Luke's POV
The ramp dropped with a hiss of hydraulics, and we stepped onto the deck of an aircraft carrier. The ocean air hit us instantly—sharp, cold, and thick with salt. Jets were parked in neat rows. Crewmen in colored vests moved with precision.
We hadn't even made it ten feet before a redhead—striking, confident, and clearly not someone to mess with—strode toward us.
"Take care of the Captain's gear, guys," Coulson snapped at a couple of crewmen. They moved fast. Then he turned to me, eyeing my backpack. "And you, Lieutenant? Did you bring anything besides sarcasm and that vintage hoodie?"
I shrugged, the corners of my mouth twitching. "Well, I did bring my charming personality. But uh... no. No gear. I wasn't exactly given prep time. And besides, technically everything I used to own is still 'classified government property,' remember?"
Coulson nodded, smirking. "Right, I forgot. Don't worry—we've got something special lined up for you in the armory." Then, switching to formal mode, he gestured beside us. "But first—introductions. This is Agent Natasha Romanoff. Agent Romanoff, meet Captain Steve Rogers... and Lieutenant Luke Faraday, codename: Shadow."
She tilted her head slightly, analyzing me. "So the ghost stories are true," she said, arms folded. "Never thought I'd see Project Sentinel in the wild. Tell me—do the rumors do you justice, or should I lower my expectations?"
"Rumors?" I echoed with a dry grin. "Wow. You make it sound like I broke into Fort Knox."
"You ghosted entire ops. Your file was nothing but redacted lines and 'need-to-know' footnotes. Even Fury never confirmed you existed."
I gave her a lazy salute. "And yet—here I am. Surprise."
Steve glanced between us, eyebrows raised. ""Wait a minute—you two got history?"
She shook her head. "Would've remembered if we had."
"Though I've heard of her," I cut in. "Fury briefed me on a few names during the 2010 stir-up in Prague. You came up a lot."
"Depends on the clearance level," she said coolly, her expression unreadable. "Some files still list me as 'alleged.'"
I smirked. "Yeah, well. Rumors don't usually look that deadly in a leather jacket."
"Don't flirt with assassins," Coulson muttered behind me.
"No promises."
Steve looked amused. "You're takin' this whole thing a lot easier than most folks would."
"Don't worry," I said, glancing at him. "I freak out internally. Keeps the heart rate healthy."
Natasha turned to Coulson. "They need you on the bridge. Face trace is starting."
"Got it." Coulson nodded, already moving. "You three get acquainted. I'll be back with clearance and an update on the Tesseract situation."
"Catch you later," Coulson said with a nod, heading off in the direction of the bridge, leaving us under the watchful eye of Agent Romanoff.
"Well, well," she said, her tone light but edged with curiosity. "Lieutenant—so the myth walks among us. Honestly, I didn't think the infamous ghost of SHIELD's black files would actually show up."
We started walking along the deck, the wind tugging at our jackets. Planes rumbled in the distance, the whole ship humming with tension and control.
She glanced over at Steve. "It was quite the event when they thawed you out, Captain Rogers. Coulson practically short-circuited. Has he asked you to sign his vintage Captain America trading cards yet?"
Steve blinked, genuinely puzzled. "Trading cards?"
I chuckled. "Yeah. Think of them like baseball cards, only rarer, nerdier, and with your face on them. Discontinued years ago, so they're worth a small fortune now. Especially if they're in mint condition."
"And Coulson has a full set," Natasha added, the faintest smirk on her lips. "Still in the plastic sleeves, too."
Steve let out a soft laugh, clearly unsure how to feel about being immortalized on collector's items.
We continued walking, and that's when I noticed him—a man awkwardly standing near one of the railings, looking like he'd just been dropped into an alien planet. He had that quiet, calculating look in his eyes, like he was doing mental gymnastics just to stay calm.
I elbowed Steve lightly. "No way that's the guy, right? He looks like he's one loud noise away from bolting. That's not the guy who turns into a ten-foot rage monster, is it?"
Steve followed my gaze, squinting slightly before recognition kicked in. "I think so," he said, raising his voice. "Dr. Banner!"
The man turned, slightly startled, and gave a hesitant wave.
"Well, there goes the neighborhood," I muttered under my breath, though not unkindly.
Natasha glanced at me sideways. "Play nice, Lieutenant."
"Hey, I'm plenty nice. I just prefer my geniuses with slightly fewer 'may cause catastrophic damage to urban areas' labels."
"Welcome to the team," she said dryly.
Dr. Banner approached with a cautious smile, visibly trying to relax despite the tension in his posture. "Word on the street was you were joining the party," he said, extending a hand toward Steve.
Steve accepted it with a nod. "Glad to meet you, Doctor."
Banner's gaze then shifted to me, his brow furrowing slightly. "And you are...?"
"Luke. Lieutenant Luke Faraday," I said, returning the handshake with a polite firmness. "Codename: Shadow."
There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, followed by a spark of realization. "Wait... Faraday? Dr. Faraday? From Project Sentinel?"
"That's me," I replied with a small, ironic grin. "Walking, talking legacy project. Built in a lab, raised in the shadows. You know—standard childhood."
Banner's brows rose, clearly taken aback. "I—wow. I've only ever seen redacted reports. Your father's work on recursive cellular matrices... it rewrote entire chapters in my field. And that was just what they declassified."
"Appreciate it," I said, trying to brush it off casually. "It's been a while. I was just a kid when it all went sideways."
"I'm really sorry about your dad. " he said sincerely. "We crossed paths back in the Culver days—mostly through encrypted servers and dead drops. Never got the full picture of his work until... until everything went quiet." He swallowed, gaze dropping. "Wish I'd known him better."
