And armies of many
Are fighting their fights
Lost in the blackness
They're losing their sights
-Esben and the Witch, "Marching Song"

-XMF-

Twelve million people used to live in Moscow.

Now it was a ghost town.

The aliens said the crash was a malfunction. A mistake. An error. Much like the rest of the war.

But that didn't change the facts on the ground; when the ship came down on the streets of Moscow, it killed hundreds. And then there was the "reactor breach" that killed thousands.

And mutated many more.

Even if they hadn't been pregnant when they were exposed, women reported twisted, broken fetuses. Some...dealt with the problem, before birth. Others were only too happy to hand their children over to the Russian government.

Others, less so. But they were taken anyway.

Officially, the Elerium had contaminated the area for the next century, maybe longer. Completely uninhabitable, along with large portions of Russia. Mandatory evacuation. The government - what was left of it - moved to St. Petersberg.

The aliens were very, very sorry. Any Moscow mutant would be treated for free at one of their gene therapy clinics, of course. Unfortunately, all the aliens responsible died in the crash.

Any rumors that the Asgardian Thor was seen in town before the crash were completely unfounded.

And that left an empty city. Empty streets, empty houses.

Moscow was dead.

All that was left were the scavengers, picking over its bones.

-/-

David Bradford stood in a control room in Camp Philips, mug of coffee in hand, and almost, almostfelt normal. He even had a new sweater. Wasn't worn in like the old one, a little loose around the armpits, but still.

Bradford leaned toward the monitor. "See any dead aliens in there, Dummy?"

The view from the robot's camera moved left and right.

"That's what I thought."

The alien ship was a treasure trove of alien materials. Also, too hot to handle, even for the stalkers who eyed its carcass. Some tried, and the Dummy team walked over their corpses on the way in. The ones who didn't have the good sense to leave.

As bait went, it was pretty good. Especially since mutants were more resistant to Elerium radiation than most people. If anyone left the ship standing, HYDRA could just track them by satellite and swoop down on them like a hawk hunting a rabbit.

And no one else lived in the city.

Which made it a perfect staging area.

Bradford could've scratched some itch. He didn't. He was perfectly safe, and that itch was imaginary. And if the radiation shield failed, the cloak was down too, and he'd probably be dead of an entirely different type of radiation in short order.

Glowing green. Fired from a gun.

"Think we'll get a good haul?" someone said.

Bradford sat back, and shrugged. "We can always use more supplies."

He looked around. It had been easy to repurpose some big empty room, to run in cables and cords. The phone line were still active; more bait. With HYDRA's help, Stark and Vanko had put their heads together and piggybacked XCOM's external communications in the white noise of thousands of abandoned devices still phoning home.

Hiding in the screams of digital ghosts.

...Time for coffee.

Bradford beelined for the most full of the three coffeepots. He filled his cup, stared at it for a second, tried not to want a stiff drink. Failed. As he walked back to his seat, he fingered the sober chip in his pocket.

"Quinjet coming in," someone said. "One of ours."

"They're coming in, sir." On the screen, the aircraft shimmered out of cloak.

"Tell Okoye to greet 'em cordially," Bradford said.

-/-

The Oval Office was well lit. It contained, as one might expect, President Ellis. A desk, some chairs, some bookcases, assorted knickknacks. And a handful of Secret Service agents. And two identical men in black suits, standing behind the President on each side.

Nobody acknowledged them.

One of the agents touched his earpiece.

"Your wife is outside, sir."

"Well, let her in!"

The First Lady of the United States walked in. "Morning, Matty-"

The alarm went off.

The agents in the room tensed. Some touched their earpieces. Then they all looked at the twins.

The two identical men stared into the middle distance. Their cybernetic eyes twitched. Everyone in the room waited.

The twins blinked.

"The shelter," they said.

The agents grabbed Ellis and his wife, and hauled them out of the room, with the twins close behind. The people in the halls parted like water. The party was halfway to the elevator when one of the twins said "wait".

Everyone stopped on a dime.

The twin turned to face the First Lady. "Who are you?"

She blanched, pointed at Ellis. "I-I'm his wife."

"You do not feel like his wife." He caught her right arm. "You feel like nothing."

The second twin cocked his head. "I concur."

FLOTUS yanked her arm away. "Let go of me!"

"No." The first twin pulled her arm closer. "Your smell is wrong."

The First Lady wore a gold bracelet. It looked like a ring of long capsules, attached side-by-side. She formed a finger gun and said "bang".

One of the agents blinked.

The first twin stared at the First Lady. What was she-?

Then a pellet shot out of one of the capsules, through his cheek, and into the roof of his mouth.

He immediately let go of the FLOTUS, and attempted to remove the pellet.

The second twin grabbed FLOTUS, and looked her in the eyes. Then he passed his hand over her face, which rippled under his touch.

"A holographic disguise. Clever. Agents, arrest this woman."

The first twin reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. a few seconds work had the pellet in his hand.

It was round. Didn't need to be aerodynamic. But the most interesting feature was the little holes in it. Like it was designed to carry something.

He stared at it.

And then collapsed.

The second twin said "Render medical assi-"

The .357 SIG round blew his brain, hair, and skull across the hall, then buried itself in the antique crown molding.

You would've expected the Secret Service agents to jump, to turn their weapons on the one in their midst who had just murdered a man. But they, and the President, looked more like someone coming out of a deep sleep. Some staggered. Some collapsed. None looked like they were fighting fit.

FLOTUS looked around. "Thanks for the assist."

The rogue agent lowered his weapon, and looked at the fake FLOTUS. "What was that?"

"Poison pellet. Old Russian trick." She reached up, and deactivated her "face". Underneath was a featureless, grey head, attached to a featureless grey body.

She looked kind of like a mannequin wearing the First Lady's clothes.

At least until she pulled off the mask and revealed a young woman with green eyes and red hair. "Gah. Much better. How's your headache?"

The agent said "What heada-ow!"

"Yeah, that's just your real memories kicking in."

"I know I had to sneak under the psychics' radar, but couldn't they do it without the migraine?"

