"Alright, folks," Tony Stark announced, clapping his hands with the enthusiasm of someone about to unleash chaos. The holographic interface flared to life, casting the war room in a soft blue glow that made everyone look like they were part of an early 2000s sci-fi reboot.
"Behold," Tony continued, gesturing at the spiraling mess of red dots on the global map like it was his masterpiece, "the paranoia-powered mind of Dr. Erik Einhardt—mad genius, encryption hoarder, and undisputed champion of the world's worst file organization system."
JARVIS, with his usual British sass, chimed in, "Might I suggest 'secret-obsessed archivist,' sir? It sounds slightly less... cartoonish."
Tony arched a brow. "We are staring at a map that includes a vault inside an actual volcano, JARVIS. Cartoonish left the chat three conspiracy theories ago."
Steve Rogers, ever the grounded one, crossed his arms as he stared at the red dot blinking over Hawaii. "That volcano's not active, right?"
Tony gave him a grin. "Define 'active.'"
Bucky Barnes, lounging nearby with a mug of coffee like he hadn't fought ten Hydra agents before breakfast, snorted. "If I die in a volcano, I'm haunting you."
Tony winked. "If I die in a volcano, I'm going out with a lava slide and a martini. Priorities, Barnes."
"Children," Natasha Romanoff muttered, eyes glued to her datapad, "can we focus before someone volunteers to wrestle a lava monster?"
"Too late," Clint Barton chimed in. "Alexei's already sweating."
Alexei Shostakov threw up his hands. "I am not wearing the fireproof suit again! It itches in places I shouldn't even have anymore."
Meanwhile, Lily Potter leaned forward, scanning the chaos with that particular Mom Look that promised she was two seconds from grounding the lot of them.
"Tony, how many vaults?" she asked, voice brisk.
"Thirteen," he said, spinning the globe with a flick. "Four in North America. One in a volcano. Three buried under assumed identities and ancient magic. And one, believe it or not, under a coffee shop in Vienna. Because caffeine is sacred."
"Can you transmit the data to the New York Safehouse?"
"Already on it," Tony said, fingers dancing like a hacker-conductor. "JARVIS is uploading now. Should be in the system faster than Bucky can say 'grumpy murder grandpa.'"
"I don't say that," Bucky muttered.
"You don't have to," Erica snapped from the corner, eyes glinting. "You radiate it."
Harry Potter, aka Magical Super Soldier Deluxe Edition, stood off to the side watching the banter like a man who'd seen it all and still couldn't believe this was his life.
Lily turned to him, fire in her eyes. "Harry, I need a portal. Now. Howard and Adler need this formula."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You want me to open a portal to New York right now? No prep? No magical chalk? Not even a snack?"
Lily gave him the Look.
Harry sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if I end up with portal-lag again, I'm putting you on babysitting duty for my chaos gremlins."
He flicked his fingers. Runes shimmered to life in golden arcs, whirling outward until a portal whooshed open with enough force to make Steve's hair ripple.
Clint leaned over to Natasha. "Tell me again why we don't all just learn magic?"
"Because some of us have a healthy fear of imploding reality," she replied dryly.
Lily stepped through the glowing gate like she was walking into Target for a mission. "Tony, keep the team together. Harry, stay sharp. If Hydra gets wind of this—"
"They'll find out what happens when they mess with someone who has claws, trauma, and zero chill," Harry finished.
Tony gave a lazy salute. "Good luck convincing my dad that immortality comes in potion form. Last I checked, he was still trying to make whiskey count as a life extension method."
Rhodey shook his head. "Howard Stark and Grindelwald working together. That's either a Nobel Prize or a Bond villain convention."
JARVIS chimed in, "There is a statistically significant chance the Safehouse will explode. Again."
Tony grinned. "So you're saying there's a chance."
The portal closed with a soft hum, leaving the team staring at the swirling map.
Harry cracked his knuckles and stretched like someone about to do yoga on a battlefield. "Alright. Who's ready to chase paranoid vaults and maybe punch a lava demon?"
Alexei raised his hand. "Still not wearing the fireproof suit."
