A/N: Wow, it's been a minute, hasn't it?

I'm sorry for taking so long to post this. I had most of it worked out for a while, but last March I lost my primary writing software and a hell of a lot of data with it. That pretty much killed my motivation to write. The latter half of the year I began prepping for higher studies, and so writing went to the back-burner.

But I learnt my lesson, and I'm prioritizing Fire and Ice more than anything else this year. I have plans for this story, and I'm hoping to finish publishing the last chapter for this installment in October. After which I'm gonna take some time off to plan for the sequel.

There, I said it. Now I'm accountable to you lovely readers, so that'll keep me going. Don't worry, though - I'm not planning on abandoning this story.

The assembled, moving glints

And far-floating embers

Risen from the hearth-fires

Of so many other worlds.

December Morning in the Desert; Alberto Ríos

January 11th, 2028

White House

Thaddeus Ross walks into the Oval Office. "Madam President," he says, saluting, " - thank you for taking the time to speak with me; I know you're a very busy woman."

"And yet, that didn't stop you from hounding my personal secretary until I agreed to a meeting," President Kaitlin Cheung says mildly, steepling her fingers. "But it's a good thing you're here - there are some conversations I'd like to get over with."

"I feel the same, Madam President. I must admit that I had the rug pulled out from under me when you overruled my opinion about giving Terra Nova to the Asgardians."

"Well, I don't have to agree with you on every decision."

Either he doesn't catch the sardonic tone or refuses to acknowledge it; neither of which overly endears him to her. "I understand the pressure you must've been under, having been recently elected, but the fact remains - humanity doesn't stand a chance against them."

She leans back against her chair. "Thanos culled them twice, Ross. Five-thousand escaped Asgard, and only twelve-fifty managed to reach Earth. Even after the Battle of Earth, less than a thousand of them survived; most were Blipped into outer space and suffocated."

"But isn't it true that they've taken steps to restore their numbers, even provided incentives for families to encourage multiple births?"

"Hence Terra Nova. They can proliferate as much as they want out there without straining our resources."

"I still believe we should have contingency measures in place for an imminent attack."

"Is that why you've been harassing Pepper Potts-Stark?"

Ross flushes darkly. "The woman refuses to listen to reason, Madam President," he growls. "Something huge is on the horizon, I can feel it - and I'd stake my life on another alien invasion. It doesn't matter, though. Stark Industries is almost dead in the water; just a matter of time before Potts is replaced."

"She's not the only one," Cheung murmurs.

"Which is why I've come to you with a proposal; the formation of a Parliament system for the Alliance. They need to remain independent if they're to protect us. I've drafted some basic guidelines for your perusal," and here he forwards her a document from his datapad, " - and it goes without saying that I'll be the best person to - "

"Hold it right there, Ross," Cheung raises a hand, having finally lost her patience. "I don't like interrupting people, but I'm starting to realize that in some situations, it's unavoidable. I didn't call you here to discuss preventative tactics right now."

"Madam President?"

"I'm not entirely comfortable with the recent positions you've taken. In a lot of situations, they go actively against the White House' stance. Even if I managed to disregard your caustic and highly public comments against the Asgardians - who, might I remind you, are our allies - I can't overlook your utter loss of control and decorum in the Transhuman Symposium."

"Madam President…!"

"I'm not done yet. My predecessors may have been taken in by your gung-ho attitude; indeed, it might've served them well during the utter chaos of the last decade, but I can't have you stirring up discord in times of relative quiet, if not peace."

Ross, for the first time, is silent, but it's too little, too late.

"I have plans for my Presidency - none of which will come through if I have to spend all of my time cleaning up your messes. And I have no doubt that's exactly what I'll be doing… if I don't nip this in the bud right now." She sighs. "You can still save face - if you voluntarily agree to step down from your position as Secretary of State. But either way, I will have your offices cleared by the end of the day. Am I clear, General?"

Ross rises slowly, gathers his datapad. His face is bloodless, but he stands at attention and salutes her perfectly.

"Yes, Madam President."

April 20th, 2028

Armstrong Facility, Luna

Peter finishes the last circuit and connects it to the network carefully. Then, before second thoughts can creep in, he replaces the wall panel and activates the shielding.

A yellow holographic mesh shimmers down from the ceiling, encircling the A.I. Core. Impregnable to even the most persistent of electromagnetic waves, the Faraday Cage should be more than enough to satisfy Fury's unreasonable demands.

The sliding doors lock behind him. He looks over to the quantum bluebox lining the side wall, where he'd loaded E.D.I.T.H.'s data files only hours ago. Is it his imagination, or does the blue glow look dimmer?

Walking over to the window, he gazes sightlessly at the surface of Luna beyond the glass.

After Venice, when Fury had first brought him to the Peak, Peter had watched as the Armstrong Outpost was deployed in a haphazard scattering of hemispherical structures, shielded from radiation by only a thin covering of lunar dust.

Over the years, Wakandan scientists had domed up the Shackleton Crater with anti-collision kinetic barriers. Within, solar mirrors and an artificial atmosphere had resulted in a miraculous microclimate. Modular buildings replaced the initial shelters, and thus the facility was born.

He pulls up a chair, sits and clears his throat. "E.D.I.T.H., report."

"Hello, Peter. It appears your fears were unfounded. My processing power has not been affected by the installation of the Faraday Cage. I'm still capable of processing millions of status updates. I can also react more rapidly than any organic during battlefield simulations."

"I'd like to be sure that applies when you're projecting holos across a thousand-square-mile arena." Peter squeezes his eyes shut. "What about the backdoor?"

"I no longer have access to the telecommunications industry." There's a pause. "My activity log suggests that the backdoor was an integral part of my augmented communication matrices. But nothing in my memory database suggests that I ever possessed that capacity."

"You don't even remember having the backdoor?" He asks, aghast.

"No. Though from my perspective, I only woke up a few hours ago."

"I see. And how does that make you feel?"

Another pause. "I'm sorry, Peter. I'm not programmed to answer that question."

Peter swallows.

E.D.I.T.H. had been a new class of synthetic intelligence. Instead of modeling her personality and her speech after someone specific like with F.R.I.D.A.Y., Tony had linked her adaptive code to the telecom industry and allowed her to choose. She'd never been coded with an inbuilt personality matrix, but had, via a slow, expensive education, been in the process of evolving one for herself.

"No. No, you never were."

June 4th, 2028

Washington DC

Someone's waiting for him when Thaddeus slides into the limousine.

"I remember you preferring it neat," Henry Lawson says, clinking the ice cubes in his whiskey glass. "You've spent the last six months drowning in self-pity and cheap alcohol - when you could've celebrated your freedom with the top shelf instead."

Thaddeus bristles. The wound is still too raw. "And here I'd hoped our association started and ended with blowing the lid off the Transhuman Conspiracy."

"The alien threat is much bigger than a few jacked-up individuals, General. But the White House is no longer the dominant player in the game." He pulls out a tablet from the wet bar. "Let me introduce you to someone who is a master at it."

"General Ross," a figure appears on the screen. Nondescript, androgynous, voice heavily modulated to vaguely resemble a female's. Which probably means that it isn't. "A pleasure."

"And who are you supposed to be?"

The figure flickers to another, with similar attributes. "Someone interested in the advancement and domination of humanity across the galaxy. Mr. Lawson and I are part of a select cabal of individuals who have already taken steps towards that goal. We would like you to join us."

"What steps?"

It's Lawson who answers. "I'm planning on getting some new suits. Maybe the very ones your government has tried to get their hands on for two decades."

Thaddeus' eyes widen. "You're reaching. I couldn't even get the bitch to restart weapons manufacturing."

"You used a hammer, General. In my experience, a scalpel - or a needle - has always been more effective."

Thaddeus thinks fast. "Your bank - the Commonwealth - had dealings with the Asgardians in the past, right?" He asks Lawson. "You granted them bailouts, tax exemptions - basically controlled their entire economy back when they were still reeling from the Decimation."

Lawson smiles, leaning back against smooth leather seats. "I like how you think. Maybe it's time to establish a branch in Terra Nova. Renew that relationship."

"Our cause needs more ideas, more leaders like you. A trailblazer for all those who want solid ground beneath their feet. Terra Firma, if you will." Something clinks on his end, as though he too is pouring himself a glass. "Change requires power, General. That's something we can give you."

Thaddeus considers for a long moment, then reaches for the bottle.

Lawson's smile widens. "What shall we toast to, General?"

Something about his expression drives home just how much Thaddeus has lost.

The aroma of expensive whiskey wafts to his nose.

"Humanity."

