Chapter 4: The Comfort Counselor of the Battle of New York
"One… two… three… and I'm about to get rich."
Ethan Miles crouched by the stairwell, quietly counting the Chitauri soldiers spilling into the lobby like they owned the place. His voice was low, but the smug little grin on his face could've sold tickets.
Something inside him was stirring — no, not the sensible "get the hell out of here" instinct. This was something primal, like his blood was boiling and his muscles were screaming for action. It wasn't fear exactly. Well… okay, maybe a little fear. But mostly it was that weird itch you get when you want to throw yourself into a fight, even though your brain knows it's a terrible idea.
He'd already figured it out: if he kept running, he'd probably collapse long before Tony Stark flew that nuke into space. So why not swing for the fences now? Worst case, he'd go out in a blaze of glory. Best case, he'd unlock a few new combat tricks from his so-called "system" and walk away with some loot.
Still, he couldn't stop the tremor in his voice or the slight shake in his hands. Maybe that was adrenaline. Maybe it was excitement. But there was no denying — he was enjoying this. And he had no idea that the wild little gleam in his eyes made him look like a husky that had just broken out of its cage while the owner was away.
---
The lobby was circular, with a second-floor balcony wrapping around it. People were huddled in every corner, the air thick with panic. That's when one guy — a young Black man who'd clearly had enough — suddenly snapped.
"Man, I'm outta here!" he yelled, shoving past everyone. His escape plan wasn't exactly noble: he deliberately knocked over a few elderly folks and kids, creating chaos and using the human mess as a moving shield.
It might've worked… if the Chitauri weren't total sadists.
One of the aliens, standing dead-center in the hall, didn't even bother aiming. It just cranked its blaster to max and fired a bolt the size of a tree branch. The poor guy — along with several unlucky bystanders — was vaporized instantly. Not a scream. Not even time to flinch. One second they were there, the next… gone.
The crowd froze in horrified silence.
Three Chitauri barked at each other in that metallic, insect-chatter language, then the middle one pulled something from its belt — a flat, rectangular device about the size of a smartphone. It pressed a button. Ding.
Ethan's stomach dropped. Oh great. Portable bomb.
Before he could act, a familiar blur of red, white, and blue burst through the doorway. The star-spangled shield came first, smashing into the bomb-wielding alien's arm.
Ethan's brain clicked. Right. This is where Cap gets blasted. And that lady earlier must've been— yeah, okay, makes sense now.
---
Fighting broke out above them on the balcony. Captain America deflected a punch, then sliced down with his shield to knock the bomb away. But before he could follow up, another Chitauri tackled him from behind, locking its arms around his waist.
The third alien swung its gun toward Cap — but then froze, confused, as the tip of one of its own military knives suddenly pushed out through its chest.
The alien wheezed. Ethan grinned behind it. "Surprise."
One sharp tug freed the blade, and he used the momentum to whip it across the alien's throat.
> [Combat Skill Unlocked: Pursue and Attack, Sweeping Attack]
The chime rang in his head. Ethan's pulse spiked. His body felt charged. Muscles loose, reflexes sharp — like his whole system had just kicked into overdrive.
Meanwhile, Cap wasn't slacking either. He flipped forward, slamming the alien on his back into the floor hard enough to crack tile. Two sharp elbow strikes later, and he was free — only for the remaining alien to fire.
Cap lifted his shield to block, but Ethan was already moving. He barreled into the Chitauri, knocking its aim wild, and spun into a follow-up slash. The new skill took over — an unstoppable chain that flowed like muscle memory. The Pursue and Attack wasn't just a move; it was a state. Once he started, his body refused to stop until the last enemy dropped.
---
And then the forgotten bomb started beeping. Rapidly.
Cap's head snapped toward it. "Everyone get back! Spread out!"
No time for anything fancy — he grabbed Ethan by the arm, and together they jumped from the second floor.
The explosion went off midair.
The blast launched them like ragdolls through the building's shattered front, dumping them onto the street — and directly onto the roof of a parked car, which gave way with a groan of metal.
They landed in a heap. Cap let go and winced. Even for a super-soldier, that had hurt. He sucked in a breath and turned to check on Ethan. "Hey, kid — you alright?"
Ethan groaned, clutching his side. "Hhh… yeah. Just sore. You?"
Cap laughed between breaths. "I can do this all day." He took off his helmet, inhaling deeply, his blond hair plastered to his forehead.
The National Guard was already arriving, shouting orders and helping civilians move out. Ethan looked at Steve Rogers — the man himself — and, for some reason, felt safer just being near him.
Guess that's the Cap effect, he thought.
---
Of course, safety didn't mean skipping the loot. While Cap recovered, Ethan casually wandered over to the two Chitauri he'd killed earlier. Guns? Toast. Knives? Oh yeah.
"Can't call yourself a warrior without a backup blade," he muttered, pocketing an extra.
Once Cap caught his breath, he finally got a proper look at Ethan's face — and froze. "Wait… you?!"
Ethan blinked. "What?"
"You're the guy in those pink pants from earlier!"
Ethan groaned. "For the love of— can we not bring that up right now?"
Before Cap could answer, a smug voice came over the comms. "Oh? Then you'd better beg all of us to forget, Pink Pants Prince."
Tony Stark. Of course.
Cap's expression said sorry, kid, but he didn't bother defending him. Ethan could feel the heat in his cheeks. Great. Now the entire Avengers team — and probably S.H.I.E.L.D. — knew about the pink shorts. Somewhere on the Helicarrier, Director Fury was probably smirking.
"Pink's a bold choice," Fury's voice said dryly over the channel. "Refreshing."
The command center erupted in laughter. Stress melted just a little. Turns out, Ethan's humiliation was excellent morale material.
---
Cap chuckled — then stopped, realizing Ethan was no longer standing beside him. He glanced around, but the Chitauri were pressing in again, forcing him back into the fight.
Meanwhile, Ethan was muttering to himself while stripping gear from fallen enemies. "Bust my butt helping you, and you repay me with mockery. Old man's got no shame."
Still, the haul wasn't bad. One helmet was intact. Probably a rare drop. He stuffed it into his pack. No way he was wearing it yet, though. Not after watching the Chitauri drop dead from some psychic signal earlier. He'd wait until after the nuke launch to test it.
---
A shrill whoosh-whoosh-whoosh echoed above. Ethan ducked behind a concrete planter just in time to see Iron Man blazing past, trailed by a squad of Chitauri on hovercraft. Both sides were trading fire like it was the Fourth of July.
One blast caught Tony square in the chest, knocking him downward. Three hovercraft whooped and sped in for the kill.
But the Mark 7 armor was nothing if not sturdy. Tony recovered mid-fall, blasting one of them to pieces with a palm repulsor. The other two swerved, circling — unaware that more Chitauri were closing in from the side.
Ethan stayed low, watching the chaos unfold. The city was a warzone, and somehow, he'd become a small but weirdly essential part of it. Not the strongest. Not the smartest. But maybe — the guy who made sure everyone got to laugh once in a while, even if it was at his own expense.
---