"Yeah. That tracks," I muttered. "After he and the others were killed, the government wiped the entire slate clean. Project Sentinel went from 'next evolution of the super soldier' to 'buried secret' overnight. Guess someone didn't like what we were becoming."
Banner nodded grimly. "Yeah. Funding always dries up when the equations start predicting things they don't want to hear."
"So," Steve interjected, steering the conversation back to business, "intel says you're our best shot at tracking down that cube. That accurate?"
Banner gave a tight-lipped smile. "Is that the only thing people remember about me? Guess 'Bruce Banner, PhD' doesn't make as catchy a headline as 'angry green monster.'"
"Well," Steve said with a half-apologetic shrug, "that's the one that matters right now."
"Agreed," I added, crossing my arms. "No offense, but if a gamma-powered rage monster's what it takes to help us stop a global meltdown, I'm not above calling in the heavy artillery."
Banner gave a dry laugh. "None taken."
He studied Steve for a moment, his curiosity piqued. "Seventy years in the ice, and you wake up to... all this. Super-soldiers, wormholes, secret labs. Must feel like you're still dreaming sometimes."
Steve looked around, taking in the sleek aircrafts and blinking consoles with a nostalgic sort of calm. "Actually, this is kind of familiar," he said.
"Really?" Banner raised an eyebrow.
"Sure," Steve replied. "Only difference is, just guys following orders. Only now the gear's fancier and these 'comms' sound like a frying pan."
I chuckled. "Yeah, swap out the touchscreen monitors for rotary dials and those flying fortresses for biplanes, and it's practically the same battlefield. Just with better snacks."
As we were chatting, Romanoff's voice cut through the air from behind us. "Boys," she called out, amusement dancing at the edge of her tone, "you might wanna head inside. Air's about to get a little thin out here."
Almost on cue, the entire deck came alive with movement. Crew members scrambled to secure aircraft, barking orders at one another as warning sirens blared and massive turbines whirred louder by the second. The air took on a different pressure, like the entire atmosphere was about to shift. Steve, Banner, and I instinctively moved toward the edge of the deck, curiosity pulling us forward.
"Is this a submarine?" Steve asked, watching the flurry of activity with a skepticism.
"Nah, not a chance, mate," I replied, squinting at the rising turbines. "Submarines don't usually come with jet engines and launch crews on the roof. This looks more airborne than aquatic... unless S.H.I.E.L.D. invented flying boat when I wasn't looking."
Banner's voice cut in, a forced attempt at humor laced with growing panic. "Oh good, they want the guy with... anger management issues locked in a flying tin can. What could possibly go wrong?"
I glanced at him. He looked like he was about two seconds from a meltdown. "Tight spaces not your thing?" I asked gently, dialing back the sarcasm for once.
He gave a stiff nod. "It's not the altitude—it's the sudden stop at the end. Physics gets really persuasive at terminal velocity."
"Noted."
As we reached the railing, the truth hit us like a gust of turbine wind. Colossal engines, buried beneath the carrier's hull, now roared to life. The deck rumbled beneath our boots, and slowly—almost impossibly—the massive ship began lifting off the water. Like a beast rising from slumber, the entire carrier ascended into the sky.
"Well, I'll be damned," I breathed, eyes wide as the sea shrank below us. "This is way cooler than I thought it'd be. Sci-fi levels of cool. I mean, if we crash, it's instant death—but cool."
Beside me, Banner's face had gone ghost-white. "Oh no," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "This is much worse."
I clapped a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some semblance of comfort—even if I was clearly enjoying myself. "Don't worry, Banner. Just think of it as a really, really big... aggressively ambitious elevator. With missiles."
He didn't laugh.
Steve, though, cracked a grin. "You two always like this?"
"We've only just met," I said. "But give us a couple hours and maybe we'll be onto something."
We finally made our way inside the so-called Helicarrier and up to the bridge—if you could even call it that. It felt more like stepping into the control room of a space station. Glass panels, high-tech interfaces, sleek terminals everywhere. Agents hustled in every direction, barking orders, tapping away at consoles.
Steve wandered off slightly ahead, wide-eyed, like a kid loose in a candy store. I followed close behind, just as intrigued but pretending I wasn't.
"Hover power online. Cyclics nominal. Increasing collective to 8.0%," one of the tech agents called out but strained.
"Power plant at max capacity, sir," another added. "We're holding steady."
"All engines green," said a third. "S.H.I.E.L.D. emergency protocol 193.6 now in effect."
I caught the eye of the last agent—a woman with a military-cut bob and an expression that screamed don't mess with me. I flashed her a sheepish grin. She didn't smile back. Just arched one brow, then turned back to her console like I was barely worth the bandwidth.
"Friendly bunch," I muttered under my breath.
At the center, Fury stood like a statue—completely unfazed by the swirling noise and movement. He finally rose from his command chair, coat billowing slightly as if on cue, and said with that gravel-and-iron voice of his, "Good. Let's vanish."
"Wait, vanish vanish?" I asked, stepping closer. "Like stealth tech or—?"
He didn't look at me, just turned to a nearby tech. "Activate Phase Camouflage."
The view beyond the bridge's glass darkened for a second, and then shimmered. The horizon blurred and bent as the Helicarrier began to... disappear. Like someone smeared reality with a giant eraser.
"Retro Reflection tech. Incredible," I muttered, mostly to myself. "Didn't think it was past prototype yet."
Fury finally looked at me. "You've seen the specs. Eggheads say you'd understand the tech." His lip curled slightly. "So either get impressed or get out of my damn way."
I smirked. "I'm flattered."