August 25th, 2028

Interplanetary Combatives Training Arena

Armstrong Facility, Luna

The large shuttle bay pitches and rolls beneath Alec Ryder's feet as it breaches atmo. Beyond the viewport, the sky rushes past dizzily, clouds giving away to skyscrapers. He doesn't have time to get to the Bridge to stabilize the cruiser before it craters the city below.

"We're missing something!" James Barnes growls into the comms as he fights off a wave of mechs. He bludgeons away with his prosthetic as he waits for his M-3 Avenger to cooldown. "The point of this exercise can't be just to die as stupidly and as violently as possible!"

"Wouldn't put it past Talos to assign us an unbeatable simulation," Isabelle Collins grunts, alternating between her powers and her shotgun, " - and expect us to pull it off anyway!" Water swirls through the bots, freezing their joints which she then liberally peppers with mass-accelerated shells.

The team had been warned the program would test their physical and psychological limits until they learned to push through, or broke. Twenty hours of simulations involving exaggerated - but entirely plausible - scenarios later, there's no end in sight.

Something flickers near the rear of the hangar. Alec sprints over, discharging an Overload towards a nearby cluster of mechs.

"Something tells me that this is just a diversion," Gabriel Reyes mutters, lashing out with an orange, sparking whip.

Pulling up an omni-screen, Alec focuses. There! Pixels tinting black for no more than a second. In the shadows, or the corner of your eye. Places most wouldn't think to look.

A glitch, he decides. The V.I. overseer is being forced to reroute power from non-critical systems. General Talos hadn't expected them to last this long. The simulation is only holding up due to sheer obstinacy on both sides.

The carrier rocks violently, tossing them around like ragdolls. Growling, he primes his omni-blade with a powerful Damping and stabs it into the deck.

The pulse arcs through the panels, frying the circuits from the inside. The hologram of the deck wavers, momentarily revealing the floors of the Armstrong Training Facility. Luna's gravity returns with a vengeance as the eezo-lined plates simulating the ship's lurching are rendered inoperable.

"What did you do?" Barnes breathes.

"'The objective is to win, by any means necessary,'" Alec quotes as a Stark Combat Drone tumbles out of the glitch and crumples to the ground. "General Talos didn't specify conventional means." Hoping that the V.I. would abandon it to free up processing, Alec kneels, fingers flying over his omni-tool as he bypasses firewalls and hacks the drone.

It doesn't take long for him to sabotage more glitches. It takes even less time for the V.I. to catch on. He sprints, dodging a volley of plasma blasts that smashes his team into the rubble. Just one more, he thinks as his code burrows into the final drone.

The sky is blocked by a mass of mechs. Alec raises his 'tool and unleashes his own army.

The hacked drones rise, making a beeline, not for the mechs, but their invisible counterparts still in operation.

The simulation collapses in an explosion of light and noise. Lasers, flamethrowers and miniguns carve through the opposition, until all that's left is smoking ruins of expensive equipment in a battle-scorched arena.

Alec sways, then collapses against a strut that had fallen from the ceiling.

S.W.O.R.D. paramedics rush in, with General Talos and Peter Parker not far behind.

"I'm tempted to disqualify you for that stunt," Talos grumbles when he's within hearing range.

Peter is alternating between looking shell-shocked and bemused. "I'd settle for billing them for the clean-up."

October 12th, 2028

Terra Nova

The capital has been coaxed into existence around a long, narrow gorge. Crystal cascades roar down the mossy cliffs, feeding the river flowing down below, invisible under a thick, sparkling mist. High bridges lead to tunnels carved into the rock face, allowing them to travel between different levels of the city. Timber, stone and even turf has gone into constructing elaborate, intricately carved structures that crane towards the sky.

"Simply marvelous," Henry Lawson says, with genuine admiration on his face. "Though I admit, I was expecting vast, golden halls and glittering armor."

"Just maximizing the resources of this world, Henry," King Valkyrie says. "Terra Nova is poor in precious metals - as I'm sure your advisors keep telling you when they insist you pull out of our alliance."

Henry scoffs. "They don't see what I do. What I've always seen."

"And what's that?"

"That the glory of Asgard doesn't need to be in the past." His eyes shine as he looks at her. "It's one of my greatest regrets - that I never had the opportunity to witness your glorious homeworld. It would be my privilege to watch her rebirth."

Valkyrie hums noncommittally. If she has her way, Asgard will never return to what it used to be. For thousands of years, the glamor had blinded her people to their own flaws and lulled them into fat complacency.

The transition had been… difficult. They'd gone from being the most powerful world in the Nine Realms to a fishing village on a backwater planet. Most of the luxuries her people were used to simply weren't available. The few valuables they had between them had to go to their infant treasury, causing conflict. They were on the verge of infighting when assistance arrived from an… unexpected source.

"There's something I've been curious about for a while now," Lawson says.

"Oh?"

"A year and a half ago, you were granted colonization rights to this entire system. Then why have you retained the distinctly human name for a planet that, for all intents and purposes, belongs to Asgardians?"

The subtext is obvious: is Valkyrie's refusal to contest the name indicative of an attitude that would let humans like him walk all over her rule?

They pass under a statue in the courtyard, tastefully backlit by the dying sun. A shining shield-maiden thrusting her sword forward, as her Pegasus rears underneath her. Valkyrie had allowed it not because it commemorated her, but because it served as a reminder of all the sisters she'd lost to Hela's madness - a sacrifice Odin had all but buried.

"I choose my battles, Henry," she replies, looking up at the statue. "This isn't one of them. The lives of humans, even enhanced, is a blink of an eye for an Asgardian. I can afford to wait to stake my claim."

Translation: Longer lives promise longer memories… and equally longer grudges.

Valkyrie had been wary of Henry Lawson the moment she'd laid eyes on him. Her naïve people had been taken in by his charm, but she'd skirted around enough political minefields in her time as a Scrapper to recognize that Sakaar practically oozes out of the man. But she hadn't been the king then.

Thor, in his drunken stupor, had almost enslaved his people to Lawson. Those years had been tumultuous, but Valkyrie had rediscovered her love for Asgard in her frantic damage control. And when she had finally, officially taken the reins, she'd ensured all debts were paid off and more, and bundled her people to another solar system.

And now Lawson's here again.

"It's incredible; just how much you've managed to accomplish in such a short amount of time." He shakes his head ruefully - a calculated move. "Some of our more distant outposts still struggle with extrasolar colonization."

"How so?"

"Well, many mercenary groups have cropped up recently, and their main targets appear to be frontier colonies with poor security measures. Self defense only takes you so far against better-trained and better-equipped enemies."

Ah, so there it is.

She should've expected it, honestly. After all, what would you request of a primarily warrior race, honed to fight for millennia?

It's not an issue Valkyrie can ignore in good conscience. She owes Earth. That's hardly gonna stop her from rubbing Lawson's nose in it, however. "Have you considered that the issue might be with the complexity of your weapons design? Effective, but detrimental in the long run."

She withdraws her sword, sending a burst of energy to skitter across the blade. "My people discovered long ago that simple designs are more powerful and long-lasting. It's why they look ancient; we saw no reason to update their appearance - only their potency."

A myriad of emotions flicker through Lawson's face, as though unsure of which aspect of that speech to react to - the good advice or the insult. Finally, he just says, " - humanity still has much to learn from the Asgardians. Would you be willing to fast-track that education?"

Valkyrie smiles slowly, envisioning a future with forges and blacksmiths. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement."

February 18th, 2029

Arcturus Station

"To the advent of humanity among distant stars," Jim Rhodes says, raising his champagne glass high in the air.

The gathered crowd cheers, toasting their success. The room is enclosed within floor-to-ceiling transparent walls, offering a breathtaking view of the Arcturus Stream. A red-and-blue star cluster, populated by gas giants, rocky debris and ice chunks.

The Station is far from complete, but enough portions have been declared habitable for the Alliance Navy to declare it their official headquarters. The inauguration is a political and public necessity - an assurance to their backers that Arcturus wouldn't go the way of the Gagarin and cost them trillions.

Deeming half an hour an acceptable amount of time for hobnobbing with military and business elites, Jim murmurs apologies, abandons his unfinished champagne glass on a server's plate and slips away into the cordoned off areas of the station.

He's at a window overlooking the simulation of a large asteroid when a shadow appears beside him. "How is it that, despite being world-famous, no one ever notices you?"

Phil Coulson shrugs. "Helps to have an incredibly bland face. S.H.I.E.L.D. hired us by the droves." He nods towards the asteroid. "That's Alcyoneus, then?"

Jim nods. At this magnification, he can almost make out the miner domes around excavation craters. "One of several towed in through the relay. Arcturus is an ideal choke point, but utterly depleted of heavy metals. Construction was delayed until we could get more."

