… Mary Jane "MJ" Watson
Mary Jane never thought of herself as one of those girls obsessed with gossip — but with Gwen by her side, it was impossible to avoid. Any walk home from school turned into some kind of improv comedy — inside jokes, snarky comments about teachers, and brutally honest takes on how the cafeteria somehow managed to ruin pasta a little more each week.
"I swear, Flash only asked me for the notes because he saw I got a ten on the test…" Gwen rolled her eyes with dramatic exasperation.
MJ laughed, kicking a pebble ahead, her shoulders relaxed.
"You should start charging, Gwen. College's just around the corner, and I know you're already thinking about it."
Not that she needed to — her dad was the captain of the NYPD — but that was just who Gwen was.
A fiercely independent girl.
"If I charged Flash, he'd go broke before he even applied", Gwen shot back, making MJ laugh loud enough to scare off a pigeon in the square.
For a few minutes, the world felt simple again.
Aidan still hadn't sent a single message since telling her he was "traveling for a few days". MJ pretended not to care, but truth be told, she'd already checked her phone at least twenty times between classes — each time giving herself a new excuse for doing it.
They turned the corner near school, walking down a quieter street where the trees filtered the late afternoon sunlight into dancing patterns on the sidewalk. But before they could get another word out, something weird caught their attention — the low growl of an engine, coming up slowly from behind.
A black van — one of those generic ones that looked like they were ripped from an outdated catalog and used only for things that screamed sketchy — pulled up right next to the curb, hugging the shadow of the trees with creepy precision. For a split second, MJ wanted to believe it was just coincidence. But coincidences usually didn't come with windows that tinted.
Gwen slowed down, frowning.
"You know that van?"
"If my soul had been reincarnated as a vehicle, I still wouldn't recognize that thing", MJ muttered, now fully alert. She tugged Gwen closer, keeping her voice calm but her eyes sharp.
The side door slid open with a dry clack.
... Nick Fury
Fury never relaxed when the room was locked. Didn't matter how thick the walls were, how many biometric or digital protocols were in place — he always felt that pressure between his shoulder blades, like an invisible scope just waiting for him to slip up.
The security protocol was the usual: three auto-locks the moment he stepped in, two signal jammers to block any potential eavesdropping — and still, his hand hovered near the gun on his holster.
Old habits. Forged in the worst back alleys of war, in jungles filled with traitors and shaky allies, and now dragged into what was supposed to be the world's safest command center. That kind of paranoia kept men like him alive — and enemies like Hydra... well, sometimes more alive than they should be.
Next to him, Hill was scanning the tablet with her usual precision. The blue light from the screen highlighted her focused features, that sharp posture of someone who could interrogate a criminal just as calmly as she wrote up a report for the Security Council. Even here, in the sealed heart of SHIELD, Hill looked ready to move at a moment's notice. One of the few people Fury would admit to trusting — or at least, the closest he got to that word.
Because in his experience, trust wasn't a luxury. It was a rare, easily corrupted currency.
Hill got to the point, as always.
"The sweep of the cell turned up exactly what we expected. Encrypted documents, fake supply routes. It wasn't just a front, Director. It was a legit experimental base. And from what we've decoded so far, they were months away from activating a prototype. We just don't know what exactly."
Fury leaned back in his chair just enough to fold his hands over the desk and stare at Hill above the monitor. The silence was calculated — a pause to weigh every word.
"And Hydra?"
Hill didn't hesitate, sliding a digital file his way.
"Unfortunately, yes. Lots of their usual symbols in the files, hidden financial trails, and a list of names that… well, let's just say none of them scream 'humanitarian.' Hydra is a lot more alive than we thought."
Fury let out a slow, heavy breath. Hydra again. They were like a virus that never died — just changed names, faces, and flags.
He'd once thought those bastards got wiped out along with the rubble of World War II, but experience taught him better. They always came back. Growing in the forgotten corners of history. Waiting for a crack to slip through.
His eyes drifted to the thick folder sitting at the corner of the desk, marked with a red seal. New project, labeled urgent. One word stamped across the cover in bold: INSIGHT.
One of those things that shouldn't land in anyone's lap without at least a hundred questions first — but here it was, handed straight to the Director of SHIELD. He hadn't even opened it officially yet, but he already knew enough — three helicarriers integrated with a predictive AI, capable of eliminating threats before they became threats. The so-called "final solution," dressed up as progress: math, paranoia, and preemptive strikes.
All wrapped in one neat package.
"And this…" Fury muttered, tapping the folder like it was some sleeping beast, "... showed up today. Project Insight."
