September 22, 2012

"Again?" Sirius said, staring up at the giant humanoid robotic ... things hovering above and around the Empire State Building. "Are you kidding me? They do realise that there are other cities on the planet, right? This shit never happened in England."

"Certainly not. We only had to worry about lunatic dark wizards trying to kill us."

And that last horde of rabid anti-werewolf nutters trying to burn down our house with Fiendfyre last month, Sirius thought, and knew Remus was thinking it too. All things considered, aliens and giant Muggle robot rampages were probably safer, and definitely much more fun.

"I hear Saskatchewan is quiet this time of year," Remus said, shifting the bag of groceries to his left hand and drawing his wand with his right.

.

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December 14, 2012

What the hell was it with evil masterminds these days, Clint wondered as he targeted another of the flying—yellow jellyfish that shot some kind of electrical charge was the best way to describe them, really—and fired off another arrow. There were always criminals, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had no shortage of enemies, but ever since the incident with the Chitauri and Loki—he clenched his jaw and swiveled, firing off another arrow—they seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork like fucking termites.

Well, he supposed, if they were going to go around playing superheroes, it seemed fitting that supervillains were just par for the course. Except, these jellyfish things were far more nuisance than destructive threat; even worse were the "Good Samaritan" citizens who tried to help by shooting them down with their handguns. Or attempting to. Tony was cursing over the comm channel as another bullet pinged off his armor, and he could hear the NYPD loudspeaker from one of their cruisers urging citizens to holster their personal weapons and cease firing. Fat lot of good that was doing.

The irony was, the building next to him was a goddamned correctional facility. He thought about that for a second and frowned. "Hey, Cap. Brick building on the corner of 20th is a correctional facility. Better make sure Hulk stays as far away as possible. Just in case."

"Crap," Steve said. "That's all we need. Copy that, Hawkeye, and thanks."

"Yup," he said, loosing another arrow.

A bullet whizzed by over his head from somewhere below on the street, and he cursed loudly as he ducked in front of an HVAC unit. "Fucking hell!"

"Hawkeye, report," Coulson said in a terse, clipped tone.

"I'm fine, sir. But they've got to do something about these assholes with their guns. They can't aim for shit, and they're a fucking menace."

He stood up when no new shots were forthcoming and glanced two blocks down the street where Cap was herding a group of people into the lobby of a building, covering them with his shield. Natasha was taking cover behind one of the abandoned cars on the West Side Highway, and he watched as she shot down three of the jellyfish in succession and reloaded. Hulk was safely up near the Hudson Yards—better he smash a bunch of train cars than buildings—and Tony and Thor were in the air.

Thor's hammer was a bit of overkill for these things, considering their small size, but anything to get the job done. There were hundreds of the damn things still flying around. It was cold out, especially now that the sun had set, and he wanted a fucking drink after this was all over. At least the news helicopters were keeping their distance, well out of the way over the Hudson River near the Jersey shore, after the first one to arrive was swarmed by the jellyfish and nearly crashed. Whatever station that was owed Thor big time.

"Understood," Coulson replied, and Clint could hear his shared frustration and annoyance in those three syllables. There was a faint click, and Coulson was back, sounding softer this time. "Clint, get off the roof. You can shoot just fine from ground level, and Tony can direct from the air if necessary. How are you on ammo?"

"I'm good, Phil. Only half empty. Concentrating on the ones that are attacking and leaving the rest for the others." He shot off another arrow, and a jellyfish fell to the ground, DOA. "What the hell are these things? Well, I can see what they are. Flying jellyfish tasers or something. Jesus, that sounds ridiculous. But they're not exactly doing anything. What's the fucking point except to annoy the shit out of us?"

"Hell if I know," Coulson said, and Clint could picture him rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"There's an entire city for them to fly around and cause all kinds of trouble, and we'd be screwed if they did. But they're only concentrated here near the river, and even then, what? A twenty- or thirty-block radius? They haven't moved inland much beyond 9th or 10th Avenue. It doesn't make any sense."

"I noticed that, too. Stark's been scanning for anything submerged in the river, a submarine or a beacon, anything projecting a signal, but nothing so far." Coulson paused for a couple of seconds, and then added, "If you get shot up there by some vigilante cowboy, I'm going to kill you myself."

Clint laughed. "Roger that. Sir." The comm clicked again, and he heard Cap trying to convince the Hulk to refrain from smashing any buildings or trains, and just swat the flying things down. Right. Good luck with that. The Hulk was an excellent ally to have at your back in a fight, but he tended to smash the shit out of things that he felt were in his way.