We found ourselves seated at a circular table, where everything gleamed like it had been buffed by a thousand interns. Fury strolled in with that signature trench coat swaying behind him.
"Gentlemen," he greeted, voice smooth with just the right edge of smug.
Steve, already anticipating the moment, pulled out a crisp ten-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it over without a word.
Fury raised an eyebrow but accepted it with a grin, tucking the bill into his coat.
Then Fury turned to Banner and extended a hand, his tone genuine. "Doctor. Thank you for coming."
Banner gave a sheepish smile as he shook it. "Thanks for asking... nicely," he said, as if not quite used to being treated like a person instead of a walking hazard. "So, uh... how long am I supposed to stay?"
Fury cut in without missing a beat. "Once we get our hands on the Tesseract, you're in the wind."
Banner looked unimpressed. "And how's that coming along?"
Coulson appeared out of nowhere, tablet in hand. "We're sweeping every wirelessly accessible camera on the planet," he began, tapping on his screen. "Cell phones, webcams, laptops—if it's connected to a satellite, it's eyes and ears for us."
"Yeah, good luck with that," I piped up, arms crossed. "If they've got half a brain, they're not exactly livestreaming from their evil lair."
Coulson glanced at me, unamused. "You got a better idea?"
"Plenty," I said, leaning back in my chair. "See, the thing about Loki in the myths is, he's theatrical—but not stupid. If he's got the Tesseract, he's either masking its energy signature or using it in a way that leaves no digital trail. My guess? He's got someone doing the dirty work for him. Someone who knows how to slip past surveillance satellites without even tickling the firewall."
Banner frowned. "You think he's mind-controlled someone?"
"Wouldn't be the first if we based it on the time he stole the cube," I said, tapping my temple. "Mind control plus elite-level hacker types? That's a worst-case cocktail. People like that know how to spoof IPs, reroute data through dead zones, bounce signals off obsolete satellites no one monitors anymore... Not exactly rookie stuff."
Steve blinked, lost somewhere between IP spoofing and signal rerouting. "Wait, hold on—how do you know all that?"
I shrugged. "Experiment. Remember? They didn't just make me good in a fight. They made me good at everything around the fight too. Tactical data, systems interference, psychological profiling... I had a lot of time alone in a box to read."
Romanoff, quiet until now, gave a small nod from across the table. Her eyes met mine, just briefly, and I caught the silent approval there. She didn't say anything, but the look said enough: Damn straight.
Steve cleared his throat, still trying to process. "So we're basically flying blind?"
"More like flying with very expensive glasses in the middle of a sandstorm," I replied. "We'll catch a glimpse eventually. But unless Loki slips, or someone else makes noise... We'll have to dig smarter, not louder."
Fury looked between us, assessing.
"We're not just chasing a location," he said. "We're chasing intent. Loki's got a plan. And he's not the type to improvise."
I leaned forward, fingers laced. "Then we figure out the why—and the where follows."
Banner nodded slowly. "You sound like you've done this before."
"Let's just say... I've done a bit of hacking back in my day."
Banner cut to the chase. "How many spectrometers do you have access to?" he asked, his tone all business.
Fury didn't flinch. "How many of these things are we dealing with?"
"Hard to say without real-time data," Banner replied. "But the energy spikes Loki caused? Gamma signatures were off the charts. We need everything we can get. Hit up every lab you have. Tell them to get their spectrometers on the roof, tuned for gamma rays. I'll rig up a tracking algorithm, throw in some cluster recognition. Won't give us a direct hit, but we can start narrowing the field."
Fury nodded. "Romanoff," he barked, "kindly escort Dr. Banner to his station."
Romanoff stepped forward, calm and poised. "Right this way, Doctor," she said with a smile that was polite.
"I'll tag along," I offered casually. "Tracking's kinda one of my things. Ran a few trace diagnostics on rogue vibranium back in '05. Long story. Not fun."
Fury gave me a look, then nodded once. "Fine. Don't get in the way."
I raised my hands in mock innocence. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'm just here to sprinkle in a little genius."
As we started walking, I fell into step beside Banner. "Just to set expectations—what kind of tech are we working with here? Stark-grade, or basement budget with a fresh coat of paint?"
Romanoff glanced over her shoulder, her smirk returning. "You'll see. Let's just say we stopped playing with toy rockets a long time ago."
"Good," I said, tugging off my coat and slinging it over my shoulder. "Because if I have to write another tracking algorithm on hardware from 2003, I might actually turn green too."
Banner chuckled lightly, tension easing from his shoulders. "I'm starting to see why Fury brought you in."
"Yeah, well," I said, grinning, "when your me people either hire you or try to dissect you. Fury was the more polite option."
But for now, we had a signal to catch.
....
~The Lab~
Hours later, we were elbow-deep in the hunt for that slippery blue cosmic cube. Bruce was hunched over the spectrometers, still trying to squeeze more sensitivity out of them, while I was at a terminal across the room, hammering out code like my life depended on it.
"Almost done here, Doc," I called over, my fingers dancing across the keyboard. "Just need to power this thing up and let it start sniffing gamma like a bloodhound on espresso."
Bruce glanced up, smiling faintly. "Spectrometers are live—data streams look stable. Let's just... hope we spot something before Loki turns a skyline into fireworks."
I leaned back in my chair, cracking my knuckles. "Honestly, I had to rebuild this tracker from scratch. Modern tech's too flashy for its own good—firewalls, data redundancies, ethical programming limits. All adorable stuff until you need to actually find someone. Luckily, I'm very good at legally dancing around loopholes."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Legally?"
I smirked. "Let's just say I stalk data, not people whenever I'm bored. And if you know how to route signals through enough dummy nodes, you can pull metadata without violating anything technically. Besides, I signed a waiver somewhere back there when S.H.I.E.L.D. poked at my DNA."
