[Scene: The Life of Anne Boonchuy...]
Morning light spilled through the thin curtains of the apartment, painting the small bedroom in gold and dust. Anne Boonchuy groaned softly as she rolled onto her back, one arm flung over her face. For a moment, she let herself exist there—between sleep and waking—where the world was quiet and nothing asked anything of her. Then her eyes opened. Adult Anne stretched, muscles loosening with a familiar ache earned from long hours and longer responsibilities. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slipped her feet into a pair of worn green frog slippers, their faded smiles greeting her like old friends. The floor was cool beneath her soles as she stood and padded across the room. She paused by the closet. Pinned to the wall beside it was a photograph, its edges curled with age. Anne reached out, fingers brushing the glass. In the picture, a younger version of herself grinned wildly, one arm slung around a pink frog with goggles perched atop his head. Sprig's eyes were wide with excitement, frozen forever in a moment that smelled like swamp water, adventure, and home. Amphibia. Anne smiled, soft and sad all at once. "Miss you, buddy..." she murmured. She straightened, shoulders squaring as she turned away. Life didn't stop just because memories pulled at you. Not in New York. Anne dressed quickly—comfortable work clothes, practical shoes, hair pulled back into a messy but efficient ponytail. With one last glance at the photo, she grabbed her bag and headed out the door. The city greeted her with its usual chaos. Anne zipped through the streets on her electric scooter, weaving past taxis and pedestrians with practiced ease. New York buzzed around her—sirens, voices, the hum of a thousand lives colliding—and somehow, she fit into it. Not as a hero. Not as a savior. Just… Anne.
The Thai restaurant came into view, already alive with motion. Steam fogged the windows, carrying the scent of basil, chili, and garlic out onto the sidewalk. Anne parked her scooter and stepped inside, the warmth wrapping around her instantly. "Morning, Anne!" one of the cooks called out.
"Hey!" She replied, grinning.
A regular seated near the window lifted his hand in greeting. "Boss lady's early today!"
Anne waved back. "You know me—can't let you guys have all the fun."
She moved behind the counter, checking on orders, exchanging quick words with staff, making sure everything flowed smoothly.
Then the air twisted.
A sharp, metallic hum sliced through the restaurant, followed by a flash of orange light. Customers gasped as a circular portal tore itself open near the front tables, sparks cascading onto the tiled floor. Anne froze. Doctor Stephen Strange stepped through first, cloak billowing dramatically behind him. Right on his heels was Miles Morales, mask off, eyes wide as he took in the stunned restaurant's patrons. "Wow..." Miles whispered. "Smells amazing."
Anne blinked, then sighed. "Hi, guys. You want anything? Pad Thai's really good today."
Strange didn't smile.
He and Miles exchanged a look—one Anne recognized immediately. The this-is-bad look.
"Anne..." Strange said calmly. "We need to talk. Now."
Her brow furrowed. "Okay… about what?"
"New York may be in danger." Miles added quietly.
The noise of the restaurant faded around her. Anne glanced at her staff, then at the portal still crackling behind them.
She exhaled slowly.
"Right..." she said, nodding. "Yeah. That figures.''
She grabbed her jacket from behind the counter and turned to her employees. "I'll be back. Try not to burn the place down."
Then she turned back to Strange, resolve settling into her eyes. ''Alright guys, what kind of villain or evil guy are we stopping today?''
[Scene: The meeting at the Sanctum...]
The Sanctum Sanctorum hummed with quiet, ancient energy. Golden sigils drifted lazily through the air, casting soft light across the circular chamber where the New Avengers had gathered. The room felt larger than it should have been, walls bending subtly inward like the inside of a watchful eye. At the center, they stood in a loose circle—heroes from different worlds, different rules of reality, all pulled together by the same unease.
Anne Boonchuy folded her arms, brow furrowed as she processed everything she'd just heard.
"So..." she said slowly, eyes flicking from face to face, "let me get this straight. You're saying a bunch of demonic assassins just randomly showed up in New York to take a hit on someone?"
Doctor Strange inclined his head. "Yes. I managed to send them back before the situation escalated any further. But my concern is that it won't end there."
Iron Spider—Peter Parker—shifted his weight, mechanical legs twitching slightly behind him. "I mean, I've fought aliens, robots, heck even a wizard (no offense strange)—" he glanced at Stephen.
''None taken.'' Doctor Strange said.
''—but demons? That's… new." Iron Spiderman said.
Falcon crossed his arms; wings folded tight against his back. "It's not something you see every day. And if portals from Hell are opening in Manhattan, that puts the whole city on high alert. Things will go sideways really fast. Imagine the conspiracy theories...''
Miles Morales let out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, by any chance demons are real… that means the afterlife is real too.''
He blinked. "…Damn. Mind blown."
