Scott Lang sat in his prison cell, freshly sentenced to five years for theft after his company fired him. The steel door clanged shut behind him as he began serving his time.
Stephen Strange strode through the hospital corridors, his white coat flaring behind him. As one of the world's top neurosurgeons, he carried himself with the arrogance his skill warranted. Colleagues stepped aside when he passed.
Johnny Blaze kicked his boots up on the porch railing of his secluded suburban home. The gravedigger's shovel leaned against the wall, its blade still caked with fresh earth. He remembered that day clearly—when the Hulk came crashing down from the sky during the Battle of New York. He'd given Banner pants and a motorcycle, not that the big green guy ever thanked him. People always mistook him for that arms dealer Yuri Orlov, though the resemblance faded with age.
Kate Bishop nocked another arrow as her coach adjusted her stance. The memory still burned—the Leviathan crushing her home, Chitauri warriors advancing, Clint Barton's arrow saving her life. That moment decided her path.
Three blocks from Midtown High, Michelle Jones — MJ to her friends — flipped through a textbook at her own school. She didn't know Peter Parker yet, but their timelines were converging.
Skye's fingers flew across her keyboard in a dimly lit apartment. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo flashed on her secondary monitor — her first encrypted message from Agent Phil Coulson.
Hong Fei leaned back in his chair as Arthur's report continued. Each name triggered connections in his mind, events slotting into place like puzzle pieces. Some targets came from Arthur's digital sleuthing, others verified by Jessica and Antonia's fieldwork. Every identity was confirmed, every background vetted. Most were future marks, though MJ was different — she'd be Peter's girl someday. Hong Fei just kept tabs on her, finding this timeline increasingly messy.
Arthur interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, Dr. Cho is requesting a call."
Hong Fei straightened. "Put her through."
Helen Cho's face appeared on the screen, her hair pulled back and light blue scrubs crisp. She removed her surgical mask with a tired smile.
"Why so serious?"
Hong Fei rubbed his face before forcing a grin. "Just thinking."
"Update for you — Maya's proving quite helpful in the lab." Helen's expression turned concerned. "Though she seems... perpetually terrified."
"As long as she contributes, the rest doesn't matter."
"That's no way to treat staff. Fear lowers productivity."
Hong Fei waved a hand. "She won't slack off."
Helen rolled her eyes. "I heard you kidnapped her."
"Semantics. Scientifically speaking, I rescued her."
"I knew you'd say that."
Having worked with Hong Fei for years, she'd stopped questioning his methods.
"When are you coming back?"
He considered. "Within a month. Definitely before New Year's."
"I'll hold you to that."
The screen went dark.
......
Hong Fei stepped outside onto the sprawling estate grounds. Normally bustling with thirty guards, only a skeleton crew remained — Frank had redeployed most to his ongoing war on gangs. The quiet suited Hong Fei just fine.
Subsequently, his daily activities were basically very regular. Dawn found him practicing martial arts stances in the courtyard. Afternoons were spent meditating to enter the Dragon Power dimension, honing his fusion abilities. Evenings brought news broadcasts and brief check-ins with his eight-person strike team as they completed missions. The rhythm suited him — controlled, purposeful, and above all, patient.
The rhythm of his life had settled into a comfortable pattern — every three days, he'd slip into New York to share easy, unguarded afternoons or evenings with Mei. Two weeks melted away like that.
Today found Hong Fei standing motionless on the lawn, rooted like an ancient pine, when the growl of an old Harley split the quiet, followed by the purr of an Audi R8 rolling up to the manor gates.
Hong Fei's ears twitched at the sound. He let his stance dissolve slowly, looking up to see Steve in a vintage jacket and helmet offering a warm smile. Tony remained in the driver's seat, his expression frosty behind the windshield.
Tony shoved the car door open and immediately slid on tinted glasses, hands jammed in his pockets as he surveyed the manor with detached interest. Steve hung his helmet on the bike's handlebars and strode toward Hong Fei, arms already spreading for a hug. Their embrace was brief. Tony lingered behind Steve like a shadow, gaze deliberately avoiding them both.
"Hope we're not interrupting," Steve said.
"Not at all. Come inside." Hong Fei gestured toward the house. "Make yourselves comfortable. I'll just shower and change — be right down."
Steve nodded. "Take your time."
The moment Hong Fei's footsteps faded upstairs, Steve wheeled on Tony.
