMs, no calls. If there was any tampering, sir… it wasn't at this end."
Fury frowned, one brow rising. "'At this end,' huh?"
Clint gave a little shrug and glanced back at the cube. "Well… it's a door to space, right? And doors…" He looked back at Fury, his mouth curling in a faint smirk. "…doors open from both sides."
Fury didn't say anything, just stared at the Tesseract with a look that promised it better not try anything stupid while he was in the room.
On the other side of the chamber, Selvig muttered something under his breath as he pounded keys.
Fury's ear caught just enough to hear him whisper, almost to himself: "Not yet…"
That was enough to make his fingers twitch toward his gun.
—
The monitor flashed red. Then white. Then black.
Every eye in the room shot to the Tesseract, which suddenly began to pulse brighter, its glow building into an almost deafening hum that rattled the machines around it. The air went sharp and cold, the scent of ozone filling everyone's lungs as the cube lifted an inch off its pedestal and cracked reality open.
The whole facility thundered.
Topside, Maria Hill was halfway to the transport trucks when the tremor hit. She froze mid-step as the ground rumbled beneath her boots, snapping her gaze toward the main dome, where an unnatural light now shot skyward like a beacon. She tapped her comm.
"Coulson?" she barked.
Across the floor above the lab, Coulson steadied himself against a railing, already pulling his sidearm. His sunglasses were gone now — this wasn't the kind of situation you wore shades for.
"I see it," he replied evenly, his voice barely audible over the roar. "And I don't like it."
Below them, the Tesseract's glow suddenly exploded, sending a rippling ring of blue energy through the air. People were flung backward as though struck by hurricane-force winds. The blast punched a hole through the ceiling in a swirling vortex of color and sound, and space itself seemed to open — vast and terrible and infinite — through the portal forming above the platform.
Nick Fury didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
From the swirling chaos stepped a figure — tall, graceful, draped in green and black, his cape billowing as he landed lightly on the platform. A golden horned helmet gleamed under the blue light. His mouth curled into a grin as he surveyed the devastation around him, spinning a long, sinister scepter in his hand.
But then the grin faltered slightly. Everyone was staring at him like he was just another problem to clean up.
Fury was the first to speak. "Sir," he drawled, already pulling his sidearm, "I'm gonna have to ask you to put down the glow stick of destiny."
Loki tilted his head, one black eyebrow arching at the sheer audacity. Then, without a word, he leveled the scepter at Fury and unleashed a crackling blue blast of energy.
The Director was already moving.
Clint Barton slammed into him from the side, driving him to the ground as the blast ripped through the space where his chest had been. The two men rolled behind a console as energy crackled and sparked above them.
The room erupted in gunfire.
Agents opened up on Loki from every corner, bullets whining through the air. The trickster god merely raised his free hand and the bullets bounced. Sparks skittered harmlessly across his armor as he advanced, his grin returning.
"Is that the best your realm has to offer?" he called mockingly as he lashed out.
The scepter flashed and one of the agents was hurled across the room. Loki moved like water — graceful, lethal — driving his blade into a second guard's vest and spinning to send another sprawling with the butt of the scepter.
Barton rolled, coming up in a crouch, loosing two arrows in rapid succession. The first clanged uselessly off Loki's chestplate; the second he caught midair without even looking.
"You have heart," Loki murmured as he seized Barton's wrist, twisting his bow away with supernatural strength.
Clint gritted his teeth, trying to wrench free, but the Asgardian already had the tip of his scepter pressed to his chest. A cold blue light flared in Barton's eyes — and then they went black.
He froze.
Loki smiled.
"Good," he murmured. "You'll do nicely."
Around them, other agents faltered as Loki swept the scepter through the room, turning them one by one. Their eyes darkened, their faces slackened into calm obedience.
Behind a console, Fury edged along the wall, his hands slick on the Tesseract. He popped it free of its mount and slipped it into a metal case with practiced precision. He was halfway to the door before the Asgardian's voice stopped him.
"Please don't," Loki said, his tone light but the weight behind it iron. "I still need that."
Fury paused, then slowly turned, the briefcase still in his hands.
"This doesn't have to get any messier," he warned, his voice low and even.
Loki tilted his head, almost amused. "Oh, but it does. I've come too far for anything less. I…" he straightened, spreading his arms grandly, "…am Loki of Asgard. And I am burdened with glorious purpose."
Selvig — who'd been crouched over one of his injured techs — finally looked up at that, squinting.
