Third POV
More Leviathans burst from the portal, disgorging swarms of Chitauri warriors into the city's sky. The Avengers watched the breach widen.
"Guys?" Natasha's voice was strained over the comms, thin with exhaustion.
Luke didn't mince words. "This is bad. We can't hold them if they keep coming."
Iron Man's voice was clipped. "Call it, Captain."
Cap's shoulders squared, his voice calm and commanding. "Our priority is containment until we can shut that portal down. Barton, I need you on the roof. Track their movements and call out targets. Stark, you own the perimeter. Nothing gets past three blocks."
Barton notched an arrow. "Need a ride, tin man?"
"Better clench up, Legolas" Tony replied, swooping down to grab him and launch toward a rooftop.
Cap turned to Thor. "Thor, bottleneck the portal. Thin their numbers."
With a whirl of Mjolnir, Thor was airborne.
Finally, Cap faced the ground team. "Natasha, you're with me. We hold this line." He nodded toward Luke. "Lieutenant Shadow—your job is the civilians. Get them clear of the fighting. Use your speed, your strength—whatever it takes. Keep people out of the line of fire."
Luke tapped his mic, his visor glinting. "Copy that. And for the record, I need a better call sign than 'Shadow.' Sounds like I'm in charge of selling fog." His smirk was audible. "Guess rebranding will have to wait." In a blur, he was gone, speeding toward the chaos.
Cap pointed. "Hulk—"
The Hulk turned, a savage grin spreading across his face. He didn't need orders. One word rumbled out, a promise of pure destruction: "SMASH!"
Hulk exploded into the fray, tearing Chitauri from buildings, swatting skimmers from the air, and pulverizing armored limbs into scrap. High above, Thor landed atop the Chrysler Building and hurled a lightning bolt into a swarm of enemies, the energy arcing dangerously close to the portal's edge.
Meanwhile, Iron Man dove toward a Leviathan, peppering its joints with repulsor blasts. "JARVIS, target its structural weak points. Don't let it get its bearings."
A blur of motion signaled Luke's arrival. He vaulted a guardrail, sprang from a collapsed overpass, and landed soundlessly on a pile of wrecked cars. His bo staff became a whirlwind of controlled violence—strike, spin, parry—each movement brutally efficient. He shattered armored plating, disarmed a warrior, and used its own momentum to send it crashing into another. He didn't just fight; he controlled the flow of the battle.
He became a rapid-response unit, darting across overturned buses and crushed taxis to shepherd panicked civilians to safety. Spotting a family trapped against a storefront, he scooped up the father, sprinted three blocks in a heartbeat, and gently deposited the man into a subway entrance.
"Go! Get down the stairs!" he urged, then shouldered a sedan onto its side to create an instant barricade. He slammed the car's undercarriage down, forming a ramp that a sobbing little girl quickly used to scramble to safety.
"Shadow, cover that intersection!" Clint's voice crackled from above. "I'll handle anything that tries to flank you."
Luke's reply was laced with a grin. "Copy that. If anything gets past my welcoming committee, aim for the glowy bits."
Natasha moved with lethal precision, a whirlwind of calculated strikes—stab, disarm, throw—before pivoting to help Luke free a trapped civilian. Their teamwork was seamless: Luke's brute-force speed complemented Natasha's surgical efficiency and Barton's impossible shots from above.
When a Chitauri skimmer dove to strafe a crowd, Luke sprinted up the side of a bus, launched from its roof, and drove his staff into the skimmer's underside. The craft flipped, cartwheeled into a lamppost, and exploded—the blast clearing a path for civilians to escape through a nearby alley.
Though Leviathans still thundered through the sky, the team's containment line held. Hulk's ground pound staggered one beast; Iron Man's missiles brought down another. Thor's lightning arced across the portal's edge, frying entire waves of Chitauri as they emerged. Street by street, the Avengers reclaimed ground.
Luke paused, breathless but energized, and shouted into his comm, "Cap—subway's clear for five blocks! Start moving people down. We'll cover the retreat."
Cap's voice cut calmly through the chaos. "On it. Keep them safe."
Luke rolled his shoulders, his visor glinting, staff humming with pent-up energy. Then he charged back into the fray—slash, smash, grab, throw—carving a corridor of safety through a city with nowhere left to run.
On a rooftop, Hawkeye tracked the skies, bow steady. "Stark—you've got company on your six," he called, watching Iron Man streak across the skyline with a dozen flyers in pursuit.
Dangling from a grapple line on a high-rise, Luke watched the chase unfold. "Yeah, I see them," he said over the comm. "Hawkeye, try not to pick them all off before they get to me. I could use a few target practice."
