The Avengers, associated characters, and Stark Tower are properties of Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios and Disney Co. This work does not reflect the views, opinions or cannons of Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios and Disney Co.

Prologue

New Jersey, 2040

Caleb Ryan couldn't help but remember the weekend he and his two buddies flew down to Texas. An intern had showed someone who showed someone who Caleb had overheard in passing mentioning a new burger joint that had just opened up in Houston that a friend of the intern had tagged her in. Caleb followed the word-of-mouth trail back to the intern, whom he loudly and publicly reprimanded for being on her phone during work hours and then confiscated the device.

Caleb was in his office having lunch and had zoned out into the New York skyline through his panoramic, corner window twenty-two storeys above Manhattan. He suddenly realized he had no idea how long he'd been lost in space as he blinked himself back to Earth. He turned his seat back to his desk and his eye caught the intern's phone next to his keyboard. His mind immediately recalled the burger joint in Houston. He Googled the name and it was one of the first results. The burgers were thick, juicy ground chuck, many oozing with sauces of varying viscosity and flares of colours. The bun crusts flaked a tad revealing the porous, cloud of dough within. Caleb scrolled and scrolled until on autopilot when he made his way over to a travel site to book a trip. Caleb emailed two golfing pals to meet him at JFK at six to make the eight-thirty flight.

They were first in the door at the restaurant at 11 the next morning. His stomach was in stitches of hunger remembering how the burger grease coated his lips and how the flavours of the sauces and the toppings and the tender beef all swam together.

"Ryan!"

Ryan snapped up in his chair as he shook the spell off.

Celeste cocked her head to confirm he was all there.

"I'm trying to talk to you and you've just been staring at that map the entire time," she said, her tone becoming a tad nasally as it did when she scolded someone.

Ryan's leathery, tanned face folded into a scowl. He idly scratched his salt and pepper stubble and glanced at the map crowded with radiating pins of different colours around the eastern seaboard. His eyes fell back on Texas.

"Ryan," Celeste prodded, the acoustics of the mess tent some how sharpening her words.

"Alright! Yes! What!" Ryan snapped at her.

Flustered, Celeste tossed her bouncy, red hair back over her shoulder, de-shrouding one half of her pale, tired face. Her eyes skittered over the command quarters, featuring light standards and rolling corkboards with other maps and papers stuck to them. She neatly pressed her hands out from her on the fold-up buffet table at which the two of them sat.

"I was trying to say that the Atlantic City area is continuing to be a problem," Celeste said.

"How so?" Ryan said, rubbing his face.

Celeste sighed and rested her forehead up against her hand. "Continued violence that does not seem to be letting up. The Army seems to be determined to…" she puttered her lips "…I don't know, clear it out? Maybe take it? It's still not clear."

"Is it spreading?"

"No, but we got word they're making a play for Brigantine."

Ryan caught his face in his palms then wiped them across his cheeks. "Fuck. That'll be a real problem. Guess they're looking to stay." He reclined in his seat with a puff and his heavy eyes wandered back to the map. "We're looking pretty boxed in. What's the word on the rest of the southern front?"

"I actually got in touch with a settlement down Galloway way," Celeste said. "They're saying that…whatever this is…it's making rumblings around Philly."

Ryan pointed himself forward in his chair at Celeste. "Well what is this?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "A movement? A radicalizing of what's left of the U.S. military? I mean…" her words seized.

"It's gaining a following though. It's spreading."

Celeste unwound with a sigh. "Seems that way."

Ryan folded his arms in front of him. "Whatever this is, we gotta protect ourselves. I mean, it's in Atlantic City, so we're already pretty fucked."

A radio on Ryan's desk suddenly crackled to life. "Manhawk, this is Beach Head. Come in." The voice was gruff and gravelly.

Ryan and Celeste looked to each other.

"Manhawk, this is Beach Head, come in! It's important!"

"Seems Harry's rattled about something," Celeste bemused.

Ryan frowned and rose to get the radio. "Beach Head, this is Manhawk, go ahead."

"Manhawk, we gotta DEFCON 1. Unidentified aircraft over Toms River."

Ryan huffed. "Harry, we don't do DEFCON. We do the colours thing. You know, code red…and so on." Ryan paused and gathered himself, Harry's last statement fully wrapping itself around his brain. "Wait, what's this about an aircraft?"