"Loki?" he muttered. "Brother of Thor?"
Fury didn't take his eyes off Loki.
"We ain't got no quarrel with your people," he said.
Loki's smile turned cold.
"An ant," he replied, "has no quarrel with a boot."
Fury's lip twitched. "You plannin' to step on us then?"
Loki's grin widened. "I come with glad tidings. Of a world… made free."
"Free from what?" Fury shot back.
"Freedom," Loki said simply, as though explaining it to a child. "Freedom is life's great lie. Once you accept that…" He turned, planting the scepter firmly against Selvig's chest as the scientist froze, "…you will know peace."
Selvig's eyes darkened. His hands dropped to his sides.
Fury's voice cut the silence.
"Yeah," he said dryly. "You say peace, I kinda hear somethin' else entirely."
On the other side of the room, the Tesseract began to wail, its light growing brighter, its portal destabilizing.
Barton, now standing at Loki's shoulder, glanced up at the ceiling, then leaned down to murmur, "Sir. Director Fury's stallin'. This place is about to blow. Drop a hundred feet of rock on us. He means to bury us."
Fury's brow furrowed as he caught Barton's glance. "Like the Pharaohs of old," he muttered.
At a console, Selvig was furiously typing commands even as his eyes stayed blank.
"He's right," Selvig said calmly, his voice flat. "The portal's collapsing in on itself. You have maybe two minutes before critical failure."
Loki's eyes gleamed as he looked back at Barton.
"Well then," he murmured.
Before Fury could react, Barton whipped his pistol from his holster and fired.
The round slammed into Fury's shoulder, spinning him sideways as the briefcase clattered to the floor. Barton stooped to snatch it up, already moving toward the exit as other controlled agents fell in behind him.
Fury lay on his side, clutching his bleeding shoulder, glaring daggers at Loki as the god of mischief turned one last, satisfied grin over his shoulder.
"Enjoy your freedom," Loki purred as he strode out of the lab, his new army in tow.
—
The air outside the collapsing lab was a storm of dust, sparks, and shouting.
Clint Barton stalked out first, black tactical gear streaked with debris. His face was calm, unreadable, but his eyes—blackened by Loki's control—glimmered with something alien. In one hand, he had his bow slung. The other was jabbing toward the row of utes lined up in the loading bay.
"These vehicles," he ordered flatly to a pair of stunned agents. "Keys. Now."
The agents froze, glancing at each other, and then at the figure behind Barton—Loki himself, striding casually out into the chaos like he owned it. The Asgardian's horned helmet caught the emergency lights as he swung himself up into the flatbed of the nearest truck, that smug grin never leaving his face.
Hill was already on the scene, crouched behind a Humvee with her pistol drawn. She tapped her earpiece, her tone clipped. "Who is that?" she murmured, eyes narrowing at the sight of Loki stepping up into the truck bed.
Barton didn't even look at her. He just threw himself into the driver's seat, muttering, "He didn't tell me."
Rock and metal groaned overhead as the ground beneath them rumbled dangerously. Hill stood, backing toward another vehicle.
Her radio crackled, Fury's voice low and sharp in her ear.
"Hill," he barked. "You copy?"
Loki's piercing gaze flicked toward her at the sound of the name, almost sensing the communication.
Hill hesitated just a second too long before she answered.
"This is Hill," she said, voice tight.
"Barton's turned," Fury said bluntly.
That was all she needed to hear. She spun just in time to see Barton whip his pistol up and open fire.
Hill dove, rolling behind a Humvee as bullets cut through where she'd been standing. Barton vaulted down from the catwalk and into the driver's seat, Selvig already sliding into the passenger side beside him, blank-faced and compliant.
Hill sprang up, returning fire, her rounds sparking off the tailgate as the truck peeled away, tires squealing.
Fury's voice barked through her earpiece again. "They got the damn Tesseract! Shut them down!"
Hill didn't even answer. She holstered her pistol, ripped open the door of a nearby ute, and threw herself behind the wheel.
The chase was on.
—
The tunnel was a screaming nightmare of falling rock and twisted steel. Hill rammed her truck into gear, headlights slicing through the darkness. In the truck ahead of her, Barton was focused, hands steady, as Loki crouched in the bed behind him like a king surveying his throne.
Hill gritted her teeth and leaned out her driver-side window just long enough to squeeze off a few rounds. Glass shattered on Barton's side mirror. He didn't flinch—just adjusted his grip and swerved. Loki, meanwhile, raised his scepter lazily and unleashed a crackling beam of blue energy straight into the road behind them.