Barton's grin was audible. "No promises, Shadow."
Tony's voice crackled back, dry as ever. "You break 'em, I'll buy 'em."
Iron Man dove low, a swarm of Chitauri flyers tight on his tail. Luke dropped from his perch and launched into the air, staff whipping through the wind. He landed squarely among three pursuers, his staff a blur of strikes and sweeps before he grappled away, rolling to the street just as plasma fire sprayed where he'd been. The damaged skimmers veered wildly, crashing into buildings.
"Nice moves!" Tony called, banking sharply and tricking two more flyers into colliding. An arrow from Hawkeye split the air and exploded a skimmer behind Luke, showering the area with harmless debris.
Luke snatched the arrow shaft from the air as it flew past and, in one fluid motion, drove it into the neck of a Chitauri warrior that had just landed in front of him. He glanced upward. "You gonna stop showing off in the middle of a warzone?" he shouted to Clint.
"No thanks," Clint replied, his tone dry but amused. "Good catch, though."
Luke almost smiled. He might've been thinking a certain four-letter word, but there wasn't time.
Iron Man threaded neatly between two crumbling structures and shot through a narrow underpass. The last pursuing flyers clipped the tunnel walls and smashed into a building facade, giving the ground team a few seconds of breathing room.
"Good call, Legolas and Aragorn," Tony radioed. "What's next?"
"Thor's clearing 6th," Barton reported. "Took down a whole squadron."
"And he didn't invite me," Tony grumbled.
Luke slid behind an overturned taxi and shrugged. "They're having all the fun. I'm not running six blocks in a cape—even if I could." Then he launched forward, carving through a cluster of Chitauri with brutal efficiency. He moved like a blade with a pulse: sharp, relentless, and impossible to contain.
A Leviathan thundered toward an office tower, its shadow swallowing entire blocks. Inside, people stared up in horror—until the Hulk exploded through a wall. He launched himself floor by floor, grabbed the creature by a trailing limb, and hurled it away from the building, smashing it into the street like a toy.
On the avenue below, Natasha fought with cold precision. When a Chitauri slammed her against a car hood, she twisted free, zapped it with her Widow's Bite, and ripped the weapon from its grip. She flipped it around and sprayed plasma fire down the street. Another alien lunged—only to be impaled mid-charge by Luke's hurled staff. Captain America landed behind them with a solid thud, shield raised.
"Civilians clear?" Cap asked, his eyes scanning the crowds still funneling into subway entrances.
Luke wiped a smear of ash from his face. "Mostly. We've cleared a path five blocks south to the subway—families, kids, everyone's moving. Blocked the intersection with buses. But we can't keep this up, not if they don't stop coming."
Cap's jaw tightened. "Then we hold. We buy time until that portal closes. Keep the evacuation moving—we won't let this city become a kill box."
Luke gave a sharp nod, slinging his staff back over his shoulder. "Copy that. I'll keep the lanes open. You keep them moving."
He sprinted back into the fight—slash, smash, grab, throw—carving out space for people to run and for his team to breathe. The city was coming apart, but with every path he cleared and every life he shielded, they made it a little more survivable.
Natasha glanced up at the pulsating portal. "He's right, Captain. None of this matters if we don't shut that thing down."
Cap didn't soften the truth. "Our heaviest hitters couldn't touch it."
Natasha's eyes tracked the skimmers weaving through the sky. "Maybe it's not about hitting harder."
"If you're going up, you'll need a ride," Cap said, eyeing the Chitauri skimmers weaving through the air.
Natasha jogged to the edge of the overpass. "I've got one in mind. Just need a boost."
Cap offered a half-smile. "Should I call Luke? I'm sure he'd be happy to throw you at them."
A dry voice crackled over the comm—Luke. "I am not your medieval trebuchet, Steve."
Natasha replied with a hint of private amusement, "Careful, Shadow. I'll owe you a drink."
Cap shook his head. "Just take the boost."
He planted his shield under her foot and launched her upward. Natasha caught the side of a passing skimmer, hauled herself into the cockpit, and efficiently dispatched the pilot before seizing the controls. The craft swerved wildly as two more skimmers dove toward her. "C'mon, turn—ah!" she grunted, wrestling with the alien interface. Just as blasts narrowly missed her, Iron Man swooped in and repulsor-blasted her pursuers from the sky.
Then Luke arrived—a blur of motion diving from a rooftop straight into the fray. He landed between two clusters of Chitauri and immediately went to work: kicking a car into a group of warriors, rolling under swinging blades, and using his staff to send one alien crashing through a storefront.