Hill shot him a quick, professional look — but there was concern behind it.
"The numbers are impressive."
"And dangerous", Fury cut in, voice hard. "If this lands in the wrong hands... it's an auto-execution weapon."
Hill nodded, as serious as ever.
"And considering Hydra's still breathing…"
Fury turned in his chair, eyes on the data reflected in the screen, while feeling the weight of the Insight file beside him. This was a chess game where every piece felt rigged.
"We need to cut the head off… before it starts calling itself justice."
He turned the monitor toward Hill and typed a string of commands.
"Trace everything. I want to see the funding, the middlemen, names that don't line up, property transfers. I want to know who's involved— and I want to know it before they even realize we're looking."
Hill was already standing before he finished the sentence, grabbing the tablet and mentally lining up the orders.
"Consider it done, Director."
When the door shut behind her, Fury was alone, staring out at the city through the reinforced glass.
Now, it was a war of information — and he knew better than anyone that even the smallest slip could become the next global disaster.
... Steve Rogers (Captain America)
Steve Rogers was still getting used to the sounds of the 21st century. The city never seemed to sleep — sirens echoing through the night, cars speeding down busy streets, neighbors slamming doors in narrow hallways.
There was always someone blasting music too loud from some apartment, or rehearsing for a musical across the street. For Steve, it was all just a reminder of how much time he'd lost — and how fast everything changed when you'd been frozen for over sixty years.
Since the end of the Battle of New York, every day brought a new challenge. Tomorrow was never a given, but he tried to build a routine in his own way: jogging through Central Park before sunrise, grabbing coffee from a nearly empty diner, and exchanging a few words with Sharon, the neighbor from 4B. She was friendly, funny, and seemed amused by his old-school manners — always recommending modern music. Steve didn't admit it, but he liked her company. It made the city feel a little less overwhelming.
That morning, Sharon appeared in the hallway with a smile.
"Morning, Steve. Go for a run?"
"Same as always", he answered, trying to sound casual — even though she could clearly see the sweat-soaked shirt.
She laughed, wished him a good day, and disappeared down the stairs. Steve stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway, feeling like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to adjust.
He walked up to his floor, turned the key, and stepped into the apartment. The smell of coffee hit him — strong and fresh.
Strange… he knew he hadn't made any coffee that morning.
His old instincts kicked in silently.
He set the key down slowly, footsteps light as he moved toward the living room, where his shield was always within reach — a habit from the days when sleeping was a dangerous luxury.
On the couch, legs crossed, sat Natasha Romanoff. Dark jeans, black t-shirt, sharp eyes. She was typing something on a tablet, her face lit by the glow. When Steve entered, she didn't even flinch.
"You forgot to turn off the light, Rogers", Natasha said, voice neutral, almost casual.
Steve relaxed a bit, but stayed alert — the old soldier never fully stood down.
"I could ask why you're here, but I'm guessing it's not just for company."
Natasha set the tablet on the coffee table, crossed her arms, and for the first time since he walked in, looked him straight in the eyes.
"I need to talk to you. Couldn't be over the phone, and definitely not with Shield listening."
Steve folded his arms, waiting.
"On our last mission, Hill and I found traces", Natasha continued. "Encrypted files, old records, symbols— the kind of stuff that makes you want to scrub your brain after reading it. All of it in a supposedly abandoned warehouse. And, Steve…" she paused, then dropped the word, "All signs point to Hydra."
The name dropped like dead weight. Steve felt his throat tighten.
Hydra.
He thought he'd left that enemy behind — Red Skull, the serum, the empty promises of world domination. A ghost he'd spent most of his life chasing. And yet, here they were again.
"You sure?" he asked, voice low and steady.
"As sure as we can be in this line of work", Natasha nodded. "The patterns are there, just more… polished. They didn't vanish— they got better at hiding. They've infiltrated, changed skins."
Steve stood in silence for a few seconds, letting it sink in. The weight of memory always hit harder when history started to repeat itself.
"Did you tell Fury?"
"Yeah. He and Hill are already prioritizing the case. But they wanted me to tell you directly. Fury thinks someone inside Shield might be feeding them intel. And honestly? I don't think he's wrong."
Steve walked to the window, looking down at the street. The traffic, the hurried people, the lights that never existed in his time.
"So that's it. Hydra, again."
"Looks like it", Natasha said calmly, though he knew she was already thinking three moves ahead.
"What's the plan?"
She stood, adjusting her jacket.
"We find answers before they find us. Fury wants you ready. We don't know who we can trust— same old story."
