The sun rose slowly over New York City. Not the majestic, golden Marvel movie kind of sunrise—no, this one was interrupted by screaming pigeons, honking taxis, and the sight of a certain cartoonish menace riding a skateboard through Times Square, dual-wielding waffles like nunchucks.
"Make way for breakfast justice!" the MC shouted, eyes wide with untamed joy, hair somehow flapping despite wearing a helmet shaped like a giant smiley face.
Pedestrians paused. Police officers looked at each other. One elderly man clapped.
Trailing behind the chaos, of course, was Alfredo the Chicken, now wearing a cape stitched from a SHIELD napkin, flapping gracefully in the wind.
Because today, the MC had a mission.
Earlier That Morning… at the Avengers Compound.
"Listen up, Avengers!" the MC declared, standing atop Tony's conference table with one foot in a toaster and the other on a peanut butter jar.
"Why are you sticky?" Bruce Banner asked warily.
"Because destiny, Dr. Green Jeans!" the MC beamed, tossing glitter into the air. "A cult has formed around Alfredo. They're calling her the Cluckchosen. And guess what? They've stolen the Golden Egg of Possibility."
Natasha blinked. "Is that real?"
"It is now," the MC said, wiggling eyebrows. "Come on! Don't you want to storm a weird rooftop cult, slap some sense into civilians, and maybe ride a flying scooter powered by suspicious optimism?"
Steve crossed his arms. "We're not trusting you with explosives again."
Tony leaned forward. "But… we're definitely watching."
Downtown, 9:42 AM.
The rooftop in question was covered in hay, feathers, incense smoke, and a giant golden egg held aloft by four robed people chanting something about "yolk unity."
"Today," their leader boomed, "we welcome the Chicken's chosen agent. The Cartoony One. The—"
"Surprise birthday cannon!" the MC screamed as they launched through the sky on a pogo-stick attached to fireworks. They crash-landed in a roll of hay, leapt up, and saluted. "Sorry I'm late. I got distracted by an air fryer and my own reflection."
The cult members dropped to their knees. "The One Has Arrived."
From above, Alfredo glided in slowly, landing on the golden egg like a war general surveying the battlefield.
"Your cluckness," said the robed cult leader, "we await your command."
The MC grinned, cracking their knuckles. "Okay. Step one: no more sacrifices unless it's dance-related. Step two: you're all gonna go home, drink some chocolate milk, and call your moms. Step three..."
They pulled out a flamethrower labeled "THERAPY DEVICE" in sparkly pink letters.
"...I'm making scrambled eggs of confusion and truth!"
Tony's voice buzzed through the MC's earpiece. "Please don't actually set anyone on fire."
"Too late!"
Twenty minutes and three mild fires later...
Alfredo had led the cult members into a guided meditation session while the MC sat on the edge of the building, sipping a juice box.
Steve landed beside him, arms crossed. "You really do have a plan, don't you?"
The MC looked at him. "Nope. But Alfredo does. I'm just the mascot with thumbs."
Steve looked at Alfredo, then back at the MC. "We're letting a chicken dictate fate now?"
"Would you rather trust the TVA again?" the MC asked, raising a brow.
"…Touché."
As the sun set, the cult had peacefully disbanded, Alfredo was now listed on Wikipedia under "Interdimensional Philosophers," and the MC was dancing atop a taxi with a kazoo solo dedicated to "inner peace and outer poultry."
Kamala messaged the Avengers group chat:
"I think... I think they're fixing people? Emotionally? Through absurdity???"
Thor replied:
"Verily."
-
End of Chapter.