Cap dropped in beside him with perfect timing, a tired but eager grin on his face. "You joining the fun?" Luke called out mid-kick.
Steve's shield flew in a tight arc, clipping five targets before returning to his grasp. "We started without you an hour ago," he shot back, deflecting a charging skimmer. In one fluid motion, he vaulted, caught Luke's staff on the rebound, and spun it like a polearm—improvising a brutal combo between shield strikes.
Luke watched for a beat, then took the staff back. "You good with that?" he asked as Steve fumbled slightly.
Steve shot him a steady, half-amused look. "You learn by doing." He tossed the weapon back. "You keep your toys—I'll keep the flag." Something unspoken flickered between them, but Luke let it pass. The two fell into a brutal rhythm—shield, staff, strike—each covering the other's moves.
Overhead, Natasha had turned the stolen skimmer into a one-woman demolition crew. She speared a warrior, used its dead weight to flip the craft, and kicked another into oncoming traffic. When two more skimmers closed in from behind, Iron Man dropped in low and vaporized them with twin repulsor blasts. He soared up the side of a building, strafing another cluster from the sky, then skimmed the pavement and unleashed a volley of missiles that turned swarms into fireworks.
Luke yanked a streetlight pole from the concrete and swung it like a bat, clearing a packed alley. Above, Barton loosed a single arrow that took out a skimmer pilot; the craft spiraled down and smashed into a Leviathan's side.
Nearby, the Hulk scaled the beast like an angry god, ripping armor plating away with bare hands. Thor slammed Mjolnir into the exposed joint, driving a shard of lightning-charged metal deep into the creature's skull. The Leviathan crashed down, and for a moment, the city seemed to catch its breath.
Hulk, pleased with the teamwork, gave Thor a punch so hard it sent him spinning out of view—then grinned like it was the best joke he'd told all day.
Barton's voice cut sharp over the comms. "Cap—civilians trapped inside the bank on 42nd, just past Madison. There's another group holed up in that corner café on 39th—small place, low ceilings, maybe thirty people. Only two exits."
Luke's posture shifted instantly. "I know the spot," he said, tone clipped. "Basement's blocked, service door is jammed. Kitchen's the only choke point. They need a clear run south to the subway."
Cap didn't hesitate. "We split. Hawkeye, you're with me on the bank. Shadow—take the café. Get them out fast."
"Copy," Luke said—no bravado, just motion. Then he was gone, cutting through smoke and chaos toward the café.
---
Luke landed softly on the glass roof, careful not to collapse it entirely. Below, Chitauri warriors had corralled a crowd of civilians into a tight semi-circle, weapons raised and ready. One fired a warning shot into the ceiling—people screamed and dropped to the floor. Another alien signaled its squad into a firing formation, the hum of their guns cutting through the panic.
Luke crouched at the edge, instincts firing. Enhanced reflexes mapped the room in seconds—enemy positions, weapon types, angles of attack. This wasn't about brute force. It was about surgical, calculated strikes.
He dropped into the center of the room without a sound. "Get down!" he barked.
Two Chitauri lunged. He twisted, swinging his staff in a sharp arc that sent both crashing into the railing. Civilians scrambled clear as he plowed through three more, strikes landing with enough force to spark off their armor.
A fallen Chitauri rifle lay nearby. Luke snatched it up, familiarized himself with the trigger in a split second, and began firing—precise, economical shots. A head, a weapon arm, a stabilizing leg—each target dropped in rapid succession.
A taller warrior charged, claws out. Luke slid beneath the swing, cracked the butt of the rifle against its skull, and rolled behind an overturned table. Another tried flanking him from the right. He launched off a ventilation unit, spun mid-air, and swept his staff in a wide arc, sending one enemy crashing into another. He caught a leaping Chitauri by the ankle and slammed it into the concrete, debris flying.
"Stay low and keep down!" he shouted, moving constantly between the civilians, carving out a pocket of safety.
Two more dropped from above. He caught the first and used it as a shield against the second, then hurled both into the railing with a sickening crunch. Another burst from the stolen rifle—each shot clean, controlled, final.
He stood breathing steadily amid the chaos, a shield of calm in the storm.
The fight was a blur of controlled motion—sweeping kicks, staff strikes, and disarms—as Luke cleared a path to the trapped civilians. He used overturned tables and debris to form a protective barrier around them. When the last Chitauri fell, he stood amid the stillness, breathing heavily but completely focused.
A woman pushed through the crowd, her face full of relief. "Thank you," she said, pulling another civilian close. "I don't know how you found us."