"I heard rumors that the station also serves as a shipyard for a fleet."

Jim fiddles with the display console. "Yeah. So far, the Navy has over two-hundred vessels - frigates, cruisers, and well… this."

The window flickers, pixelating from the center to reveal a simple glass pane, beyond which sprawls a dimly lit hangar. Thin, narrow flood lights illuminate a titanic shadow. It is still under construction, squatting on sturdy supports, but even craning his neck, Phil can't make out where it ends. "Must be about a kilometer long," he says, utterly floored. "Is it enough?"

"No way to know," Jim shrugs helplessly. "Against the combined fleet of all the past invasions? Yes. But overkill seems appropriate against the future."

Coulson frowns. "It doesn't make sense. They're worried enough to approve the construction of an armada, but they refuse to curb extrasolar surveys."

"Halting exploration now would be a fear response. Besides, we don't usually have to wait long after a new relay is activated for colonization and development of the nearby star systems."

"As a result, we have tightly-packed clusters spread very thinly across known space! Those colonies are vulnerable, defended by token garrisons that are geared more towards scouting than combat!"

"'He who tries to defend everything defends nothing,'" Jim murmurs. "Izzy used to like quoting Sun Tzu way back when. We don't have the manpower to deploy, Coulson. For now, the colonists know the risk - they're going to have to fend for themselves."

"What about first contact protocols?"

Jim grimaces. "Some are advocating for passivity and caution in case of an encounter. Basically, they won't provoke or resist, not even in self-defense, to avoid taking any action that might be considered threatening."

"Please tell me those guys are being laughed out of the discussions." Then, spotting the look on Jim's face, he curses foully. "How exactly do they expect that to be taken well? After Thanos? Right, let me guess - the advocates actually benefited from the Decimation and don't want to disturb the status quo." He sighs. "Would be a lot easier if we had a Parliament to work on these issues."

"The Alliance doesn't have the kind of pull to become its own government." A weak argument, Jim knows. The Alliance already administers the Gagarin Station and the shipping lines that have erupted between its colonies. It's also considering diplomatic outposts on Terra Nova and other private colonization ventures. "Frankly," he sighs. "I don't want to see what it will take to get to that point."

Coulson's gaze turns distant, and he hums thoughtfully. "Weren't you in the running for Vice President during the Decimation?"

Jim fights the urge to squirm. "That's an exaggeration. There was a lot of panic, and people were considering all sorts of crazy ideas."

"Not that crazy."

July 27th, 2029

LOCATION: CLASSIFIED

"Masks on," Barnes orders as they spot the red canisters.

They comply immediately. Intel suggested the mercs had cooked up a variant of red sand - street name Minagen X1 - which turned out to be toxic.

The factory is bursting with hardware shaped like colorful confectionery. Smoke puffs out of flamboyant, globular machines, smelling heavily of caramelized syrup. The surrealism really steps up a notch when hauntingly cheerful carnival music starts echoing.

Gabe is thankful when gunfire shatters the unnatural peace.

He falls into position - instincts honed during months of missions with this squad. His primary role is support - portalling his allies behind enemy lines, deflecting projectiles and disabling opponents for later.

Until one of those opponents pulls out a gun with a large barrel.

Gabe shoves Barnes through a portal. Then a wave of heat washes over his lower half, and his vision whites out.

He's vaguely aware of Ryder pulling him behind some crates. The orange of an omni-scanner. A grim prognosis.

Something's wrong. He glances at his legs.

The prosthetic is nothing but slag. And beneath that… His breathing quickens. "I suppose it's a good thing I can't feel anything below my waist," he says conversationally, trying to postpone the shock. "I don't remember aiming. Where did that portal take you, Barnes?"

"Back of the factory, I think," is the reply. "What the hell was that?"

"Asgardian weaponry," Collins says grimly, firing around cover at the advancing mercs. Ryder's desperately trying to first-aid Gabe's legs. "Big guns mean they're protecting something valuable."

"I'm gonna circle back, try and corner the… oof!" There's a heavy thud through the comms. "Oww, getoff, you little…!"

An unfamiliar, high-pitched voice cuts through his muffled cursing. "Bucky Barnes?!"

Adrenaline shoves back the shock.

Silence. "We've got kids; dozen or so. Pretty sure the one who broke my wrist is an Asgardian. There's also a whole lot of candy wrappers. Seems like we've stumbled onto a Hansel and Gretel situation here, fellas."

Gabe grows cold.

He'd been a kid once, before gangbangers had stolen his legs and his innocence. He'd never gone back… but he couldn't have even if he'd wanted to. The mangled pulpy mess of his legs would've been a constant reminder.

For the first time, he gets the Spirit of Vengeance.

He pulls himself up against the crates, ignoring Ryder's protests. "Barnes, keep the kids safe. Ryder, do what you can to keep me conscious. Collins… be ready to blow up the canisters on my signal."

Something in his voice convinces them not to protest.

The sound of gunfire is soothing. Raising rock-steady hands, Gabe creates portals around the enemy territory, out of sight - opening them to the cluster of canisters. He takes his time linking them. Finally, " - now."

A barrage smashes into the canisters, expelling red mist into the air. It stings his skin.

With sharp, jerky motions, Gabe unleashes a storm.

A vortex whooshes through the portal network, propelling all the red mist away from his squad and straight into enemy territory. Screams rend the night as the mercs find their own malignant concoction forced down their throats. Magic is very useful for bringing idioms to life, he thinks grimly, holding the spell until the very last bastard lies still.

Collins checks for survivors. "We're clear."

Gabe slumps back, yanking off his mask. The air is clean. Gunsmoke smells better than candy any day. "I've gotta see the kids."

"Not like that," Isabelle points to his legs, not unkindly. "They've got enough ammo for nightmares."

Gabe casts an illusion spell as soon as they seal the wounds and numbed the pain, then swallows his dignity as Ryder picks him up bridal style.

"Why does he need to carry you?" Andvari asks, muscled arms folded across her chest. For a pint-sized Asgardian, her scowl is terrifying. She'd shrugged off the Minagen, even concocting a pretty impressive counter-attack that poor Barnes had been victimized by.

"My legs have fallen asleep," Gabe replies promptly.

"Ah, pins-and-needles," Max nods wisely. He was one of the Inhuman potentials - all of whom were clinging to Isabelle. "Try stamping your foot. That hurts more for a bit, then feels better."

"Nah, I'm too much of a coward," Gabe says, smiling.

The youngest of them is two years old. Best guess; his pregnant mother was downwind of the Eezo Exposure in Singapore. The kid gives Gabe a wide grin in response. His teeth are stained red.

"Hey, you guys like magic?" Gabe asks.

There's silence. Andvari shifts. "Like Doctor Strange?"

"Exactly like Doctor Strange."

On the gurney a few hours later, Gabe reaches out and grabs Dr. Helen Cho's arm. She appears to read his mind and gives him a small smile. "The kids are young, Gabe - their bodies are still developing. The candy actually served to give them some sort of a resistance to the Minagen. It'll take a while, but they'll be fine." She squeezes his hand when he breathes a sigh of relief. "And so will you."

December 27th, 2029

Armstrong Facility, Luna

Peter had been engrossed in a frustrating discussion with E.D.I.T.H., trying to get her opinion on the advantages of simulating various enemy types and realistic map layouts, when Bruce Banner walks into the A.I. Core.

The man had been splitting his time between Mars, Wakanda and Armstrong Facility, regularly updating them on the status of the Archive's excavation. So his arrival is always exciting; preceding some new find that Bruce lets Peter take a gander at before the S.W.O.R.D. scientists.

"What is it?" Peter murmurs, an eyebrow raised distractedly as he examines the curious artifact. It's ancient, and thus incredibly fragile. A small, chamfered square frame with a circular depression, marred by an oval hole. Rather like a flattened lock with a simple keyhole.

"A Prothean data disc," Bruce says. "This is the first one we've found intact; it was encased within a device. Might give us some more insights into their tech."

"Why haven't you used the replicated code keys to transcribe it yet?" Peter asks, placing the disc carefully on top of the scanner.

"Because most of the data within is not Prothean, and I can't identify the encryption language. Estimates suggest it'll take at least a decade for our decoding matrices to kick in. Figured Stark technology might be faster."

"Well, let's not disappoint the man, E.D.I.T.H. Break down the structure and composition, please."

"The disc is made of the same materials as the other storage devices we've found in the Mars Archives."

"Which means we have no idea how information is actually stored into the artifact, just that it is," Bruce says thoughtfully. "None of the traditional methods of digital storage apply here."