"Came in off the water. Looks like it made a U-ey out to Seaside Heights."

Ryan's face was long in awe. "Holy shit." He blinked out of his trance. "Thanks, Harry." He flicked his way down the dial.

The settlements along Route 9 from Ocean Township up the state to Beachwood began the quick and silent process of taking shelter. The unidentified aircraft had come and gone before anyone knew what they had seen. The settlements' guards had come and shuffled people out of their homes to secure locations: old farm bunkers, barns, community centers – anywhere nondescript or out of sight. The whole while, residents excitedly chattered about how the ship was almost silent as it streaked across the evening sky. No one saw it land, no one saw it return. They just knew it was no military chopper.

Route 9 was suddenly a bustle with trucks and cars as whoever could be spared from the lockdown effort was sent en route to the ship's last known location. Ryan relayed from Harry the ship had been last seen out towards Seaside Heights on the strip the other side of Barnegat Bay towards the ocean. Ari piloted the lead Manahawkin truck, one of four. Their eyes were locked in their default stern glare on the road ahead.

Guarav's eyes were wide as he surveyed the dozen or so tail lights ahead of them on the little two-lane highway. The sun was getting low, the mighty treelines accelerating night's fall.

"Do you think it could be Wakandan?" Guarav said.

Ari glanced at him with a cocked eyebrow. They ran their fingers through their long hair, mopped back in a flow down to the back of their shoulders. "I dunno, man."

"Do you think this is someone who's seen Thanos?" Guarav's eyes flashed and he turned in his seat like a whippet. "Holy shit! Do you think this is an Avenger!?"

"Dude!" Ari snapped. "Enough!"

Guarav shrank back in his seat. "Sorry."

"Look, let's just focus on getting there, alright?"

Guarav nodded.

"Scout, this is Manhawk, sitrep, over," Ryan commanded over the truck's radio.

Ari grabbed the mic off the console. "Manhawk, this is Scout. Coming up on Bayville. About twelve miles out. Over."

"Roger that. Out."

They were swallowed into the remains of the sprawling suburbs of Berkeley and Beachwood. The homes around them had mostly been razed: some had been blown to shards or dissolved away by the elements, others had burned to their bases like overcooked meat with a bite taken out of it. Some of the sideroads showed signs of life, sheet metal gates being the most common sign. Some had been closed, some others were open, funneling out further reinforcements onto the growingly crowded road.

Ari looked to the vehicle up next to them. The cab was filled with three men on a bench seat, all heavyset and shrouded in beards and unkempt hair. In the bucket were younger fighters and the crew's gear.

Two smaller cars with roof racks crammed with weapons and other gear snaked passed on the shoulder. The troops in the buckets of the trucks winced against the dust and rocks kicked up in the cars' wake.

There were trucks at Guarav's window too, similarly filled. His head swiveled with a dirt bike as it whipped by on the grass, the driver with a rifle slung across their back. Its whiny engine was like a mating call as three more swooped past, the similarly armed driver's up on their feet, their bodies bouncing as the bikes did. Guarav turned to Ari and noticed a vein protruding on the side of their head.

"I…I thought this was a search and rescue," Guarav said.

"Yeah, me too," Ari grunted. "Just let me concentrate please."

"Yo, Scout, this is Cub," Ari's radio crackled again. "Seein' a lotta straps out here. Like, we're packing light. Did we miss something?"

Ari loudly snatched the mic up. "Yeah, I can see that! Just stay on my ass, okay?"

"Copy."

The truck's engine kicked and Ari wove their way gradually up through the crowd.

It wasn't long before Ryan and Celeste heard the transmissions from Toms River updating as the convoy rumbled through. Status reports flittered across the air waves tracking the waves of troops moving through. Some was banter between familiar voices, cracking inside jokes. The chatter changed as the convoy followed Route 9 to the center of town then made a right going east on 37, on the last leg to Seaside Heights. Ahead was nothing but black. It was thick, especially as they neared the water.

Ryan noticed in his peripheral Celeste's scowling demeanor. Her face was scrunched, rested on the knuckles of her fist.

"There a problem?" he said.

Celeste's eyes shifted to him then back to the radio. "They're making a lot of noise."

Ryan's focus settled on the radio. The chatter was like a gusty wind between vehicles, and to-and-from settlements.

"Lemme check something," Celeste said, shooting her hand for the dial.