Luke instinctively replied, "You're safe now, Kathie," still scanning the area.
She paused, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You sound familiar. How do you know my name?"
Luke's mind raced. "A friend worked here. Mentioned the place."
"A friend, huh?" she said, her tone knowing. "Had a kid named Luke working the counter. Good worker... when he showed up." She shook her head. "Glad he's safe, wherever he is."
Behind his visor, Luke allowed himself a faint smile. Don't worry, he's doing just fine.
A small group gathered around him, one nervously asking what they should call him. Luke crouched to their level. "Call me Onyx," he said softly. He pointed toward the subways and back alleys. "Stick to those routes. Avoid the main streets." In the distance, National Guard units were already reinforcing blockades.
"Okay," a young boy said, his voice steadier now.
Luke rose. "You're safe. Keep moving."
Then he was gone, sprinting toward the next crisis, his staff retracting with a quiet click. The streets were still dangerous, but for those in the café, Onyx had bought them a chance—and in a battle like this, that was everything.
---
Thor hauled himself up, gripping Mjolnir as if he could tear the sky apart. Cap staggered to his feet, fueled by adrenaline and sheer stubbornness.
Luke rolled clear as two Chitauri brutes charged. One landed a heavy blow, snapping his staff with a sharp crack. Without missing a beat, he wrenched the broken pieces apart and drove each jagged end into two attackers—brutal but efficient.
The three heroes fought in a tight circle, holding off endless waves of Chitauri. A blast caught Cap square in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Thor hurled a car into a cluster of enemies, then launched Mjolnir to scatter a skimmer before hauling Cap upright.
"You ready for another round?" Thor barked.
Cap wiped blood from his lip. "You slowing down?"
Luke moved in close, his voice practical amid the chaos. "What's the status on closing that portal?"
Nat's voice cut through the comms. "I've got the scepter. Selvig says we need to shove it through the crown—that's the weak point."
"Push it through and shut it down," Steve said instantly.
"I can do it with cover," Nat replied, breathless.
"Do it!" Steve ordered.
"Wait," Tony interrupted.
Luke's tone was sharp. "What do you mean, wait? She can close it."
Tony's reply was grim. "There's a nuke heading this way. It'll detonate in minutes. I'm taking it through the portal—but I might not come back."
Luke's mind raced through worst-case scenarios. "What kind of warhead are we looking at? Yield? Detonation type?"
"Thermonuclear—high yield," Tony replied. "Third-gen. You do not want this thing going off in Manhattan."
Luke did the math instantly. A blast of that size over Midtown would wipe out everything for kilometers—hundreds of thousands dead in seconds, infrastructure vaporized, fires raging for blocks. The radiation and systemic collapse would trap survivors for days.
"We're looking at hundreds of thousands dead immediately, millions displaced within a week if it detonates here," he said flatly. "If we send it through the portal, the blast takes out their side. But if Stark doesn't get clear in time... he doesn't come back."
"I've run the numbers," Tony cut in. "That's why I'm going."
Cap drew a heavy breath. "Then we do two things: clear a path for Stark, and give Nat the signal to close the portal the second that warhead's through. Not a moment sooner."
Luke's eyes tracked the chaos above. A Leviathan thrashed as the Hulk tore into its armor. "Thor—light up the sky," Luke called out, dodging falling debris. "Focus on the portal. Fry anything coming through and keep those flyers off Stark."
Thor gave a grim nod. "It will be done, Onyx." He spun Mjolnir and launched into the air.
Cap keyed his comm. "Nat—stand by. Do not close the portal until I give the word."
"Understood," Natasha replied. "Waiting on your call."
Tony streaked upward, guiding the nuclear missile toward the portal as Chitauri flyers swarmed around him. He needed a clear path—and fast.
"Hawkeye, create a kill box for Stark's approach," Luke called over the comms. "Pin down those skimmers. I'll secure the street with Cap—we'll pull any remaining civilians to safety and lock down the block."
"On it," Barton replied, already firing.
Cap fought his way through another wave of aliens. "Thor, keep the perimeter tight. Everyone else, maintain pressure. Stark—just get that thing through the portal."
Tony's voice crackled back, strained but wry. "If I don't make it back... someone better pour one out for me."
Luke allowed a quick grin. "You'd better survive. You still owe me that tour of Stark Tower."
Then the team surged back into action. Thor's lightning scattered skimmers off-course. Cap and Luke carved a path through the streets, shoving cars into barricades and pulling civilians behind cover. Nearby, Natasha edged closer to the portal, scepter in hand, while Selvig called out warnings from the console.