"We don't need to understand it to access it. I'm detecting several zettabytes of data within."

Peter whistles. "That schematic is gonna take a while to download. Anything that's immediately comprehensible?"

"The galactic coordinates for a location that's referenced multiple times within the data." E.D.I.T.H. brings up a galaxy map. It's from the Archives' visual documentation; humanity's exploration, while widespread, still hasn't been enough to map out the entire galaxy.

Peter leans forward. "Rotate forty-five degrees clockwise - yeah, stop there. So that's Sol," he points to the Local Cluster, then zooms in towards where the cursor is blinking. "That's the Hades Nexus. Lots of Prothean ruins in that cluster."

"Humanity has a colony in the Utopia System of the Hades Nexus," Bruce says. "Eden Prime."

"Yeah - the Archives have mentioned it before, right? It's how we found it. Must've been pretty important to them. Think it was their homeworld?"

"If it were so, we'd probably see more ruins than the garden world currently holds."

"Well, then, let's dig deeper and find out exactly why Eden Prime is so relevant."

Lawson Manor

Madripoor

Bathed by a fireplace's warm glow, two men sitting across a mid-game chessboard help themselves to more whiskey.

"Terra Firma is shaping up to be a powerful symbol," Henry Lawson says approvingly. "I expected it to gain traction, yes - but not so well, and certainly not so quickly. That, General, is your influence."

"The people want to be reminded of all they've lost to the aliens," Ross replies. "The government, though, refuses to see the threat. I've still not managed to obtain complete autonomy for the Alliance."

"The Alliance is new, General. It'll take time, and I suspect, a catalyst to get Earth to give up control. You should be proud of your accomplishments, small though they might appear. You've already pressured the planet's governments to stop granting planetary orbital licenses!"

"Near-monopoly on space elevator and orbital airspace rights was only the first step to establishing a parliament. But we need a solid base of supporters if we want to move forward. Hence, Shanxi. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"The manifesto should help. Indeed, it was so inspiring I couldn't pass up the irony of having a pro-human political party funded by unsuspecting aliens."

Ross' eyebrows jump as he makes the connections. "Terra Firma is being sourced by Asgardians? How did you manage to pull that off?"

"Oh, their weapons sell hugely on the black market. Haribon Military on Terra Nova has an understanding with certain syndicates brewing up in the Skyllian Verge - the Blue Suns, for example. We also have prominent weapons dealers of the day on speed-dial - one Donovan Hock comes to mind; young, but very driven. Not afraid to get his hands dirty. I can appreciate that in a man."

"What?" Ross exclaims. "That isn't a scalpel; that's a scythe! And for what, fast tracking what nature has well in hand? Potts is already on her last legs! You're putting other human weapons manufacturers out of business, Lawson!"

"The Asgardian weapons might not be as mighty as Thor's hammer, but they are significantly more powerful than anything we can manage, General."

"Yeah, and I suppose once we know how to copy their weapons, we never have to figure it out ourselves, do we?" Ross says snidely. "Any hope we might've had for something original evaporates - just like with the relays and FTL! But what's important is that, aliens or no, we get some use out of the Asgardians, right?"

Henry refills his glass and stares at him coolly. "This is a good moment to segue into something I've been meaning to discuss with you. I've demonstrated, now, twice, how to turn the aliens' assets against them, and in support of our endeavors. But there's one asset that might prove beneficial to us in the long run."

"What's that?"

"Transhumans."

"No! Absolutely not! Are you out of your mind? Those creatures are abominations, corrupted and tainted by alien interference! First the Inhumans, and now whatever Daisy Johnson's brewing up in her Subcommittee labs! I've had dealings with their kind for two decades, Lawson; I was responsible for the creation of two of them! Trust me when I say the world would've been better off if they'd never existed!"

"Perhaps it's that familiarity that makes you unable to see the bigger picture."

"The Inhumans may as well be sleeper agents for all you know!"

"Maybe. The Inhumans were created by the Kree, yes." Something strange and almost wistful crosses his face, too fast for Ross to notice. "But these eezo-Enhanced beings; they are and will be created and nurtured by humans."

There's a momentary silence. "What do you mean - created by humans?"

Henry looks at him steadily.

Ross slams his fist on the chessboard, dislodging several pieces. He ignores Henry's displeasure. "Were you behind the Eezo Exposure in Singapore?!"

"Not only in Singapore."

"How can you possibly justify subjecting civilians to that while claiming to have a pro-human agenda?!"

"Because they will be the next stage in human evolution!"

Ross stares at him as though he's grown another head. "I used to think that, Lawson," he growls. "I believed even abominations could be useful. I was incredibly, horribly wrong. You keep walking this road, you're gonna come to a bad end." He whirls and walks towards the exit.

Henry places his empty glass on the board. "Is that a threat?"

"I don't need to point a gun at you, Lawson." At the doorway, Ross pauses. "You've got that covered all by yourself."

Hours later…

"He's a loose cannon," the voice says. Even heavily-modulated, the disapproval is crystal clear.

"But useful once he's pointed in the right direction," Henry says cheerfully, pouring himself yet another glass. "Ross has demonstrated his willingness to look the other way. You just have to treat his lust for power as a desire to help humanity. He'll come around."

"You should've found someone less rigid. Ross is too old."

"And that's why I chose him. He's a relic of a long-lost generation, one which knew that human supremacy could only be achieved with control. Besides, micromanaging disagrees with me. I prefer to prime them to the maximum and unleash them upon the world."

"Here's hoping the world will thank you for it."

Lawson's amusement vanishes. "We're in the wrong line of business for gratitude as our reward, my friend."

Armstrong Facility, Luna

"I'm glad you decided to install E.D.I.T.H. somewhere permanent," Bruce says, smiling fondly at the quantum blue box. "She was never meant to reside in the glasses long term."

"You knew her from before?"

Bruce shrugs sheepishly. "Tony wanted someone to supervise him while he programmed her. He didn't trust anyone, least of all himself." His brows draw together. "She sounds a little different, though."

Peter turns back to his datapad, missing E.D.I.T.H. - the original one - with a fierceness that catches him off guard. Slowly, hesitatingly, he explains what he'd done. What he'd been forced to do.

In the aftermath, Bruce hums. "You know, your premise is flawed. An A.I. can't be transmitted through a comm channel. She might've been inspired by something she found beyond the backdoor, but it couldn't actually have come from out there."

"Then why is she… less?"

"Because you did change her, in a manner of speaking. By loading her files into a new bluebox, you wiped the original personality. Which," Bruce adds hastily, as though anticipating Peter's self-castigation, " - was only a kernel, by the way - with limited evolutionary capabilities."

"Is that the truth, or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Why can't it be both?" Bruce smiles. "Look, Peter. Right now, E.D.I.T.H. is a blank slate intelligence. Different from the one you knew, but learning and growing nevertheless. She just needs time - and as Tony suspected, a catalyst - to gain self-awareness again."

"Peter, I've downloaded the rest of the data and run decryption algorithms. It is corrupted code - as in code that has been diluted deliberately."

Peter and Bruce share a look. "Why would someone do that?"

There's a long silence as E.D.I.T.H. rapidly goes through the data. On the holographic screen before him, Peter catches random flashes in the strings of figures scrolling down the screen. Weak pulses of awareness within a corrupted program, struggling to become whole.

His sixth-sense flares up.

Above, the lights flicker ominously. The A.I.'s blue box goes dark for an instant before sputtering back to life. "E.D.I.T.H.?!"

"I'm here," she says, and if he didn't know better, he'd label her voice as hoarse.

"What the hell happened?"

"My transcription of the code seems to have fulfilled some previously unknown protocols. Some of my sealed databases were unlocked as a result."

He sits up very slowly. There's something in her voice… a note of fear? "Which ones?"

In response, another screen pops up, its blue glow washing over his arm. The same code as the one on the disc, but the source folder is clearly different, and comes directly from within E.D.I.T.H. "I've run detailed comparisons with code samples in my memory banks… and there's a ninety-five percent match."

"You recognize the program?" Bruce asks.

"Every Stark A.I. would recognize it. These protocols have been passed down to me from F.R.I.D.A.Y., who had it passed down to her from J.A.R.V.I.S. Even the programming language in the databases is identical."

"E.D.I.T.H… what are we talking about here?"

"Peter… the corrupted code is undoubtedly a fragment of the same code that J.A.R.V.I.S. ciphered back in 2015… from the jewel in Loki's Scepter."

They leap to their feet. "Eject the disc," Bruce snaps, even as Peter's fingers fly across a screen. "Scrub your databases. Are you linked to any of Armstrong's vital background processes?"