He shook his head with a chuckle, returning to his work.
A few minutes of quiet passed—just humming tech and ticking fans—before I spoke again. "You know, we haven't really had a chance to talk. Like, properly talk. I figure if we're gonna be stuck on flying metal aircraft carrier for a while, might as well break the awkward silence. Anything… interesting in your personal life?"
Bruce froze, just slightly. His hands paused over the equipment.
"Not anymore," he said quietly. "There was someone. She meant a lot to me. But after Harlem… after what I became… I couldn't risk dragging her into it again."
The weight in his voice hit harder than I expected. I nodded, slower this time.
"I get it," I said. "Loss like that doesn't go away. Not really. Even if we patch ourselves up, there's always a piece that stays broken."
"Smart words," Bruce said with a faint smile. "For someone who looks like they've never had their heart broken."
"Never had the chance, actually," I replied with a sheepish shrug. "Never been in a relationship. Never even had a proper crush."
That got a laugh out of him.
"You're kidding," he said. "Not one?"
"Not one," I said with a grin. "Guess I skipped the teenage hormone soup and went straight to lab-grown snark. Perks of being raised in a test facility instead of a high school."
Bruce shook his head in amusement. "Love finds weird ways in. Just give it time."
"Yeah, I'd rather not hit retirement still flying solo and bitter," I said, chuckling. "Although with my luck, I'll end up bonding with an AI assistant."
"Better than bonding with a gamma monster," he said dryly.
We shared another laugh. It was brief, but real. One of those rare moments that made you forget the world was one bad day away from imploding.
Just then, Coulson strolled into the lab, tablet in hand. "We've got a hit on Loki. Lieutenant, you're with Cap. He's in the armory."
I stood up instantly, already shifting into mission mode. "Copy that."
Grabbing my coat, I shot Bruce a quick salute. "You hold down the lab, Doc. I'll go chase the shiny murder god."
"Good luck, kid," Bruce called out, that slight smile still tugging at his lips. "Try not to break anything too expensive."
"No promises," I grinned. "But if I do, I'll blame it on the Captain."
....
So there we were, slicing through the clouds in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s trusty Quinjets, en route to Germany. Apparently, Loki had decided to throw a tantrum in public—and surprise, surprise, no one else got an invite. Steve sat across from me, suited up in his star-spangled ensemble like he'd walked out of a World War II recruitment poster. Meanwhile, I was fiddling with the fit of my own outfit—courtesy of Coulson's questionably enthusiastic taste in field gear.
"Not exactly playing hide-and-seek, is he?" I muttered, adjusting the collar of my suit. "At least I won't be sweating bullets in this one. Coulson actually hooked me up this time."
The suit was minimalist but smart—high-mobility combat weave, lightweight armor plates where it mattered, built-in signal relay in the bracer. Great for in-and-out ops, though Coulson did warn it was still in the prototype stage. I joked I looked like a futuristic ninja with a Wi-Fi signal.
As I double-checked the buckles on my gauntlets, I caught Steve eyeing me. He had that gentle, mentor-ish concern written all over his face. Honestly, I was jittery. I mean, we were about to go toe-to-toe with an actual Norse god. Not exactly your typical Friday night.
"Nervous, kid?" Steve asked, a trace of amusement behind the calm in his voice.
I let out a weak chuckle. "What gave it away? The fidgeting, or the five times I re-checked my weapons?"
Steve smiled, leaning back. "It's a big leap. Hell of a first mission. If you weren't nervous, I'd be worried."
"I mean, most of my fights involved rogue tech, angry mutants, or highly caffeinated mercs," I replied. "Not... mythological royalty with glowing sticks and ego problems."
He laughed softly at that. "You'll be fine. Stay sharp, watch your six—and trust the folks beside you."
He paused, and his eyes grew distant for a second. "First combat jump in '44—felt like my heart was gonna crack my ribs. Didn't let it show. Couldn't. But the second we hit dirt? Training took over. Knew the men beside me. Knew my job."
I nodded slowly, feeling the knot in my stomach ease just a little.
"Thanks, Cap," I said quietly. "That actually helps."
I reached over and unsheathed my sword from its back mount. The blade caught the Quinjet's interior lights, gleaming with a muted silver-blue hue.
"Besides," I added with a crooked smile, "if things go sideways, at least I'll look cool in the after-action report."
Steve grinned and shook his head. "You're gonna be just fine, soldier."
"Prepare for drop," Romanoff's voice crackled through the intercom.
Without missing a beat, I slid my sword into its scabbard, the blade locking in with a satisfying click. I pulled my helmet into place and sealed it. My HUD flickered to life—heartbeat monitor, comms channel, atmospheric readouts, and enemy markers already syncing up. To my left, Steve tightened the strap on his mask and adjusted the grip on his shield. We exchanged a look—a silent, mutual understanding. Time to move.
The Quinjet's door hissed open, the wind roaring inside like a beast unleashed. Below us: chaos. Screams echoed through the night as terrified civilians scattered across the plaza. Glass shattered. Sirens wailed. The gala had erupted into full-blown hysteria.
Without hesitation, we jumped.
The wind tore past me like a freight train. I free-fell for three heart-pounding seconds before adjusting my descent angle, limbs tight and focused, eyes locked on the target below. I could already see Loki, right in the middle of the storm like he was born for it—because, well, technically, he was.
He strolled through the wreckage in his full Asgardian ensemble, gold and green armor glinting under the floodlights, like a smug snake dipped in royalty. A police car sped toward him—an effort, at least—but with a casual flick of his scepter, he blasted it with a surge of glowing blue energy. The vehicle went airborne, twisting mid-air before crashing into a line of parked cars in a plume of flame.