High above, Iron Man pushed the missile closer—a silent, deadly ascent. Chitauri fighters broke formation under Hawkeye's arrows and Thor's strikes.
"Call the shot, Nat," Cap said, voice steady.
"Ready," she replied, all business.
Tony's HUD flashed: Approach vector locked.
On the ground, Luke stood braced, eyes fixed on the small, determined figure rocketing toward the void.
Iron Man soared across the sky, the missile trailing above him like a comet as he raced past city buildings. From their positions below, the Avengers watched the fiery arc, holding their breath as Tony struggled to guide it toward the portal.
The missile clipped the edge of Stark Tower, shattering windows in its wake. Tony pushed harder, angling straight into the swirling blue void.
For a breathless second, the entire city seemed to hold its breath.
Luke pressed his earpiece. "Stark, do you copy?"
As the missile pierced the portal, a blinding white light erupted from the other side. The Chitauri forces crumbled instantly, like puppets with their strings cut. Entire squads collapsed; Leviathans plummeted from the sky and crashed into the streets. Luke's eyes narrowed—he recognized the pattern. These were machines linked to a central node. Take out the node, and the whole swarm shut down.
Thor landed beside Luke and Cap, and the three of them scanned the wreckage.
On top of the tower, Natasha stood holding Loki's Scepter, her hands trembling. Selvig muttered, pointing a shaking finger. "Right at the crown," he said. "That's the nexus."
Steve and Luke exchanged a glance. Then Steve keyed his comm. "Close it."
Natasha drove the scepter like a spear into the core of the device, cracking the energy halo. The field resisted, but she pushed deeper. For a second, the portal seemed to hold—then the blue seam snapped shut.
Tony tumbled out of the void, falling through the closing rift and into the city sky like a meteor. He streaked through the air like a falling star.
"Son of a gun—" Steve began, but Thor interrupted, "He's not slowing down!"
Thor launched himself upward, hand outstretched, but the Hulk was faster. He leaped, caught Iron Man mid-fall, slid down the side of a building, and slammed onto the street. Then, with impossible gentleness, he rolled and set Tony down on the pavement like a sleeping child.
Luke, Thor, and Steve rushed to Tony's side. Steve quickly tore off the faceplate, leaning in to check for signs of life. The arc reactor was completely dark.
Luke dropped to one knee, his hands scanning the suit's chest plate. "His reactor's down," he said, his voice low and urgent. "That's bad news. From what I know, that reactor powers an electromagnet embedded in his chest—it's the only thing keeping the shrapnel fragments from drifting toward his heart. Without that magnetic field, even a slight jolt or shift in position could send those metal pieces into something vital. If we don't get that field back up, the shrapnel will keep creeping inward. Worst case, it punctures the heart muscle. We can't wait on this."
Steve's expression tightened with worry. "Can Thor give it a jump?"
Luke looked up, meeting Thor's eyes. "We need a controlled electromagnetic surge—just enough to jump-start the reactor and reactivate the magnetic field without frying the suit's systems. Thor, you'll have to make it precise: a small, focused bolt. Nothing too powerful—just a clean spark to reignite the core."
Thor gave a firm nod. "It shall be done."
Cap and Luke shifted back, giving Thor space. With a focused swing of Mjolnir, Thor summoned a single, pinpoint lightning strike that connected with the reactor. For a moment, nothing—then the reactor flickered weakly before glowing to life, a soft blue halo spreading across the chest plate. The suit emitted a low hum as systems began rebooting.
Still, Tony remained motionless.
The Hulk beat his chest and let out a frustrated roar—and suddenly, Tony's eyelids fluttered open. He looked dazed and disoriented, his voice groggy as he mumbled, "What the hell—did anyone kiss me?"
Luke let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, a quiet laugh escaping. "If anyone did, that stays off the record. Feel free to make a list of suspects, though."
For the first time all day, Steve allowed himself a genuine grin as he straightened up and surveyed the shattered avenue. "We did it."
With help from Thor and Cap, Tony sat up slowly, managing a dazed but triumphant smile. "Not bad, team. Also—no missions tomorrow. I'm calling a mandatory day off." He squinted around at them. "Any of you ever had shawarma? There's a place a couple blocks from here. No one's ever explained what it is, but I want some."
Luke crossed his arms, a faint smile forming behind his visor. "I can usually go awhile without eating, not gonna lie. But free shawarma? Can't say no to that."
Thor let out a short laugh. "Our work is not yet done."
Luke rolled his eyes, though no one could see. "Of course. Where's your brother, then?"