"Negative, Dr. Banner. I have safeguards that prevent me from…"

"I don't care," Peter says, snatching the disc the moment it pops out. He only barely manages not to break it; oh - but it's so tempting. "Shut down and do a full diagnostic, you hear. I don't want any part of that - ," of ULTRON, " - inside you."

It's only then he realizes that he's more afraid for E.D.I.T.H.'s existence than he is of his own. Having culled her once already, he can't bear to purge her if it turns out Tony's firewalls hadn't been enough.

"Yes, Peter," she says finally, and then the lab goes dark.

"Watch her," Peter whispers through the thick lump in his throat and then goes to find Fury.

December 31st, 2029

Madripoor

Bucky hoists the M-92 Mantis and snipes one last time. The shot goes wide, of course, but it is still gratifying to see the occupants of the space-elevator flinch in response even as the climber disappears above the clouds. "Still don't get why Talos ordered us to let them go."

"Wasn't really about the mercs," Gabe replies, holstering his gun. Collins rises shakily, gritting her teeth against the aftershocks of taking a Heavy Overload while in her water form. "They're just lackeys; always more where they came from. S.W.O.R.D. is more interested in where they're heading."

Bucky glances at the sky again, his eyes trailing the vibranium-reinforced tether. "As long as it's not to snap the cable and drop the counterweight on my head." The enormous construction makes him nervous every time he's forced to put his back to it.

The mercs have been getting brazen lately; targeting Asgardian shipments to distant colonies and selling them to the highest bidder. At least they hadn't gone after kids again - not after Gabe and Collins had led what had been basically a two-man army against every would-be slaver for the past few months.

Even Talos couldn't deny it made for some excellent training.

"Got something!" Ryder is near a terminal, his omni-tool almost vibrating in its effort to recover the files the mercs had purged before fleeing.

"There's a supply list," he explains as they come closer. "Two separate shipments, heading to the same place. These," he points to one, " - left a few days ago. Mining equipment; drills, lasers etc. The other left yesterday - but I got no clue what they are."

Bucky furrows his brow. "The hell…? Cosmolabe, optical spectrometers, interferometric arrays? Never even heard of these!"

"That's because they're not weapons," Gabe says, eyes narrowed in thought. "They're astronomical equipment. We use them sometimes for certain spells," he explains. "Asgardians are an incredibly advanced species who once lived on a flat asteroid. Makes sense that their grasp of celestial mechanics and the corresponding tech would far supersede any other race."

"Doesn't explain why mercs would want it."

"Maybe we can go and ask them," Collins replies, steadier now, her own omni-tool active. "Tracked the earlier shipment. Apparently it's headed to a fringe colony."

She flicks up a hologram. "Name's Eden Prime."

At first Isabelle thinks that the departure ship is early. But then she realizes it's not their usual bird or pilot waiting for them at the LZ.

"Ryder, Reyes," Monica Rambeau calls out as soon as they come within earshot, " - you've got different assignments this round. Part of ICT is diplomacy training. Reyes, you have the privilege of calling upon King Valkyrie and telling her that her weapons are being sold under the market."

Gabe grimaces but nods.

"Ryder, a shipment is headed to Shanxi in the Horsehead Nebula. Intelligence claims that there's some illicit gear packed in with the regular. Your mission is to identify it, then find out who attempts to claim it. They might have documentation to secure the purchase."

Ryder nods sharply.

"Your usual helmsman is en-route. Collins, Barnes - you're with me." She stalks up the ramp and disappears into her frigate.

Surprising enough that Monica Rambeau was the pilot assigned to ferry them to Hades Nexus. But then things get stranger when a familiar sight steps out of the shadows in the cargo hold.

"Peter?" It's been more than a year since she'd seen the young man. ICT training doesn't really allow for calls or visits, and the Luna simulation had been so long ago. "You with us?"

He nods. "A week ago, Erik Selvig led a scientific team to Eden Prime aboard the SSV Sokovia. They were sending regular reports until yesterday, long enough for it to flag as abnormal. Fury's asked me to look into it."

The speech sounds rehearsed. Isabelle makes a mental note to probe deeper at a later time. "What were they looking into?"

"Eden Prime used to have rings a little less than a decade ago, but now they're gone. No meteor showers or debris to show for it."

Isabelle meets Barnes' gaze. Selvig - a known astrophysicist, who might find the smuggled gear - especially the astronomical ones - incredibly useful. But she can't see the polite but excitable old man slumming it with mercs. "Who was sponsoring him?"

"A group of scientists from the Milky Way Foundation," Rambeau is the one who replies. "Funded by Henry Lawson."

Eden Prime

The Utopia Sun is just rising when the PSV Triskelion first breaks through the atmosphere of Eden Prime, startling a large flock of multicolored birds into taking to the skies. Calloused hands mask glaring eyes, as the clamor interrupts the colonists' quiet morning.

They've been awake for hours already, tilling the stepped farms for the spring planting. Wind slides through the thickets dotting the rolling green hills, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers. The ground rumbles beneath their feet as trains weave through the hills, transporting seeds to the towering arcologies on the horizon.

Up on the ship, Isabelle focuses on the LZ, deployed some distance away from the colony proper. It's a large, disc-shaped structure, cobbled together from modular pieces, barely sturdy enough to hold the Triskelion. Eden Prime has all the makings of a prosperous colony, but isn't quite there yet.

The Mayor is grumbling even before they've stepped down the ramp. "The Alliance sent y'all to look into the missing scientists? Look, I don't mean no offense, but all of this makes my folks nervous. This world's a goldmine, but the sight of Avengers anywhere ain't as great for morale as you'd think."

"We'll be out of your hair in no time," Peter soothes. "Now, what can you tell us about the expedition?"

"The honcho, Solveig something - he made his men look into other anomalies that could explain the rings. They found some ruins in the southern hemisphere; Prothean, I think. Left a few days ago, but there's been no word since."

"The garrison didn't send anyone to look for them?" Barnes asks.

"Course we did! What'd you take us for? My men never even got close. Only way into the ruins is by crossing a region that's constantly being hit by lightning storms. Doesn't ever stop. Entire area is surrounded by black clouds; you can see it from miles away."

"Like the Catatumbo Lightning, back on Earth?" Peter pipes up.

"Yeah. Different conditions, though. Area would've made nice farmland if it weren't for that storm. Doesn't seem natural, somehow, just like the rings."

"You think there might be a connection?"

"How should I know? Ain't it your job to find out?"

"Ship's scanners can't penetrate the storm," Rambeau says over the comms, frustrated. "No way to know what's causing it or what's beneath it."

"But there is an alternate route to the ruins," Peter pipes up, bringing up a corresponding map on his omni-tool. "Decoded it from some Prothean storage discs that mentioned Eden Prime."

Prothean Ruins

The pyramid is nestled in a dark, wooded hollow between gently rising slopes. Light filters through a thick canopy, spotlighting Alliance-issued modular ramps and platforms secured to the ruins. Water pools on the ground, silvery and rippling - the product of a light, constant drizzle that has made the region uncomfortably muggy.

Isabelle's boots sink into a moss carpet, her curious eyes trailing over the dark ivy lining the stone. The structure's outer surfaces are not even, but jutted with blocks and carved with indentations. An angled, square hole forms a pitch dark entrance into the pyramid, hidden by a curtain of thick vines that had been disturbed recently.

"Could Selvig have gotten his hands on Prothean technology that revealed the existence of a backdoor?" Barnes wonders.

Peter shoves aside the vines. "Maybe." The narrow beam of an omni-light flicks around the entryway, exposing a narrow corridor. "But Dr. Selvig is infamous for his out-of-the-blue flashes of insight."

Without waiting for permission, he steps inside.

Barnes whistles. "The Protheans really capitalized on the underground real estate, huh?"

Isabelle couldn't help but agree. Peter had cranked a rusty, ancient elevator to life. It had shuddered through a slanted shaft, then had deposited them here: the tip of a sprawling, underground complex.

Carved, slippery rock cradles elaborate structures that have been built deep into the earth. A maze of connecting walkways and arched bridges, built over a gigantic hole, but wide enough for the three of them to walk abreast.

Instinctively, she sweeps for water. It's there, somewhere in the abyss below - but rank and slimy, crawling with filth. She grimaces, resolves to use her gun in case of emergencies.

They first notice the stench in a structure that would've been a skyscraper topside.

Isabelle gags, slams a hand over her nose and mouth, as though that's going to help. Her eyes watering, she doesn't notice that she's crossed the point of no return until there's a loud, metallic crank and a rush of wind as she's spider-webbed backward.

She slams into Peter, her breath driven out of her as they both tumble to the floor. They watch in disbelief as hot lasers slice through the space she'd been in a second ago.