"Oh yeah, totally normal night," I muttered to myself, flipping midair and activating the impact dampeners in my boots.
Before we even landed, Loki raised his scepter skyward, eyes gleaming. "Kneel before me!" he bellowed.
He waved his hand again, and illusionary copies of himself multiplied like shadows on water, surrounding the now-frozen crowd. The fear in their eyes said it all. Loki didn't just want obedience—he wanted worship.
"I said... KNEEL!" he thundered once more.
The civilians dropped to the ground like marionettes whose strings had been yanked. A few resisted, trembling, but one by one, even they gave in under the weight of pure dread.
I hit the ground in a crouch, my boots absorbing the brunt of the impact with a muted thud. Steve landed a heartbeat later, shield up, already scanning the perimeter.
"Tell me again why gods with daddy issues get invited to Earth," I said, drawing my blade, the edge glowing faintly. "You'd think the Nine Realms had a therapist by now."
"Stay sharp," Steve said, eyes narrowing. "We make this fast. We get the scepter. We end it."
"Copy that." I smirked beneath the helmet. "Time to knock a god off his high horse."
With a twisted grin, Loki stalked through the panicked crowd like a wolf among sheep. Every few steps, he'd pause—locking eyes with someone too terrified to hold his gaze, as if selecting his next victim purely for sport.
"Isn't this easier?" he boomed. "Isn't this your natural state? You crave order. Control. The illusion of freedom has only made you desperate—grasping for purpose, power, approval." He raised his arms like a preacher at the pulpit. "You were born to be ruled. And in the end… you will always kneel."
"Should we jump in, Cap?" I whispered, fingers curling around the hilt of my sword, my instincts screaming to act.
"Not yet, kid," Steve replied in a low tone. "He's not done showing off."
And then came the shift.
An elderly man, maybe in his late eighties, rose from the sea of frightened faces. He stood tall—spine straight, eyes unwavering. Dressed in a formal coat, medals still pinned to his chest, he looked every bit like a soldier who'd faced down tyrants before.
"Not to men like you," he said, voice hoarse but steady, each word delivered like a blow to Loki's ego.
Loki's smirk curled wider. "There are no men like me."
"There are always men like you," the old man answered sharply, his chin raised, eyes unblinking. "And I've outlived most of them."
Loki's expression darkened. The crowd held its breath.
"Then heed your elder's wisdom," he said mockingly, his voice venomous. "Let him be an example."
He raised his scepter, and a violent surge of energy began to crackle at the tip.
No time to think.
I surged forward, throwing myself in front of the old man, arms crossed and braced for impact. The blast hit like a freight train—heat, force, static shock—but I held my ground. The force shoved me back a few feet, boots skidding against pavement, smoke curling off my suit.
I coughed and shook off the sting. "When I said I wanted some excitement," I muttered, brushing off my shoulder, "I didn't mean public vaporization." I turned toward Loki, flashing a lopsided grin. "That was adorable, by the way. You sure that light stick isn't just a glorified flashlight?"
Loki's smile faltered. "The Shadow," he mused, voice low and curious now. "Barton wasn't exaggerating."
Before I could respond, Steve moved. Like lightning. His shield collided with Loki's chest, sending the god crashing to the ground in a blur of green and gold.
Steve stood not far from him, eyes like steel. "Last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing above everyone else," he said coldly, "we ended up disagreeing."
Loki pushed himself up, grinning like he was enjoying the show. "The soldier is present as well," he purred. "A man out of time. How quaint."
That's when I stepped forward, sword drawn. The blade gleamed under the floodlights, pulsing faintly with energy.
"He's not the one who's out of time," I said, my tone sharp as the edge in my hand. "You are."
Above, the Quinjet descended. Its underbelly transformed midair, panels shifting into place as a cannon unfolded and locked onto the target. Romanoff's voice rang through the comms.
"Loki, drop your weapon and surrender. Now."
But of course, Loki wasn't going to go quietly. With a snarl, he fired a beam at the Quinjet. It swerved hard, the blast barely missing the hull. The civilians took this opportunity and cleared out.
Steve launched at him again, shield raised. They clashed in a blur of hits and counters, shield ringing. Loki ducked under a punch and twisted away from a sweep kick, agile as a serpent.
But he wasn't fast enough.
As he dodged Steve, he opened himself up to me. I sprinted in, blade trailing light. I swung in a wide arc, the sound of it slicing through air like thunder.
Loki caught it just in time. His scepter blocked the blow, the clash sending sparks flying as steel met Asgardian. We locked eyes, mine narrowed, his burning with twisted glee.
"You're fast," he said, straining under the weight of the clash.
I grinned. "You haven't seen anything yet."
I disengaged and flowed into a new rhythm—feint, pivot, strike, duck, follow-through. Each movement was tight. He was slippery, but I was relentless. Every parry I forced him into burned more of his composure. He was on defense now.
"Nice staff," I said mid-swing. "Compensating for something?"
He growled and lunged, but I sidestepped and delivered a backhand strike across his jaw with the hilt of my sword. He staggered, just in time for Steve's shield to return like a boomerang, slamming into his back and knocking him to his knees.
I pointed my sword at his throat.
"Round one's over, Mischief."
Loki snarled, eyes glowing an unnatural green as he shimmered—and just like that, he was gone. What remained was a projected duplicate, a blur of illusion flickering out the second Steve and I struck.
"Great," I muttered, sword still raised. "Illusions. Classic magician fallback."
A few meters away, the real Loki emerged from behind a toppled car, smug as ever. His expression twitched when he saw me already pivoting in his direction. Yeah, he wasn't used to being outmaneuvered—especially not by someone without a divine family tree.