The redhead bent down, shone a light into an agent's eyes. Pupils dilating. Good. "Think that kind of compartmentalization would work on the Ethereals?"

"Maybe. If you had a really good psychic and they didn't look too close."

"Hm."

The President shook his head. "Wh-who are you?" His eyes widened. "What did you do with Marie?"

"Lincoln bedroom, asleep." The redhead rose, and spoke into her bracelet. "This is Widow. All clear, all clear."

The alarms cut out.

"Sorry about that, Mr. President. We needed your two psychic guard dogs distracted."

There was a chip of skull on her suit. She didn't seem to notice.

"I wanted to take them out in the Situation Room, but..." She shrugged, and pulled her zipper down. "Had to improvise."

Ellis looked at his shaking hands, bunched them into fists. "They had me for months."

"I know." She actually sounded sympathetic.

Then Ellis looked her up and down. "What are you wearing?"

"A telepathy-proof suit. Well, it's supposed to be. This was the field test."

Ellis nodded.

"Well, thank you. Whoever you are."

"Oh, right." She held out her hand. "Natasha Romanov, Agent of SHIELD."

"Okay..." Ellis pointed to the rogue agent. "So who's he?"

"Tony Masters, Agent of HYDRA."

Ellis' eyes widened, and he took a step back

"Don't worry," Romanov said. "He's one of the good terrorists."

Masters growled "I'm a contractor."

"Hands up!" someone shouted.

Romanov raised her hands and turned around. She didn't seem worried by all the very tense agents with guns. Actually, she looked irritated.

"Finally. Where were you people? I could've killed the President ten times by now!"

-/-

When the alarm went off - again - Tony dropped his copy of The Book of Five Rings, grabbed an extinguisher and and scurried into Test Room 101.

It smelt like ozone and burnt plastic.

The fire probably had something to do with that.

Tony blasted it with CO2, which just left him standing in a room full of smoke-

Someone slammed the door open. Tony couldn't see who, but something shifted on his skin. Something pulled the smoke past him, past the two people in the doorway, and up toward the workshop's open skylight.

The people in the doorway, as it happened, were a black girl in her teens with silvery hair in a mohawk, pale, blank eyes, and furrowed brows. And a middle aged woman in glasses with a raised eyebrow.

"I leave for five minutes, and everything goes to crap," Irene said.

Behind the pair were a short, hairy man, a tall, slim, teenage boy with red shades, and a normal looking brown-haired girl. And behind them, Okoye's Base Security team.

Mohawk lowered her arms, and her eyes faded back to normal. "Any other requests?"

"Uh, yeah. Who are you?"

Irene made the introductions. Chief Engineer Tony Stark, meet Logan, codename Wolverine, Ororo Munroe, codename Storm. Scott Summers, codename Cyclops. Kitty Pryde, codename, uh...

"Shadowcat," Kitty said. "Or maybe Sprite. Ariel?"

Irene sighed. "We'll figure that out later."

Slim - Summers - raised a hand. "Why didn't your fire suppression systems kick in?"

"We ran out of halon after the first three fires. This virus we're trying to develop has some seriousteething problems."

Irene cocked her head. "Get any viable candidates?"

Tony pointed at a row of flash drives on his desk, all in silver and red. "Handle those with gloves. When you're done, burn the gloves. Then burn the computer you used to transfer them. Then burn and salt the ashes. Don't get them wet, don't feed them after midnight..."

"It's that bad?"

"It's that bad. Unless the Ethereals have some really, really good antivirus, REDCOWL is absolutely guaranteed to mess up their day, or your money back." He spun around his chair. "By the way, what are you doing here?"

Captain's orders. Rogers wanted them in body armour and helmets - Tony promised Storm's mohawk would be okay afterward - then Okoye's team would escort them to bosslady's briefing.

Kitty blinked. "Aren't you coming, Miss Starkos?"

Irene shook her head. "I've got a suit to customize."

"You're going on the mission?"

"What? No, it's for someone else."

"It's in spot 3," Tony said. "You don't know the techs, but they'll give you anything you need."

"Thanks." Irene left the office.

Tony reached for his mug. "So, you're mutants, right?"

The cup was empty, but there was some coffee in the pot. Tony crossed the room and filled it up.

"That's right," Logan said.

Tony added cream and sugar, stirred. "So what do you do, exactly? We might need to customize suits around your powers." He took a sip of coffee.

And promptly sprayed it across the room.

Logan's nostrils flared. "You normally put salt in your coffee?"

Tony gritted his teeth. "No, I don't."

-/-

Pau-Stephanie sat down in the empty chair next to Bradford, and stared at a display.

"Irene bought that package from Pym. It's over there."

"Mmm." Stephanie picked up a headset, started to fiddle with it.

"She said Logan said he's good for that 20, and you'd know what it meant."

"Mmm."

"The Ethereals called. They'll be coming over at five."

Stephanie's eyes flicked to the left. "I'll break out the good china."

"I thought you weren't-"

"Mother of three, remember?"

"You cut your hair."

Stephanie ran a hand over her head. Her blonde locks were shorter now, more...practical. Maybe mom hair. "Yep."

"How were the kids?"

"Jamie was angry." Stephanie sighed. "At least she's talking to me. Unlike Chester."

"Kids can be like that. I mean, I've heard. Maybe when this is all over, I could meet her."

"Maybe." Stephanie frowned a little deeper, then turned to face Bradford. "Jamie's kid, Grant, wants to enlist."

"Smart kid."

"In the Navy."

"Really smart kid."

"What do you want on your tombstone?"

"Pepperoni and cheese."

Rogers blinked, from about a foot away. "What?"

There was a way to speak so your voice didn't carry. She used it now, just like David.

"90s joke. Pizza commercial. What do you want on your tombstone?" He smiled at her, briefly. "Why do you ask?"

"Vahlen finished the autopsy on Peggy."

"I'm sorry," Bradford said, though he wasn't sure what he was sorry for.