Steve, all righteous leadership, stepped forward. "We split into teams. Hit the vaults. Secure the data. And if Hydra's involved—"
"We go full berserker on them," Harry said, his voice dangerously calm.
Clint raised an eyebrow. "Define 'full berserker.'"
Harry grinned. "You ever see a vibranium claw go through a tank?"
Bucky blinked. "No—wait. Yes. That was you, wasn't it?"
"Damn right," Harry replied, summoning his claws with a shing. "And this time, I'm bringing magic."
Tony clapped. "Someone get the popcorn. This is about to be epic."
Steve sighed. "God help us all."
"God's got the day off," Natasha said, loading her Widow's Bite. "We're all that's left."
—
New York Safehouse – Secret Lab Level
(A.K.A. Where Genius Goes to Panic, Break Things, and Yell About Math)
The elevator pinged. The doors opened with all the grace of a dramatic Broadway reveal—except instead of jazz hands and glitter, out stormed Lily Potter, trench coat flaring like she'd just stepped off the set of Mission: Magical Impossible.
"Outta the way, nerds," she snapped, red hair blazing, boots stomping like she was ready to hex someone into next week. "I've got a philosopher-bomb in my pocket and exactly zero patience for magical mansplaining."
Inside the lab—aka Stark's Mad Science Man Cave—Howard Stark and Gideon Adler were already mid-bicker, chalk flying, runes glowing, and a holographic whiteboard blinking with equations so complicated they made taxes look friendly.
"You can't stabilize a quantum magic matrix using a dark matter flux capacitor," Howard said, arms flailing like a caffeinated octopus. "That's how you get time-ghosts!"
Adler—who looked like every arrogant wizard villain ever rolled into one smug, silver-haired package—gave an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, well, if you actually understood chaos theory, you'd realize magic doesn't care about your physics. It's more like jazz. Intuitive. Improvisational. Beautiful."
"Jazz?!" Howard barked. "You think the answer to reality-warping alchemy is jazz?!"
"Worked for Coltrane."
"Oh, great, now we're citing saxophonists as sources."
Adler crossed his arms, cape swishing with enough flair to be legally classified as a threat. "Better than citing a bar napkin and three shots of whiskey, which is what you called your 'proof of concept' last week."
"That napkin got us the mana-converter! And two-thirds of a burrito."
"Gentlemen," Lily cut in, stepping between them like a war goddess in yoga pants. "Unless one of you can conjure up a Philosopher's Stone using sarcasm and middle-aged ego, shut up and look at what I brought you."
Howard blinked, startled. "Lily! You're back from Prague already? Thought you'd still be stuck in that lava vault."
"Brief detour. Lava, sarcasm duels, Tony Stark going full goblin mode. But the important part?" She pulled a flash drive from her coat like it was Excalibur. "This is the complete formula. Erik Einhardt's original notes. The whole enchilada."
Adler's posture shifted. The smugness faded just a notch, replaced with something more… cautious.
"Einhardt?" he repeated. "As in Erik Einhardt?"
Lily raised an eyebrow. "That a problem?"
Adler winced like she'd mentioned an ex who also happened to be a pyromaniac cult leader. "We went to Durmstrang together. He got expelled before me. That's like being kicked out of Azkaban for being too intense. The man once tried to rewrite magical DNA using dragon bile and a teaspoon."
Howard, who'd already snatched the drive and plugged it into the main terminal, blinked. "Wait, he's the guy? I thought you were the nutjob at that school."
"I was," Adler said flatly. "He was worse."
JARVIS pinged to life. "Loading file. Please ensure all breakables are secured and all Dark Lords are accounted for."
The screen flickered to life. Runes spun in tight spirals. Enchanted DNA strands curled and morphed, glowing with mana signatures and what might've been demonic caffeine. The entire formula looked like it had been written by a sleep-deprived Einstein collaborating with a gremlin on Red Bull.
Howard whistled. "Well, I'll be…"
Adler leaned in, eyes scanning, brain moving faster than a Quidditch snitch on espresso. "This isn't just a Philosopher's Stone schematic. It's… alchemical genome weaving. With a side of quantum enchantment and whatever-the-hell-that-is." He pointed at a rune pulsing like a heartbeat.