Tony, still catching his breath, grinned stubbornly. "Then shawarma after. Deal?"
---
Atop Stark Tower, surrounded by twisted steel and broken glass, Loki crawled toward a stairwell. He turned—and froze. The Avengers had him surrounded, closing in like a pack of wolves: Hawkeye's arrow was aimed squarely at his face, Natasha held the scepter in a firm grip, the Hulk crouched low with a rumbling growl, and Luke knelt beside him, a faint, crooked smile on his face.
"Well, well," Luke said, his voice calm as he looked Loki up and down. "You just can't resist the whole villain routine, can you? And guess who keeps showing up to crash your party?" He let the question linger for a moment, then added with a sly smirk, "Alright, let me rephrase—the Avengers do. Mostly."
With a quick, practiced motion, Luke snapped a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. restraints onto Loki's wrists. The cuffs hissed as they locked into place. Loki, seething and off-balance, yanked against them, but the metal held firm, digging in without giving an inch.
~One Week Later~
In the aftermath of the Battle of New York—a term that quickly spread online—the Helicarrier's operations room buzzed with energy. Walls of screens flashed a continuous stream of news clips from every major network. A reporter's voice echoed over the visuals: "Despite the devastation from what's been confirmed as an alien attack, the world saw the Avengers step up in an incredible display of heroism—"
The footage jumped to street interviews: a man in a raincoat shrugged, "It's reassuring to know someone's got our backs." Next, a pair of college students grinned wildly at the camera, yelling, "We love you, Thor!" Then, a grainy cell phone video showed Hawkeye firing an arrow without even looking, while someone off-camera marveled, "Did you see that? The Robin Hood dude just cleared the whole street!"
A local segment featured Kathie, the owner of Luke's old café, smiling warmly. "We were saved by this guy in a sleek suit, swinging what looked like a long-ass stick," she said with a laugh. "He called himself Onyx. Total pro—handled the chaos like he'd been doing it for years."
Luke, watching from the sidelines, allowed himself a faint smile at the mention.
The montage then cut to a concerned couple on a nightly news program. "I don't feel safe with all these unknowns," the husband admitted. His wife added, "It feels like there's a lot they're not sharing."
On another screen, an elderly man shuffled into view—thin, wearing glasses, with a white mustache and a playful glint in his eyes. He tipped an imaginary cap to the camera and said dryly, "Superheroes? In New York? Give me a break!"
---
A senator's voice broke through on an encrypted feed: "These so-called 'heroes' need to answer for the destruction they caused. This was their battle—so where are they now?"
---
In a courtyard spared from the worst of the fighting, the Avengers assembled under the gaze of waiting cameras. Tony Stark arrived carrying a sleek briefcase. Thor followed, leading a muzzled and shackled Loki by one arm. Barton, Natasha, Banner, and Steve stepped out of black sedans. Moments later, Luke pulled up on his city bike, hoodie drawn low. He locked the frame and slipped quietly into formation, looking more like a civilian than a superhero.
---
On one of Fury's monitors, a news clip played: "Tough questions are being raised about the Avengers—who they are, where they've been." Another segment showed a grateful waitress, still dust-covered from the battle, saying, "Their fault? Captain America saved my life. Wherever he is—wherever they all are—I just want to say thank you."
---
Fury watched the feeds, his expression unreadable. On a wall screen, the World Security Council looked back, expectant. One councilman leaned forward. "Where are the Avengers?"
"I'm not tracking them," Fury replied flatly. "They've earned some downtime."
A councilwoman's voice sharpened. "And the Tesseract?"
---
Selvig carefully placed a glass containment cylinder onto a padded crate. Tony set down his briefcase and opened it. Banner, wearing insulated gloves, held the Tesseract with tongs as Selvig guided it into the cylinder. The device hummed softly before dimming, now sealed away.
---
Fury's voice was firm. "The Tesseract is being placed beyond our reach."
"That isn't your decision to make," a councilman retorted.
Fury folded his hands. "Wasn't my call. I didn't argue with the god who insisted it go back to Asgard—or with the enhanced individual who agreed. The same one who serves coffee on 39th. The president has the emergency contact." He let the statement hang in the air, heavy and final.
---
Thor shook Selvig's hand with a small, grateful smile before stepping back.
---
A councilman's voice cut in, sharp and disapproving. "So you just let him take it?"
---
Nearby, Loki stood gagged and bound, his eyes burning with silent rage. Natasha leaned close to Barton, whispering something that made the archer's mouth twitch into a faint grin.