Marcy Wu stood near him, clutching her tablet to her chest like a shield. Her glasses reflected the glowing runes drifting overhead as her fingers fidgeted against the casing. Adult now, sharper and more composed than the girl she once was.
Adult Luz Noceda loomed behind her, towering in her Titan form. Pale glyph-light traced along her arms and horns, her eyes glowing softly with ancient power. Despite her size, her voice was calm—steady. ''Well, whoever they were...'' Luz said. "They won't stop just because they failed once."
T'Challa—Black Panther—nodded thoughtfully. His presence was quiet but commanding; every movement measured. "Yes, I fear an incursion of this nature will not be the last one. Those demons will find a way back, and if they do, they will bring hell on earth...''
Doctor Strange turned, sweeping his gaze across them all. "Which is why we need to be prepared...''
His eyes settled on Marcy. "Marcy Wu—have you contacted Sasha Waybright? I was under the impression she would be joining us."
Marcy's shoulders sagged. She glanced down at her tablet, then away, biting her lip.
"I… I've tried..." she admitted with a sigh. "Calls, texts, everything. She hasn't answered me yet."
Anne's jaw tightened, concerned flashing briefly across her face. "So much for her being a help..." Anne muttered.
Luz stepped forward. "Then we do this without her." She said firmly. ''We have faced impossible odds once before, right? we can do it again...''
"Alright." Anne said. "Demons or not… New York's our home now. And nobody gets to tear it apart on our watch...''
''And like what the old man once said...'' Anne stepped forward. ''Avengers, assemble...''
''You're god damn right...'' Falcon smirked.
''Then let's get busy...'' Doctor Strange said.
[Scene: A newer problem...]
The meeting room at I.M.P. headquarters had never felt so small. Blitzo burst through the door like a firecracker, boots skidding slightly against the scuffed floor as he staggered inside. His hands clawed at his horns, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts."Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck!"
Millie, Moxxie, Loona, and Stolas followed him in, the door slamming shut behind them with a final, hollow thud. The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by Blitzo's frantic pacing. Vox. The grimoire. Gone.
Blitzo dragged a hand down his face, eyes wild. "Do you have any idea what just happened?" he snapped, voice cracking as he spun toward them. "That walking flatscreen asshole just stole our entire livelihood!"
Moxxie stepped forward carefully, hands raised in a calming gesture. "Sir, please—just breathe for a second. Panicking isn't going to—"
"Don't tell me to calm down, Mox!" Blitzo whirled on him, teeth bared. "Do you have any idea how astronomically bad this is?! We can't run this business without the grimoire! That book is our pathway to earth! Shit—" He kicked a nearby chair, sending it screeching across the floor. "I never should've accepted that ice birdy's stupid deal and his money!''
Stolas just stood silently, his frame tall as Millie, Moxxie, and Loona stared back at Blitzo's outburst blankly.
"We need to get back up to Earth and get that book back from that TV overlord!" Blitzo continued, voice rising. "Now."
Moxxie's expression hardened. "Sir—have you completely lost your mind?"
Blitzo frowned.
"We can't go back up there," Moxxie said firmly. "Not after what we just faced. Literal superhumans. And you heard what that strange fellow told us—if we show our faces in New York again, there will be consequences."
Millie nodded reluctantly beside him. "As much as I hate sayin' it, hon… he's right."
Moxxie pressed on, voice steady but strained. "There's nothing we can do right now. We'll have to operate without the grimoire. And New York City is officially off-limits. No more accepting hits over there. We will just have to go to other areas...''
The words landed like a gunshot.
Blitzo stopped pacing.
For a long moment, he said nothing. His shoulders rose and fell as he stared at the floor, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.
Stolas stepped closer, voice softer than usual. "Mox has a point, Blitzy," he said gently. "I know this is… devastating. But we mustn't act recklessly. We will figure something out. I'm sure Hell has other means of getting to earth without my glorious grimoire...''
Blitzo finally looked up at him.
After a beat, Blitzo scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine..." he muttered. "Fine."
He exhaled shakily, the fight draining out of him all at once.
"But we need to think of something fast, Stolas. Alright?" His voice dropped, quieter now. "I can't afford to lose this business. It's all that we have."
[Scene: Getting the word that Vox had escaped....]
The bar lights of the Hazbin Hotel glowed warm and rose colored, casting soft halos across the polished counter and the mismatched stools around it. Music hummed low from an old record player in the corner, crackling enough just to feel nostalgic.
"To Charlie..." Vaggie said firmly, her voice carrying pride she didn't bother to hide. "For proving that sinners don't have to stay broken forever...''
Glasses clinked together. Cherri Whoop whooped and nearly spilled her drink in the process, while Niffty bounced on her toes, holding a tiny cup with both hands like it was the most important object in Hell.
