"Is she really the Goddess of Judgment?"
Tony squinted at the holographic projection floating in front of him.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., you're sure today isn't April Fool's Day?"
"I am certain, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied in his usual calm tone.
Tony rubbed his temples.
"I always thought she would be older... but now she looks like she's only about twenty years old."
It didn't make sense.
The Goddess of Judgment had built a terrifying reputation — cold, merciless, shrouded in mystery.
Yet the girl zipping through New York on a black armored motorcycle looked young, vibrant, even wild.
"Sir, the motorcycle she's riding was custom-designed and manufactured based on the body data provided by S.H.I.E.L.D. It remains the only one of its kind," J.A.R.V.I.S. added.
Tony nodded absentmindedly.
It was a beautiful machine — lightweight but sturdy, fast yet precise.
Still, his mind wasn't on the bike.
"Looks like she doesn't want to wear that damn V-shaped mask anymore," Tony muttered.
He shivered slightly, as if recalling some unpleasant memory.
"Ever since I saw that mask, I've been having nightmares..."
He shook himself free of the thought, then touched his chin, eyes gleaming with admiration.
"But I have to say... she's absolutely stunning~"
"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. interjected, "it is statistically probable — 87% certainty — that the face you are seeing is disguised or altered through unknown technology or magic."
Tony's admiring expression froze mid-smirk.
"Are you telling me even her face is fake?"
He collapsed dramatically back onto the bed.
"Is there no truth left in this world anymore? It's all lies and deception!"
Despite his complaints, he couldn't tear his gaze away from the girl racing across the city.
Her every movement was full of power, purpose, and deadly grace.
Tony's instincts, honed from years of dangerous living, screamed at him:
Something big was happening.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., can you track her route?" he asked, sitting up again.
"I'm sorry, sir. The route is currently unavailable. The Goddess of Judgment appears to be taking deliberate countermeasures."
Tony tapped his fingers on the nightstand thoughtfully.
"Fine. Keep monitoring her. I want to know where she's going — and fast."
If even the Goddess of Judgment was in a rush, it meant danger wasn't just coming — it was already here.
Tony's face grew serious.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in New York...
In a quiet, nondescript house tucked away in a residential district, a different man watched the same footage with an equally solemn expression.
Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., sat on an old leather couch, staring at the live feed playing on his tablet.
"Director," an agent reported through his earpiece, "based on the trajectory of the Goddess of Judgment and recent events in the surrounding regions, there's an 83% probability she's heading toward New Mexico."
"I see. Maintain surveillance," Fury ordered curtly.
"Understood."
After ending the call, Fury wasted no time dialing another number.
It didn't take long for the line to connect.
"Phil Coulson," came the familiar, calm voice.
"Anything new on your end?" Fury asked.
"We're monitoring the situation. Barton is on high alert," Coulson replied.
"Good. Stay ready."
Fury ended the call and leaned back, frowning deeply.
His one good eye remained glued to the image of the black motorcycle streaking across highways at impossible speeds.
"What kind of hammer could cause even her to move like this...?" he muttered under his breath.
Whatever had landed in New Mexico, it wasn't ordinary.
And they would need every asset they had to handle it.
Meanwhile, Bella raced across the open roads.
The speedometer on her motorcycle steadily climbed — 100... 150... 200... 250 kilometers per hour.
To any ordinary rider, it would be suicide.
But Bella wasn't ordinary.
Her enhanced body, honed reflexes, and supernatural perception meant she could weave through sparse traffic without a single misstep.
Not once did she lose control or endanger anyone around her.
The motorcycle, engineered by Tony Stark himself and built with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best technology, was a masterpiece.
Its performance was unrivaled — acceleration, balance, control — everything perfect to match Bella's physical capabilities.
Combined with Bella's extraordinary riding skills, the result was almost superhuman.
A trip that should have taken seven hours was completed in just four.
The landscape gradually changed as she crossed state lines.
The familiar concrete jungle of New York gave way to the rugged, breathtaking vistas of New Mexico.
The air grew drier.
The temperatures fluctuated.
Massive red rock cliffs towered on the horizon, casting long shadows over stretches of desert dotted with hardy cacti.
This land, often nicknamed "Fairyland," felt ancient, almost magical.
And somewhere amid this desolate beauty... lay her destination.
After four relentless hours, Bella reached a small town.
She didn't stop.
Pushing onward, she rode another fifty miles west — until she finally saw it.
A massive crater, easily hundreds of meters in diameter, gouged into the desert floor.
And surrounding the crater was a makeshift military encampment.
Temporary white plastic structures dotted the perimeter, guarded by thick iron fencing.
Hundreds of armed men in FBI uniforms patrolled the area, weapons at the ready.
Bella slowed as she approached, her matte black motorcycle growling lowly.
Immediately, a group of guards spotted her.
One man stepped forward, raising a megaphone.
"Ma'am, this area is under federal lockdown. Please turn around and leave immediately!"
Bella didn't answer.
She remained seated, helmet still on, surveying the scene.
Through the gaps in the fencing, she caught a glimpse of something inside one of the plastic-covered tents.
A flash of metallic silver.
There.
She could feel it — an immense, ancient energy radiating from within.
"Mjolnir," Bella whispered, her emerald eyes narrowing.
She could sense it — the divine power of Odin lingering around the hammer.
It wasn't magic in the traditional sense.
It was something older, deeper, more profound.
Similar to her own magical essence, but infinitely more potent.
She had come to New Mexico not just for the uru metal rumored to exist here, but to study the secrets hidden within that hammer.
However, she knew her current abilities were far from sufficient.
At this stage, she could only barely sense the complex spells woven around Mjolnir — protective enchantments placed by Odin himself.
She was still too weak to unravel them.
One day, she thought.
Kacha~
The sound of dozens of rifles being cocked brought her back to the present.
The agents were moving in.
Their guns were trained on her, and their expressions were tense.
"Whoever you are, raise your hands and surrender immediately!" barked one of the commanding officers.
Bella sighed, clearly irritated.
Just as the situation threatened to escalate, a voice called out from the distance.
"Hold your fire!"
A man approached, moving swiftly across the sandy terrain.
He wore a black Kevlar combat uniform, a quiver slung across his back, and a collapsible metal bow in his hand.
The other agents immediately lowered their weapons at his command.
"Stay back. She's not the enemy," he ordered firmly.
"Yes, sir!"
The agents saluted and withdrew without hesitation.
The man ascended a temporary set of stairs built into the side of the crater and stopped in front of Bella.
"I really didn't expect you to look like this," he said with a chuckle.
"Honestly, if it weren't for that motorcycle, I wouldn't have recognized you at all."
Bella turned toward him, finally removing her helmet.
Her blonde hair tumbled out, glinting in the desert sun.
"Barton," she greeted with a small nod.
Clint Barton — codename Hawkeye — smiled wryly.
He hadn't expected the infamous Goddess of Judgment to look like a rebellious twenty-year-old college girl.
And yet, the power radiating from her was unmistakable.
This was no ordinary young woman.
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