Steve looked at the shield leaning in the corner, like it had already heard the call.
"The world may change, but the fights stay the same."
She gave him a small, tired smile — the kind only someone who's seen real wars knows how to give.
"Welcome back to the fight, Cap."
Steve felt that old spark of action rising inside him. The world might be spinning too fast, but some things didn't change — duty, responsibility, fighting for what's right. He nodded, accepting that peace was just a pause between battles.
And he was still the right man for the job.
... Aidan Quinn
Life, I'll admit, has a real talent for remixing the scene fast. Two days ago I was kicking sand in Crocodile's face with a custom-made storm in the middle of a desert. Now? Apartment in Queens.
My safe haven — if you could even call it that.
Bookshelves full of stuff I never finish, a couch that's seen better days, and a table with Robin on one side, Raven on the other — both sitting like people who've long made peace with interdimensional insanity.
Nico Robin, "Devil Child", ex-Baroque Works, master of sideways smirks, was flipping through TV channels like she was field-stripping a vintage pistol. Her eyes scanned everything — from the microwave full of leftover cup noodles to my "Best Comic Book Distraction" trophy — with that sharp gaze of someone who's dodged pirates, marines, and world governments, and now only fears boredom.
On the other side, Raven was sprawled over the armrest of the couch, hood down, phone in hand, radiating the vibe of someone one step away from ordering an extra-large pizza and binge-watching Greek tragedies in anime form.
I had my coffee mug — aka black potion to survive existence — and was spinning in my chair, trying to ignore the random cat meowing in the hallway.
Queens is weird, but never dull.
Robin paused on a channel, looked up at me with that ironic sparkle in her eye.
"So, Captain... this world doesn't have endless seas, but these... metal boxes are called cars?"
The way she said Captain was something else. A mix of tease, irony, and maybe a dash of genuine fun.
"Sadly, Robin, the only pirates we've got around here sell bootleg DVDs on the subway— and still get fined for it."
Raven held out her phone toward her, showing photos of Manhattan: traffic, crowds, people dressed like heroes with zero powers — it's called cosplay — pizza the size of manhole covers, and a rat worthy of a mafia boss. All very... normal, with that special brand of New York absurdity.
Robin blinked slowly, like she was decoding an ancient dialect.
"And you have... superheroes."
"And villains, mutants, gods, robots, aliens, invasions, sorcerers, flying suits… and an electric bill that wants me dead."
"You've fought all of them?"
Raven chimed in without even looking up.
"He usually flirts or makes friends with them. It's kind of a thing."
I smiled — she wasn't wrong. I explained the basics of how this world worked to Robin, especially the power stuff.
"No Devil Fruits here, but we've got mutations, magical tech, alien gear... and some folks think swinging from buildings with webs is just your average Thursday. Point is, you gotta pick your side wisely."
Robin listened like she was learning a new language. She didn't look skeptical — just like she wasn't sure it should be possible.
"And what do you plan to do with me, Captain?"
"To start? I give you a mark. Literally."
I pulled out the Stamp — the magical seal from the Company — and gave her the simplest explanation possible.
"It's like a contract. It lets me share some talents with you, and it officially puts you under my... 'jurisdiction', let's say. But it takes 72 hours to kick in, so you'll have to survive a few boring days in this apartment. Heads up, don't bother ordering delivery— they always get the address wrong."
Robin stood, walked over with that calm, steady gaze — the kind that said she'd already crossed five minefields before breakfast.
"I'm not the type to turn down a useful alliance."
I stamped her hand. The symbol lit up — soft glow, warm touch, almost comforting — and then faded like it had never been there.
"There is. Now we wait. After that, a few doors start opening for you."
Raven stayed quiet, just watching. For someone who's crossed dimensions, this was probably just a regular Monday.
No grand plans at the moment.
No cosmic beings to hunt. No secret wars to stir up. Just… sorting life out. Having Robin as an ally was a serious win. Smart, discreet, used to surviving systems built to crush people. And honestly? I needed someone like that around.
Credits were piling up, my stocks were multiplying like magical rabbits, and with SHIELD, the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, and half of Hydra watching me... it was time to bring some order to this empire of mine.
I was just thinking about asking Robin to check my bank statement — which, let's be real, is hilarious. The world's greatest pirate archaeologist might end up as my accountant — when my phone buzzed on the table.
MJ.
I tapped the screen, answering with my usual lazy flair.
"What's up, Red? Miss me or just trying to steal my Wi-Fi again?"
On the other end… only noise, panic voices and cut-off threats mixed with a quick plea for help.
Huh.