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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nick Fury stood in the commander's position, Maria Hill in the deputy's chair. Around them the command deck thrummed with energy — dozens of officers hunched over their consoles, voices in unified chaos, hands steady though sweat already gathering at their brows. The air smelled faintly of oil and ozone, the scent of a machine about to test its wings.
"Very good. Athena, open the hangar roof and initiate the takeoff countdown. Run diagnostics across all systems," Fury ordered.
{Acknowledged. Command authorization: Nick Fury, Level 10. Highest clearance verified. Opening roof. Takeoff sequence engaged. All personnel, secure stations. Countdown commencing. Ten… nine…}
Athena's voice filled the space. Smooth to the point, with no edge of hesitation as a machine does.
The Helicarrier's launch bay roof split open in three massive slabs of steel, the central panel sliding back to reveal the night sky. Moonlight spilled down across the deck, painting consoles and faces pale silver. Outside, Washington's HQ lay in shadow — every exterior light extinguished to hide what was about to rise. The Helicarrier dimmed too, its vast form reduced to faint running lights, like a sleeping beast about to wake up.
{Roof fully retracted. Anti-gravity turbines engaged. Efficiency at ninety-eight percent. Propulsion array balanced. Vessel cleared for lift-off.}
"Take us up," Fury commanded.
The deck rumbled as the turbines spun. The vibration crept up through boots and chairs, a low hum that rattled bones. Four colossal fans whirled, muffled within the sealed command room, but powerful enough to press the air from their lungs. Ears popped from the pressure differential as the carrier rose.
At a rear console, James muttered a curse — his League of Legends match had lagged. His fingers blurred across keys, eyes fixed on his jungle route as if the fate of the world hung on digital creeps.
{Altitude at three thousand… four thousand… cruising altitude reached. Engaging reflective camouflage. Stealth mode active. Tail thrusters warming up. Prearranged vector locked. Estimated arrival over assigned sector: one hour and twenty-five minutes.}
Athena's cadence was precise and informative.
For a heartbeat the deck went silent — then applause broke out. Officers exhaled relief. Some laughed nervously, others clapped hard enough to sting palms. A junior technician wiped sweat from his face and whispered, "We're flying… we actually did it." Hill caught Fury's glance; his single eye softened with a flicker of pride before it hardened again.
James ignored it all. He didn't look up until the victory screen flared across his laptop. "Silver rank or not, hand speed's improving. [Cortana], you're syncing the map rotations perfectly."
Fury loomed behind him. "The program works. You've succeeded."
"Of course it does. As expected, wasn't it? You wanna play a round?" James asked dryly. Fury's glare went unseen, his patience thinning.
"Enough playing games. Begin system testing."
James closed the laptop to comply. "Athena, commence full diagnostic analysis. Collate all incoming data streams. Prioritize real-time anomaly detection."
{Understood. Diagnostic loop active. No irregularities detected. Awaiting new directives.}
James keyed into the system. "Now we stress her. Begin crisis simulation. I'll issue failures; Athena will respond."
"First test: power system malfunction."
Technicians cut a section of the grid. The carrier dimmed.
{Power loss detected. Non-essential systems offline. Backup generators engaged. Fault isolated to Sector 3C. Dispatching repair crew.}
Crews scrambled instantly, moving with practiced precision. Fury's lips tugged into the faintest smile. "Swift response. Faster than any human could coordinate."
"Next simulation," James continued. "Unregistered Quinjet inbound. Treat as hostile until proven otherwise."
The bridge shifted into alert. A Quinjet lifted, scrubbed of registration, and swept toward the carrier.
{Warning. Intruder craft detected. No mission file. Locking target in defensive grid. Weapons hot. Comply with inspection vector immediately.}
On comms, a technician barked: "Unidentified Quinjet, state mission authority."
"This is an ammo transport under HQ orders," the pilot replied.
{Claim unverified. Headquarters denies directive. Target remains hostile. Radar lock maintained. Anti-air missiles primed.}
The bridge crew stiffened — Athena had escalated before human clearance. Fury didn't stop it. Neither did James.
He smirked faintly. "That's how you stop infiltration. No hesitation. She'll never let an enemy walk in unchallenged."
James raised another hand. "Simulation three: hull breach."
The deck lights flickered red. A section of the starboard hull "failed" on the schematic. Sirens blared, bulkhead doors slamming shut one after another.
{Compartment 5A depressurized. Automated seals engaged. Atmosphere rerouted. Repair crew dispatched. Life support rerouted to adjacent compartments.}
Fury's brow furrowed, then eased. Highly efficient and clean response.
"Simulation four: onboard fire," James said.
Alarms wailed. Sensors tripped. Athena responded instantly.
{Thermal spike detected. Activating suppression. Atmosphere venting in Sector 2D. Dispatching drones with foam canisters. Fire isolated. Casualty probability minimized to three percent.}
The room calmed again. Fury's voice was quiet but firm. "Better than we hoped. Athena's not just a system — she's now a commander's second mind."
Across the deck, Jasper Sitwell sat at his console, applauding with the rest, but his palms were clammy. His heart thumped too fast. Hydra's program wasn't ready yet. Their program was months from launch. And yet here was Fury's machine, alive and responsive, bound to an AI they didn't control.
He masked the nerves behind his professional smile, clapping louder than most. Hydra agents embedded around him did the same. Outwardly loyal, yet inwardly rattled.
But their handler's words echoed in his mind: 'What can one man change? Stay calm. Stay hidden.'
Sitwell forced his breathing steady. Hydra would wait. Hydra always waited.
And in the command deck, Athena's voice returned, crisp and steady:
{All simulations complete. Systems stable. Awaiting further directives.}
James leaned on the console, satisfied. "That's the point. We don't need more hands. We just need the right mind in the machine."