"And?" Lily asked, arms crossed.
Adler looked up, wand flicking unconsciously at his side, eyes wide like a kid in a cursed candy shop. "And if we can synthesize this… we don't just get the Infinity Formula. We get immortality. No dark rituals. No soul-trading. Just pure, elegant science-magic alchemy."
"Cool," Howard said casually, "but can we weaponize it?"
Lily facepalmed so hard she nearly bruised. "Howard."
"What? I'm just saying! Hydra's gonna try!"
"And they'll fail," Adler muttered, expression darkening. "Because they won't understand it. They'll treat it like a tool. But this… this is legacy-level. This is the kind of power that reshapes the rules."
"JARVIS," Lily said sharply, "priority broadcast. Tell Harry. Code Phoenix. And get me direct links to May, Peggy, and—hell—get Fury while you're at it."
"Understood," JARVIS replied. "Also, Hydra has a 86.3% probability of tracking this file as we speak."
Howard clapped his hands. "Great! We've got a ticking clock, a stolen alchemical nuke, and a dark wizard who used to date the guy who wrote it."
"I didn't date him," Adler muttered, too quickly. "We were… colleagues. Briefly. I may have stabbed him. Once. Or twice."
Lily sighed. "Boys. Focus. Hydra's coming, and they won't knock politely."
Adler smirked, drawing his wand. The runes along its length flared, whispering like ghosts in a hurricane. "Then we remind them why some magic should be feared."
Howard rolled his sleeves. "And I'll remind them why Stark tech should never be underestimated."
Lily cracked her knuckles. "Right. Let's show Hydra what happens when brains, brawn, and biting sarcasm team up."
Somewhere in the shadows, war drums began to beat.
—
Harry Potter hovered in midair like a magical Iron Man with a flair for dramatics. His Revenant Armor shimmered in molten reds and radiant golds, a phoenix cowl pulled low over his face like he was trying to cosplay as a magical god of vengeance (spoiler: he totally was). His Cloak of Levitation billowed behind him like it had just watched The Incredibles and took Edna Mode's "no capes" as a personal challenge.
Ten feet below, Natasha Romanoff stood like the lava didn't exist. Because of course she did.
"Tell me again," she called up, voice cool and precise through the comms, "how exactly did you find an invisible island in the middle of an active volcano surrounded by lava and mystical wards that hate everything?"
"Third eye of Agamotto," Harry replied, lowering beside her with a hiss of steam. "You focus your mind, align your chakras, open your spiritual perception—"
She raised an eyebrow. "You used Google Maps, didn't you?"
Harry smirked under his glowing visor. "Okay, magical Google Maps. Less traffic data, more soul-searching."
She shook her head like she was dating the magical version of Tony Stark and trying really hard not to admit it.
The lava churned around them like it was considering unionizing. The air shimmered with heat and the scent of roasted wizard ego. And beneath it all pulsed magic—old, angry, and paranoid enough to need therapy.
Harry activated his mystic sight, and a flurry of glowing sigils lit up the obsidian around them like someone had gone to town with highlighters and existential dread.
"Oh, good," Harry muttered. "Triple-layered wards. Runic webs. A bloodlock that whispers sweet nothings in Latin. And something that's either a fire curse or Einhardt's attempt at magical air freshener."
Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Translation?"
He turned to her, eyes glowing faintly behind his mask. "It's like someone took every curse known to wizardkind, added caffeine, and gave it a superiority complex. Honestly, it's impressive. Paranoid, but impressive."
"I dated a KGB handler once who booby-trapped his toothbrush," Natasha said, deadpan. "Still not as bad as this."
"Einhardt would have been that guy. 'Oh, you want to check your email? Cool. Just disarm the demon ward, solve the riddle of the cursed sphinx, and don't forget the anti-theft chant or your soul gets vaporized.'"
Natasha stepped closer, boot heels clicking on charred rock like she wasn't currently standing over magma. "So, what's the plan, Wizard-Boy Wonder?"