Clint nocked another arrow and stood poised, ready to fire, when he heard a loud crack. He turned his head and saw the silhouette of a person on the adjacent roof. Oh great, another fucking hero wannabe. The figure peered over the edge of the roof, and Clint tried to follow his line of sight. Nat was now three blocks south, her back to them both as she tracked more of the jellyfish while she herded a few remaining stragglers from a bus.

He glanced back up at the figure and saw it point something in her direction.

"Nat! Move left and take cover!" She didn't hesitate and dove to the side, rolling herself underneath the bus as a jet of red light struck the spot where she'd been only seconds earlier. He loosed an arrow at the figure, but there was another crack, and the figure disappeared seconds before the arrow reached it.

"What the fuck?"

He heard a crack behind him and he dropped to the ground in front of the HVAC again on instinct as a jet of red light flashed over his head. "Nat," he whispered into the comm. "Stay down. Someone's hunting."

"Copy," she said.

A male voice chuckled. "You're a wily one, aren't you," it said in accented English. "No matter. I wanted the woman, but you'll do just as well."

Well, fuck me, he thought, pressing the button on his quiver and drawing a concussive arrow. Now the jellyfish were starting to make sense. Maybe.

"Talk to me, Barton," Coulson said in his ear, but he ignored it for the moment, listening for any sounds from the man on the roof with him. Nothing. Shit. He was a sitting duck. He considered calling Tony or Thor, but he didn't have a visual on either, and he had no idea what kind of weapon he was up against.

The man chuckled again. "You Muggles are always so much fun," he said, and Clint could tell he was getting closer. No time for air support, then. He looked to the edge of the roof, less than two meters to his left. He knew there was a small, narrow balcony only four floors below. Piece of cake. That is, if he didn't trip and fall on his head. Or jump out too far.

"Barton!"

"Little busy, sir. On my way down," he whispered as he kicked some gravel to his right and dove to the left, the jet of light hitting his decoy as he'd hoped. He fired off his arrow as he vaulted over the side of the building and heard it explode above him as he fell.

"Goddamn it, Barton!"

His knees buckled slightly on impact, but he stayed on his feet, clicked his quiver mech again, drew the grappling hook arrow, and jumped backwards off the building, firing as he fell. The hook attached with a thunk, and he did his best to slow his descent, kicking off the side of the building with his feet as he grabbed the line and rappelled. He let go and jumped the last ten feet, half-limping, half-running around to the side of the building on 19th Street, looking up for any sign of his erstwhile attacker, jellyfish forgotten in the wake of more urgent matters.

Before he could tell Coulson to quit nagging, he was fine, there was another crack, and the man was standing before him in the street holding him at gunpoint. Son of a bitch!

"That was rather impressive," the man said. "I like tenacity. Makes things more interesting. However, it appears our little game is over. I win, of course."

Clint eyed the gun, which he realized wasn't a gun at all. It was some bizarre-looking tech gadget with LED lights on a thin stick about a foot long. He looked back up at the man's face, and his fingers twitched. He could draw an arrow in under a second and fire in another, but if that thing shot some kind of laser beam, he doubted it would be fast enough.

Fuck it, he thought, getting off his shot just as a bright yellow beam hit him in the stomach and the world collapsed around him.

He blinked, fighting off the dizziness that made him stagger, and struggled to his feet, twisting out from under a heavy strap. He blinked again, far too close to the sidewalk even though he could have sworn he was standing. He took a hesitant step back and yelped as he fell over onto his ass, and then rolled to get upright. He'd tripped over his quiver. He smelled blood, strong and coppery, too strong, and looked down, sure he must be bleeding out. He saw a long snout and fur, and he yelped again, backing up against the building, feeling panic welling up inside him. "What the fuck?" he shouted, or tried to. A series of barks issued from his throat, and he froze.

He looked up and saw the man had fallen back off the curb into the street, an arrow through his shoulder. The wound was bleeding freely, and the man cursed in a language Clint didn't recognize as he reached out to grab his weapon and struggled to his feet, his face twisted in a grimace. Clint heard the distant sound of running feet and a faint tinny buzzing of "Barton! Report, goddamn it! Stark, get over to his last position right now. Johnson, get his signal back!"

The man looked behind him, swaying and muttering as he raised the weapon again, pulling the stick from it and waving it in the air. There was a loud crack, and the man vanished.

Staring in disbelief, still feeling sick and disoriented, overwhelmed by scents, and unused to all the changes to his body, Clint did what his new instincts were screaming at him to do. He ran.