"She didn't find anything. Nothing about this 'Watcher' that supposedly gave her weird powers. No map to the Holy Grail in a pimple on her left a - left buttcheek."

"Supposedly?"

"I've seen the SHIELD records. The powers were there. But when the whatever it was left her, it left her normal. Relatively speaking." She rubbed her eyes. "And was sitting there, looking at the report, and I suddenly think when did I update my will?"

"...Are you okay?"

"No. I just keep... Do you ever wonder why we're here? I keep thinking 'what am I doing?' I've been saving the world on and off for, what, than fifty years? Couldn't it just stay saved for five minutes?"

"Maybe you need to let other people save it for once."

"I tried. Lord knows that I've tried. But they keep pulling me back in." She looked at him, and the lines on her face softened. "Of course, it isn't allbad. But I'm pretty sure they'll only let me rest when I'm dead."

Bradford looked around. Everyone in Mission control tried to look like they weren't listening. "Sure you don't want to discuss this someplace more private?"

"Well, then it would just look like a booty call," Stephanie said, matter-of-factly.

Bradford nearly choked on her coffee.

The woman shook her head. "I want to keep up the forward momentum."

Funny. She looked pretty young, usually. Then when you saw her like this, looked into her eyes-

"Kipling," David said.

"Kipling?"

"Kipling. He knew the worst too young. Or maybe Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?"

"Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that brought the sentence."

"Tommy, how's your soul?"

"And a star to steer her by."

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. "That's Masefield. Or maybe Kirk."

"It was Masefield, and it's naval, so that's what counts." He sat up a little straighter. "How about The prize we sought is won?"

David wanted to giggle. He really wanted to giggle. But his shoulders were still less tense-

"You're a commander, not a captain. That's my job."

"But it wouldn't make sense on your tombstone."

"Also, not in the Navy."

-/-

A few yards away, Cameron Klein looked over at his new bosses. "What d'you think they're talking about?"

Lieutenant Koenig didn't even look up from her tablet. "Something that's none of our business."

"You're not even curious?"

"Of course I'm curious. I even want to know why she cut her hair. But when the brass gets all...goochy like that, I keep my head down."

"But-"

Someone laid a hand on Klein's shoulder. A scarred woman's hand. He followed it up to the face of Commander Maria Hill. Who stood between Klein and the Old Man and Old Lady.

"Trust me," the Canadian said. "If they wanted you to know, you'd know."

-/-

Stephanie's shoulder's slumped. "Yeah. I desecrated my best friend's body for nothing."

David put his hand on her shoulder, squeezed it a little. "You did it for a better chance."

Her face closed down a little. "Bully for me."

He took a deep breath. Now or never. "She also told me about Bu- about Barnes."

There it was. There was the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh?"

Good response. Very neutral. David dropped his voice even lower. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought-" Her head dipped. "I was afraid-"

"I used to be a SEAL, baby. You're not the only one who gave an order that made it hard to sleep at night."

Her head came up, and the light dawned in her blue, blue eyes.

"Cremate me."

David blinked "What?"

"When I die, you're my next of kin. cremate me. Maybe ask Grey to do it, I don't know."

"I'll leave my letter on your desk, just in case something happens. It has instructions for my dog, and family, and cremation."

"Mmm-hm. Wait, what dog?"

"That's your priority? The joke? You're not going to ask about the kids?"

"You'll tell me when you want to tell me."

Stephanie stared at him for a second, lips pursed.

"I know what you're thinking about Bucky," she said, slowly. "I loved Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. But that man...isn't James Barnes. Not myBucky. Maybe if we had time, all the time in the world, and a really, really good headshrinker, and no boyfriend, I might, I might find...something. But it wouldn't be the same."

"But we don't, do we?" David said. "We don't have the time."

She twined her fingers through his, and squeezed, briefly, before she let him go and stood up. "No. No we don't. Horatius."

"What?"

"Horatius at the Bridge. Always liked it."

"Any part in particular?"

She gave him a thin smile. "Surprise me. Is Masters ready?"

"His backup went off without a hitch. And-"

"We don't. We don't know if HYDRA is turning him into a Manchurian Candidate while they're in there. We just have to trust them."

Bradford leaned back in his chair. "You were in Intel. You know trust can be a liability."

Rogers sighed. "Sometimes. I really wish we could find some way to replicate his imitation ability without the memory loss." She stared at nothing for a few seconds.

"Wish there were certain things you could remember?"

"No. Precisely the opposite."

-/-

The thing about getting revenge on hotshot engineers? you had to find them first.

When Tony poked his head into Vahlen's improvised lab, he found nothing but a bevy of international young women with various hair colors lying around on tables in an X shape, with heads together in the middle, and cables running around the foot of their beds in a circle.

In his old life, he'd call that 'a fun afternoon'. But Chief Engineer Stark of XCOM had more important duties.

Vahlen hadn't seen Singh recently. Also, she looked mildly interested, and Tony kinda owed her an explanation.

"It's a prank thing. I went to MIT, he went to Caltech. there's a prank war that's been going on since, I dunno, forever."

"But you're graduates," Vahlen said. "Aren't you both a little old for practical jokes?"

"Yes. Yes I am. Did he leave a cup of coffee somewhere? a cheeseburger, maybe?"

"I think he's Hindu."

"Veggie burger? Tofu burger? Turkey burger? Sloppy Joe? C'mon, work with me here."

And then Vahlen finally smiled.

Looks good on her, Tony thought. She's still gaining weight, but she didn't smile much before, did she?

"No, I didn't," Vahlen said. "That's what the antidepressants are for."

Did I say that out loud? Or did she read my mind?

Wait-

"Antidepressants?"

Vahlen nodded. "I was clinically depressed, as it turned out."

"They didn't notice it before?"

"Well, as you'll recall, my primary therapist was a HYDRA mole with a vested interest in undermining XCOM."

"Oh, right."

"When I saw Doctor Samson, he was much more professional." She looked at the tablet in her hand for a second. "Is this really the best time to be playing pranks on each other?"

