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The New York safehouse was quiet, save for the hum of the heater.
Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff sat in the dim light, nursing bruises and drinking lukewarm coffee. The adrenaline from the Winter Soldier attack had faded, leaving behind the cold reality of their situation.
Although they were ambitious and had no intention of relying on Hermione to solve a human problem, the math wasn't in their favor.
Hydra wasn't just a rogue cell; it was the entire infrastructure. They controlled the satellites, the strike teams, the surveillance grid.
"We're fighting a ghost that owns the house," Steve said, frowning. He ran a hand through his hair. "And they have assets. That man on the bridge... the one with the metal arm... he's a Super Soldier. He's as strong as I am. Maybe faster."
Natasha nodded, wincing as she adjusted the bandage on her arm. "The Winter Soldier. A ghost story from the Cold War. If Hydra has him, they have others."
Steve looked at Natasha. "We need help. The two of us can't win this on our own. It's suicide."
"The problem is trust," Natasha analyzed, her voice low. "We're wanted fugitives. Hydra's network spans the globe. Every S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse is a trap. Every frequency is monitored."
Trust had become the most luxurious commodity in the world.
Steve nodded slowly. "There's only one candidate left. Someone outside the system. Someone with resources."
"Stark," Natasha said, realizing the obvious choice.
"Tony isn't S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve agreed. "He's a consultant. And he's friends with Hermione. He knows about the weird stuff."
"Okay," Natasha stood up. "Let's find Tony."
They grabbed their gear, ready to move.
RUMBLE.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant vibration shook the floorboards. It came from everywhere and nowhere.
They rushed to the window.
On the distant horizon, rising from the Potomac like titans of the apocalypse, three enormous shapes ascended.
Massive repulsor turbines churned the air, creating shockwaves that rattled windows miles away. The steel hulls caught the sunlight, gleaming with menacing perfection.
Project Insight. The three Helicarriers.
They were launching early.
"They've made their move," Steve's voice was hoarse. The sight of those flying fortresses—weapons capable of killing millions in seconds—was a punch to the gut.
Natasha frowned. "We're too late."
Ring. Ring.
A sudden, urgent phone call broke the silence. It came from the burner phone Natasha kept taped under the table.
She answered quickly. "Who is this?"
A hoarse, familiar voice—weak but undeniable—came through the speaker. "It's me."
Natasha's pupils contracted. She gripped the phone tight.
"Fury? But I saw you... the surgery..."
"There's no time to explain playing dead," Nick Fury cut her off, his voice urgent. "Listen. Project Insight has launched. The algorithm is active."
Steve moved closer to the phone. "We see them, Nick. What's the play?"
"Hydra used Arnim Zola's algorithm to build a predictive database," Fury explained rapidly. "It analyzes everyone's past to predict their future. Voting records, bank statements, SAT scores."
"It identifies threats to Hydra," Fury continued. "Not just terrorists. But doctors, high school valedictorians, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange... anyone who might stand against them."
"The list contains 20 million names."
Natasha gasped. Steve turned ashen.
"The carriers are linked," Fury said. "Once they reach 3,000 feet, they triangulate. The guns are precision-guided. They will eliminate 20 million people in a single volley."
"President, Congress, Tony Stark, you, me. Gone. Hydra takes over a leaderless world in five minutes."
Fury paused, the weight of the genocide hanging in the air.
"Fortunately, we have a window. They need to link with the targeting satellites."
"There's no time," Steve interrupted, looking out the window. "They're ascending fast. We can't reach them on foot."
"I know," Fury said. "That's why I called in the cavalry."
"I contacted Stark ten minutes ago. He's en route."
WHOOSH.
A sonic boom shattered the air.
A streak of red and gold light tore through the clouds, decelerating rapidly as it approached the safehouse.
The Iron Man Mark 42 armor hovered outside the window, repulsors humming. The faceplate lifted, revealing Tony Stark's smug, goatee-framed smile.
"I think I heard someone mention the word 'reinforcements'?" Tony quipped, his voice amplified. "Did someone order a billionaire genius philanthropist to save the day?"