The blast caught the agent tailing Hill full-on, sending the car flipping end over end in a ball of flame. Hill swerved to avoid the wreckage, the dashboard lights blinking wildly as rocks rained down from the collapsing ceiling.
In the wreckage of the lab, Fury was still moving.
He pressed one hand to his bleeding shoulder and dodged a cascade of sparks as he sprinted for the door, yelling into his comm.
"Coulson! Talk to me!"
On the stairs, Coulson was rallying a small group of agents. Cases full of data and equipment toppled down the steps as the ground gave another violent shake. One agent instinctively bent to grab them.
"Leave it!" Coulson ordered, his usually mild voice cutting through the noise like a whip. "Go! Now!"
They ran, Coulson not far behind, shouting into his radio. "Director, you're clear! You need to move, now!"
Fury didn't have to be told twice. He burst out onto the helipad just as his ride dropped low enough for him to jump aboard. The chopper barely lifted before the ground beneath the lab sank into itself, concrete and metal crumpling like paper.
Hill was still on Barton's tail, tires shrieking as she closed the distance. She ducked low, firing straight through her own windshield to riddle Barton's rear glass with holes.
Barton calmly reached up, popped a fresh clip into his sidearm, and returned fire—his shots punching through Hill's hood and forcing her to swerve.
Loki turned then, raising his scepter high. With a flick of his wrist, he brought half the ceiling down on Hill's truck.
The tunnel caved around her, and Hill's truck skidded to a halt, stuck behind a mound of rock. Dust poured in through the shattered windows as she covered her head.
Above ground, the Tesseract's energy finally reached a terrifying crescendo.
The blue light collapsed in on itself, forming a pinprick of white before detonating in a flash so bright it burned into Fury's good eye. The entire facility imploded with a roar that rolled across the desert.
From several miles away, Coulson's SUV rocked violently as the shockwave hit.
"Director? Director, do you copy?" Coulson called, voice cracking with static.
On the ground below, Fury picked himself up from the dirt, his trench coat smoking from the crash of his helicopter. He still had his pistol in his hand as he fired one last, futile shot toward the distant taillights of Barton's truck.
Too far. They were gone.
Fury holstered his weapon and tapped his comm.
"The Tesseract is with the hostile force," he said evenly, though his jaw was tight. "I've got men down. Hill?"
Hill's voice finally came through, breathless, static-laced. "A lot of men still under. Don't know how many survivors yet."
Fury stood there a long moment, surveying the wreckage. The sky above was still glowing faintly blue from the energy cloud.
"Sound the general call," he ordered coldly. "I want every livin' soul not on rescue out lookin' for that briefcase. Nobody rests till we've got eyes on it."
Hill's voice came back quick. "Roger that."
Fury switched frequencies. "Coulson? Get back to base. This is a Level Seven."
Coulson hesitated only a second before replying, his voice grim. "As of right now?"
Fury's gaze narrowed on the horizon where Barton and Loki had vanished.
"We are at war."
Coulson's voice was quiet, but steady. "What do we do?"
Fury didn't answer right away. He just stared out into the night, his expression unreadable, his mind already calculating the next move.
Finally, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the comm to pick up:
"…we get ready."
And the thought struck him, sharp and clear.
It's time… to bring them together.
—
The desert was quiet now, quiet in the way only a place that had just been torn apart could be. Smoke still rose in angry black spirals, wind carrying the bitter tang of scorched rock and melted steel.
Fury stood on a ridge of broken concrete, trench coat fluttering in the hot breeze. Below him, agents and medics moved like ants in the glow of work lights.
Coulson appeared at his side, hands in his pockets, tie straight, his mild expression giving nothing away but those sharp, clever eyes.
"You've got that look, sir," Coulson said conversationally. "The one where you're about to do something reckless but make me clean it up."
Fury didn't even glance at him. His one good eye stayed on the horizon, like he could already see what was coming.
"Don't flatter yourself, Phil. You like cleaning up my messes."
"Not wrong," Coulson admitted wryly. "Who do you want?"
Fury finally pulled his gaze back to the field below and reached into his coat. He handed Coulson a data tablet. Coulson scrolled through the glowing list. Names he already half-expected — Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. Banner. Barton. Coulson's brow rose slightly.
"And the other ones?" he asked.
That finally earned Coulson a sideways glance. Fury's grin was slow, dangerous.
