Los Angeles AFB, Los Angeles, United States of America

The 160th SOAR did not usually return stateside this quickly after a mission, but here they were. A black C130 Hercules bearing the knightly emblem of the Night Stalkers touched down on one of the Air Force Base's multitude of Runways, slowing to a crawl and taxiing toward Hangar-07, where good old James Rhodes was waiting. An unusually patient, thin-faced, dark-skinned man, Rhodes wasn't usually one of the guys to worry about this kind of delivery, considering he knew Tony and was good friends with the crazy, vainglorious bastard.

However, requesting the 160th to do what's basically a clandestine airlift of some crap in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere Afghanistan worried Rhodes. He hoped Tony was at least willing to pay for the Gas. Hell, he had the money for it. Rhodie lifted his wristwatch and tapped his foot impatiently as the aircraft pulled in, its turboprop engines whirring as they wound down, quieting their thrum to a mere purr.

"He's late agai-" The man was about to complain, before the screech of tires sounded off behind him. He turned around and staggered as, mere inches from his face, a speedster of a car was moving right side flat onto him, burning rubber to brake. It stopped an inch from his stomach and Rhodes swore to Christ that his heart dropped to his knees with that little pit maneuver.

Tony emerged out of the vehicle, sunglasses on his face and a business suit as he scratched his goatee and thin mustache, his rowdy dark-brown hair flowing in the wind of the open runway area. He smiled at Rhodie, then walked up to him and said, "You did me a big solid, man. These people are important."

"Right, well, you still owe me-PEOPLE!?" Rhodie balked, then demanded, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, PEOPLE!? WHY WAS I NOT BRIEFED OF THIS!?"

Tony nodded nonchalantly, ignoring the last part, "Yep. Well, two chicks, one robot. He's pretty interesting if you want him," before pointing to the opening rear ramp of the transport. Descending off the plane, a figure clad in battered, dark-green power armor with a reflective orange visor, an armor that looked like it could tank a hit from a HEAT Shell, stepped off, followed by two young women. One was a brown-to-blue-haired beauty with burning azure eyes and a strange armor set that more-so resembled something like a one-piece swimsuit with boots and the other, a beautiful blonde whose hair turned a gradient pink at the tips, was wearing US Marine pants, boots and a PT Shirt.

The big man, who was a head and some taller than the girl in alien armor, carried their bags, including what seemed to be one full of weaponry. Giddily, the blondie seemed to be bouncing on her feet as she pranced over toward Rhodie and Tony. Tony pulled down his sunglasses and, to his credit of being his usual self, gave a wink to the blonde, who gave a thumbs up and a salute.

The tall man set the weapons bags down as he approached, then gave a salute to Rhodes and a nod to Tony, while the last girl simply flashed a smirk at them, arms crossed to her chest. She had a more relaxed stance than either of the two of her companions, so much so that it made Rhodie tense in her place. The man wasn't sure what to think of any of the three weirdoes... And he was a bit pissed.

Rhodes cast a sideways glance at Tony, a brow quirked up at him like he was Uncle Ruckus, before he asked, "Are you nuts...?" his voice low. He turned to Tony and told him, "Were you testing weapons down there without us knowing again?" while motioning to the trio, then added, "I thought you quit that crap when you came back from being under the Afghani Warlords' prison, man..." almost pleading with him, Rhodes was.

Tony put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Rhodie, relax. These ain't my weapons. I just found them while... Doing... Satellite reconnaissance..." a lie right off the bat, but a truth as well, so they canceled out, Tony thought. Despite furrowed brows and the look of absolute childhood friend bullshit awareness Rhodie gave him, the Air Force liaison officer sighed and shook his head, then murmured something or other about 'Tony putting him in the grave', before walking away to write a report. Tony called out, "Rhodie, c'mon!"

"Bye, Tony!" The man replied, giving a wave without even looking back.

Cortana snickered, "Pissed the Air Force man off... Not a good one."

"Hush, hot stuff. Rhodie's cool, he'll get over it," The man replied, to which both Cortana and Gwen snorted. He motioned for them to get in the car, which they did. The two women took the rear seats, while Tony took driver. Chief stood there for a moment and stared, then loaded the luggage into the trunk of the vehicle and considered how he should sit so he didn't damage Tony's car. Tony, to his credit, pushed the passenger door open and said, "Get in, big man." only to watch Chief still stand there. He told him, "C'mon. I'll buff out the damage if it happens..."

Chief sighed internally, then stepped up to the vehicle and climbed aboard, sitting down in the chair that was definitely not made for the bulk of a Spartan in a 500 kilogram armor. The hull of the vehicle dented and the seat obviously broke, the vehicle tilting slightly to the right. Cortana poked her head in-between the seats and stated, "Hope your insurance is good, Stark..." a grin on her face. Gwen let out a giggle at the quip, while Stark rolled his eyes and put on his sunglasses, the Chief doing his best to keep his door closed.