Ryan frowned as Celeste turned the knob on the side of the device. It crackled as she traveled across frequencies, all like foreign roads shrouded in dense fog. But like figures indistinguishable in the haze, voices faintly permeated. Some faded, some grew louder and clearer.

"Gauntlet, X-Ray, code purple in Toms River."

The voices were heavy and bubbled with static, but almost into perfect clarity.

"X-Ray, Gauntlet, roger that. You got the green."

"Roger."

The air was silent. Celeste and Ryan stared at the radio with half-lidded, exhausted eyes.

"Shit," Celeste hissed as she grabbed the mic and fiddled her way back to the convoy chatter. "Scout, this is Manhawk, come in!"

"Scout, this is Manhawk come in!"

Ari grumbled at the stirring radio as they strained their eyes through the truck's headlights against the night and other tail lights.

"Scout, this is Manhawk, come in!"

Ari gruffly sighed. "Guarav, get that!"

Guarav shot to attention and snatched up the mic with vigour but trepidation. "Manhawk, this is Scout – uh – we read you."

"Scout, we're picking up military chatter. Brace for incoming hostiles."

"Fuck!" Ari snapped, then shot out their hand for the mic. "Give me that!"

Guarav plopped the mic in Ari's hand.

"Say again, Manhawk," Ari ordered.

"We're picking up military chatter, believed to be hostiles converging on your area."

"Birds or boots?"

"Unclear right now, but assume birds."

"Fuck! Okay. Out."

One hand on the wheel and eyes checking the road in glances, Ari fiddled with the channel buttons on the radio then armed the mic. "All units responding, this is Scout-Manhawk. Be advised: Manhawk reporting hostile troops on approach."

Ryan's eyes flashed as the radio suddenly sparked with chatter. Ari had barely finished their sentence before settlements or lead vehicles were recalling their troops. Ryan looked to Celeste. Her brow was furrowed as she stared at the radio, as if watching the event.

Ari's foot deftly danced between the gas and the break, their hands kissed the wheel dodging other vehicles' sudden brake lights and U-turns.

Celeste swiveled to Ryan. "We should call ours back as well."

Ryan looked at her with derisive amusement. "Are you nuts? This might be a Wakandan aircraft! Maybe even Avengers! We're not letting the fucking U.S. Army take that from us!"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters if we want to survive the coming years. Things haven't been right since people turned to fucking ash, especially with the military." He fully turned to her in his seat. "It's all around us."

A coolness settled over Celeste like a morning dew. She looked to Ryan.

"Manhawk, this is Scout. Convoy's breaking off, we're gonna do the same."

Ryan grabbed the mic in a split reaction. "Negative, Scout! Hold course!"

"What the fu–say again?"

"You heard me, Scout, hold course, that's an order!"

Ari's face quietly soured. "Copy that." They slammed the mic back into its holster. They could feel Guarav's puppy-dog look in their peripheral.

"This is going to be a meatgrinder," he said, staring forlornly through the windshield.

"Yup," Ari flatly replied.

"Scout, this is Cub, we not buggin' out?"

Ari sighed and grabbed the mic. "Negative."

Cub paused briefly. "They know the U.S. fuckin' Army is coming after whatever this thing is, right?"

"Yup, but our orders are the same."

"Shit, alright, roger that."

Ari let the mic fall next to them in the console cup holder.

The night over Seaside Heights was nearly impregnable. The ocean and the dark were one, flooding everything and turning it to nothing. The ocean had filled in the shores and a few streets. They got off 37 and headed south on 35. The buildings that still stood rotted from the inside out in the town-come-swamp. The streets were a slalom of debris that the tide had carried in: rusted shells of dingies, buoys, wood debris of docks, rocks, remnants of homes and shops.

Guarav rolled his window down as they crawled toward the south end of the town. Save for sigh of the ocean a block east, just the other side of the ruins, the town was silent. The only movement was the small Manahawkin convoy weaving its way out of Seaside Heights into the moist underbrush of Shore Road. As they continued to track south, the trees built up around them, absorbing the breaths of the waves.

Ari felt the tremors in their hands and their stomach ready to leap up out their throat. They sighed and reached for their radio. "Manhawk, this is Scout. We're southbound on Shore Road outside of Seaside. Should be coming up on the landing site any minute now."

"Roger that, Scout," Celeste replied. "Any sign of hostiles?"