Harry's grin was pure mischief. "Let me show you how I handle paranoid overkill."
He raised his wand, traced an elegant, glowing pattern in the air, muttered a few incantations under his breath, and then—with the same smug energy of a cat knocking over a glass—flicked his wrist.
"Accio Flash Drive."
There was a silence. A deep, magical, judging silence.
Then a pop echoed across the lava lake, and a sleek, black flash drive launched itself from the mouth of a cursed idol that looked like it was regretting life choices. It zipped through enchantments, bypassed an ancient lava sigil, pirouetted past a confusion charm, and landed neatly in Harry's outstretched hand with a polite ting.
Natasha blinked.
Harry smirked. "The oldest spell in the book. And still undefeated."
She stared at him like he'd just pulled a rabbit out of a radioactive hat. "You… you just summoned it."
He spun the flash drive on his finger like a wand. "Wizards spend a million galleons on magical security systems, and still forget one little anti-summoning charm. Classic."
"That is either genius or the dumbest thing I've ever seen."
Harry leaned in, voice low and teasing. "That's just how I roll, Red. Fifty percent brilliance, fifty percent bullsh—"
The ground rumbled ominously beneath them. A molten growl echoed from the cave mouth across the caldera. The lava surged like it had suddenly remembered it was alive.
Natasha's hand went to her Widow's Bite. "Please tell me that was just the volcano stretching."
Harry's visor pinged red.
"Nope," he said. "That was the vault's guardian."
Natasha sighed. "Of course there's a guardian."
And then the rock cracked wide, and a fifty-foot-tall lava golem erupted from the depths like it had a grudge against all things USB.
It roared, fire spitting from its mouth, body stitched together with volcanic glass and flaming chains.
Harry stared. "Well. That's new."
"You said he wasn't prepared for the obvious!"
"I said most wizards aren't! Apparently Einhardt had trust issues with his trust issues."
The golem swung a fiery arm at them.
Natasha ducked and fired a Widow's Line, launching herself to higher ground like it was parkour o'clock.
Harry shot skyward, cloak flaring out dramatically because of course it did.
"Remind me again why I'm dating you?" Natasha called over comms.
"Because I'm charming, devastatingly handsome, and make excellent breakfast," Harry replied, dodging a fireball.
"You once set a frying pan on fire trying to make eggs."
"It was part of the ambiance!"
The golem roared again, louder this time, and started climbing after them.
"I am never coming on one of your magic runs again," Natasha snapped.
Harry held up the flash drive like it was the Holy Grail. "But look! Mission success!"
"You summoned a flash drive and summoned a lava monster! Those cancel each other out!"
"I disagree. Strongly. Also romantically."
She arched a brow mid-flight. "Romantically?"
He grinned beneath the cowl. "I almost died for this thing. If that doesn't scream commitment, I don't know what does."
She groaned, flipping through the air to land beside him on a floating obsidian pillar. "You are the dumbest genius I've ever met."
"And you're the deadliest redhead I've ever fallen for."
The lava behind them exploded. Molten fire rained from the sky. The golem screamed like someone had deleted its Netflix account.
Harry grabbed Natasha's waist and activated the Cloak's emergency levitation burst.
"Time to go!"
"Way ahead of you, Romeo."
As the golem howled and the volcano did its best impression of a Michael Bay finale, the two soared into the sky—one spy, one sorcerer, one stolen flash drive, and approximately a thousand degrees of chaos behind them.
The sun dipped low on the horizon as they escaped, two fiery streaks against the orange sky.
Harry glanced at her mid-flight.
"You still mad?"
She gave him a sidelong look. "Ask me again when we're not being chased by a living volcano."
He smiled. "Deal. But I'm still taking full credit for the heist."
She smirked. "You're lucky you're cute."
And behind them, the island finally blew.
Roll credits.
Cue theme music.
Possibly Taylor Swift.
—
Vienna, Austria – 3:07 PM – "Kaffee & Käsekuchen" (Tagline: Espresso So Strong It'll See Your Future)
Steve Rogers stood outside the quaint little café like he was modeling for an undercover dad-themed calendar. Dark jeans. Bomber jacket. The kind of look that said, "Yes, I fought Nazis, but I also make a mean pancake brunch." He sipped from a paper cup that claimed to contain coffee, though he had serious doubts.