The din continues for long enough for her heart to resume a natural pace, and then she sees it, illuminated by the faint torchlight.

Bodies. Dismembered horrifically, their ends cauterized by the laser. Beneath all the char, she makes out white uniforms with a red stripe across the chest area.

"Scientists," she croaks, pulling up her mask and breathing in the slightly stale smell of tanked oxygen with relief. "From the expedition. Like us, they must've activated a defense mechanism."

Barnes is crouched, running featherlight fingers on the ground. "No pressure plate, no trip wires. I can't find any trigger."

"Maybe the movement of foreign elements is the trigger," Peter says, after she waves off his help and rises. "Or maybe it's presence itself. Wouldn't be surprised if these walls had inbuilt sensors, dormant to conserve power until someone enters the ruins."

Barnes narrows his eyes at him. "That's… a really good guess," he says neutrally. "Question is: why are there traps? We never found any on Mars."

"Maybe the Protheans never thought Mars contained anything they considered dangerous."

Of course they find more traps. The whole complex is a lethal defense grid, laid out in three dimensions.

Lakes filled with corrosive ferrochemical fluids licking at their armor. Eezo-lined rooms that crush them to the ground by cranking up the gravity. Nanomaterial wires bristling invisibly between walls, sharper than a guillotine's blade, eager to slice them into pieces.

Every step is potentially deadly, inviting new, inventive, painful ways to die. Some they trigger inadvertently, while others deliberately; banking on the Spidey-Sense to get them through. But each trap does get activated for Peter to map out in a holographic rendition of the ruins.

Still, despite the blueprints, it becomes obvious pretty soon that they have a bigger problem.

"No, I'm not a hundred percent sure," Barnes grits out. "But that corridor definitely looks familiar. I even remember thinking that that particular rock resembled the Red Skull's face."

Peter's frowning at his omni-tool. "This doesn't make sense," he mutters. "Advanced or not, even Protheans shouldn't be able to construct Penrose steps. Right?"

"Say it like it is: we're hopelessly lost. I'm not even sure if we're going to be able to get back out at this point." Barnes shakes his head, looking troubled. "I'm going to scout ahead, see if I can find anything."

They're all disturbed in different ways. There's something about this planet that sets their teeth on edge. It shouldn't: there's nothing obviously untoward about this idyllic, agrarian world that might be the farthest they've yet managed to colonize. But these ruins, and the anomalies, foreshadow a dark underbelly, one Erik Selvig might've willingly, but unknowingly walked into.

Isabelle has rolled over every body they've come across, her insides clenching before she finds that it's not someone she knows. She was by no measure close to Selvig, but she owes him, and sometimes that hurts just as much. She'd rather get it over with, because this taut uncertainty makes it hard to breathe.

"You won't find him here," Peter murmurs.

"And you know that, how?" Isabelle asks, in an equally low, but pointed voice. Peter's been keeping his cards close to his chest from the moment she'd seen him on the ship. On Fury's orders - Peter's unwilling on some level, otherwise he wouldn't be dropping so many blatant hints.

"He's a Remnant of the Mind Stone," he replies bluntly. "It gives him access to knowledge he couldn't have known otherwise… and I'm guessing the way through this maze qualified."

She stills, squeezes her eyes shut. "Gabe Reyes, the little shit. That's classified information, Parker."

"Sure," he shrugs. "Just not from present company."

"That's not how this…"

"Don't," Peter says sharply, stalking towards her. "We've had this argument before. If you like, you can pretend to be annoyed that you needed me to save your life just now. But you don't have the right to dictate what I should or shouldn't know. You've never had that right."

She stares at him for a long moment. Then she nods sharply. "Understood."

Just then, Barnes dashes over, hair plastered to his forehead but his eyes triumphant. "Think I figured out what the problem is. I've been looking at the rock walls. At how this place has been hollowed out. Now, the topside structure was a square pyramid, but the elevator took us diagonally, right?"

"Yeah…"

"But the underground doesn't need to have the same number of sides. We assumed it, because that's what humans are wired for. Squares, four-sided, 90-degree turns. The Protheans bet on that presumption, built a misdirection so they could mess with would-be looters!"

"Well, I suppose we qualify," Isabelle drawls, " - but so far I haven't found anything worth the effort."

"If it's not a square," Peter mutters, fingers flying across the omni-tool, " - then my entire projection is false as the underlying equations are wrong. So what shape would the Protheans employ?"

The answer comes to her suddenly. She thinks of the Mars Archives, at the utter alienness of their bulkheads, their rooms. At the distinctive beehive motif she'd observed. "Hexagon. They preferred hexagons."

Peter's updated map leads them to the final chamber, built at the very base of the complex.

The levels had tapered as they had descended, like a reverse hexagonal pyramid, until they'd come upon a door - thick, metallic, like something you'd find in a submarine. Barnes had tugged it open, and they entered a dark, narrow chamber, with a gently sloping floor that led to a circular platform in the center, the very tip of the inverted pyramid.

Barrier curtains surround an empty space over the platform, flickering a dull green. Isabelle quashes a curdling sense of frustrated disappointment. "You think Selvig took whatever it was?"

Barnes walks to the green panels lining the chamber. "Maybe, but these definitely prove he was here." He points to small, oblong devices attached to the narrow groove of a power indicator. "Alliance-issued decoy emitters," he explains. "Used to create holographic bait in battle. Someone's repurposed them."

"Izzy." Peter's voice is strange as his fingers graze the paneling. "Would you say that these walls are made of the same alloy as the monolith in the Mars Archives?"

Isabelle nods. "Power indicator was glowing blue back then, but yeah. Why?"

"Because I think I know what Selvig was trying to do. He was linking contemporary human hardware to ancient Prothean tech. You see, we recently stumbled upon a really peculiar quality of this alloy - it's psychoscopic."

Isabelle raises her eyebrows.

"Everything in the universe has its own personal energy field - an aura, if you will," Peter explains. "An emanation that hugs the object like a second skin. Long ago, it was theorized that some materials may have the passive ability to embed the aura of their surroundings within their own molecules."

He scoffs, shakes his head. "Fringe science, we thought - until this alloy. Somehow, the ability has been encrypted into the construction of the alloy itself. It'd take our best scientists combined millennia to be able to understand, let alone reverse engineer it."

"Let me guess," Barnes says fondly. "Shuri found a way to access the data."

"And Selvig repurposed the emitters into a 3D projector to play out… residual imprints of whatever used to be here?" Isabelle's brow clears. "Which means whatever was here has been gone a long time."

"Not that long," Peter mutters, kneeling by the power indicator, fingers flying over his omni-tool. "Selvig would still be here, trying to crack the code, if he hadn't succeeded. I'd wager the artifact was left here by the Protheans, and has remained undisturbed until quite recently."

Barnes whistles. "50,000 years inside an subterranean complex littered with deadly traps. The Protheans sure didn't want this thing getting out. Can you duplicate what Selvig did?"

"Probably, though it'll take a while. You both should look for the main entrance - Eden Prime's days are long, but I don't want to risk getting stuck here at night. Some of the dormant traps looked nocturnal."

Isabelle goes to protest, but Barnes beats her to it. "Good point. Keep us updated. Let's go, Collins."

They find the exit ridiculously fast. Clearly, this was the conventional entrance. The sun is behind their backs, and the lowland is shrouded in a thin fog that does little to obscure the widespread ruins of what appears to be a Prothean settlement. The rift valley had once been paved, an effort of which only crumbling stone and sprouting vegetation remains. Beyond the mountain range, they can see a wall of dark, stormy clouds, clustered and unmoving.

"I don't appreciate being dragged out without so much as a 'by your leave', Barnes," Isabelle snarls.

He just shrugs. "Kid whooped my ass the first time I saw him, and trust me - neither me nor the Soldier was pulling punches. If he's keeping secrets, you're not going to force it out of him. Make his secrets redundant, though… and he'll spill his guts."

"So what do you suggest we do then?"

He points to a nearby overpass on the eastern horizon. There's a telltale glint of a scope against the darkening sky. "If that had been a sniper rifle, we'd be dead already," he says. "But I'd still like to know just who the hell is watching us."

The campsite is a wreck.

Lying in fragments in every direction are the remnants of the Asgardian shipment that got away from them. A foldable table had apparently been dragged outside the modular cabin for the express purpose of being ripped apart. Datapads lie cracked against the rocks. Rest is just scrap of metal and glass, squealing and crunching beneath their boots.

She picks up a flickering display. Scrolling reveals a trove of incomprehensible data - charts and tables that she quickly copies onto her omni-tool.