"Negative," Ari replied, their eyes skipping over their mirrors. "All seems quiet."

"Roger. Continue your search."

"Copy." They flicked channels on their radio. "Cub, this is Scout. Any sign of the Army?"

"Negative, Scout, we good."

"Okay, roger that."

They set the mic back on the dash and refocused on the road. Their eyes were jittery, flickering across the road and into the treelines. The road appeared stuck in an infinite loop of trees and brush with no end in sight, the headlights only giving them a few hundred yards of sight.

"You seem tense," Guarav said, his tone of gentle concern.

Ari flexed their jaw, adjusting their posture.

"You alright?" Guarav said.

Ari glanced impatiently at Guarav and stretched their neck.

"Is this about the Army?" Guarav said.

"I couldn't give two shits about some dick-measuring boy scouts," Ari growled.

Guarav recoiled.

Ari sighed and recentered themselves in their seat. "It's this ship. What if it's Wakandan?"

"Well, what then?"

Ari scowled. "What do you mean 'well, what then?' Wakanda was the last place anybody saw the Avengers!" They whipped their head to Guarav for a reaction, but he appeared unphased.

"You think the Avengers would come to Seaside?" Guarav said, his voice fraught with flat disbelief.

Ari scrunched their face, eyeing Guarav in their peripherals. "Maybe not all. But some. Some of them were American."

"But they'd be, like, probably pretty old by now. If they're even alive."

Ari stewed. "'Kay, well, whoever was on that ship was enough to light a fire under the Army's collective ass."

Guarav's brow tented as he looked out the windshield into the ever-repeating scenery. His face suddenly exploded in terror. "OH, SHIT, LOOK OUT!"

Like a tidal wave, the headlights suddenly washed over two large figures standing in the road. Ari's foot stomped the brake and they threw the wheel hard left. The air was shredded with the squealing tires of the four trucks as all drivers desperately tried to avoid a collision. Ari's truck swooped off the road out the other side of a ditch into the underbrush of the treeline. The truck came down on two wheels and skidded over on its side, gratingly carving a rut through the forest floor. The truck ground to a halt, the passenger side embedded in the dirt. The forest rumbled with an explosive crash and a squeaking snap elsewhere among the trees.

Ari blinked themselves out of a daze and into the throbbing ache of their head. Their joints felt cramped and taught, but all seemed to be okay upon wiggling their appendages.

Voices from the road, coated in the fuzz and haze of the distance and the crash, drifted to Ari's ears.

"Stay where you are!"

"Keep your hands where we can see them!"

"Someone radio Manahawkin!"

Ari tried to move but couldn't get a grip. Their weight shifted with something spongy underneath. A grunt arose and Ari's head snapped down, realizing they were currently squishing Guarav between themselves and the ground.

"Fuck, dude," Ari gasped, attempting to clammer their way between the seats, "are you alright?"

Guarav faintly groaned as he shifted, his eyelids shut in a flutter. Ari managed to squeeze their way to backseats of the truck then got themselves reoriented to the front.

"Guarav!" Ari commanded.

"Yeah, yeah, I think I'm good," he said with a strain.

Ari poked their head into the cockpit to take full account of Guarav's state. He was scrunched up against the back of the seat and his legs were wedged up on the dash under the windshield.

"Well, you're looking real stuck," Ari stated.

Guarav winced. "I'm afraid to look."

"Just sit tight, dude."

"'Cause I was really about to just make a break for it," Guarav muttered to himself.

Ari got themselves between the seats on their side, resting their buttocks against the upturned console for leverage. They pressed on the backs of the seat, their hands anchors like they were a crane prepping to swing a wrecking ball. They curled into a ball, their legs up to their core. They took a breath and fired their feet, heel first into the windshield. Her ankles rattled with the impact and a dull pain reverberated across their feet. They reeled their legs back in and then fired again. The windshield trembled. They reloaded and fired again and a crack formed. They wound up and sprung their legs again. The ambience of the outside whisked into full clarity in the cabin as the windshield dislodged.

"Almost got it," Ari grunted through breaths as they brought their legs back in.

The voices of the other trucks echoing through the darkness of the road stabbed at any silence they hoped to hang onto in that moment.

"I can't get a signal!"

"Yo shit where the fuck Cub?"

A cool, baritone voice pierced the panic, though the words incomprehensible at Ari's distance.