Next to him, Peggy Carter looked like a Bond girl who moonlighted as the director of MI6. Designer coat. Cat-eye sunglasses. Perfectly neutral expression that screamed I could kill you with a stilettos and make it look like an accident. Which, let's be honest, she absolutely could.
Steve glanced sideways, still watching the café windows. "You ever notice how whenever we're trying to be subtle, something explodes five minutes later?"
Peggy took a delicate sip of her espresso. "Yes. And yet, you keep trying."
"You wound me."
"No, darling," she said sweetly. "That's usually Bucky's job."
—crackle of comms—
"Did someone say my name?" Bucky's voice came through their earpieces like a guy who had absolutely not been caught napping in the back of a truck next to a paranoid magical pirate.
"We were just admiring your subtlety," Steve deadpanned.
"In comparison to Stark, I am subtle."
From the front of the delivery van, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody let out a gruff snort that could've been a laugh. Or indigestion. With him, it was hard to tell.
"Constant vigilance, Rogers," Moody growled. "Subtlety's fine until it gets you hexed six ways from Sunday and stored in a cursed jam jar."
"That happen often?" Bucky asked, eyebrows raised.
"You'd be surprised," Moody muttered. "Once, in Prague, I spent two weeks trapped in a tea kettle. Long story. Don't ask."
Inside "Kaffee & Käsekuchen" – Mission Code Name: Latte Recon
James Potter looked like a man on holiday from wizard dad duties—flannel shirt, jeans, and an expertly crafted MuggleWatch enchanted to monitor magical fluctuations. He stirred his mocha with flair, but his wand hand was subtly tracing detection runes along the ceramic cup.
Across from him, Sirius Black looked like he'd strolled off a runway and into a spy thriller. Aviators indoors. Collar popped. His smirk alone was probably illegal in three countries.
"I'm telling you," Sirius said, "that barista has the eyes of a Hungarian Horntail in tax season."
"She shimmered," James muttered, low and fast. "Tattoo on the wrist—Czech fire magic, maybe elemental binding. When she handed that Americano to Mr. Definitely-Not-Tourist over there, the foam spelled 'run.' In cursive."
Sirius blinked. "Subtle."
"She's guarding the vault," James said. "Or she is the vault. Hard to tell these days. Magical architecture's gotten weird."
"You think she's one of those soul-bound security anchors?" Sirius asked, reaching for his third croissant. "Because that would really ruin my flirting strategy."
"Don't even try it, Padfoot."
"I'm just saying, if I am going to be hexed into a cursed teacup, I want it to be by someone who looks good doing it."
Above Vienna – Enter: The Billion-Dollar Bat
Tony Stark hovered like a judgmental gargoyle, wrapped in his new Stealth Armor—a sleek, matte-black number with shimmer-camo, whisper-silent repulsors, and enough passive enchantments to give Hermione a headache.
"JARVIS," Tony muttered, "on a scale of one to 'bad idea,' where are we at?"
"Somewhere between 'please don't' and 'dear God why.'"
"Perfect. So right on schedule."
Tony swept a thermal-magic scan across the café roof. "I've got six heat signatures, one deeply suspicious espresso machine, and a guy ordering cheesecake at 3:07 PM. Which, in my professional opinion, should be illegal."
"I like cheesecake," Steve's voice chimed in.
"You also like running laps at 5 AM and drinking unsweetened coffee. Your opinion is invalid."
Peggy's voice cut in, dry as ever. "Gentlemen. Focus. Magical backup vault beneath the café. Possibly tied to the barista. One shot. No casualties. Try not to get turned into cookware."
"Copy that," Tony said. "Still voting we just Iron Man our way in."
"Denied," Peggy replied.
"…Soft 'maybe'?"
Inside the Truck – Chaos Command Central
Bucky rolled his eyes as he studied the mix of Stark tech and Moody-approved magical surveillance gear, which looked like someone had smashed a supercomputer into a wizard's attic and called it a day.