Luke strolled over until he was right in Loki's face. "Come back to Earth and trash my café again," he said, his tone dangerously calm, "and I'll make sure it's the best day you'll ever regret." It wasn't a threat—it was a promise.
Loki's eyes flashed, but the restrained god said nothing.
---
"Loki is a war criminal," the same councilman spat. "He should face justice."
Fury's reply was low and firm. "He will."
---
Thor positioned the sealed cylinder containing the Tesseract between himself and Loki. Each took an end of the device, and for a moment, a silent understanding passed between the two brothers. Then Thor gave a nod. The container glowed brightly, and in a streak of light, both gods vanished skyward.
The courtyard fell into a stunned silence.
---
The councilwoman drew a sharp breath. "Do you have any idea what you've set in motion?"
---
Natasha slung a duffel bag from the back of a car and handed it to Banner. Barton slid into the driver's seat. With quiet, efficient movements, the team began moving on—already shifting to what came next.
---
One of the council members spoke up, his tone sharp. "Letting the Avengers operate freely—it's a risk. Especially K4-712. He should have been terminated years ago."
Fury's gaze locked on the man, his voice low and icy. "That 'kid' has a name. Luke Faraday. There's a classified executive order—signed by previous administrations—that grants him protected status. He's a registered citizen and an authorized asset. He's run missions nobody else could pull off. He was holding the line when most people thought Captain Rogers was gone. You can call him dangerous. The world calls him useful."
"Was that the point of all this?" the councilman pressed. "To make some kind of statement?"
Fury's reply was iron. "A promise."
The council signed off. The screens went dark. Without another word, Fury turned and left the room.
---
Tony's new car shone in the sunlight as Steve stepped up and the two shook hands. Tony slid the briefcase into the trunk, then clapped Luke on the shoulder like they were old friends.
"Stark Tower tour's on me once the repairs are finished," Tony said with a grin. "I'll call when it's safe to wander without picking glass out of your hair."
Luke smirked. "Looking forward to it. I might need your help with a project I'm messing with—if you're willing to lend that brain of yours."
"Consider it booked," Tony replied. He waved at Banner. "Bruce, you good?"
"See you around," Bruce said, climbing into the car.
They drove off, the sound of tires fading down the street.
Natasha was waiting by the curb, leaning against a lamppost. When her eyes met Luke's, she offered a smile that was both warm and wicked. "So the stories are true," she said. "Surprised?"
"You'd think I'd be used to it by now," Luke said. "But apparently not." He shrugged. "My café's gonna be closed for a while. Guess I'll finally work on that side project I've been talking about."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a husky tone. "You sure you can handle life without the daily mix of drama and espresso?"
"Probably," he said. "Maybe."
Natasha closed the distance between them in one smooth motion, her hands coming up to frame his face before she guided him backward until his shoulders met the wall. There was no hesitation in her movement, only intent. She kissed him slowly, deeply—a kiss that felt less like a question and more like an answer to something they'd both been wondering. When she finally pulled back, her lips were still close enough to brush his as she spoke.
"Try to stay out of trouble," she murmured, her voice low and warm against his skin. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw. "Or don't. I've always had a soft spot for chaos."
Luke blinked, then broke into a grin. "I'll do my best to keep things interesting."
Barton waved from the driver's seat. "If you ever want archery lessons so you stop showing off in the middle of a warzone, you know who to call." He winked.
Luke raised an eyebrow. "I might take you up on that—as long as you promise not to steal my kills."
"Deal," Barton said. They shared a final grin as Natasha slid into the passenger seat, flashing Luke a look that was all mischief before they pulled away.
Steve had watched the whole exchange with an amused smile. He walked over as the car disappeared down the street. "So what's the old man up to now?" Luke asked, nodding in the direction Tony had gone.
"This old man is going to catch up on everything he missed," Steve said. "Friends, maybe see if anyone I knew is still around—though chances are slim. Maybe even try this '80s music people keep talking about. Things I'm apparently terrible at."
Steve cocked an eyebrow toward Luke. "You two going to talk about what just happened?"
Luke rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe. I'll think about it," he said. "Not really my usual thing, but... it was a good kiss."
Steve's grin widened, playful but brotherly. "Sounds like you've had practice."
"Three," Luke said quickly. "Some were short."
"Three's still a number," Steve replied. Then, quieter: "You free later? Coffee, a drink—whatever people do these days. While your shop's closed."
Luke hesitated, then pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Steve. "I've got something to take care of, but text me. I'll make time."