"Did they say no signal?" Guarav grunted.

Ari was frozen about to fire, their face deadpan. "Yup."

"The Army?"

"Probably."

"Well, are you gonna get me outta here?!"

Ari sighed with a frustrated swivel of their head. "I'm fuckin' trying, dude!"

They rebraced themselves then fired with an aching scream. Their heels smashed the windshield with a crunch and an acrid, gravelly tear. It was visibly apart from the frame on the upturned driver's side.

"Fuck yes! We gettin' there!" Ari cheered.

From there it was rapid, flat kicks at the point which the windshield bent, their calves and quads flexing and swelling as they pushed. The weatherproofing whined and scraped as it was forced from its lodging until it eventually popped off into the grass.

"Oh thank god!" Guarav loudly sighed in relief. He slid out through the window frame and collapsed on his stomach in the grass with a moan.

"You're welcome," Ari said, landing in the grass next to him.

Guarav looked from her feet planted next to his face, up to Ari's smug face and their outstretched hand. He clasped their wrist, they grasping his and hoisted him to his feet. He stumbled once upright, grappling to Ari for support. They adjusted him, getting his arm over and around their shoulders and planting their arm around his waist. Ari walked the two of them back over the brush towards the highway.

"Scout! Scout!"

"Ari!"

"We're over here!" Ari called out, holding in place.

Their ears tracked the crinkling of the plants under boots as their squad combed the forest.

"You alright?"

"Save for some sleepy legs, we're Gucci!"

The whispers of movement ceased. There was no response. The forest was silent. Ari's face dropped at the sudden solitary stillness.

"Wait what?" finally came a voice echoing off the trunks.

"We-uh we're good!" They looked to Guarav whose face was as perplexed as they expected. "Something I heard Ryan say once."

"Wha-?"

"I dunno, but it just kinda rolls off the tongue."

Seconds later, two large, burly men, made larger from the gear they were carrying, brandishing their rifles and wide-eyed emerged from the brush.

"We found 'em!" one shouted out into the forest.

They both looked to Ari with semblance of relief. "Good to see you're alright, sarge."

Ari smiled.

"Yo, guys, we found Cub! We need the medic!" came a frantic call.

"Shit," Ari hissed. "Looks like you're up, Guarav."

The four hurried through the brush, the men up front patting down the brush to clear a path. Ari swung Guarav onto their back, furiously trying to keep pace. The men had a call-and-response going with the others at the Cub position to maintain course.

They broke through dense overgrowth of long-stemmed, large-leafed plants and grass to behold the carnage. The remaining crews stood in awe around what was left of Cub. The truck had been folded like an accordion from the hood back, wrapped around a tree. The force of the impact had snapped the trunk, the tree collapsing back on the truck compressing the roof down into the cabin, leaving but a tiny slit where the windshield would have been. The scene was inset within a field of glass shards and wood chips. The group turned to the four approaching with solemn faces. A woman tenuously gestured beyond the scene. Ari set Guarav down and followed the woman's direction ahead of the truck. They came to the ridge of an embankment down towards the beach. Ari snapped a hand to their face seeing the first body at the bottom of the crest face down in the sand. Their eyes followed the trajectory of the bits of the truck that had made it this far to find the second body squished against a low rock breakwall.

A pair of uneven, tender steps came to rest next to them.

"The one at the rocks is definitely gone," Guarav whispered. "I'll see to the one in the sand."

Ari nodded rapidly, anything to shoo the conversation away. They whirled around back to the group. "Someone go with him!"

The woman who had directed them jogged over and helped Guarav down to the beach. Ari swallowed and turned back to the wreck. As they approached the tree and truck, their eyes were compelled to the break in the trunk where the truck was jammed. They noticed the discolouration, something messy, something spilling out from underneath the fallen trunk. They peered as they walked passed and immediately winced away, seeing what was left of a third body splattered under the weight and force of the tree against the truck. What had caught their eye were the fingers on a hand, likely all that was left intact. What had spilled out over the hood around the trunk was the fluid squeezed out like a juiced orange. They held a scrunched hand up between their mouth and nostrils on their sour, pained face.