"You've got a leprechaun ward inside a Stark server. How is that even allowed?"
Moody grunted. "Don't question the magic, lad. Just pray it doesn't grow legs and bite."
The monitor blinked.
Thaumic spike. Deep under the café.
Moody straightened like a thundercloud in a trench coat. "Failsafe's been touched."
Inside the Café – Game. On.
The barista twitched.
It was small—a blink-and-you-miss-it shimmer around her tattoo, and a sudden flicker of flame dancing along the steam wand. But James saw it. Magic was activating. He felt it in his teeth.
"Padfoot—she just keyed something. We're about ten seconds from magical DEFCON one."
Sirius looked up. Locked eyes with the barista.
Her smile was all cinnamon and murder.
"Oh, bollocks," he muttered. "I think she likes me."
Outside – Showtime
Peggy's phone buzzed.
"They triggered the vault."
Steve took one last sip of his coffee, then calmly handed the cup to a pigeon. The pigeon stared at him like it had just been made an accomplice to espionage.
"Guess we're going loud," Steve said, cracking his knuckles.
Tony's voice piped in. "Permission to battering ram?"
Peggy didn't miss a beat. "Permission granted. Iron Barista mode: activated."
"Ohhh, I like the sound of that," Tony grinned, diving.
Cue: Mission Impossible Music (But with Bagpipes and Electric Guitar)
From the sky, a black blur shot downward.
From the street, Steve and Peggy were already moving—he rolled his sleeves like he was prepping to punch the coffee out of a fire demon, and she pulled a compact wand from her clutch with all the grace of a woman about to ruin someone's day.
Inside, James flipped a chair. Sirius kicked over a table.
The barista's hands ignited with flame.
Moody barked through the comms. "NOW, LADS! VAULT'S OPENING!"
And somewhere—somewhere deep below the cheesecake display case—a centuries-old magical drive hummed to life.
Because of course Einhardt hid a priceless artifact beneath a bakery.
This was going to be one of those days.
—
Let the record show: Sirius Black did not start the fight with the barista. He just strongly contributed to it by winking and asking if her latte art was single.
"Sir," she said, without blinking. "Your face is about to be discontinued."
Sirius barely had time to process that zinger before a ceramic mug—yes, ceramic—smashed into his chest like it was launched by Thor in a mood. He flew backward into a rack of artisanal muffins.
"Ow," Sirius groaned. "That was rude. And possibly gluten-free."
"She's got enchanted kinetic gloves!" James yelled, already ducking behind a table. "And the muffins are sentient! One bit me!"
"Oh, please, that muffin was making eyes at me first," Sirius muttered, wiping frosting off his jaw.
Meanwhile, Tony Stark—who had been attempting a stylish superhero landing through a stained-glass window—misjudged his entry angle and crash-landed into a rotating dessert carousel. His helmet flicked open just in time for him to say:
"Okay, I'm here, I'm shiny, and I would like to speak to the manager of this caffeine dungeon—"
WHAM.
A bolt of espresso the temperature of the sun and the sarcasm of Loki exploded from the barista's wand-modified coffee siphon. Tony went flying like a flaming marshmallow into a wall.
"JARVIS," he wheezed, "diagnose the situation."
"Sir," JARVIS replied, "you've been assaulted by what appears to be a mocha elemental with rage issues and an espresso pump. Also, she melted your left boot."
Tony groaned. "I liked that boot."
"Perhaps you should've thought twice before calling her a 'caffeine concierge,' sir."
—
Elsewhere in the Café.
Peggy Carter was a professional. She'd stared down Nazis, Hydra, and Howard Stark's cologne. Nothing fazed her.
Except maybe this cursed lock, which refused to yield like a teenager hiding their browser history.
"Need help?" Steve Rogers offered, all charming grin and biceps the size of her future therapy bill.
"I've got it," Peggy replied smoothly, hairpin in hand. "Unless you've developed telekinetic lockpicking since breakfast."
"I did help a raccoon crack a safe once."
Peggy gave him a look. "That explains so much."
Click. The door opened. Steve stepped inside, shield-first because Captain America always brings a lid to the potluck.