Charlie laughed, brushing a lock of blonde hair back from her face, her smile soft and almost shy. "Thanks, guys. It… it really means a lot. I couldn't have done any of this without you."
Cherri took a long swig from her bottle, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and glanced around. "So where's the fuzzy bartender? Thought Husk would be drinkin' himself to death by now...''
Vaggie's smile dimmed just a touch. "He's upstairs. Needed some time alone after… everything with Angel."
The name hung in the air heavier than smoke. Charlie's expression faltered, her eyes drifting toward the staircase. Ever since Vox's defeat, Angel Dust had stopped coming by altogether. Probably feels guilty for everything that happened.
Niffty suddenly gasped, her single eye lighting up as she zipped toward the TV mounted above the bar. "Ooo! Guys! Guys, come look! The shouty lady is on again!"
The screen flickered to life, revealing Katie Killjoy's sharp grin and perfectly styled hair, Tom standing stiffly beside her.
"This just in," Katie announced, her tone brimming with barely concealed delight. "An incident has occurred at the Wrath Ring's Full Moon Festival—"
Charlie straightened instantly.
"—where the notorious tech overlord Vox was seen exiting through an interdimensional portal," Katie continued, "reportedly in possession of a powerful magical artifact: the grimoire...''
The bottle slipped from Cherri's fingers, clattering harmlessly against the bar.
Charlie stepped closer to the screen, her breath catching. "Vox… he—he escaped? But how?"
Vaggie's hand curled into a tight fist at her side, anger crackling in her hand as Katie kept talking.
"Sources confirm Vox did not remain in Hell..." Katie said smugly. "Instead, he made a direct jump to the living world—Earth itself"
The word hit like a shockwave.
"Earth?" Cherri breathed. "Oh, yeah, that's bad. That's really bad."
Vaggie turned sharply to Charlie. "Charlie, we must tell Heaven. Now. If Vox has that book and he's on Earth—"
"I know," Charlie said, forcing herself to breathe, to stay steady. Her smile was gone now, replaced by resolve. "I'll schedule a meeting with the seraphim immediately."
She looked at her friends—at Vaggie's fire, Cherri's concern, Niffty's nervous fidgeting—and nodded.
"No matter what Vox is planning, it cannot end well." Charlie said. ''The consequences could be catastrophic. I will talk with Emily and Sera. Maybe they will know what to do...''
Behind them, the TV continued to buzz with speculation and panic, but for the first time, Charlie didn't feel powerless. Something evil had escaped Hell. And this time, she intended to follow it. For the safety of Hell and for both realms between the living and the dead...
[Scene: Retiring...]
The warm Miami air rushed past Sasha Waybright as her red Lamborghini purred down the palm-lined streets, neon reflections sliding across its polished hood. The city pulsed with life—music spilling from open windows, laughter echoing off pastel buildings—but Sasha's focus stayed fixed on the road ahead. Tonight wasn't about noise or spectacle. It was about legacy. The mansion gates rose smoothly as she approached, revealing a sprawling estate bathed in golden light. Ocean waves shimmered beyond the property, their rhythm slow and steady, like a heartbeat. Sasha eased the car to a stop and stepped out, the soft click of her heels against marble announcing her arrival. Inside, the celebration was already in full swing.Well-dressed guests filled the open space, their voices blending into a pleasant hum beneath hanging lights and drifting music. Sasha moved through them with practiced ease, confidence etched into every step. As she walked, she pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen lighting up with notification after notification.
Marcy Wu
Marcy Wu
Marcy Wu
Unread. Unanswered.
Sasha stared at the flood of messages for a moment longer than she meant to, her jaw tightening just slightly before she locked the screen and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Not now, she told herself. Tonight wasn't the time.
A familiar, booming laugh drew her attention toward a long table piled high with food and crystal glasses. Professor Hulk stood there mid-conversation with Ant-Man, both of them holding drinks. ''Don't you think this might be a little too early to retire?'' Professor Hulk said.
Ant-Man snorted. "Hey, free food and a view to a beach? I'm not complaining.''
Sasha smiled and raised a hand in greeting. "Try not to eat the table, big guy."
Hulk chuckled. "Heh, no promises...''
She continued on, soon spotting Tony Stark near the center of the gathering, standing beside his wife as they spoke with a small cluster of guests. Tony noticed her first, a grin spreading across his face.
"Well, if it isn't the most stylish overachiever..." he said, opening his arms slightly. "Sasha Waybright..."
"Careful..." Sasha replied with a smirk. "Compliments like that might go to my head."
They exchanged pleasantries, easy and warm. Tony asked about her work, about how things had been holding up back in New York now that the mantle had passed on. "Strange is doing what he does best..." Sasha said. "Keeping reality intact. Mostly."