Ari grouped with the rest of the squad and joined the silence under breaths of wind and waves rolling off the beach. Most anyone could muster was a headshake or a sigh. They scanned over the group, some with hands on their hips, or arms folded across their chests shifting on and off their heels, those with longer hair letting it be blown across their faces. Their eyes came to rest on two men, larger than most of the rest of the group. They were distinct despite their ratty hoodies and the nylon vests they wore over them, one wearing a bulky backpack.

The first man, the man with the backpack, was broad chested and shouldered. He had hair that had at one point been a shade of blonde, but had dirtied to something darker. It was long and swooped back down behind his ears. From behind a salt and pepper beard was a face in a perennial, trained scowl, though somewhat softened by bright, baby blue eyes. He had a rifle slung across his chest and his hands buried in his vest pockets. The second man was impossible to conceal. He was fit and muscular, though of a more slender frame than his compatriot. His hair was short and bright blonde, coming to a messy peak out over his forehead. His beard was of a closer cut, though still unkempt. In his one hand was a crowbar that he rested up against his shoulder.

"You the ones in from Wakanda?" Ari said.

Their eyes snapped to them.

"Yeah, I know," Ari crooned. "Captain Rogers. Thor."

The two men shifted on their feet. The rest of the group looked to Ari.

"Yeah, it's true," they said in endearment that thinly veiled bored sarcasm. "They are who we've been told about. The Avengers."

Steve went to rebut, but Thor held a hand out in front.

"Yes, alright, it's true," Thor said. "We are the Avengers."

"We're what's left," Steve said.

The group turned to Steve and Thor, their faces a mosaic of awe, reverence, adulation, disdain and detestation.

"Look, we get it, alright," Thor addressed them. "Things weren't ideal the way it all happened. But what's it been like…what…" He tilted his posture, looking to Steve, but Steve's stance was a stone wall, his hands tucked to the front waist of his pants. "Like…I dunno…alright, look, seriously, I don't know."

"Twenty years," Ari said.

Thor met Ari's eyes, their face aglow with amusement.

"Twenty years," Thor eagerly repeated as he found a way out of his growing hole, "which, I'm fairly confident is a long time for you all. Right?"

The group was silent, still in their various forms of awe or disgust.

"Okay, well, in any case, that was then, this is now. And right now an army is bearing down upon us, right?"

The group was still silent.

"Really? You can't even just confirm that one teensie-weensie fact?"

Ari sighed heavily. "Yeah, that's right."

Thor gestured in ostensible graciousness at Ari. "Thank you, uh…."

"Ari."

"Ari! Thank you." Thor tapped his crowbar to the ground. There was a bright burst of lightning and the roar of thunder. The crowbar had vanished and at Thor's side was the mighty battle axe Stormbreaker. "So, I vote we focus on the now and not the then. I mean, for your sake really." Thor rested proudly on Stormbreaker's hilt as he watched his words sink into each member of the group and drudge up their better judgement.

Steve lifted his rifle. "Thor's right. We can make use of the forest for cover and set up an ambush. We're not many, but we play our cards right we can bleed 'em dry and disorient them, force them into retreat."

"I can't speak for their air force," Ari said, "but the only way their ground troops can come from is north. The only mainland connection is back up in Seaside."

The group turned to footsteps approaching from the ditch. Their eyes met the morose faces of Guarav and the soldier. Guarav looked to Ari and shook his head. Ari's lips tightened and her gaze fell to the ground. Thor watched the exchange then his own gaze set on the wreck.

"Has anyone managed to establish a radio signal?" Steve asked one final time of the group.

Each soldier looked from one to another, but all were met with shaking heads.

Steve grimaced. "Alright. Looks like we're on our own here. So let's do this right." He pointed a finger at the truck. "Let's not let these deaths be for nothing. This'll be a marathon, not a sprint."

The group vigorously nodded, one letting loose a "HOORAH!" Steve looked to Thor with an accomplished smirk. Thor rolled his eyes.

"Alright! Let's get into positions!" Ari ordered.

The group hustled off into the trees as Ari came up next to Steve and Thor.

"Didn't know you were a Marine, Rogers," Ari teased.

Steve chuckled and shook his head. "Me neither."

Ari tentatively shared in the chuckle, then jogged ahead with the rest of the group as Thor came up next to Steve.

"That was a great little pep talk about 'those deaths not being for naught and such," Thor said delicately, "but, uh, do you think they'll catch on those guys are dead 'cause we were standing in the middle of a highway at night?"

