Ethan sat at the heavy oak dining table in the Sanctum, nursing a black coffee.
Natasha walked into the room. She was back in her standard black tactical gear, finally ditching the maid uniform. The bulletproof confidence she usually wore was gone, replaced by a tight, hyper-aware tension whenever she caught Ethan looking at her.
She walked up to the table and tossed a thin manila folder onto the wood.
"Fury’s guys found that spike you felt yesterday," Natasha said, pulling out a chair. "Pinged right in the middle of Hell's Kitchen."
Ethan flipped the folder open. It was mostly satellite heat maps, a couple of bank ledgers, and a blurry photo of two men in suits walking down an alley.
"That's a lot of zeros," Ethan noted, tapping the ledger.
"Hammer is desperate," Natasha said. "His fixers have been shaking down street rats all week for alien scrap. We tracked two million bucks moving through his shell accounts."
Ethan looked at a picture of a greasy-looking guy in a basement. "Who's this?"
"Phineas Mason. Street calls him the Tinkerer," Natasha explained. "He's an underground engineer. Kingpin lets him use a shipping warehouse near the docks."
Ethan tossed the folder back onto the table.
"So Hammer bought the scrap and handed a Kingpin grease monkey a two-million-dollar budget to figure it out," Ethan said. He let out a dry chuckle. "I was wondering who’d be crazy enough to mess with Vulture tech from another dimension. But if it's the Tinkerer, it all makes perfect sense. Even worlds apart, those two always end up entangled."
Before Natasha could reply, the kitchen door swung open.
Gwen walked in. She was already wearing her sleek white, black, and pink Spider-suit, her mask tucked under her arm. Her blonde hair was tied back. She walked with a noticeable swagger, radiating a completely unapologetic, territorial vibe.
She walked straight to the table, ignoring Natasha completely. She leaned down and planted a firm, deliberate kiss right on Ethan’s mouth, lingering just long enough to make a point.
Standing back up, Gwen grabbed a green apple from a bowl, took a loud bite, and finally looked at the spy. A smug, victorious smirk played on her lips.
"So," Gwen said casually, looking back to Ethan. "Who are we hitting today?"
Ethan looked at her. Yesterday, he would have told her to stay home since the Tinkerer’s machine was specifically built to hunt her. But she wasn't vibrating with anxiety anymore. She was grounded, focused, and itching for a fight.
"Hell's Kitchen," Ethan said, finishing his coffee. "Mason's warehouse. We need to smash that tracker before they boost the signal."
Gwen cracked her knuckles, her smirk sharpening. "Good. I need to hit something."
Ethan turned to Natasha. "Gear up. We're breaking into a warehouse."
Thousands of miles away, Nick Fury stood on the tarmac of a private airfield, the cold wind whipping at his leather trench coat.
He skipped the secure S.H.I.E.L.D. comms in his SUV, pulled a cheap burner phone from his pocket, and dialed.
The line rang twice.
"Sir," Agent Phil Coulson answered.
"Where are you, Phil?" Fury asked.
"At the Triskelion, Sir. Just wrapping up the quarterly logistic reports."
"Drop it," Fury ordered. "I have a black-book job for you. Level 10. Do not log this into the system. Take only the men you trust with your life."
Coulson paused. He knew exactly what that tone meant. "Understood. What's the target?"
"Pull the old SSR files," Fury instructed. "I'm sending you coordinates in the Arctic. The crash site."
Coulson, a massive history nerd who practically worshipped the old SSR files, went quiet for a second. "Are we looking for the bomber, Sir?"
"We're looking for the man who crashed it," Fury corrected.
A sharp intake of breath echoed over the line. For a second, the always-composed agent completely lost his professional filter. "Sir... Steve Rogers? You... you think he's there? You think he's alive?"
"Just dig, Phil," Fury said bluntly. "And don't let anyone else know you're looking."
Deep inside the massive structure of the Triskelion in Washington D.C.
Alexander Pierce sat in his pristine, glass-walled office overlooking the Potomac River.
A silent notification popped up on his encrypted tablet. Pierce picked it up, reading the automated security log.
ARCHIVE: Project Rebirth.
FILES ACCESSED: Arctic Crash Sites.
USER: N. Fury (Proxy: P. Coulson).
Pierce frowned.
Why was Nick Fury digging around the Captain America crash site out of nowhere? Howard Stark had scoured that ice decades ago and found nothing but the Tesseract. Did Fury get some kind of new intel?
Pierce didn't know. But whatever it was, if it was related to Captain America, HYDRA absolutely could not be left out of it.
Pierce tapped a button on the tablet, opening a secure audio channel.
"Sitwell," Pierce said calmly.
"Sir," Agent Jasper Sitwell replied immediately.
"Fury is pulling the old SSR Arctic grids," Pierce stated. "He's looking into Rogers' crash site off the books."
"That area was cleared years ago," Sitwell said, sounding confused over the line. "Did he get a tip?"
"He must have," Pierce said, his eyes narrowing as he looked out at the dark river. "Keep a close eye on Coulson. If they find anything in that ice, HYDRA secures it."
Pierce set the tablet face-down on his mahogany desk.
"And Sitwell? Wake the Winter Soldier. I want him on standby."
High above the streets of Manhattan, the penthouse lab of Stark Tower was buzzing with loud rock music.
Tony Stark stood at his workbench in a stained tank top, grease smudged across his cheek. He was holding a tiny metallic capsule the size of a pill.
"Alright, J," Tony muttered, staring at the little cylinder. "Let's see if the wizard's space-metal actually works, or if I just wasted my weekend."
Tony tossed the capsule onto the center of the workbench and hit a remote detonator.
Poof.
A sudden cloud of white smoke erupted over the desk with a sharp crack of displaced air.
As the smoke cleared, Tony’s eyes went wide.
Sitting perfectly intact on the workbench was a fully assembled, polished red-and-gold Iron Man gauntlet. The capsule tech worked flawlessly.
"Well, I'll be damned," Tony breathed, picking up the heavy gauntlet. "Say goodbye to the briefcase. Say hello to pocket armor."
"Congratulations, Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S.’s crisp voice echoed from the ceiling. "However, I have that other update you requested."
Tony slipped his hand into the gauntlet. The repulsor whined to life with a familiar hum. "Lay it on me."
"Project Merlinbreaker is officially online," J.A.R.V.I.S. reported. "The anti-magic sensors are calibrated to Mr. Williams' energy signature."
A massive holographic map of New York City projected into the air above the workbench.
"We are currently scanning the Eastern Seaboard for unauthorized portals, Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. stated.
Tony aimed the glowing repulsor at the ceiling, a determined smirk crossing his face.
"Good," Tony said. "Let's see what the wizard is up to."