8:00 PM. Midtown Financial Building.
According to intelligence relayed by the Nine Spiders, this was the exact location where the Hand intended to carry out their summoning ritual. The information had been tightly guarded even within their own ranks, so only fragments had made it out, but it was enough.
A wide plaza stretched out in front of the building, open and exposed under the dim evening lights. Across the street stood another structure, over ten stories tall, offering a clear vantage point over the entire area.
On its rooftop, the assembled team gathered.
On one side stood S.H.I.E.L.D.—Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, along with Agent May, Agent Ward, and Rumlow under Phil Coulson's command. On the other side was a far less conventional lineup—Blade, Wade, Fox, Carlos, and Wesley, forming a three-man sniper support unit under his direction.
The moment he spotted Ward and Rumlow, his interest sharpened. S.H.I.E.L.D. really did have depth. Plenty of talent to choose from.
A voice crackled through the comms.
"Check the channel. Can everyone hear me?" It was Nick Fury.
"I hear you loud and clear!" he replied immediately, leaning into the mic with enthusiasm. "Hey, Fury, what are your hobbies? I know a great reservoir full of fish. We should go sometime."
Every head on the rooftop turned toward him.
Even over the line, Fury sounded momentarily thrown off. "Iron Man, do not discuss irrelevant topics on an open channel."
"What, no private line?" he pressed. "We could chat one-on-one…"
"No."
The connection went quiet after that, as if Fury had temporarily muted himself just to avoid further nonsense.
He sighed and shook his head, then turned toward Coulson with a grin, casually draping an arm over his shoulder. "Coulson, how long have you been with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Uh… over twenty years," Coulson answered, caught off guard.
"So basically right out of school?" he continued, eyes narrowing slightly as if evaluating him.
"Well… we didn't call it S.H.I.E.L.D. back then, but yes."
"Then you've got seniority. Ever thought about moving up? Taking things to the next level?"
Coulson's eyes widened instantly. He yanked his headset down and covered it with one hand, voice dropping into a panicked whisper. "What the hell are you saying?"
"I'm just talking," he replied smoothly. "Relax. He's offline."
Coulson shook his head vigorously. "You're too young. You don't understand. The Director always has backups. He's probably listening right now through some hidden channel."
Seeing the genuine fear on his face, the arm was withdrawn, though the smile remained. "Fine. Tomorrow night, 8:30. There's a decent place in Chinatown. We talk there."
Before Coulson could respond, Fury's voice snapped back into the channel. "Do not discuss unrelated matters on the public line."
There was a brief pause before his tone turned colder. "Also, there are still civilians inside that building—about a dozen. Coulson, extract them. Quietly. Do not alert the enemy."
Coulson's expression went pale. "This kind of mission wasn't supposed to be mine…"
The response came immediately, sharp and final. "Or you may find yourself in a very dangerous situation."
He didn't like that.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned toward the mic. "Fury, listen carefully. Coulson's my half-brother. If anything happens to him, I'll make sure someone pays for it."
The declaration hung in the air.
Then, just as quickly, his mood shifted. He clapped his hands together, grin returning. "Alright, everyone. Since we're all working together, we need a team name."
Silence.
No one reacted.
"That won't do," he continued cheerfully. "Any ideas?"
Wade stroked his chin. "How about… 'Wade and His Boys'?"
A finger shot out, pointing directly at him. "You're banned from naming anything. Next."
Natasha and Barton exchanged looks but said nothing.
"Fine, I'll do it myself." He spread his arms slightly, voice rising with theatrical flair. "From this moment on, we are the Avengers. I'm the leader, and you're all official members. Congratulations."
Across the city, Fury was just lifting a cup of steaming coffee to his lips.
The moment the word hit his ears—
"Pffft—!"
The coffee sprayed out violently, scalding liquid spilling down in a very unfortunate direction. "Ah—! Damn it—!"
Back on the rooftop, everyone froze.
Then, slowly, eyes shifted.
"Heh." A smug chuckle followed.
With assignments finalized, the team moved into position.
Fox and his sniper unit took up long-range overwatch, rifles trained on the building's entrance. S.H.I.E.L.D. coordinated with the NYPD to establish three defensive perimeters around the area.
The assault team—himself, Wade, Blade, Natasha, Barton, May, Ward, Rumlow—prepared to breach.
As they settled in, his phone buzzed.
A single message.
Ready.
At the same time, something else shifted.
A faint, unnatural presence began to rise from the building across the plaza. It was subtle at first, like a ripple beneath the surface—but unmistakable.
The ritual had begun.
He clicked his tongue. The bald woman wasn't coming after all. Dereliction of duty.
Then—
Gunfire erupted.
"Damn it!" Coulson's voice exploded through the comms. "They're not human! Fall back, fall back!"
"What's happening?" Fury demanded.
"They turn to ash when they die! There are too many—we can't hold them!"
"Retreat to the exits. Snipers, cover them. All units, weapons ready!"
From the rooftop, the entire scene unfolded clearly.
Coulson and a handful of surviving agents burst from the lobby, sprinting toward safety. Behind them surged a flood of red-clad figures—fast, silent, and relentless.
Hand ninjas.
"Fire!"
Fox and his team opened up. Bullets tore through the advancing wave, each hit reducing a ninja to drifting ash.
But more came.
Dozens. Then hundreds.
They poured out of the building like an endless tide.
Something was wrong.
These weren't ordinary enemies. Their speed, coordination, and sheer numbers were overwhelming. If they broke past the perimeter and spread into the city, the defenses would collapse instantly.
Gunfire intensified. Rounds hammered into the mass of enemies, but suppression was all they achieved. The hit rate was too low, the numbers too high.
Coulson staggered forward, one arm clutching a wound, barely keeping pace as he reached the defensive line.
The situation was deteriorating fast.
He took a slow breath, then spoke into the comms. "Fury. Where are your carriers? Your jets? Bring them in and wipe this out."
Fury's reply came with a heavy edge. "Too far. The carrier group is still at sea. These things will breach your line in minutes."
There was a pause before he added, frustration creeping in. "And even if I request a strike on Manhattan, it'll take hours for approval. If I scramble jets without clearance, they won't even make it past New York's air defenses."
A beat.
"So what do you have?" he asked.
"…RPGs. And vehicle-mounted M134 miniguns."
That was enough.
The system activated instantly. A master-level upgrade card dissolved into light, merging into his skill set.
Charge. Assault Rifle Mastery.
He smiled.
"Fury," he said softly, "you're a lucky man."
"What?"
"I need your gun."
"What gun?"
The grin widened, sharp and confident.
"The one that saves the world."
....
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