Inside: sigils, tech, and enough cursed wards to make a goblin accountant cry. Floating mid-air on a pedestal was the drive—black, sleek, and humming like a drunken Horcrux.
"Looks easy enough," Steve said.
"That's what you said before you activated that exploding banana in Budapest," Peggy pointed out.
Steve raised an eyebrow. "I maintain it looked like an innocent fruit."
Peggy waved a silver mirror over the drive. "Okay, no lethal curses. But it's alarmed. And heat-triggered. And probably has a grudge."
Steve reached out. "On three?"
"One…"
"Wait!"
"...Two?"
Peggy handed him a glowing rune stabilizer. "If it turns red, stop. If it glows green, good. If it starts singing in Latin—"
"We run?"
"Faster than you did from the Stark family holiday photo."
Steve lifted the drive.
It glowed red.
"Oh no," Peggy whispered.
—
Back in the Inferno – Battle of the Bean Queen
Sirius was using a cake tray as a shield. James was armed with a baguette. Tony was half-melted.
"JARVIS," Tony grunted, "Plan C."
"Plan C involves Clint Barton dressed as a teabag and diving through the ceiling. I'm not sure we're that desperate yet, sir."
Then came the hiss of a vent overhead.
Thunk.
Enter: Clint Barton, covered in duct tape and powdered sugar.
"Did someone say desperate?" he asked, aiming a glue arrow at the espresso witch.
"She's absorbing magical energy!" James shouted. "That includes hexed carbs!"
"Oh no," Sirius said. "She's caffeinating herself through combat."
The barista shrieked. Her hair burst into flame. The espresso machine behind her started levitating and chanting Gregorian hymns.
Tony pulled himself upright. "She's going nuclear. I knew oat milk was evil."
Bucky's voice crackled over the comms. "Hey. Update: your witch barista is now literally lava. Also, someone tell Steve he still owes me for brunch."
Steve's voice: "We've got the drive. Extraction in sixty seconds."
Clint: "Copy that. Uh… maybe bring a fire extinguisher?"
James: "Or a priest?"
Sirius: "Or better yet, a frozen margarita."
Tony: "I'm putting that on the mission expense report."
Peggy: "Everyone shut up and move!"
The team bolted for the exit as the café began to collapse under magical feedback. Cakes screamed. Coffee machines wept. The muffin tried to bite Sirius again.
And above it all, the barista stood on a flaming countertop, eyes blazing, and yelled:
"Y'ALL WANTED EXTRA HOT. WELL HERE YOU GO."
Then the whole place exploded in a puff of vanilla steam and righteous fury.
—
The team regrouped in an alley a block away, smelling like a bakery crime scene.
Steve held up the drive, still glowing but stable. "We good?"
Peggy checked her mirror. "We're good. Drive intact. Barista survived. Tony's dignity—"
"Critically injured," Tony said, brushing croissant flakes off his armor. "JARVIS, remind me to sue Austria."
JARVIS: "Already drafting the paperwork, sir."
Sirius clapped James on the back. "Well, that went well."
James: "You were set on fire."
Sirius: "And yet I'm still the prettiest."
Clint sighed. "Next time, we just order takeout."
Peggy smiled. "Next time, you let me pick the coffee shop."
Tony: "Deal. As long as it doesn't breathe fire."
JARVIS: "Sir, you realize that's a metaphor—"
Tony: "Was it, JARVIS? Was it?"
—
Another of Einhardt's Vaults – Somewhere Ridiculously Inconvenient in the Amazon Rainforest
The smell hit Alexei Shostakov first.
Not the kind of jungle scent you bottle and sell at hipster cologne counters—nope. This was roasted human flesh, bonfire smoke, and the kind of B.O. that could end diplomatic relations.
"Oh great," Alexei groaned, wedging what looked like a rusted refrigerator against the steel vault door. "We're being attacked by cannibals. Again. You'd think Hydra would've put these vaults somewhere nice. Like an abandoned IKEA."
Erica Hayes, crackling with enough voltage to charge an iPhone for a decade, zapped a charging tribesman mid-scream. He flew backward into a wall, where he stayed, twitching slightly like a malfunctioning animatronic.