"You just can't wait to see me play that card, can you?"
Coulson didn't bother to deny it.
Fury reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a small, black-and-silver mirror — delicate but heavy, etched with faint runes that shimmered faintly under the desert stars.
Coulson's expression barely shifted, but there was a faint glimmer of amusement.
"Ah," he said softly. "That card."
Fury turned away from the agents below, holding the mirror flat in his palm. "We're gonna need every damn ace I've got left in the deck," he murmured to himself.
He checked the shadows around him — no eyes on him — and leaned closer to the mirror.
Then he spoke the word.
"Marauder."
The surface of the mirror rippled like water.
And far, far away… someone heard him.
—
DEEP SPACE — ABOARD THE MARAUDER
The Marauder cut through the endless dark like a sleek black blade, its crimson and gold decals catching stray starlight. The magically enhanced Assault Corvette thrummed with quiet power, its runed hull pulsing faintly every few seconds.
On the bridge, Harry Potter sat in the captain's chair like he owned the stars, boots up on the console. His green eyes sparkled under the dim glow of the consoles.
He glanced up at the viewport, smirking faintly at the swirl of nebulae outside.
Around him, his wives each owned their corners of the bridge like queens on a chessboard.
At navigation, Daphne Greengrass — all icy elegance, her pale blonde hair falling over one shoulder — adjusted their heading with precise flicks of her fingers. She didn't look up, her voice cool and crisp.
"Course is stable. For now."
At gunnery, Susan Bones leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, fiery hair catching the light as she casually polished a blaster rifle. She shot Harry a sidelong look, her grin crooked.
"You're bored," she accused. "I can tell. You always sit like that when you're bored."
Fleur Delacour stood leaning against the bulkhead, her French accent lilting through the room as she braided her hair. Her smile was all fire and gold.
"Mon amour, bored or not, you always find trouble. Do not pretend otherwise."
On the other side of the bridge, Val and Dacey Mormont were at the holo-chess table — Val in her light armor, a smirk playing across her face as she moved a piece.
"Check," she drawled.
Dacey — all coiled strength and her trademark glare — moved her piece in retaliation. "Not yet."
Allyria Dayne reclined nearby, her violet eyes fixed lazily on her datapad as her lips curved in faint amusement.
Shaak Ti meditated in the co-pilot's seat, serene and composed.
Aayla Secura leaned against the edge of the console, her lekku curling slightly, her sharp smile playing on her lips.
And Riyo Chuchi stood near the viewport, her eyes narrowed as she sipped her drink. It was she who noticed first.
"The mirror," she murmured, voice soft and chime-like. "It's glowing."
That got Harry's attention. His boots hit the floor with a satisfying clang as he leaned forward, snatching the mirror from where it floated by his chair.
Sure enough — the surface rippled to reveal Nick Fury's one-eyed scowl.
"Well, well," Harry said, his voice low and amused, his grin lazy but dangerous. "Nick bloody Fury. Been a long time since you rang, Director. What's the emergency — Skrulls again? Or did Stark finally blow up New York?"
Fury's voice was just as sharp and dry as ever, cutting through the mirror.
"Cut the jokes, Potter. The world's burnin'. You in or not?"
Harry stood. He glanced around the bridge at his wives. Daphne arched one brow, Susan's grin widened, Fleur tossed her braid over her shoulder, and Val and Dacey both pushed away from the chessboard. Shaak Ti opened her eyes, serene as ever, while Aayla's smirk sharpened. Riyo simply set her cup down and straightened.
Harry's grin turned feral.
"Tell me where and when, old man," he said lightly. "And save me a seat at the table."
Fury's expression didn't change. "You already know where. Earth. Now. We're at war. Time you came home."
Harry's emerald eyes gleamed. He pocketed the mirror and turned to his wives, clapping his hands together with a grin.
"Ladies," he said, his voice rich with mischief and promise. "Pack up the drinks. Looks like we've got ourselves an apocalypse to crash."
Daphne's cool smile sharpened. "Took him long enough to call."
Susan was already powering up the guns. "About time someone needed us."
Fleur's laugh was like wildfire. "Oh, mon chéri… let's make an entrance."
The Marauder thrummed louder as the runes along her hull flared gold. Harry dropped into his chair, leaning back with his fingers tapping idly against his leg.
"Next stop," he said, grinning wickedly, "Armageddon."
The corvette banked hard and shot into hyperspace, leaving nothing but starlight and the faint echo of his laugh in its wake.
---
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