Steve grimaced with a strained sigh. "Let's hope they don't."

"Yeah, no, absolutely," Thor said. "Just a thought."

Ryan stormed down the tent from the rear quarters. His eyes were heavy and half-lidded. One corner of his lip was curled in such a way to just barely reveal his clenched teeth. The few in the mess area watched the frazzled man as he bore towards the front flaps, his steps heavy and the swing in his arms dramatic.

The flaps burst to one side as Ryan emerged, but Celeste's drag on her cigarette was undisturbed. Ryan stood staring at her, his face granite. Veins bubbled in the side of his head as his eyes followed the smoke trail that plumed out of Celeste's lips.

"Do you know how long it's been!" Ryan snapped.

Celeste tapped the ash off her butt. Her grip slipped and she tapped the cigarette out of her hands. She fumbled for it, but it fell to the grass all the same. She sighed then stretched out her back, her hands on the backs of her hips. "Like, half an hour."

"Yeah, like, half an hour," Ryan mimicked with venom. "AND YOU'RE OUT HERE HAVING A FUCKING CIGARETTE!"

Celeste shuddered a moment. She swiveled her head to Ryan and swished her hair back in one, swift, furious motion. "I am having a fucking cigarette! Why? Because we can't pick up shit and I'm losing my fucking mind in there!" She turned the rest of her body and advanced on the irate man. "And what's more, you fucking zoned out again, Ryan! Where the fuck are you!" She cocked her head, Ryan shrinking back. "Huh? You back in Texas or some shit?"

"Um, excuse me," a voice croaked from behind Ryan.

The two set their weaponized glares on a pudgy, balding man under an equally pudgy jacket peaking out of the tent.

"What is it!" Ryan barked.

"Just…uh, there's something happening on the radio."

Ryan's face turned to ice and he took a step towards the man. "Were you eavesdropping on my–"

"Forget it, Ryan, let's go," Celeste commanded, dragging him by the arm back inside.

They breezed through the mess tent back to the rear quarters where the radio had come alive with the fuzz of chatter just out of reach. Celeste swooped over and grabbed the dial, fiddling it until they found the heavy voices bubbling in the static.

"Gauntlet, Hawk-five, coming in over the strip. We got eyes on Bale."

"Hawk-five, Gauntlet, roger that. Hostiles should be deaf."

"Roger that."

"We gotta find Bale," Ryan said breathlessly, swatting Celeste's hand off the dial.

He scanned the frequency with his ear to the speaker. All that came to meet him was the same static mist, though there appeared to be no one beyond. He slowed his scan, but the mist was still unwavering.

"They're jamming comms," Celeste muttered.

"Yeah, no shit," Ryan growled as he angrily scanned.

It was then a voice broke through the mist. "Roger that, Gauntlet, we're just out of Seaside southbound."

"Roger, Bale, proceed with caution. Hawk just warned of hostiles in the area."

"Copy that."

"Stick with this channel, this must be their ground troops," Celeste said.

Ryan nodded. He reached between his legs and pulled the chair behind him in to sit. Celeste whisked across the room and grabbed her own, joining Ryan at the radio like it was a TV set.

"Bale, Hawk-two, over what looks like a crash site about four miles south of your position."

"Roger, Hawk-two. Any heat?"

"Negative. Seems quiet."

Celeste and Ryan glanced at each other. Ryan hunched over his legs, his fingers tented tight against his lips. Celeste sat stiff, her arms folded across her chest, scrunching her body into itself.

"Gauntlet, Bale, two miles from target, over."

"Roger, Bale."

The radio crackled and fizzed idly. It was occasionally broken by local chatter amongst the Bale platoon.

"Tortoise-two, vehicle check."

"Fuel at seven-five and we're riding smooth."

"Roger, Tortoise-two. Shell-one, vehicle check."

"Fitted and fueled. Treads caught a bit of a deer back in Seaside, but we're not hearing it anymore."

"Roger, Shell-one."

The status reports repeated in monotonous disaffection as Bale proceeded, occasionally broken up with banter. Ryan's leg bounced rapidly, seemingly unbeknownst to either him or Celeste. Celeste still had one arm wrapped over herself while she nibbled the nails of the other hand. Her eyes met Ryan's; the heat of her concern collided with the cold front of his impatience with the situation. The storm that ensued was deep-throated sighs and tensed jaws, turning their gazes away from one another. Both had scolding and rebuttal armed for the other, but neither wanted to fire the first shot.