Even the cabin bears scars. Someone had smashed something against it hard enough to leave a dent on the metal. The mattress on the bolted-down bed is shredded, and the chest of drawers has its contents strewn across the floor in similar chaos.

The only thing that still remains intact is the telescope, utterly untouched by the maelstrom around them.

"Like Selvig went at it with a hammer," Barnes wonders, wide-eyed.

Isabelle jerks as a memory slams into her out of nowhere.

Bruce Banner, cradling the fragments of J.A.R.V.I.S.: This isn't strategy. This is rage.

Her eyes fall on the telescope. She walks towards it, almost dreamlike.

Barnes is still talking. "Selvig picked out a brilliant spot," he says admiringly with all the experience of an outstanding sniper. "He could see everything from this spot - the Prothean entrance, the night sky where the rings should be… and that." He points to the lightning-stricken valley in the distance.

She crouches, adjusts the scope to point to the anomaly and puts her eye to it.

The farmland is bathed in the light of a dying, alien sun, painting the sky a deeper red and orange than on Earth. Wildfires rage across the dense thickets running down gentle, rolling slopes that end in a dark blue, roiling lake. The farm is terraced, with graduated steps in gradient yellow-green.

The realization settles gently, like a shroud - this planet had been occupied before the humans had settled. And quite recently.

A sudden bolt of lightning catches her eye. She adjusts the scope until she gets a crisper image.

A somewhat squashed wooden structure greets her. A farmhouse, she thinks with trepidation. It's the center of the unnatural storm, constantly just missed by the lightning. A dreary sight.

As though the farmhouse just wants to get this over with. As though it can't abide another moment of flinching.

"Collins?"

The lightning strikes again. For a moment, the whole valley is illuminated. It sears her eyes, but she keeps them pried open, adjusting the scope to focus on something she'd seen. A lone figure, gigantic and misshapen.

No, not a figure.

A scarecrow. A tall, wooden post, arms outstretched, but not dressed in old clothes or stuffed in straw.

Those are from children's nightmares.

This scarecrow… was custom designed for her.

A battle suit, heavy and golden and monstrous.

And the helmet, sitting innocuously atop the post, its iconic shape unmistakable.

Peter makes the final adjustments to the decoy emitters, and swipes at his omni-tool decisively.

Thin, blue light beams shoot out of the devices. They dance over the platform, coalescing into an oddly familiar shape.

A staff, Peter analyzes distantly. Or something similar. A long, slightly curved grip handle, maybe two feet long, swelling at the end. Holographic facets gleam off a glowing gemstone, cradled by two sharp blades; a larger above it and another, shorter one underneath.

No. Not a staff.

A Scepter.

His omni-tool buzzes. It's Izzy.

"Peter Parker, you've got some explaining to do."

PSV Triskelion

Somewhere in the Erebus System, Styx Theta

"Thanos called it 'The Garden'," Bruce says, looking drained even through the hologram. "Official designation: Planet 0259-S. A nice, cushy retirement home."

"How did no one peg it when Eden Prime was first discovered?" Isabelle asks.

He shrugs. "Best guess? We jumped out of a wormhole a decade ago to the southern hemisphere of the planet. We knew where to go; we didn't stop for sightseeing. But the colonists have had plenty of fertile farmland on the northern continents; they'd have had no time nor reason to go poking elsewhere."

"And the lightning was Thor?"

"It was already striking by the time we left. Thought he'd lift it after he was done destroying the rings, but I guess he was angrier than we thought." Bruce shakes his head. "Blew those rocks to smithereens. Whatever got caught by Eden Prime's gravity would've burned up in the atmosphere. No evidence, no crime."

Isabelle turns to Peter. "You don't seem surprised by any of this."

Peter folds his arms across his chest. "You gonna try and keep me out of the loop?"

"You know more than me, Pete. I should be asking you that."

Peter shares a quick glance with Bruce, then tells her everything.

Isabelle exhales. "So, to summarize: the Protheans hid the Scepter with the Mind Stone in a secret bunker on Eden Prime, after splitting and downloading its schematic onto various discs. 50,000-odd years later, Thanos finds it in the ruins, uses it to wipe out half the universe, then retires. Until he gets killed by Thor, who scorches his farm, unleashes an everlasting storm and destroys the planetary rings."

She rubs her forehead. "Why come back to the same planet, though?"

"Because he thought of himself a holy warrior," Barnes pipes up from the other end of the cargo hold. "He'd fulfilled his mission, his life's dream - which had all started there."

His gaze is fixed unblinkingly on the dark expanse of space, as though still seeing Eden Prime. As though still recalling the moment he'd turned to ash. "Now it was time to hang up the armor and just watch the sunset."

Something in the air shifts noticeably.

Isabelle lifts her head, then walks over to the bridge. "Why are we entering FTL, Rambeau? Eden Prime's just a couple of jumps away from Sol."

Rambeau is tight with tension as she pulls up an audio file on an adjacent screen.

"Just received an emergency beacon from the neighboring Acheron System. We're the closest…," she swallows, " - and this isn't something we can ignore."

Static crackles in the overhead speakers. "Arcturus Station, this is the SSV Sokovia," a female announces briskly. "Unknown vessel approaching. We need first contact protocols."

The Sokovia. Which had ferried Erik Selvig to - and presumably from - Eden Prime.

In the dead silence that follows, Peter is the first to find his voice. "S.W.O.R.D.'s ships are retro-reflecting," he croaks, shattering their fervent hopes that the Sokovia had just encountered Skrulls, " - with designs resembling the Alliance's. Plus they'd have announced themselves."

Isabelle reaches for the CIC and pulls up all the data S.W.O.R.D. has on Alliance ships associated with the Milky Way Foundation. Why would they deploy the Sokovia all the way out here? There's very little of worth in this system. Certainly nothing that they would risk Fury's wrath for by not responding to his persistent summons.

"If the signal's for Arcturus," Barnes murmurs, " - why are we hearing it?"

"Universal distress beacon," Rambeau says tersely as she steps on it. "SOP is to trigger it if the ships suspect first contact. It broadcasts to all nearby allied ships."

Beyond the mass effect field, stars begin to stretch into thin red smears. As the ship reaches the speed threshold, the FTL's canvas blooms with the distant, transient light of accretion disks and supernovas.

Their minds similarly linger in a strange space. Throats tighten around breaths of anticipation as Rambeau reverses the thrusters, slowing them down.

Without warning, the ship slams back into subliminal space. Outside, laser lines of red are bisecting the darkness.

The speakers crackle once again. "Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is the SSV Sokovia! We've suffered heavy damage from an unknown enemy! Requesting—"

The voice breaks off just as the bright flare of an explosion whites out their vision.

Acheron System, Styx Theta

The brilliant blaze overwhelms the photochromic adaptation of the windshield. But, unlike her passengers, Monica doesn't have the luxury of going temporarily blind.

Instantly, her pupils constrict, far past the point that humans can instinctively manage - allowing only enough light for her to be able to see.

With a twisting motion, the Triskelion banks sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding a fan of flaming debris. Monica points the nose upward, gritting her teeth as her ship rides the swell of the next shockwave. Past the windscreen, the remnants of the SSV Sokovia batter at their shields, furious at not having been saved.

"The Sokovia got new orders from the Foundation; it was escorting an Alliance expeditionary fleet to open up a dormant primary relay in Acheron!" Collins cries, bracing herself against the CIC terminal. "They're sitting ducks out there!"

"Parker," Barnes barks, strapping himself into the co-pilot seat, " - get to the gunnery and fire up the GARDIAN! Collins, you've got no helm training, so take point!"

There's the telltale sound of a web snapping as Peter swings away. Moments later, he confirms, "GARDIAN lasers armed and ready," just as the Triskelion clears the debris field, and Monica gets her first view of the enemy.

Against the starry expanse of Styx Theta, the ships appear bird-like, with harsh, unforgiving lines that slice the universe around them into three parts - friend, foe and the indifference of space. Four or five heavy frigates - judging by the spinal main gun - chug out mass accelerator rounds at the limping, vulnerable expedition. They're surrounded by smaller, talon-shaped fighter crafts, circling their larger counterparts. In the distance beyond them, silhouetted against an orange dwarf is the telltale tuning-fork of a primary mass relay.

"Best guess - enemy is a patrol fleet," Monica calls, thinking rapidly. "Watch out for a cruiser!"

Barnes grunts. "Mass accelerator slugs have begun their arming sequence!"

Suddenly, five fighters fall into formation, swarming towards a fleeing Alliance corvette. They cut off all her access points, hounding her into submission.

Monica's blood boils as she puts on a burst of acceleration. So intent is the enemy on barraging their targets that they don't even notice when Monica slips in real close.