Tony took a deep breath. "I've got a few dozen people going up there with my tech on their shoulders, along with the fate of the world. I need to blow off steam somehow, and I'm no good at baseball. Much less whatever holodeck you got your Cuckoos in."

Vahlen - he just couldn't think of her as 'Jean Grey', even with the new accent (which was kinda hot) - looked down at the nearest unmoving Cuckoo. Wanda, as it happened. The Frenchie was in a grey body suit a lot like the one Squirrel Girl wore in Venezuala. The same one the other girls wore. The same one under Vahlen's labcoat.

Irene had helped him design the catheter.

"Think of it as a...waiting room. I'm told they can arrange the details themselves. Until...what's that phrase? 'Go-time'?"

"Do I look like a soldier? With this beard?"

Vahlen snorted. "When the time comes, I'll join them, and leave us in Mr. Singh's tender care." An idea struck her, her eyebrows rose, and she looked up at Tony. "I think he went to lunch."

"Got it. Good talk." The engineer turned around.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"If you wanted to 'blow off steam', why not find a quiet corner with Miss Potts?"

She almost sounded neutral, like she didn't care. Underneath was a I am messing with you tone. Like that time with Rhodey and the steam shovel.

"Because she's in Malibu, establishing an alibi in case this all goes south."

"...I see."

Tony left.

Vahlen waited for thirty seconds, until the bright, tense ball of energy was out of earshot. Then she said "clear."

Singh peeked over Miss Frost. "Are you sure?"

"Psychic."

"Trust me, Cali, he's gone," Frost said. She opened her eyes and looked at Singh. "What did you do, exactly?"

"Switched the sugar for his coffee with salt."

Vahlen winced. "Fehler. Never get between an engineer and his coffee."

"Good thing he's going up," Singh said.

"He's what?" Grey said.

"Going on the mission. You didn't know?"

"No. So you're saying XCOM's leader, chief engineer, and lead researcher are all contributing to the Mission?"

"I... Never thought about it that way, but yeah."

"I assume he's qualified. The Director wouldn't let him come or to play if he was not." The corner of Grey's mouth quirked up. "Anyone else? Will Doctor Rao be accompanying you?"

"She's with Fury."

"And Fletcher? Will she procure us a victory?"

Singh winced.

Grey's face fell.

"Oh," she said. "I see. Scheisse. I'm sorry."

"She didn't make it to the subs." The engineer exhaled sharply through his nose. "Someone should've told you."

Singh knew the moment Grey reached out toward the other Cuckoos for support. It was like the vibration, the resonance, when four string instruments played the same note.

"'Someone' was probably busy." Grey waved her hand in the direction of the other Cuckoos. "We've all been busy." That almost-smile again. "Some of us more than others."

Heat Rose in Singh's cheeks. "You know, I left something in Engineering, let me just-"

And then he nearly ran into Agent Daisy Johnson, who was just coming through the doorway.

"Watch it!" she said.

"Sorry-"

"Singh," Grey said. "Before you go..."

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Could you find us a radio?"

-/-

"So," Captain America said. "You're our squirrel girl."

Doreen nodded. Captain America was talking to her.

Captain America looked down. "You wanna point that someplace else?"

Captain America was giving her firearm safety ti- oh, right. Doreen blushed, hit the safety, and put the gun on the counter. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm used to people being star struck." She looked around at the empty gun range, and put in her ear protectors. Did she just cut her hair?"Not many of them try to shoot me. Well, some of them do. Briefly."

Captain America was making a joke.

The taller woman smiled down at Doreen. I should do something.

Doreen saluted.

Captain America smiled a little wider. "What are you up to?"

Oh! Doreen blushed. "Um, weapons practice. Chief Stark made this compact pulse pistol. It uses beads."

"I know. I've seen them before. Bigger, though. Mind if I-"

"Sure! I mean, no. No, ma'am."

Captain America walked over to the gun, looked at it. Then she drew a...shotgun? That was some kind of shotgun, right? She drew a shotgun and placed it on the counter.

Without actually moving.

"How...how did you do that?"

"Hm? Oh. Notice the backpack? The plates and cords on my arm?"

"Yes...?"

"See the part where it has these leads going up the back of my neck? They're for psi powers."

"What? You can just do that? I thought you had to be a mutant?"

"Well, not me. Hank Pym. Remember that backpack you wore in Venezuela? Kind of like that."

"...Oh."

"Pym said thanks for the test data, by the way."

Doreen blushed again. "You're welcome. He is. He's welcome."

"'Course, there are some limitations. It gives me - or anyone - telekinesis, but it only works for around ten feet."

She raised the pistol in her right "hand", and fired twice.

Doreen tilted her head. "Ten feet?"

"Not even consistently ten feet. It's longer for taller people." Captain America raised the shotgun in her left hand, sighted, and fired. The fancy earmuffs Chief Stark rigged up did a great job muffling the gunfire, but you could still hear people talk.

"Have you tried dividing by the square root of two?"

"Yep. Didn't quite fit. Tried factoring in weight, age, ethnicity, hair color, even. Height's the only consistent factor, but we don't know how."

Doreen shrank. "Oh."

Captain America looked over her shoulder. "Don't feel bad, kid. We spent a week banging our heads on it."

Kid? She wasn't a kid! Well, okay, she was, kinda, but Rogers didn't have to say it!

Doreen fumed silently for a few minutes more, and watched the greatest soldier in human history play with guns. They bobbed up and down, at arm's length-

Wait.

"What's your reach?"

Rogers stopped firing. "What?"

"Your reach. How long are your arms?"

Rogers turned around. "Where are you going with this?"

"What's the straight longest line someone could draw through your body?"

Doreen saw the light dawn. Saw Captain America raise her right hand, point it straight up. Saw the woman look down, frown -

"Son of a...gun. I think that's it. Longest line times the square root of two." She grinned. "Thanks, Green."

Doreen blushed again. "Um...Captain America, sir?"

"'Rogers' is fine."

"Okay. Captain Rogers, are there any more types of psi packs?"

"We have a couple of standardized packs. Lance, deflection, Area-of-effect, that sort of thing."