They shared a quick, solid hug—two soldiers who'd seen too much but still trusted each other completely. As they separated, Steve hoisted his bike and pedaled away. Luke watched him go before swinging onto his own bike. He glanced back once at the emptying street, then rode off in the opposite direction. Around them, the city hummed—wounded, but alive, and feeling just a little more hopeful.
~Several days later, at a veterans center in Washington D.C~
"Have a good afternoon, sir," the caretaker said before taking his leave.
The old man waited until he was completely alone, then moved slowly down the hall until he reached a specific door. He noticed it was slightly ajar. Instead of announcing himself, he quietly drew a sidearm from a concealed holster. With his free hand, he swiped a key card and pushed the door open, entering with quiet, practiced caution.
Inside, he found Luke leaning against the kitchen counter, casually drinking from a carton of apple juice.
"You look like hammered shit. Safety's on, by the way," Luke remarked.
The old man glanced down at his weapon and sighed, lowering it. A grin spread across his weathered face. "Well, I'll be damned. Luke."
"Hey, Frank."
Woods closed the distance and pulled the younger man into a quick, back-slapping hug. "What brings your immortal ass around, kid? You've already done more than enough for me—saved my hide more times than I can count. Last I heard, you were tangled up in some strange business. So why the hell are you getting mixed up with SHIELD again?"
He gestured for Luke to sit, snatching the apple juice carton and carrying it to the table.
Luke took a seat. "I'm here about Jason."
Woods' expression turned grim. "That's a damn waste of time, and you know it. We turned over every rock years ago. There was nothing left."
Without a word, Luke pulled a small portable encrypted flash drive from his pocket and slid it across the table.
Woods stared at the drive, then back at Luke, a flicker of desperate hope in his eyes. "What is this?"
"Data I definitely legally pulled from SHIELD's deep archives, using very legal methods when I was on the Helicarrier," Luke explained quietly. "We were wrong, Woods. We always talked about whether Jason could have survived. This... suggests he did."
"How?" Woods' voice was low and intense. "And don't take this the wrong way, kid, but are you sure it's legit? You vetted every byte on that thing?"
"I've been through it," Luke confirmed. "There's not much, just fragments. But it's enough. Records show he was transferred out of the initial program to a black site—a deeper facility for Project Sentinel."
Woods leaned back as if he'd been hit. "Sentinel? That's the same program that made you." He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "But Jason was different. His physical enhancements never stabilized. Why would they keep him? They weren't exactly sentimental."
"That's what doesn't add up," Luke said, leaning forward. "According to the notes, it wasn't about fixing his body. It was about a specific trait. They logged it as an 'anomalous psychological driver.' They programmed something into him, Woods."
"What kind of trait?"
"Empathy," Luke said, letting the word hang in the air. "An extreme, almost pathological level of it. While they were building the rest of us to be weapons, they were engineering a conscience into Jason. Why create a soldier who could feel everything his target feels?"
Woods stared, processing. "That doesn't make a better soldier. It makes a vulnerable one."
"Unless vulnerability was the point," Luke countered. "What if they weren't building an assassin? What if they were building an infiltrator so deep, he could bond with a target—understand them so completely he could anticipate their every move? Or worse... become them?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "We were designed to break systems and bodies. Jason? He was built to break minds. To get so deep under someone's skin that turning them—or destroying them from the inside—became effortless."
Woods shook his head slowly. "That's not a soldier. That's a puppet master."
"Or a prophet," Luke added quietly. "Someone who doesn't just follow orders—but believes in the cause so deeply, he can make others believe, too." He met Woods' eyes. "They didn't give him a weakness, Frank. They gave him a weapon no one would see coming."
Woods leaned forward, his expression shifting from shock to determination. "So what now? You going after him?"
"I don't want to drag you into this," Luke replied. "It's messy, and you've earned a break."
"A break?" Woods scoffed. "After you pulled me out of that firefight in West Berlin? We've seen enough crap together. If you're diving back into this, I'm not letting you go alone."
Luke sighed. "This isn't just a missing person case. Alexander Pierce was involved back when he was a SHIELD deputy. We're talking deep conspiracy here."
"Then we deal with it," Woods said without hesitation. "What's the plan?"
"I need to find Jason, but on the downlow," Luke explained. "And no, I'm not looping in Fury."
Woods raised an eyebrow. "Why not? He's got resources."
"Too risky," Luke said. "No idea who might be watching. Fury could be a target himself. Until I know more, it's safer to keep this between us."
Woods nodded slowly. "Alright. So we do it like old times—quiet and smart."
"Exactly," Luke said, a faint smile forming. "But this time, we're stepping into a whole new kind of war."
The Avengers (2012)
Complete
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