"You begged me to bring you here. Now you're acting like I dragged you at gunpoint."
Tony's wandering eyes finally focused as he deflected, "The decor's aggressively rustic. Practically screams 'no taste.' I'm guessing the owner's got all the aesthetic sense of a brick."
"Tony!" Steve's voice sharpened.
"Fine, fine. Truth hurts." Tony flopped onto a nearby sofa, then immediately grimaced. "This upholstery—"
Steve's glare cut him off.
"—is perfectly adequate," Tony finished dryly.
With a sigh, Steve sank into the chair opposite.
"I heard you two used to be close. What happened?"
Tony peeled off his sunglasses. "If you consider kidnappers and victims 'close,' then sure, we were best friends."
"Hong had his reasons—"
"Reasons don't make knives hurt less."
Steve rubbed his temples. "He made mistakes, I won't deny that."
"Save the diplomacy, Cap. He certainly isn't losing sleep over it." Tony crossed his legs and set his glasses on the coffee table. "Relax, I'm not here to pick a fight. Strictly business today."
Steve exhaled. "Good. You know I support you. I'll help convince him."
Tony's lips pressed into a thin line. Silence stretched between them until Hong Fei reappeared in loose clothes, damp hair tousled. He grabbed three Cokes from the fridge, handed them out, and dropped onto the couch beside Steve.
"Apologies — place has been empty awhile. Couldn't find the liquor."
Steve accepted his with a nod. Tony cracked his open with more force than necessary, the hiss of carbonation loud in the quiet room. Hong Fei smiled. In his card slot, Deceive Time and Crowd + Affable Smile + Beguile pulsed faintly.
"So Steve," Hong Fei popped his own can open, "when'd you get back from England?"
"Just a few days ago." Steve replied. Seeing Tony fidgeting with his Coke can, he decided to cut through the tension.
"Actually, we came to pitch you on joining a new initiative."
Hong Fei's eyebrow arched. "Oh? What kind?"
"Well..." Steve studied Tony's profile. The man stared into his Coke, silent. Steve pressed on: "It's about the Avengers."
Tony finally looked up.
"I know the Avengers. You're all members. Natasha was one too." His voice sharpened. "She still is."
When both Hong Fei and Steve turned at that, Tony adjusted his suit with deliberate calm.
"She resigned from S.H.I.E.L.D. Never mentioned leaving the Avengers, did she?"
Steve's questioning glance shifted to Hong Fei, who surprised them both with a nod.
"Correct. Just a resignation, not a departure."
Something unclenched in the room. Even Tony found himself reassessing Hong Fei — maybe the man wasn't entirely insufferable.
Hong Fei leaned forward. "This plan you mentioned. What is it?"
Silence stretched until Steve cleared his throat.
"Before we discuss that, I have a question." At Hong Fei's gesture, he continued: "Would you consider joining the Avengers?"
Tony's head snapped up. Two pairs of eyes locked onto Hong Fei, waiting. The pause lasted just a beat too long before Hong Fei exhaled.
The Avengers. Nick Fury's pet project. A glorified government strike team that somehow became public property — every bureaucrat and their mother thought they owned a piece. And the name? Revenge was for victims. For people who got hit first. Hong Fei didn't play defense.
"No."
The refusal landed like a hammer. Steve masked his disappointment better than Tony, whose jaw tightened.
"Fair enough." Steve rallied. "Shall we move to the plan then?"
Hong Fei inclined his head.
......
Half a world away, Central Asia baked under a white-hot sun. Heat shimmered above cracked earth, driving every living thing to shelter.
In the shadow of barren hills, a cave mouth yawned dark against the stone. The air inside carried an unnatural chill. Big Head stood at its heart, his boot planted on a man's ruined face. The prisoner's features had swollen beyond recognition, every inch crusted with blood and dirt.
A ring of soldiers encircled them, their silver skull masks glinting. Big Head adjusted his cloak with a flourish, grinding his heel deeper into yielding flesh. Sand rasped against raw skin.
"Three hundred dead since I started this job."
His voice was conversational. "Fifty walked free. Know the difference?"
He leaned down. "Some men know when to talk."
The cave swallowed his sigh.
"I'm exhausted. Terrified, really. I promised my boss that I would get results within a month, so for the past half month, I have been searching for your whereabouts almost without stopping. But I still haven't received a definite answer."
His boot twisted. "Tell me, will you disappoint me?"