"Oh. What does mei mei mean?"

"Chinese for 'little sister'."

"What about Imouto?"

"Same thing, Japanese."

Doreen's shoulders slumped. "I see."

"Who's calling you that?"

"Everyone. Like I'm not a real soldier."

Rogers stared for a second. Then she closed her eyes, squeezed the bridge of her nose.

"You're a kid, Green," Cap said. "You should be worrying about college, about kissing Baldwin."

Doreen's face did an excellent imitation of a tomato.

Cap said "Do you know how young the youngest XCOM trooper was?"

"No...?"

"Kirsten Arnadottir. 24. Iceland."

"What happened to her?"

"She was in trouble. SHIELD had her before the ball went up." Cap frowned. "I'm...not sure what happened to her after that."

"You're not?"

"I'm not. There's a lot of people we lost track of while we were running away with our tails between our legs. Like Fletcher. Only found out what happened to them when Vision checked HYDRA's records"

She went all thousand-yard stare for a second.

"That guy who came after us at the clinic, like the T-800..."

"A Sentinel," Rogers murmured. "Rollins."

"The Sentinel. Vision said he was in the area anyway. Looking for me."

Cap aimed her frown downrange. "Why so much effort for mutants? We know they want you for something, but what?"

"Soldiers?"

"Not enough of you. And you'd have to learn how to shoot straight. Speaking of which, who taught you how to shoot?"

"Commander Bradford, mostly. He said I needed to learn how to protect myself in case something happens. Miss Masumoto's been teaching me how to use those swords Miss Vanko made."

"Huh. Vanko made a straightsword, but Masumoto isn't trained on those. You might want to talk to St. Croix. Her file says she's a fencer."

Monet St. Croix.

The woman who mind-controlled Doreen.

Sure, it was to save her life, but still!

Captain America didn't notice Doreen cringing. Or she pretended not to.

"How are you with rifles?"

"B-barely started."

"Mm."

Captain America wasn't looking at Doreen. Not really. She looked like she was remembering something. Someone. Maybe a little sad.

"So..." Doreen said. "Why did they - the government, I mean - let everyone think Captain America was, was...what's his name?"

"Walker. John Walker."

"Mr. Walker? Was it because you're a woman?"

"Not exactly. You know how a magician does something with his left hand-"

Captain America held up a single bullet in her left hand.

"-To distract you from his right?"

Doreen looked down. Captain America's right hand, at her hip, was a finger gun, pointed at Doreen's chest.

"It was something like that."

She pulled another shotgun with her flippin' telekinesis that was so cool.

"They figured I'd be more effective as a covert agent. I mean, they could've made the decoy another woman. A brunette or something. But they figured a blonde, blue-eyed lantern-jawed Sentinel of Liberty was more distracting. Cute little Stevie Rogers from Brooklyn was just tagging along to take the pictures for the papers, mostly."

"Oh."

"Why'd you cut off your tail?"

"What?"

"Doc Rao said you did it, but you told her some strangers cut it off." Captain America crossed her arms. "Doreen, did you really think a trauma surgeon wouldn't know the difference between a hackjob and amputation? You could outrun, outclimb just about anyone."

Rogers gave Doreen this sort of patient-big-sister-I-can-wait-all-day look.

Doreen stared back. Swallowed.

In a small voice: "I panicked."

Rogers raised an eyebrow.

"When I...changed, I stayed at home for a while. M-my parents told the school I was saick. We were going to see a doctor about removing it. Then those PSAs about mutants came on-"

Rogers' face went kinda flat. Neutral. "They started to talk about turning you in."

"Didn't realize I could hear them." Doreen tapped her ear. "I...couldn't stay. But a tail is kinda distinctive, so I saved up the money and found someone who would take it."

"So, disguise? That's all?"

Doreen cringed. Captain America was about to give her the whole speech about hiding who you are, and she just didn't understand what what it was like to be homeless, to see people looking at you, wondering if they should turn you in-

"Well, I might've done differently, but I've never been a teenage girl with a tail."

Oh.

"What would the old SHIELD have done with me?"

"Probably hired you. Or asked you if you wanted the tail gone." Rogers tapped her chin. "I was homeless for a while in the 70s. Well, not exactly homeless. More of a nomad. I spent the last fifteen years going 'You're retired, Cap. Don't get involved. Then Nick Fury showed up in my classroom."

She looked down at the gun in her telekinetic grip, popped the whole barrel out. Telekinesis was so cool.

"Desk job, he said. Right."

"You don't like it?" Stupid question, Doreen. Stupid, stupid! Of course she doesn't-

"Not exactly. It's not about what I like. It's about what's necessary." A sharp exhale. "We get through this, they'll call me 'the woman who saved the world!' Parades. A national holiday for my birthday. Probably name something after me."

She snapped the cl-the magazine into place a little harder than she probably needed to. Just getting used to the TK, right?

"That's my problem." Rogers raised the gun, pointed it downrange. "Everyone likes me too much."

-/-

It's a beautiful day for a baseball game.

The sun shines over Ebbets Field, where the Eagles are playing the Fenrirs. Coach Laufeyson glowers at the enemy team from the dugout, one foot on the step.

"Murphy's a little slower going left," he mutters, in a perfect Alabama twang. "You can take advantage of that."

Behind him, Asami Masumoto says "please stop."

Loki turns around. "Stop what?"

Masumoto wears a medium suit, with an oversized baseball cap on the helmet. "The accent. It is...discomfiting."

"I'm just getting into character."

"We are playing a simulated baseball game with imaginary teams in simulated powered armor on a baseball field that doesn't exist anymore." She points to her head. "I am wearing a baseball cap. What exactly is the point of 'staying in character'?"

"It's fun," Loki says.

Masumoto opens her mouth.

Masumoto blinks.

Masumoto closes her mouth.

"He got ya there," Hartley says, then yawns. "The time time dilation in here is going to ruin our cir-cirsh-"

"Just say sleep cycles," Masumoto says. "Good thing Dr. Rao has a pill for that."