He deflected my next strike with his staff, but the flicker of irritation in his eyes said enough: I was pushing him more than he liked.
"You mortals," he spat, twisting his weapon and catching me off-balance. With a sharp swing, he slammed the butt of his staff into my chest, sending me skidding backward across the concrete.
I caught myself with a roll and forced air back into my lungs. "And you gods really have a thing for dramatics," I wheezed. "Ever heard of therapy?"
Before he could fire off another arrogant retort, Steve barreled back. His shield met Loki's staff with a metallic crash, the shockwave pulsing through the street like a drumbeat.
I didn't hesitate. Using their clash as a distraction, I darted low and went for Loki's legs. This time, I saw the panic flash in his eyes. Just a flicker—but it was there. Surprise. Maybe even a little fear.
"Still thinking I'm just some science experiment?" I taunted as he leapt back to avoid my blade.
"You are nothing," he hissed, "but a mortal in a borrowed skin."
I grinned. "Yeah, but this skin's holding up pretty well against a so-called god."
Then—bwoooom.
The sudden, unmistakable riff of AC/DC's "Shoot to Thrill" thundered from above, loud enough to shake windows.
I paused mid-swing and blinked toward the sky. "Wait—is that AC/DC?"
A blinding white repulsor beam answered for me, slamming into Loki and sending him sprawling. His staff flew from his grip, skittering across the pavement. He hit the ground hard, cloak flapping behind him like a deflated flag.
Hovering above was the Quinjet, loud and proud, backlit by city lights. From the sky descended a red-and-gold blur, landing with a sonic thud that cracked the asphalt beneath his boots.
"Make your move, Reindeer Games," Iron Man's voice boomed, his twin repulsors aimed squarely at Loki's chest.
I mimicked his pose, holding my sword low but steady, shoulder to shoulder with the others. Okay, sure—maybe three of us surrounding a disarmed god was a bit much. But after everything? I'd call it necessary enthusiasm.
Loki groaned, head lifting just slightly. His Asgardian armor flickered, then faded into more humble black suit and tie as he raised both hands in surrender. His smirk was gone. The fire in his eyes? Dampened. He knew he was outmatched.
Cap stepped forward. "Mr. Stark," he greeted, calm but alert.
"Captain," Tony replied, helmet retracting with a soft hiss. His gaze slid over to me. "Lieutenant."
I raised a brow, but returned the nod. "Iron Man."
Tony tilted his head, scanning me with something that wasn't quite suspicion… more like curiosity. "You're the new kid on Fury's secret file. The sword guy. Shadow-something?"
I sheathed my blade in one smooth motion. "Luke. But yeah, Shadow works."
He looked at Cap. "Please tell me he's not another time-traveling war vet."
"Nope," I chimed in. "Just a billionaire with and interesting personality."
Tony blinked. "Huh. Okay. I like him."
"Of course you do," Cap sighed.
Behind us, the Quinjet began to lower. And just like that, Loki Odinson, God of Mischief and master manipulator, sat sulking on the pavement, surrounded a supersoldier, a billionaire in a flying tin can, and one guy with a sword and too much sarcasm for his own good.
...
As the Quinjet soared through the darkening sky, heading back toward the helicarrier, a heavy silence settled inside the cabin. Loki sat shackled and sulking like a child sent to detention. Just dead silence.
"Something feels off about this, I don't like it." Steve muttered, casting a sidelong glance at Loki, who stared ahead like the floor had personally betrayed him.
"What? Rock of Ages giving up so easily?" Stark quipped, folding his arms as he leaned back in his seat.
"I agree," I added, tapping my foot against the metal floor. "That was way too easy. A guy like him doesn't just throw in the towel because he's cornered. Makes me wonder if I could fake a surrender next time I get outmatched."
Tony glanced over, intrigued. "Not a terrible plan—if you weren't radiating more ego than a Vegas neon sign."
I shrugged. "Exactly my point. Loki fights like he's allergic to losing. It was annoying enough going toe-to-toe with him. Now he's just... quiet? Creepy."
Steve's brow furrowed. "I don't remember it being that easy," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "He's fast, unpredictable—and that staff of his packs like a wallop. That was my first time facing someone like him, and it felt like trying to punch through smoke."
"Still, you were pretty spry," Stark chimed in with a grin. "Not bad for an older fellow who remembers when radios were furniture. What's your secret? Pilates?"
Steve gave him a blank stare, brow raised. "...Pilates?"
"It's like fancy stretching mixed with exercise," I explained, suppressing a laugh. "You've missed out on a lot, Cap. We're talking decades of weird trends and infomercials. There's yoga, there's the internet—don't even get me started."
"Int what?"
"Exactly."
Steve shook his head in that "I hate this century" way and turned back to Tony, eyeing him warily. "Fury didn't tell me he was calling you in."
"Yeah, kind of hard to miss the flying tank with personality," I added, arms crossed. "Thought this was supposed to be a covert mission for super soldiers, spies, and science experiments with questionable trauma histories. Didn't realize it was open to the billionaire tech club."
"Hey, I RSVP'd late," Tony said coolly. "Fury didn't exactly roll out a welcome mat either."
"Sounds like Fury," I muttered. "The man communicates in riddles and last-minute texts."
"He's not exactly known for his honesty," Tony agreed, a sharp edge slipping into his tone. "There's always something he's not telling you. Always another level under the surface."
"Preach it," I mumbled, leaning back in my seat.
The three of us sat in silence, watching Loki—bound, quiet, yet somehow still carrying an air of control. It didn't sit right.
This felt less like a victory and more like a setup.