"Gauntlet, Bale, we've reached the target, code three."

"Sitrep, Bale."

"Confirm evidence of a crash: skids, vehicles. Not seeing anyone around."

"Roger that, Bale. We'll have Hawk in holding."

"Roger, Gauntlet."

The tension between Celeste and Ryan slacked. They gathered themselves out of their posturing.

"What the fuck?" Ryan muttered.

Celeste ran her fingers through her hair, settling back heavily in her seat. "Well, I mean, if they're not there, military can't get them. Could be a misdirection tactic."

"Yeah, but, a crash, Celeste," Ryan argued, hitting heavy on the first and last syllables in her name. "How they fuck did they manage that. It's open road right down the strip."

"Maybe they were trying to avoid something?"

"Like what?"

"Like a fucking animal?" Celeste jabbed.

"Or whatever came off that ship," Ryan grumbled.

Celeste leaned around to face him, her arms folded across her stomach. "Where's all that vigour gone? Thought this was important for our survival?"

"Gauntlet, Bale, code three remaining." The static mist cleared before Ryan could respond.

"Go ahead, Bale."

"Confirmed four trucks, but only found three rebs. All deceased."

"Roger, Bale. Any ID on the dead?"

"Negative."

"Roger. "Confirm COD?"

"Went off the road into a tree. Skids suggest they were trying to avoid something."

"Roger that. Continue your search."

"Copy that. We got eyes on Hawk coming in."

"Roger." The chopping of the rotors swelled in the background before Bale closed communication.

And then silence.

"Shit," Celeste breathed.

"So they actually are AWOL," Ryan said.

"MIA," Celeste corrected, a tad agitated.

"Well, they've gone off the book and we can't get in touch so–"

"GAUNTLET, BALE, MAYDAY! MAYDAY! CODE BLUE!" The voice of the panicking soldier fought helplessly for dominance over din of the torrential battle. The static was peppered with gunshots and ripped to the bone by explosive blasts. "I SAY AGAIN! MAYDAY! CODE BLUE!"

"What the fuck is a code blue!" Ryan bellowed. "Do we know what a code blue is!?"

"Would you shut up!" Celeste barked.

"Bale, Gauntlet, confirm code blue."

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU – THOR AND – SHIT" A crash and roar momentarily overpowered the soldier's voice and the rest of the skirmish. "THOR AND ROGERS! HAWK IS DOWN! WE'RE OVERRUN! REQUIRE EVAC!"

"Roger that, Bale, proceed to extraction site."

"WE WON'T MAKE THE FUCKING EXTRACTION SITE!"

"Unacceptable, Bale. Proceed to extraction site."

"GAUNTLET WE'RE DY–" a blast, abrasive and massive crippled the airwaves and entirely shrouded any other noise. The soldier's panic momentarily surfaced in the waves of noise, but was distant and a moment from drowning again. There was a large caliber blast that razed any chatter, and the soldier's cries drowned again. The air on the other end of the radio bubbled and flared into a thunderous cresecendo before the comm went dead.

"Bale, Gauntlet, sitrep."

There was no response. Not even the pop and crash of battle.

"Bale, Gauntlet, respond."

The radio remained silence. Celeste and Ryan had hunched over the table from the edges of their seats.

"Bale, Gauntlet, respond!"

The radio clicked and for a moment Celeste and Ryan were back in the mist, waiting for whoever had just picked up the radio to emerge.

"Nice welcome wagon, boys," a gruff, regal, baritone voice sneered.

"Thor, put that down!" a second, lighter voice came emerged from the background, briefly. The radio cut out.

A second click came through and the static had totally dissipated, leaving Celeste and Ryan to themselves.

"Shit shit shit shit," Celeste hissed as she fumbled back along the frequencies.

"Manhawk, do you read, over," Ari said, their voice proudly emerging on the radio band.

"Scout, this is Manhawk, we read you!" Celeste said. "What's the situation!"

"We won! And picked up some hitchhikers. We're headed back home now. See you in a few hours."

"Roger, Scout. Out."

Celeste let the mic fall on the table with a clatter as she fell back in her chair. She and Ryan unwound in slouches and focused on steadying their breathing. They glanced at each other as their hands clapped in a high-five.

"Told you it was misdirection," Celeste said.