Ikoku, on the far side of Hartley, leans forward. "Coach? Why is your protege over there glaring at you?"

Loki looks across the field, at the blonde Asgardian in the other dugout.

"Lady Kelda hasn't been my protege in centuries. and...to answer your question, she feels I tricked her into going on the mission."

"Did you trick her?"

"She said the second-in-line to the throne of Asgard should not risk his head on some foolish endeavor. At least one of us needs stay to maintain the veil that keeps this camp hidden from prying eyes." He squints a little. "I never thought of tying an illusion to something like an arc reactor before."

"...But did you trick her?"

Loki smirks. It fades quickly. "In truth...I would no more have her step forth than she would have me. But I have responsibilities. And Kelda would not let her students do something she would not do herself."

A brief silence in the dugout, until Masumoto coughs.

"I don't see the point of all this 'training'. We've trained on these suits before."

"Well, we haven't." Ikoku says. "Only XCOM has. Plus, there's the Pym Packs."

"How long have you been sitting on that alliteration?"

Ikoku just grins.

Loki watches Captain Rogers at the plate, using her telekinesis. She swings the bat, and the ball goes straight between first and second. The outfielder is out of position-

"Hm," Loki says. "Masumoto, have you ever seen her smile like that?"

Asami looks up. Rogers-sama grins on her way to first. "N-no. That's nice."

Hartley points. "Gupta's on deck."

A few seconds later, there's a crack, and the ball flies toward the Fenrir dugout. Masumoto flinches, thrusts out a hand, and-

The ball bounces off thin air, then the ceiling, then lands in Li's lap.

Ikoku says "well, your shield works."

Masumoto says "my simulated shield works."

Hartley looks down at her lap. "I think that means we get a penalty kick."

-/-

An ordinary van rolled down the Beijing street.

Well, it looked ordinary. As long as you didn't have some sort of X-ray bionic eye. Then you'd notice the half-dozen sober people in tactical gear.

They said nothing.

The van pulled up outside a small takeout restaurant. A gweilo sat at the counter. When the clerk looked up at the van, eyebrows raised, the foreigner half-turned, stared at the van for a second, and then sighed.

By the time the tac team got out, he was almost at the back door.

By the time the five men reached the front door, the HVT had pulled the door open.

And met Zhou, leveling a shotgun at his chest.

"Nice try, Doctor," she said.

The subject raised his hands, and shrugged. "Worth a shot."

Zhou gestured. "Out the front."

Her brothers were waiting.

"Good job," Sergeant Liu said.

"Thanks, boss." Zhou pushed the suspect facedown on the counter and cuffed him.

"Trust me fellas," he said in Mandarin, "this is a bad idea."

Liu hauled him up.

"Seriously, you won't like me when I'm-"

"Quiet." Sergeant Liu reached for his radio. "Base, this is Alpha-actual. We have the HVT in custody. Returning."

"Roger, Alpha-Actual. Come on home."

And then something went bang.

Liu turned around. They were all tense, and two of the troops forced the HVT to his knees, and stood in front of him.

The driver piled out of the van, pistol drawn. He looked at Liu. "I think it was the tires, Boss."

Liu grunted "Corporal Sung. Go with him and check it out."

"Roger."

Turned out both passenger side wheels were flat. The two troopers bought the objects responsible to Liu.

Zhou looked over. "Is that an arrow?"

"Quiet!" Liu barked. He reached for his radio and called it in. Base told them to find someplace secure.

The man on the other end of the line sounded a little snippy. "Sergeant, we got your earlier call. Police backup is already on the way."

Sgt. S frowned. Earlier-?

The van exploded.

The shockwave knocked the soldiers to the ground, left them stunned, with ears ringing.

They laid there, for a time, in the broken glass.

Zhou was the one who noticed the prisoner with one hand on his neck. Also, the other was raised, and he stared down at his watch. His lips moved, like he was counting something.

The handcuffs swung free on his left wrist.

His hand dropped from his neck, head dropped into hands. He said something in English. Looked like a short word.

Zhou stuck her gun in his face. He blinked, then followed the barrel to her hand, her arm, her face.

"What is this?" she yelled. "Is this a planned attack?"

He said something.

"What?" Zhou yelled.

The subject yelled back "you should be running!"

Zhou somehow managed to get the tactical earbud out of her left ear. Still had that ringing noise, but she could hear him now. "What is this? Are they trying to kill you? Are you the target?"

The doctor looked at the soldier, and started to laugh. He sounded a little hysterical, a little angry, almost.

"I'm not the target."

"What are you talking about?" She grabbed the doctor by his collar and shook him, hard.

Doctor Bruce Banner's eyes went green.

"I'm the weapon."

On a nearby rooftop, Clint Barton sighed, and put his grenade launcher into a case.

As a large, green man in serious need of anger management tore his way out of a restaurant, Barton watched, for a minute or two. Then he looked left.

Two cop cars screeched around the corner. The green man turned his head, a tank turret bearing on a target.

He cleared the length of the street with a leap, and came down on the hood of the car. His fists smashed through the cabin, and Barton could've sworn he saw something red spurt out the windows, like a brick dropped on a jar of jam.

The second car tried to reverse. Tried to. Hulk ripped off the hood of the first car, grabbed the radiator, and swung it sidearm at the second car. It went through the windshield, tagged the poor guy in the passenger seat-

It was the passenger seat, right? Yeah, they drove on the right here.

-and knocked the car to the side. The driver kept reversing.

His heart doing double-time in his chest. It would feel like a jackhammer. Like the time Clint had to tear up the floor of that shed. Without the risk of losing bladder control.

Hulk vaulted over the first car, drove his fist into the trunk, and came back out with the spare tire-

Clint looked at his watch. HYDRA should be deploying their local Sentinel right about now. He - or she - would make it there long before the Banner cooled down.

And then there'd be more destruction. More death.

Clint sighed again.

"Redline is in play," he said to thin air. "I hope it's worth it, Boss."

"So do I," said the voice in his ear. "And Agent Barton? I'm sorry I had to ask you to do this."