Either the storm was coming… or we were already neck-deep in it and didn't know it yet.
As Stark and Steve continued their banter, a familiar prickle of unease crept up my spine. That weird gut-level instinct again, like something shifting just beyond the veil. Not fear exactly—more like a mental red flag being waved in my head.
And right on cue, the sky outside exploded in light.
Thunder cracked with unnatural rhythm, each bolt of lightning splitting the clouds like jagged wounds across the heavens. Flashes of white-blue illuminated the cabin windows, casting distorted shadows across our faces. It was violent, rhythmic, almost… intentional.
I glanced out toward the storm, then back at Loki.
This wasn't a freak weather event. This was a warning.
"Uh oh," I muttered, the corners of my mouth twitching up in a nervous grin. "Hope someone isn't having a bad hair day."
Romanoff voiced out from the cockpit. "Where's this coming from? That's not normal atmospheric activity."
"Nope," I confirmed, scanning the storm. "That's no ordinary thunderstorm—unless you're telling me clouds suddenly have vendettas now."
Loki had shifted from smug to visibly uneasy, fingers twitching, jaw tight. His eyes darted between the flickering sky and the exit ramp, calculating something we weren't privy to.
"What's the matter?" Steve asked, watching him like a hawk. "What's the matter? Scared of a little lightening?"
"I'm not overly fond of what follows," Loki muttered with genuine dread.
"Yeah, me neither," I said, starring out of the windows. "Either this is normal weather, or a certain hammer-wielding relative just got the memo that little brother's in cuffs."
Stark looked at me, half-impressed, half-worried. "Don't jinx it, kid."
And then the jet shuddered—a deep, bone-rattling boom erupting from the sky as if the heavens themselves were cracking apart.
My hand instinctively went to my sword. Stark's helmet slid into place with a hiss, Cap brought his shield forward, and I could feel every nerve in my body light up.
"Way to go, me. You totally jinxed it," I muttered, locking my helmet with a click as the vibrations died down.
Stark stepped forward and pressed a button on the control panel. The rear ramp began to lower, revealing the churning clouds outside.
"Uh, Mr. Stark," I said carefully, gripping my sword a little tighter, "opening the door while weather's committing homicide outside doesn't sound particularly brilliant."
And then—boom—something landed hard on the ramp with a flash of light, framed by the storm like a scene from a heavy metal album cover.
Thor.
Not a word. No witty comment. Just righteous fury in his eyes and Mjolnir in hand.
Before we could react, he lunged forward, grabbed Stark like he weighed nothing, and hurled him across the jet. Tony crashed into the opposite wall with a loud clang.
"Okay, then," I muttered, sprinting forward, sword ready.
I slashed at Thor's side, aiming fast and low, trying to use speed over brute strength—but damn, the guy was like a brick wall with lightning for veins. He blocked me with the flat of his hammerr like it was second nature. The impact sent me flying backwards, skidding across the floor with a groan.
I rolled to my feet and charged again, this time feinting left, slicing right. Another swing—another parry from Mjolnir. Thor barely even blinked. He wasn't just fighting. He was warning us.
"Okay," I gasped, dodging a follow-up swing that cracked a support beam. "So that's what it's like getting big-brothered by a deity."
Two more attacks, two more parries, then a powerful shove sent me sprawling once again. I slammed into the wall.
Thor, without another word, turned and reached for Loki—grabbing him by the neck like a misbehaving cat. Loki yelped, struggling, but Thor's grip was iron.
"Brother, no—!" Loki managed to hiss.
Thor gave us all one last look then leapt from the ramp, dragging Loki with him. In a blink, they were swallowed by the raging sky.
And just like that, the storm took them.
"Now there's that guy," Stark grumbled, peeling himself off the floor, a fresh dent warping his chest plate. "Who the hell was that?"
"Another Asgardian?" Romanoff called from the cockpit, as she tried to stabilize the quinjet.
"Yeah, well…" I said, brushing dust off my armor, "not just any Asgardian." A dry smile tugged at my lips. "That was the God of Thunder. Thor. Big hammer and stuff."
Cap turned, his brow furrowed. "That guy's friendly?"
I gave a half-shrug. "Debatable. Technically, he's not against us—unless we're standing between him and his idiot brother."
"Great," Stark muttered, limping toward the ramp. "Family drama with superpowers. That's what this mission needed."
"To be fair," I added, following him, "it looked more like an aggressive intervention. Like Loki skipped therapy one too many times."
"Whether he hugs it out with Loki or turns him into an alligator, we're still losing the Tesseract," Stark said, gesturing vaguely toward where they leaped off to.
"Stark, wait," Cap called, frowning. "We need a plan of attack."
"I have a plan," Stark shot back, stepping onto the edge of the ramp. "Attack."
And just like that, he blasted off into the night sky.
I blinked. "...Of course he did."
I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck, muttering, "This is gonna be a long day." Then I stepped to the ramp's edge, peering down at the dark forest landscape below.
No parachute. No repulsors. Just me, gravity, and a very questionable decision.
"Alright," I said to no one in particular. "Let's make it look cool."
I dove.
The wind roared past my helmet, tugging at suit, but I didn't flinch. This wasn't new. This was just another Tuesday in my very normal post-experiment life.
As the trees came rushing up to greet me, I flicked my wrist. Click—thwip!
The grappling hook shot forward, snagging a thick tree branch. I swung beneath it, the momentum sending me soaring in a smooth arc across the canopy. I adjusted mid-flight, letting go at just the right second to freefall before landing hard on another branch, my boots skidding slightly on the damp bark.
I exhaled. "Nailed it."
Overhead, I could already hear distant booms in the distance—trees toppling, thunder cracking, energy pulses lighting up the forest.