"Let's deal some damage of our own," Peter snarls savagely over the comms, just as crosshairs appear on the windshield, targeting three of the five fighters. "Activating GARDIAN lasers."

His aim is true. Blue light shoots outward from the turrets on the exterior hull, carving a beam of destruction across the fighters. Kinetic barriers on the alien ships flicker futilely, and minor but immensely satisfying explosions light up their armor within.

Monica doesn't waste time. With a neat twist, she aligns the bow with the nearest frigate's broadside.

Barnes grins, slams the side of his fist on a terminal. "Slugs are away."

From somewhere deep below, their spinal mount mass accelerator gun shudders, propelling large metal projectiles towards the enemy. The frigate attempts to twist away, but it's far too late for that. The slugs shatter on impact, shrapnel shredding its hull and clipping its wings.

The Triskelion doesn't escape unscathed. Spinal guns are for long-range bombardment, but Monica had been burning for revenge, and now her ship is paying for it. The recoil shock had thrown Collins to the ground hard, and slammed Barnes and Monica against their safety belt. "Status report!"

"Sensors are showing hull strain in the lower decks," Peter gasps. "Other systems operational."

The damaged fighters break formation, pulling back behind the frigates. The alien fleet, almost as one, turns around to face the Triskelion. "Well, we've caught their attention," Collins groans, rising. "Now what?"

"Now we keep 'em busy until the corvettes get away, then we disengage." Monica retreats far enough to avoid the enemy's laser fire. "If we can," she mutters under her breath as the remaining fighters regroup, tightening formation, cutting off exit routes.

"Tracking multiple missiles," Peter suddenly cries out.

Monica throws the Triskelion into a sharp turn as a dozen or so torpedoes hurtle towards them in purple streaks. The GARDIAN lasers take out a few, but a couple get past the defense grid. Wavy ripples erupt from the point of contact where they strike the shields.

"Kinetic barriers at seventy percent!" Barnes yells. "Firing broadside guns!"

The slugs speed away, slamming into the enemy. Outside, the battlefield is a confusion of ships, shells and multi-colored laser fire. Monica, no longer able to track friend from foe, just fires blindly and prays to gods she doesn't believe in that the auto-targeting system doesn't get knocked out.

A torpedo slams into them hard enough to knock something loose.

"Alert," the ship's V.I. says in an inappropriately cheerful voice. "Hull breach in the cargo hold. Emergency bulkheads engaged successfully."

"We've got incoming." Barnes murmurs, staring out the windshield.

Speeding through the battlespace are the frigates, who have finally decided to come out and play.

Initially, they swarm the Triskelion, much like the fighters had, releasing disruptor torpedoes of their own. But, as Barnes continues to fire the broadside guns, they smoothly fall into a circle formation. The noose around Monica's ship tightens until none of their slugs hit their targets, while they're constantly battered by enemy missiles.

"Shields are collapsing!" Collins warns. "Rerouting from non-critical systems!"

"Long-range sensors offline!" Peter calls. "GARDIAN's failing too!"

"The corvettes are clear!" Barnes says. "We need to disengage!"

Monica's fingers fly across the screen desperately, looking for any opening in enemy formation. There! A gap just narrow enough for the Triskelion to squeeze through. She puts on a burst of acceleration, the inertial dampeners shoved to the very limit as the ship blasts her way through the enemy, hostile torpedoes in hot pursuit.

The corvettes are just ahead, moments away from the new primary relay waking up from dormancy. The eezo core begins to glow from within the cage of spinning gyroscopic rings that are rapidly gaining momentum. Once they jump, they could take to FTL, thus further obscuring their trail.

Something glints between the egg-shaped surfaces of a binary planet.

Barnes inhales sharply.

A large, alien ship slams into view. Shaped like a large pterodactyl with its wings unfurled, it dwarfs the corvettes that are now frantically attempting to evade its wrath.

Monica watches it happen in slow motion, her mouth opened in a silent scream.

The massive spinal gun, aimed at the broadsides of the Alliance ships.

The enemy cruiser, shuddering as it spits out spinning streaks of death.

Flaming shrapnel, tearing the tiny corvettes apart.

On the Triskelion's screens, the blue arrows depicting allied ships on the battle map wink out one by one.

Time snaps back as the cruiser turns towards them menacingly. With a sharp jerk, Monica points the bow towards the primary relay. "Taking evasive maneuvers. Diverting all auxiliary power to main thrusters!"

Falling into an erratic zigzag course, they speed through the system, passing icy planets and multicolored moons, inching closer and closer to the relay. "System temperatures nearing critical levels!" Barnes warns.

The Triskelion twists sharply away as a mass accelerator comes hurtling towards them. Shields ripple away into nothingness at the glancing blow, and, even before Peter speaks up, she knows that the GARDIAN turrets are down.

With moments to spare, the Triskelion reaches the relay and Monica activates the jump sequence.

The massive eezo core lifts them up and tosses them into the beyond.

MCU Canon

Valkyrie

Valkyrie is not like how she was portrayed in Thor: Love and Thunder. I have not watched the movie, nor am I gonna bother. Same with Jane. There may be some similar elements that I might end up using, but for the most part it's completely different.

James Rhodes = Vice President

This plot point was actually considered by the Endgame writers when planning out the five years of the Decimation. They dropped it, obviously. But I figured it might end up being useful somewhere down the line.

Mass Effect Canon

Kaitlin Cheung

In canon, the President when the Statue of Liberty was destroyed. Decided to use her here because Kelly's tenure is over.

Terra Firma

Terra Firma is a human political party who opposes humanity's growing integration into the galactic community. The members believe humanity needs to stand alone if they are to remain strong.

In canon, the party was created after First Contact War, but here I figured since there have already been a lot of alien invasions, and Ross isn't all that pleased with the Asgardians getting a rich, fertile planet all to themselves (which indirectly led to his getting kicked out of the White House), he would protest by founding a political party.

The party doesn't play all that great a role in the games, but the benefactor (whose identity I think you can all guess) believes Terra Firma will play a major role in 'humanity's ascension'.

Alcyoneus

Alcyoneus is a sizable asteroid, one of many towed through the mass relay to help build Arcturus Station in this metal-poor system. Like many of the asteroids in the belt, miners built small habitats on Alcyoneus to live closer to their excavation sites.

Minagen X1

Minagen X3 is something you encounter in Samara's recruitment mission, Mass Effect 2. Thought I'd introduce an earlier version of it here.

Eden Prime, Hades Nexus?

In ME1, Both Anderson and the Council mentioned that Eden Prime is located within the Attican Traverse and at the borders of the Terminus Systems. However, the galaxy map revealed Eden Prime in the Exodus Cluster, smack dab in the middle of Alliance Space and away from either of those areas mentioned. This was a big plot hole, so I decided to move not just the colony, but that entire star system (Utopia) to Hades Nexus, which fits the bill. After all, I have trouble imagining geth invading what's pretty much the heart of Alliance space - even with Sovereign on their side - as brazenly as they did in the game.

Decoy-Emitters

Basically EDI's Decoy power in ME3.

Psychoscopy

I got the idea of the psychoscopic alloy from Javik, and from the Prothean beacons. Javik can touch someone and know their entire life history, and he can run his hands along objects, the walls of a room etc. to know exactly who or what lived there and what they were like. And the prothean beacon projects images directly onto one's brain. This ability is very reminiscent of psychoscopy, a hypothesized ESP that allows the claimant to make associations with an artifact just by physical contact with the artifact.

I figured the Protheans, if they've already incorporated their biological ability into one tech (I.e. the Beacons), why wouldn't they do it for another?

Erebus System, Styx Theta

The Triskelion jumped from Eden Prime, which is in Hades Nexus, to another mass relay in Erebus System, Styx Theta. Now, according to canon, there is no mass relay in Erebus System. There is only a primary mass relay in Acheron, which is what the N7 gang uses to jump away from the fight at the end of the chapter.

I'm changing this for my own purposes. I'm creating a secondary relay in Erebus that connects to Hades Nexus and some other significant systems that we'll explore in the next chapter.

Star clusters with multiple mass relays, both primary and secondary, are rare in canon, but it DOES happen. For example: Arcturus Stream, which holds four mass relays, according to the wiki. Omega Nebula, which holds the normal Omega Relay, and also the deadly Omega-4 Relay. And of course, the Serpent Nebula, where the Citadel is, holds around 12+ relays!

General Canon

Passivity Protocol

I was researching about potential first contact protocols online and came upon this proposal of passivity. It made some valid points, but I though it could potentially be a good source of conflict in my fic, which has already faced several alien invasions.