Tony laughed. "That's about as good as it gets."
The three of them drifted toward the balcony, the noise of the party softening as the ocean breeze greeted them. The view was breathtaking—moonlight stretching across the water, the beach glowing silver beneath the stars.
Nick Fury stood near the railing, hands clasped behind his back. He turned as they approached, his single eye sharp and assessing as ever.
"Waybright...one of the most powerful of the calamity trio" he said, nodding. "Good to see you...''
"Likewise..." Sasha replied. "I hear you're trusting the future of the world to us now."
Fury's mouth twitched. "Trust isn't the word. More like… hope."
He looked out over the ocean for a moment, then back at Sasha. "The Avengers were never just a team. They were an idea. Make sure that idea doesn't die....''
"I will..." Sasha said without hesitation. Fury gave a satisfied nod before turning on his heel and disappearing back into the mansion, swallowed by music and light.
Sasha remained at the balcony, resting her hands on the railing as the waves rolled in below. Somewhere far away, New York stood on the edge of something new, something dangerous. She thought of her team. Of Marcy. Of Anne. The world is changing. And as the breeze lifted her hair and the moon reflected in her eyes, Sasha Waybright allowed herself a small, hopeful smile ready to prove that the heroes who came next could still live up to the legend. And she will do whatever it takes to make sure of it. No matter the costs.
[Scene: The attack...]
The building hummed with a low, mechanical breath, the kind that never slept. Servers stacked behind reinforced glass glowed softly, endless rows of blinking lights guarding the world's most valuable commodity, information. Inside the security room, two employees were killing time. Marty lounged back in his chair, feet propped on the edge of the table as a football game played on his tablet. He took a long sip from his soda, eyes half-lidded. Across from him, Dean tore into a powdered donut, sugar dusting his fingers. "Man..." Dean muttered through a mouthful, "graveyard shift should come with hazard pay. Or at least better snacks."
Marty snorted. "You're the one who bought gas station donuts."
Dean shrugged. "Donuts are donuts."
Marty stood, stretching his arms over his head. "I'm gonna take a quick whiz. Pause the game, will ya please. I don't want to miss what happens...''
Dean waved him off lazily.
The door slid open, and Marty stepped into the hallway. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting long, sterile shadows down the corridor. He hadn't taken more than a few steps when he slowed. Someone was walking toward him.
The man looked… off. Tall. Too thin. Dressed sharply. His smile was polite but hollow, his eyes reflecting the fluorescent lights in a way that made Marty uneasy.
"Hey..." Marty said, instinctively moving closer to the door behind him. "This area's restricted. You can't be back here."
The man stopped.
For a split second, his smile widened—just a little too much.
Then the knife flashed. Marty barely had time to gasp before pain tore through him. The scream ripped from his throat, sharp and raw, echoing down the corridor. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, the sound of his body hitting the tile swallowed by the building's endless hum. Inside the room, Dean froze. The donut slipped from his fingers. "What the hell?" he muttered, already pausing the game. "Marty?"
No answer.
Dean stood slowly, his heart beginning to pound as he moved toward the door. "Marty, that better not be a joke, man."
His hand reached for the handle—
The door slammed open.
Pain exploded across Dean's skull as the metal edge struck him square in the face. The world spun, lights streaking into darkness as he crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he hit it.
Vincent stepped over the fallen body with calm precision, his polished shoes never breaking stride. He closed the door behind him, sealing the room.
"Security..." he murmured pleasantly, "is always such a temporary inconvenience...''
He raised a hand, murmuring a phrase pulled straight from memory—etched into his mind by the grimoire. The air crackled. Blue electricity danced across his skin as his form twisted and reshaped.
The illusion burned away.
Vox stood where the man had been.
His screen-face flickered to life, eyes glowing as he surveyed the room. "Much better....''
With a sharp crack of his fingers, electrical plugs burst from his back, writhing like living cables. They snapped into nearby ports, wires slithering into the heart of the database.
The moment the connection was made, Vox stiffened.
Information flooded him.
Wars. Governments. Secrets buried and forgotten. The rise of superhumans—mutants calling themselves the X-Men. Enhanced soldiers. Gods walking among mortals. And at the center of it all.
The Avengers.
Earth's mightiest heroes.
Vox laughed, the sound distorting through the speakers as data streamed endlessly into him. "Oh, looks like a lot of things have changed since I was gone! Who would have thought superhumans would be possible?''
His screen eyes narrowed as a plan began to form, sharp and cruel. Power didn't just come from strength anymore. It came from influence. From control of the narrative. Heroes only stayed heroes as long as people believed in them. But belief can be so easy to break. He leaned into the flow of information. If he was going to reclaim his old throne of entertainment, the world would have to turn on its champions first. And Vox knew exactly how to make that happen.