Barton snapped his bow shut, and tucked it into the guitar case.

"Red in my ledger," he murmured.

"What?" Fury said, probably from someplace with a nice bar.

"Nothing."

-/-

Alexander Lukin woke up.

His wife was away, and her side of the bed was empty.

So what woke him?

He laid still for a moment, listening to the creaks, the small night noises.

In the outer room, a body hit the floor.

Lukin pulled the Makarov out of his bedside table, and rolled off the bed of the side farther away from the door.

Nothing happened.

Then someone who was not a guard called "Prime Minister."

Lukin jumped.

Carefully, very carefully, he edged to the door, and cracked it.

He can see Agent Belova on the floor of the anteroom, her blonde hair loose from her tight, professional bun.

The man in the chair sayid "I am not here to kill you"

He was dressed in dark grey. There was a gleam of silver at his left hand, and if that arm was bare-

Lukin swallowed, safed the gun.

-There would be a red star on the shoulder.

The Winter Soldier's hair was shorter than the last time Lukin saw him. Neat, parted on the left. He still looked like he needed sleep, lots of it.

Lukin took a deep breath, and did the bravest thing in his life.

He put the gun in his pocket and sat down.

"Don't worry. I used this on them." The winter soldier held up a strange looking gun. "It's not lethal." He raised a silenced pistol in his other hand, his artificial hand. This is. "But like I said, I am not here to kill you."

Lukin relaxed. A little. "Then why are you here?"

"You work with HYDRA. The ones who did this to me."

"Yes." No point lying. It was not exactly a secret.

"You work with the Ethereals."

"Yes."

"They killed Moscow. They poisoned Europe for decades."

"What would you do? Fight?"

"Yes."

"At what cost? how many more Moscows? My predecessor-" Lukin snorted. "He still thought he was fighting the Cold War. He would never have bowed the knee."

"So he and the other politicians...they had to be removed. So you could guide the country."

"Yes."

"I see."

They sat in silence.

"It wasn't personal," Lukin said.

The soldier cocked his head. a bare inch to the left.

"Please-" Lukin's tongue darted over his lips. "I can give it to you. Whatever you want-"

"Whatever I want?" The raw, automaton voice sounded almost curious, almost human.

"Yes, whatever you wa-"

Something smashed into Lukin's gut, twice. He stepped back, looked down, touched the spreading stain of red.

So that's what it feels like.

Something cold and hard grabbed his head, forced it back, forced him to look into a dead man's cold eyes.

"I want my life back."

Lukin clutched his gut, watched the assassin rise, cross out of sight. He heard a door open, and someone shouted "help me! I've been shot!"

Then the Soldier went to the window, opened it, took one last look at Lukin. The Prime Minister could barely see his face, the smirk on it. The sarcastic salute was a lot clearer.

"Do svidanya."

And then he was gone.

-/-

If you just glanced in the door, you could mistake the suit-up bays for a particularly large and well-equipped garage. Not unreasonable.

But if you walked in, and stepped into the foot-shaped indents on the floor, and someone unseen said "Good morning" to you, the floor and frames around you would split apart, and the magic would start.

To Ikoku, it was like being fitted for a custom-made metal coffin.
He had never been claustrophobic before. But there was something about a suit building itself around you that was...wrong. Whether it was the Norse god's simulations - and that sentence would've seemed strange a year ago -or reality, he always closed his eyes and counted to puku until the robot arms reached his neck.

And then stopped.

Now the worst part.

He tried to relax, tried not to grit his teeth. Maybe it would be less unplea-

The neural link dug into the back of his neck, and made contact with the nerves there. The light went...strange, for an instant.

Nope. Not any better.

The Nigerian said something about four letters long, with an exclamation point on the end. "Every time!"

SHIELD never asked me to do this for them. Why am I even here?

In the next spot over, Li smiled. "Just as fun as usual, right?"

Ikoku smiled, just before the helmet slipped over his head.

Kakakaway stepped off the platform, and flexed his wrists. "It's like being a firefighter. I don't think about things going wrong, I think about things going right."

"I just think about quitting." Li said. "My girl back home. And my...other girl back home."

Ikoku shook his head. "My brother had a food stand. But nooo, that wasn't good enough, Iwanted to join the military." He turned to his left. "Chief Stark? What will you do when this is all over?"

Stark looked up from intensely staring at the ground. "I got a girl back home." He thought for a second, as the mask sealed over face. "At least, I hope I do. She was pretty pissed at the whole 'faked death' thing."

-/-

Stephanie Rogers was really good at giving speeches.

She had all kinds. The who wants to live forever?The I know you have your differences, but we need to work together. The halftime and ten points behind. The we can't run forever. The are you gonna let them get away with this? The we're just getting warmed up.

She had spent a while mulling it over, thinking about it.

And then she keyed the intercom, and let her voice ring out in every corner of Camp Philips.

"This is the Captain.

"My old friend Nick once said 'There was an idea called the XCOM Project. The idea was to bring together a group of of remarkable people to see if they could become something more. To see if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could, to learn about their enemy. To take apart their weapons, their science, their bodies, just to get an edge. And if we needed it, to trade their lives for those of everyone else.'

"'It was never going to be pretty. But down in the real world we're faced with ugly choices.'"

And that was what she wanted to talk to them about. Choices.

They lost people. They all made sacrifices. The Elders or Ethereals or whatever the call themselves this week killed this city. Murdered Moscow, just to make a point. Twelve million people gone, one way or another.

But humans weren't real people to the aliens, were they? Tools, maybe. Pets. Raw materials. Dirt under their fingernails.

-/-

In the workshop, Masumoto heard a chorus of boos, even as the armatures assembled suits around the troopers. And she grinned.

Not something the old Asami Masumoto would've done, little Miss Sticking-up Nail. But Sergeant Sam Masumoto was something else.

-/-

"I know people like that," Rogers said "Bullies. Tyrants. Dictators. It doesn't really matter what you call them. They'll keep coming and coming and coming until someone stands up to them."

