Chapter 2: A Flamboyant Pair of Pink Pants
New York City.
The largest city in the world, financial capital of the planet, the so-called "Crossroads of the World."
Sounds glamorous, right?
In reality, it also means trouble. A lot of trouble. Not just the usual kind—crime, corruption, shady back-room deals—but also the kind that involves alien spaceships and sky portals. Somehow, the universe keeps using this city as the go-to target for world-ending events.
Pacific monsters? Check. Interstellar battles? Check. More near-apocalypses than anyone cares to count? Double check.
The locals have adapted in the weirdest way possible.
Random street shootout? No big deal. A white-collar accountant could calmly finish their coffee and still make it to the subway on time.
But today… today was different.
The moment the sky tore open, New York's hardened citizens went from "seen it all" to "oh hell no." mode.
Chaos reigned. People sprinted through the streets, shoving past one another. Horns blared. Tires screeched. Sirens wailed in the distance, competing with screams that echoed off the skyscrapers. Amid the panic, there were even a few hysterical laughs—the kind that sound more like someone's finally lost their grip.
Ethan Miles ran with the crowd, head down, heart pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape his chest.
Thump-thump-thump.
Every step made his temples ache.
"God… why didn't I grab some water before leaving?" His throat felt like sandpaper.
The police were doing what they could—setting up defensive lines, herding civilians away from the worst of it. They'd formed a perimeter stretching from the battle's epicenter to 39th Street. Somewhere behind that line, maybe, there was safety.
"Just… thirty more minutes." Ethan muttered to himself, trying to remember the sequence of events from The Avengers. "Survive thirty more minutes, and this'll all be over."
There was just one problem with that plan:
He'd only ever seen the edited version of the movie. And in the middle of a real alien invasion, an untrained human trying to "count the minutes" is about as accurate as using a stone as a stopwatch.
Still, he was counting. Or trying to. Until—
"No! Please, no! Help! Is anyone there? Help!"
The voice—a girl's—was so raw with panic it cut through the surrounding noise like a blade.
He froze mid-step.
If his hearing had been sharper, he might've caught the sound of fabric tearing, too.
He hesitated.
"It's not my business. Stay out of it." He told himself. "There are police here. They can handle it. Priority number one: keep myself alive."
He took another step forward… and stopped.
Then slapped himself across the face.
"Dammit."
Moments later, Ethan was jogging toward the sound, grabbing a steel pipe from a pile of rubble as he went.
It wasn't far—maybe thirty or forty meters. He rounded a corner into a narrow alley and saw them:
A broad-shouldered man pinning a young white woman to the ground, one hand restraining her wrists, the other ripping at her skirt. His face was twisted with something feral.
"No!!!" the woman screamed, thrashing desperately.
Adrenaline spiked in Ethan's veins.
The man's head snapped toward him at the sound of approaching footsteps. For a moment, their eyes locked—two strangers sizing each other up.
And then, instinct took over.
The system inside him stirred. A wordless urge burned through him.
Warrior skill: Charge.
The alley blurred. One second Ethan was ten feet away, the next he was right in front of the guy, steel pipe raised high.
Warrior skill: Deadly Strike.
The pipe whistled through the air, the whoosh sharp enough to make the skin on Ethan's arms prickle. It connected with the man's head in a sickening thunk, the force slamming him sideways into the brick wall. He dropped like a sack of cement.
Ethan froze for half a heartbeat, staring at what he'd done.
"…Holy crap. I'm… that strong?"
He exhaled slowly, dropped the pipe, and forced his face into a calm mask.
"Go Now."
The woman scrambled to her feet and fled, sobbing, without looking back.
Ethan didn't wait to see if the man stayed down. No sense lingering—especially in the middle of an alien warzone.
When he emerged from the alley, the streets were even more chaotic. The National Guard had taken over the police line, trading fire with Chitauri soldiers. Squads of soldiers darted through cross-streets, shepherding civilians toward evacuation routes.
That's when he heard it:
"Hey! You! Yeah, you! Big Pink Pants—over here!"
Ethan winced. Oh right. The boxers.
Bright pink. With "KISS ME" printed across the back in bold letters. Not exactly subtle.
The soldier who'd called to him was grinning despite the chaos, waving him over. "Stick close! Keep your head down, hands over your head—not your pants, you hear me?"
"…Uh… okay."
He fell in beside them, trying not to think about how ridiculous he must look. Unfortunately, the soldier walking behind him got a full view of the message on his backside.
"Hahahaha! Kid, you didn't just come from a gay bar, did you? Damn, thanks—I needed that laugh today."
Ethan's face turned scarlet. He kept his eyes on the ground, speeding up in hopes of ending the humiliation faster.
Several turns later, he realised he'd lost them.
And, lucky him, he'd also wandered straight into the middle of the danger zone.
Two Chitauri foot soldiers landed nearby, their hover-sleds clattering against the street. One spotted him immediately—hard to miss a guy in neon pink—and tore off its mask, hissing something alien before raising its energy weapon.
Ethan froze.
Then—
Whhffft!
A circular shield flew past his head, slamming into the Chitauri's chest and knocking it flat.
A blur of blue and red followed. Three swift, economical moves later, both aliens were down.
"Are you alright?!"
Ethan turned to see the living embodiment of American patriotism himself—Captain America.
"I—uh—yeah?"
Cap gave him a quick once-over. His eyes landed on the pants.
"…Nice outfit, kid. Find a place to hide."
Before Ethan could reply, Cap was gone, shield ricocheting down the street toward another cluster of aliens.
Ethan stood there for a moment, processing the fact that Captain freaking America had just commented on his underwear.
"(╯°Д°)╯︵ ┻━┻ I hate these pants!"
His dignity smouldering in the ashes of the day, Ethan briefly considered ripping them off right there in the street. But he stopped himself.
"…Nah. Better this than streaking through the Battle of New York. No way am I ending up as tomorrow's headline: 'Mystery Pervert Seen Fleeing Alien Invasion.'"
And with that, he tugged the waistband higher, muttered something about "finding actual clothes," and disappeared into the nearest side street.
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