James skimmed the reports at night. The game had become more than a side venture. It was a shield in its own way. Influence and capital reach—tools he could wield without pulling a trigger.
For now, though, the Helicarrier came first. The eyes of S.H.I.E.L.D.—and Hydra—were all over it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The test flight couldn't be scheduled until night time. Washington airspace meant military coordination, and the Pentagon never moved quickly. A flight that could've launched immediately was delayed by weeks of negotiations and red tape.
The rift between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.S. military was widening. The helicarrier sat at the center of it all. New York had proven the growing fracture—an alien invasion over Manhattan, yet no fighters scrambled to attack, no armor divisions mobilized. The National Guard arrived late, a little more than a militia with rifles. The real defense line had been six extraordinary individuals. To James, it still reeked of politics disguised as strategy.
Tony Stark had been underarmed in that fight. With a heavier payload, James figured he could've paced the entire battle alone. That thought gnawed at him—the Avengers had saved the city, but the military had left it to burn.
While Fury wrangled with the generals, James made his rounds at headquarters. Weeks blurred into routine until Coulson broke it with one line:
"James, test flight's tomorrow night."
James leaned back in his chair, annoyed. "I can run it whenever. The program's already ready. But right after this test, I've got to hit the League's first anniversary celebration—the same night as the championship."
"No problem. You've done more than enough here," Coulson said. Then, lowering his voice: "The Director's considering how to deal with the Hydra problem inside Head Quarters. He's asking for your opinion."
James raised an eyebrow. "Since when does Fury need my opinion? Handling people is his forte."
"He wants more than one perspective on the situation. And right now, the only two he trusts with this are you and me. Your… ability will stay secret. Even Barton and Romanoff won't get looped in." Coulson's eyes flicked to the empty hallway.
James thought for a moment. "My advice? Don't make a move yet. Hydra knows we've exposed pieces of them, but not on how. They've stayed quiet since New York—that means their plan is still running. They're just waiting. If we tip too soon, they'll just bury deeper. Our losses would become heavy."
Coulson exhaled. "Then what's their endgame?"
"The program, Coulson. Call it whatever name you want—Loom of Fate, Predictive Net, Oracle's Web, or Destiny Grid. S.H.I.E.L.D. used it once to profile bad actors. Hydra's version is inverted. They're not looking for potential criminals. They're looking for threats to Hydra."
"And when they find them?" Coulson's voice was tinged with concern.
"They eliminate them. That's why they want the Helicarrier, with its absolute firepower in the skies. The Helicarrier becomes their executioner."
Coulson stopped pacing around. "You're saying Sitwell's in on the whole plan?"
James nodded. "Sitwell's the only one I've touched who had the full picture. Most of them don't. Only a handful of Level Six and above have some clues. Fewer than you'd think."
"What if Fury calls for a meeting? Bring every Level Six into one room. You could ID them all."
"I could. But it risks exposing me. They'll wonder how. For now, let them sit there oblivious. We'll act when we have to. If we move too soon, the cost will be paid in blood."
Coulson's agreement came with a grim nod. "You're right. One mistake and we lose too much."
James pushed open his studio door. "Then let's keep it quiet. I'll prepare for the test flight."
He packed what he needed. The work was finished, so the studio became obsolete. Only his laptop mattered now—the entire smart program lived inside it. That, he'd carry onto the carrier himself.
Night at HQ looked like controlled chaos. Forklifts hummed, pallets of parts and fuel loaded into the behemoth. By dawn, James was already on the helicarrier, seated at a round steel table behind Fury's command station. The place looked exactly as the films had shown—functional steel, harsh light, everything was built for war.
His laptop sat open. But he wasn't debugging any code. He was running an Iron Man jungler in League of Legends.
Hill's voice cut from behind him. "Everyone else is working. Yet you're gaming?"
James didn't turn around, eyes stayed locked on the screen. "The program's ready. Nothing to monitor until the launch sequence. Besides, the network here? Running smooth with no lag. Want to try a round?"
Hill folded her arms. The uniform she wore looked professional, every line ironed out. "I'll pass. But that's your game, isn't it? That's Iron Man you're playing."
James smirked. "That's Stark's ego, not mine. I just built the platform. Called him earlier, actually—invited him to championship night. There'll be an exhibition match. Tony and me. Which means I need to practice."
"You think he's been practicing too?"
"Knowing him, he's been grinding for months. Probably threatened to cut the dev servers if they disabled his character." James's tone was dry, but it carried the edge of truth. Stark's narcissism was rarely subtle.
Before Hill could retort, the Helicarrier's klaxons shrieked. Not for combat—but the preflight alarm. All hands secured themselves, checked stations, and locked gears. The deck trembled with anticipation.
For the first time, the Helicarrier's voice came alive.
{This is Athena. All systems stand ready. Launch sequence ready. Authorization for take-off required.}
The voice was calm and deliberate—feminine, electronic, precise, yet touched with a cadence that felt more like invocation than code. James had named the AI himself. Athena would lift the largest warship on Earth into the sky.