He looked at Steve and Natasha.
"You two look like you've had a rough week. Captain, need a lift?"
Steve didn't waste words. He grabbed his shield and stepped onto the fire escape.
"Get me to the lead carrier," Steve ordered.
"Aye aye, mon capitaine," Tony grinned. He grabbed Steve by the arm.
"Nat," Steve looked back.
"Go," Natasha said, jumping onto a stolen motorcycle. "I'm heading to the Triskelion. I'm going to leak all their secrets. Pierce is mine."
"Good hunting," Steve said.
BOOM.
Tony rocketed into the sky, dragging Captain America toward the floating death machines.
The Sky.
The wind roared in Steve's ears as they approached the lead Carrier, the Alpha.
"Incoming!" Tony shouted.
The Carrier's automated defenses swiveled. A wall of anti-aircraft fire erupted.
"Hold on!" Tony banked sharply, dodging a stream of high-caliber rounds. "They really don't want visitors!"
"Drop me on the deck!" Steve yelled over the wind.
"You got it!"
Tony swung Steve forward and released him.
THUD.
Steve slammed onto the metal deck, rolling to absorb the impact. He came up in a crouch, shield raised.
"Intruder Alert!"
Hydra strike teams poured out of the hatches, weapons raised.
"What's the plan, Stark?" Steve roared, deflecting bullets with his shield.
"The control room!" Tony's voice crackled in his earpiece. "You need to swap the targeting chips! I'm sending you the schematics!"
"I'll handle Alpha!" Steve shouted, shield-bashing a soldier off the edge. "You take Bravo and Charlie!"
"Copy that. Try not to die, Cap. I don't want to explain this to Hermione."
Tony peeled off, blasting toward the second carrier.
The Triskelion. Top Floor Office.
Through the panoramic windows, the Helicarriers were visible, rising like ominous moons.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense.
Alexander Pierce stood by his desk, calm and collected. Security guards lay unconscious on the floor. Natasha Romanoff stood opposite him, a tablet in her hand, uploading S.H.I.E.L.D.'s entire database to the internet.
"You've made quite a commotion, Alexander," Natasha said coolly, her gun trained on him. "Aren't you afraid of drawing her out? The Witch?"
She paused, letting the threat hang. "Or have you forgotten New York? Have you forgotten Malekith?"
Pierce's smile froze for a second. A flicker of genuine fear crossed his eyes—the memory of Hermione's power was potent.
But then, he laughed.
It was a confident, arrogant laugh.
"Hermione Granger?" Pierce scoffed, pouring himself a glass of water. "In the past, I might have been wary. She is... a variable."
"But now?" Pierce took a sip. "She can barely take care of herself. She's about to die. Why should I worry about a corpse?"
Natasha's heart skipped a beat. She kept her face neutral.
"Those tin cans in the sky?" Natasha gestured to the window. "Do you think Project Insight can target a wizard? She'll turn them into origami."
Pierce shook his head, pitying her ignorance.
"You think my confidence comes from Helicarriers?"
He smiled. "No, Natasha. My confidence comes from having friends in high places."
"Hermione Granger is powerful," Pierce admitted. "But magic fights magic."
Natasha frowned. What does he mean?
Suddenly, the air in the office grew cold. The light from the window seemed to dim.
CRACK.
Space distorted violently in the center of the room. It wasn't the clean, golden portal of the Masters of the Mystic Arts. It was a dark, twisting apparation.
A young man stepped out of the void.
He was dressed in sleek, modern black robes that looked like a militarized version of wizarding wear. His face was handsome, sharp, and terrifyingly familiar to anyone who had studied S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secret files on the 1940s.
He held a wand of yew, pale as bone.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Pierce," the young man said, his voice smooth and cold.
Natasha's grip on her gun tightened. She recognized the energy signature.
A wizard.
"Natasha Romanoff," the young man turned to her, his dark eyes flashing red. "A pleasure. I've heard so much about you from the files."
"Who are you?" Natasha demanded.
The young man smiled.
"I am the contingency plan," he said. "My name is Tom. And I am here to ensure the Witch doesn't interfere."