"Great," I muttered. "Giant magic frat fight in the woods. What could possibly go wrong?"
I dropped to the forest floor and took off in a sprint, eyes locked on the storm ahead. Time to crash a fight. Again.
I spotted Stark's glowing form through the trees and weaved my way through the underbrush like a jungle cat on the hunt. I dropped down beside him, boots crunching softly against the forest floor.
"You alright there, Mr. Stark?" I asked, half-teasing.
"Yeah," he muttered, brushing dirt off his armor with a grimace. "Point Break over there packs a serious punch, I'll give him that."
My gaze shifted forward, narrowing at the towering figure ahead. Thor stood like a storm in human form, Mjolnir humming with residual power. I stepped in front of Stark and drew my sword, letting the metal ring out as I pointed the blade directly at Thor.
"So, what's the deal?" I said sharply, tone cold but composed. "As far as the files say, you're one of the good guys. But you just decked my teammate and—correct me if I'm wrong—kidnapped someone who's currently under our jurisdiction. Which, in my book, counts as aggravated assault and theft."
I widened my stance, grounding myself. My grip tightened on the hilt, my pulse steady. "So unless you've got a damn good reason, you'd better prove you're not a threat. Or we're gonna have a problem."
Thor's eyes flared with stormlight. "I have no time for squabbles with the likes of you!" he bellowed, and in a blur of godly fury, lunged forward with Mjolnir raised.
I didn't flinch. I charged.
The impact rang like thunder. My blade met his hammer mid-swing in a cataclysmic clash that cracked the air and sent shockwaves through the trees. Sparks burst from the collision, metal screaming against enchanted steel. My arms rattled from the force of it, the raw strength behind Thor's strike nearly knocking the sword from my hands.
But I held on.
I gritted my teeth, digging in my heels. Every nerve in my body screamed, but I matched his power with sheer force of will and a little help from the experimental enhancements that made me more than human.
This wasn't just another super-powered ego trip. This was a god. A living, breathing deity from ancient myth. But I wasn't backing down—not today.
With a sharp breath and a twist of momentum, I pivoted and lashed out, my right leg cutting through the air in a precise, brutal arc. My boot collided with Thor's chest in a full-force spinning kick. The thud it made was visceral, bone-jarring—and it worked.
Thor staggered back, feet skidding over the dirt. His expression flickered with shock. Not pain, not exactly—but surprise. Like he hadn't expected me to hold my ground, let alone land a hit that mattered.
"Not bad," I said, rolling my shoulders as I readied my stance again. "So... you ready to talk now, or do we keep smashing each other into national headlines?"
A shadow passed over us as Steve landed with a leap onto a cracked tree branch above.
"Hey!" he barked, voice cutting clean through the tension. "That's enough!"
He dropped down between me and Thor, planting himself like a wall. The god of thunder was still staggering from the kick, thunder rumbling faintly in the sky behind him.
"Now I don't know what you plan on doing here—" Steve began.
"I've come to put an end to Loki's schemes!" Thor boomed.
I blinked, then let out a loud, exasperated sigh as I sheathed my sword. "Well, you could've led with that instead of trying to reduce my skull to powder," I snapped. "You're lucky I'm not one to hold grudges. Unless I have to."
Steve stepped up, "If you're not working with Loki," he said firmly, "then we're technically on the same side. But if that's true, I suggest you put that hammer down before someone else gets hurt."
Right on cue, Stark aimed his repulsors straight at Thor. "Whoa there, blondie," he said, definitely half-smirking behind his helmet. "Uh, yeah! No! Bad call, he loves his hammer—"
Before he could finish, Mjolnir whirled through the air like a divine wrecking ball and slammed into Stark's chest, sending him hurtling backward with a sound that was equal parts crunch and clang.
"Okay, timeout!" I yelled, raising both hands. "Let's just pump the brakes, Point Break. Breathe. Process. Maybe put the magic mallet down and talk this out like the mostly-civilized immortals we pretend to be?"
Thor turned to me, eyes glowing like lightning storms.
"You want me to put the hammer down?" he thundered, voice reverberating through the entire forest like a warning shot from the gods.
Yup. Definitely not good.
In the blink of an eye, Thor launched himself toward me, hammer drawn back in a wild arc. My instincts took over—I raised my sword and shifted my stance, prepared to meet the strike.
But I didn't have to.
Steve had moved faster than I thought possible, planting himself in front of me with his shield raised high. Thor's hammer crashed against it with an earth-shattering impact, the echo rolling through the trees. The shockwave knocked all of us off our feet and kicked up a cloud of dust and leaves.
I hit the ground hard, ears ringing, trying to blink my vision back into focus. When I looked up, Steve was already back on his feet, shield still raised, completely unfazed. He gave me a quick nod—unspoken reassurance—and I nodded back.
Then I noticed the jagged remains of my sword lying a few feet away. I walked over, picked up the ruined hilt, and sighed.
"Well, that could've gone better," I muttered, holding up what was left. "But, you know, the whole 'let's talk this out' thing? Still an option."
Steve, being Steve, didn't waste the moment.
"So... are we done here?" he asked, eyeing Thor and Stark, both of whom looked scuffed.
"That's definitely gonna leave a mark," Stark groaned, rubbing his side. He shot me a look, one eyebrow raised. "Thanks for the backup, by the way. Luke, right? Not bad. Never seen moves like that from anyone not enhanced."
I gave a half-shrug, eyes drifting to the crater we'd left in our wake.
"Yeah… I honestly don't even know what I am anymore," I said quietly. The adrenaline was fading fast, and in its place was a creeping cold weight in my gut.
What was I getting myself into?
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To be continued...
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