"Less whining, more frying, Grandpa," she said, flipping her hair out of her face like she wasn't literally electrocuting people in a jungle bunker. "You get used to the human barbecue smell after the first wave. Sort of smells like bacon. If bacon hated you."
"Remind me to get your sense of humor recalibrated," James Rhodes muttered from the hallway, where his War Machine armor was lighting up like a Fourth of July fireworks finale. "Left flank—six hostiles. Right flank—four more. One of them has face paint and a necklace made out of toes. I repeat: Toes."
"Look, I didn't fake my death, survive Soviet gulags, and sit through four hours of Yelena's Instagram stories just to get eaten by discount Aztec cosplayers!" Alexei shouted, throwing a piece of broken pipe like a javelin. It pinned one of the cannibals to the wall by his shoulder strap. "We're professionals, da?"
Erica ducked a flying spear and casually shot electricity through her fingertips into a puddle. Three cannibals screamed as they skated across the wet floor like electrocuted ballerinas.
"'Professionals' is a strong word," she muttered, pulling a machete from her belt. "I'm more of a freelance chaos gremlin."
Rhodey's voice crackled over comms. "May, please tell me you're in the air. We are knee-deep in the tribe of Dwayne 'The Rock' Cannibal Johnsons."
—
Melinda May did not do chaos. She managed chaos.
Currently, she was flying a Quinjet like it owed her rent, cutting through the sky and scaring parrots into early retirement.
"On approach," she said in her usual tone: emotionally neutral, vaguely threatening, like Siri if she were a lethal weapon.
A mounted turret popped out of the Quinjet's underbelly and began humming.
Below, a few cannibals looked up.
"Smile, boys," May said into the comms, flicking a switch.
The jungle exploded into a shower of non-lethal (HR insisted) concussion rounds. Cannibals went flying. Trees fell. A toucan swore in Portuguese.
"Ten seconds to pickup," May added, adjusting the throttle like she was parallel parking.
Boom.
The back wall of the vault exploded in a fireball of shrapnel, ferns, and one very confused monkey.
Erica skidded to a stop. "Holy crap. Did she just blow the wall open?!"
Rhodey stomped forward through the debris. "That woman doesn't knock."
"Time to evac!" Erica shouted, vaulting over an unconscious tribesman with the grace of a parkour TikToker and the enthusiasm of someone who really wanted Wi-Fi again.
Alexei grabbed the encrypted drive. "Please tell me this thing has GPS. Or Spotify. Either works."
Another cannibal lunged at him. Alexei punched the man square in the face, then followed it up with an uppercut that sent him flying into a pile of ceremonial drums.
"That was for playing drums at 3AM!" he growled.
Erica shocked another two attackers. "I feel like that was oddly personal."
Rhodey backed toward the Quinjet ramp, laying down cover fire as the trio sprinted aboard. Behind him, the tunnel caved in with a very satisfying rumble.
As the Quinjet ascended, the jungle faded into a green blur.
Inside, May wordlessly handed them towels and water bottles like she was chaperoning a very intense summer camp.
Alexei collapsed onto the bench, soaked in sweat and heroism. "Next vault better be under a Starbucks. Or at least a Target."
Rhodey shook his head. "If it is, I'm demanding hazard pay and a caramel macchiato."
Erica sprawled on the floor, hair half out of its bun, shoes smoking. "Can't believe I electrocuted a guy mid-backflip. I should get a t-shirt for that."
"Black coffee. No frills," May said. "And silence."
A full five seconds passed before Erica leaned over to Alexei and whispered: "Can we still get donuts?"
"Da," he whispered back solemnly. "We deserve donuts."
The backup drive beeped once, unlocking its interface. A holographic map of the globe appeared, marked with glowing red Xs.
Dozens of them.
"Uh-oh," Erica said, peeking over May's shoulder.
Rhodey crossed his arms. "That's not foreboding at all."
Alexei squinted. "Are those vaults?"
"No," May said quietly. "Those are bombs."
Cue dramatic music.
---
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