[S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters - The Director's Office]
"Director, I think you need to see this."
Agent Phil Coulson walked straight into the Director's office, a classified tablet in his hand. The matter was so urgent he had bypassed knocking entirely.
Director Nick Fury kept his single eye fixed on the holographic monitors covering his wall. He only briefly glanced at the tablet Coulson held out.
"I already know," Fury said, his voice calm but hard. "The World Security Council just issued the order for us to enter the field."
Fury turned, clasping his hands behind his back. "General Thunderbolt Ross was a bit impatient. But we should thank him. The Military just helped us test the opponent's strength."
Coulson stepped up to Fury's desk, realizing that the Director's main terminal had been streaming the live satellite feed of the Manhattan slaughter the entire time. On the screen, the sole surviving Apache helicopter was limping away from the smoking avenue in a pathetic retreat.
The two men exchanged a look. Beneath the grim reality of the situation, there was a shared, silent understanding.
S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.S. Military had been at odds for years, a grudge heavily exacerbated by the Harlem incident. General Ross firmly believed that assets like the Hulk were U.S. Military property. S.H.I.E.L.D. maintained that enhanced individuals and extraordinary threats fell strictly under global jurisdiction.
In the halls of the White House, a U.S. Army General usually held more sway than a shadowy global intelligence agency. But now? With Ross's elite gunships swatted from the sky like flies, S.H.I.E.L.D. had the perfect mandate to step in and take control of Manhattan.
"Coulson, I've already deployed a strike team to hold the line in New York," Fury said, tapping a key on his console. An image of a familiar billionaire playboy appeared on the screen.
"Your mission is to go get our consultant."
Tony Stark.
He looked sharper now, the lines of his face hardened by the betrayal of Obadiah Stane. He had survived the crucible and emerged worthy of the title Iron Man.
"Bring him in, Agent," Fury ordered.
[Manhattan - 5th Avenue]
While the civilians fled in absolute terror, a select few ran against the tide of the crowd, heading straight into the teeth of the Bronze Army.
"Captain, are you sure you want to go hand-to-hand with these guys?"
"Someone has to hold the line, Clint."
"Yeah, well, why can't it be me?"
From the vantage point of a third-story rooftop, Hawkeye had a perfect sniper's view of the carnage. But as he watched the Bronze Soldiers march through the wreckage of the NYPD barricade, he felt a rare spike of frustration.
His custom trick arrows were versatile, but their payload was significantly smaller than the Military's Hydra rockets. If an Apache's anti-tank missiles couldn't dent that ancient metal, what good were his arrows?
He drew his bow anyway, firing high-explosive rounds into the advancing ranks.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The blasts didn't pierce the armor, but the kinetic force was enough to stagger the frontline soldiers, buying the last few terrified civilians precious seconds to escape down the subway stairs.
Down on the street, Captain America stepped into the path of the mechanical horde.
Steve Rogers tightened the leather straps of his Vibranium shield. He didn't hesitate. He twisted his torso and hurled the shield with the force of a mortar shell.
The red, white, and blue disc blurred through the air, slamming into the chest plate of the lead Bronze Soldier.
CLANG.
The Vibranium instantly absorbed the impact and ricocheted perfectly back into Steve's waiting hand.
Triggered by the assault, the Bronze Soldier's eyes flared a vivid, angry crimson. It closed the distance to Steve in a terrifying blur of speed, bringing its heavy halberd crashing down in a lethal overhead chop.
Steve raised the shield.
The Vibranium held. Not only did it absorb the massive kinetic energy of the strike, but it instantly repelled it outward. The Bronze Soldier's weapon was violently knocked back by its own reflected force, throwing the giant off balance.
Seizing the opening, Steve ducked low and executed a brutal sweeping kick, taking the soldier's legs out from under it. As the monster crashed to the asphalt, Steve drove the razor-thin edge of his shield down onto its helmet.
Sparks showered the street.
Despite the incredible force of the blow, the Bronze Soldier didn't flinch. Its red eyes burned through the visor. Moving with unnatural speed, the downed soldier threw a devastating punch straight into Steve's ribs.
Even unarmed, the sheer mass and hydraulic-like strength of the construct was overwhelming.
Steve was launched backward, tumbling across the pavement. He rolled, bleeding from his lip, and forced himself up, dropping to one knee to catch his breath.
"Captain," Hawkeye's voice crackled over the earpiece. An explosive arrow detonated nearby, interrupting the Bronze Soldier as it tried to stand. "Still sticking to your hand-to-hand strategy?"
Steve spat a mixture of saliva and blood onto the asphalt.
"I can do this all day."
He watched the Bronze Soldier push through the smoke.
'These things aren't human,' Steve thought, his tactical mind racing. 'No heartbeat when we grappled. No signs of concussion or neurological shock from a blunt-force trauma to the skull.'
Knowing he was fighting machines rather than men, Steve abandoned all restraint. His eyes scanned the heavy, overlapping plates of the verdigris armor, looking for the fatal flaw in every medieval design.
The joints.
The neck, the armpits, the back of the knees—areas where the heavy plating had to yield to flexible chainmail or empty space to allow for movement.
"Clint," Steve commanded over the comms. "Aim for the joints. I need you to keep them off balance!"
Steve charged again. He leaped, driving a right hook into the side of the soldier's helmet. The construct barely swayed, instantly throwing a counter-punch.
Steve brought the shield up, catching the massive fist. He angled the Vibranium slightly, letting the soldier's own momentum slide the fist off the shield and pull the construct forward.
Off-balance and overextended, the gap between the soldier's heavy chest plate and helmet widened.
Steve jammed the edge of his shield deep into the exposed joint of the neck.
The Bronze Soldier froze, its heavy hands reaching up to pry the Vibranium free.
Steve let go of the shield. He stepped back, took a running leap, and delivered a flying kick directly onto the flat center of the stuck shield.
CRUNCH.
The Vibranium edge acted like a guillotine, driven by the force of the super-soldier. The thick metal joint sheared apart, and the Bronze Soldier's head was separated completely from its body.
The red light in its eyes flickered and died. The massive, headless body crashed to the street.
"Now," Steve breathed, retrieving his shield. "That's how we fight them."
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