There was a morale patch on her shoulder. An elongated pentagon, nose-down. It showed a globe and three stars in the background, with an X slashing through the foreground. Above it was a single word.

EXCELSIOR.

Higher.

-/-

Klein said "all right, the video's live" to no one in particular.

On the screen in front of him, a video played; a blonde, blue-eyed woman sitting in a chair in a darkened room as the lights come up.

Klein checked the other tabs. Yep, all the mirrors were up too, on all the sites. And the file-sharing sites. And social media. And the trojans installed in various systems, like electronic time bombs.

Klein leaned back in his seat. Job well done.

In the video, Paula Schmidt said "You're probably familiar with certain rumors."

Klein hit mute, and spun his chair around. He'd seen the tape a dozen times. Better to listen to the real thing.

Around him, the other techs had all stopped too. They watched the woman bent over a desk, speaking into a microphone.

Behind him, counters ticked up.

-/-

"They gave us a shiner, sure, but they didn't beat us. They chased us around the world, but they...didn't...beat us. And if we head up there and don't come back, they still haven't beaten us. They can't beat us. Not until every man, woman, or child who can even think the word "freedom" is dead and gone. Until they burn every book, tear down every statue, every monument. "

-/-

A man in red and gold armor stepped off a platform and looked at his hands. Irene looked him over, gave him a thumbs up.

"Looking good, boss."

Tony looked down and flexed his gauntlets. "So this is what it feels like. Where's the, uh-"

"Muster's that-a-way."

"Thanks." He headed for the door, then stopped. "I don't have a cool codename."

Irene smiled. "I have an idea."

-/-

"We all chose to be here. and sometimes all it takes is enough people who stand up for the right thing, who plant themselves like a tree and go 'No, you move.'"

"And I know I won't be standing alone."

She paused for effect.

"Rogers, out."

And then she hit the switch.

Bradford had a strange smile. "Nice sp-

And someone said "three cheers for Captain America!"

And as the cheers rang out, Rogers blushed! I heard it all before, but I'm blushing anyway? What's was wrong with me?

She gave them a while, and then told them to break it up, break it up, they had work to do.

Bradford glanced at his screen. "Video's doing well,"

"Great," Rogers said. "I'm viral."

"Don't you have a suit to pilot?"

"Hmm? Oh, right. If anything happens, go to Wakanda. Tell T'Chaka I'm cashing in that favor." She pecked him on the cheek. "Bye, honey."

Then she ran off.

Bradford looked around, with flaming cheeks. Nobody was looking at him. Nobody was looking in his general direction. Nobody was smiling.

"Shut up," he growled.

-/-

Presently, a suit in blue with red and white accents stomped out to the landing pad. A few people saw the star on its chest, or the "A" on the helmet, and waved, or saluted, or said "ma'am" in respectful tones.

Sometimes the suit nodded back.

Cap was trailed by one of Vanko's heavy suits, occupied by Masters. That suit was codenamed Walker.

The landing pad was already filled. Mostly with stolen HYDRA drones, a few troops. And one red and gold suit.

"Well, I guess old people are always slower," Tony said. Then he saluted. Technically. "Iron Man, reporting for duty."

"Welcome to Avenger Squad," Rogers said. The suit's speakers gave her voice a harsh, electronic edge. "Also, Iron Man?"

Tony coughed. "Irene's idea."

Rogers smiled. "Well, it's kind of a mouthful. I was going to call you "Redline" or "Greenlight" or...something car-related. What if I just call you 'Ferris'?"

"Why would y-Oh. Ferrous. Iron. I understood that reference. Very funny."

"They used to call you 'Malibu', back in the old days."

"Yeah. The old days."

"Well, if you don't like it, how about I just call you-" She held out her hand. "-Tony?"

Tony stared at it for a second, then he took it. "I think I'd like that. Cap. Jarvis? Play us some rock. I'm feeling, I dunno, 90s."

"Very well, sir."

Something low and gritty started to with electric guitars.

Iiiii've become...impossible.

Rogers cocked her head. "Nine Inch Nails?"

"Uh...yes?" Tony said. "How did you-"

Cap's helmet was a metal version of her usual blue cowl, with light grey plates over the eyes and mouth. She slid the plates back to grin at Tony. "Old, not dead."

Someone behind her started tapping their foot to the beat. One of the drones, actually. Stephanie jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

"You program Dummy to do that?"

"Ah...no. Emergent behavior."

Rogers did not ask Are they actually sentient?

The two of us / all used, and beaten up...

"Central? Tell 'em we're ready."

"Copy."

They stood in silence, watched the air darken, grow strange, like the world viewed through the bottom of a cracked glass.

Asgard couldn't always send their people in with giant, conspicuous beams of light, after all.

Tony said "Why is Masters coming along, anyway? And why are you coming along?"

"First of all, because Jocasta or Vision can shut him down if he steps out of line, since he's connecting remotely from DC. Second of all, partially for morale purposes." Rogers said. "Partially because I'd be a priority target if I went without a bodyguard. But really?" The suit's massive shoulders shrugged. "I'm so tired of sitting behind a desk."

We're in this together now...

The world turned to shards of broken mirror, and took them away.

-/-

Bradford stared at the screen, at the empty pad.

It felt like he should say...something. Something spiritual. But he hadn't been to church on Sunday morning since, God, when was it?

The week he walked away from that fight with Dad, and straight to a recruiting center.

If we got out of this, I'll start again. I swear, God. Please, bring her back to me.

And now there was nothing left to do but hold the fort.

"They also serve who only stand and wait."

"What was that, sir?" someone said.

"Nothing."

-XMF-

Some of you might be thinking "so why don't they just use one of Loki's secret passages between worlds?"

Assuming they can even take as many people as the Bifrost, they probably connect specific points, not something in motion like the Ethy HQ.

Like taking a train vs driving a car.

And yes, I've been building this entire fic up to the reveal of what the name means, and I'm surprised no one has ever asked. I got it from a comic my brother bought me for my birthday once, and it was Nick Fury making the pun.