The vehicle rolled forward at maximum speed, or as fast as it could under the half-ton weight of a Spartan in full MJOLNIR, plus passengers and cargo. Half an hour later, the group was at a massive, beautiful and modern mansion on the cliffside of Malibu, with an underground garage space/workshop containing a dozen new and vintage cars. The Spartan stepped out of the vehicle first, looking at the multitude of dents, then looked to Tony.

The man sighed deeply and said, "Well, shit..." as he got out of the vehicle. He looked it over and stated, "Look, I'd say you have to pay for it, but I don't know what kind of mess you come from where your armor looks like it got burned a dozen times over. I like the style, but..." And with a sigh, he said, "Nevermind. JARVIS, get me some tools to repair the dent in the car and get these people some rooms."

"Right away, sir," A very posh British-accented voice came over the loudspeakers, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman."

"An AI...?" Cortana smirked, putting her hands on her hips, "Well, hey there."

"Indeed, ma'am. I am JARVIS, or Just A Rather Very Intelligent System."

"And I'm Cortana. Also an AI, but with a human body," She maintained her smile, "Nice to meet you, JARVIS... Clever name," And she looked to Tony, who gave a shrug and a chuckle as a robot brought over a set of tools for the car. She looked around and asked, "So, a billionaire who made his fortune in selling WMDs and apparently a fairly sciency nerd in his free time..."

"That sums me up," He nodded, then gave Cortana fingerguns, "Thanks, Hot Stuff. They make'em good where you come from if you're an AI."

Cortana rolled her eyes, while Gwen giggled as she slung her bag over her shoulder. The Chief hummed, tense as he scanned the ceiling and noting cameras and the likes. Tony pointed a spanner toward the Spartan and asked, "What's his deal? He's awfully quiet. Ignoring his armor, he actually feels more like a robot." before sighing deeply as he saw no response from Chief outside of a stare.

"I can confirm he is human, mister Stark," JARVIS quipped.

Tony snorted, "Thanks, JARVIS..." before walking to the car and stating, "Guide them to the rooms. I'm gonna get on the car, then call Chief in to start talking about his armor..." and motioning to Chief's armor.

"Right this way, sir, ladies," JARVIS stated and a row of lights appeared on the floor, a holographic pathway. The Spartan stared at the man, then sighed and followed along with Gwen and Cortana close behind. The group walked through a sliding glass door, then up the concrete stairs and into the massive, sprawling modernist house. More stairwells, glass windows and various other semi-familiar architecture.

Cortana hummed and said, "Well, this is homey..."

"Yeah, no kiddin'!" Gwen grinned proudly, "Look at this place!"

Chief hummed, his military mind obviously focused on finding exits, entries, chokepoints and the likes. Cortana noticed this, then sighed deeply and told him, "John, settle down... We're basically on a break here," And walked up to him. She flicked him in the visor, causing him to blink, then told him, "Take off the helmet and let's relax. Hey, JARVIS, which way?"

"Take a right and you will find three unoccupied rooms," He replied. The group look past a neomodernist spiral stairway, they saw three doors next to a window with a beautiful view of the outside, the sea hitting the cliff face and the clear blue sky of California. Cortana looked over to the Spartan, smirked, then looked u pat one of the cameras JARVIS was using.

"I think two rooms is fine," She smirked, before looking to Chief. He turned toward her and she knew he was curious. She winked at him, to which Gwen burst into giggles, before they picked their rooms. Cortana managed to nab the room with a seaside view, which had several smart devices and equipment, but the bed, a king-size, and the furniture were incredibly beautiful and... A tad more rustic than expected.

The Spartan set his rifle aside, then examined the room. Cortana whistled, taking his attention to her, then pointing at her head, to signify his helmet. With a light sigh, the Chief gently twisted it left and undid its seals, then took it off, revealing the young, scarred face of the Spartan. He set it aside on the desk, letting it thump on the table, before breathing a sigh and approaching the smart windows.

"Huh," Cortana smirked as she interfaced with them, "Self-tinting glass..."

She hummed, grinned, then tinted it via her powers, before standing on her tippy-toes and... Well, John felt something soft hit his lips just after the room went completely dark. The Chief took a good moment to register it before feeling his face burning. He blinked as Cortana returned light to the room, to show the smile she now wore, framed by scarlet cheeks. He pressed a gauntleted finger over his lips, then hummed and stared at the AI... Only for a faint smile to cross his lips.

Gwen giggled from the door, to which Cortana materialized a plasma pistol and overcharged it, glaring at the blonde with an ability to break certain walls. The girl dipped back into cover and said, "Y'ALL MOTHERFUCKERS ARE CUTE!" as she walked back to her room. Cortana growled, then sighed deeply and lowered the pistol, rubbing her face and whining. He put a hand on her shoulder, which caused her to relax.

The Spartan sighed deeply, then gave her a calm nod and walked out into the hallway. Cortana, meanwhile, whined and covered her mouth, face redder than a beet. She wondered what even drove her to do that in the first place, but then again, human bodies, even modified, reacted weirdly to moments of peer pressure and stupid thoughts. And she wanted to test it, why not, why shouldn't she try it? It was fine, it was alright, it was okay.

She breathed in, calmed down, then calmed down again. Because her heart rate was skyrocketting.

God, that was exhilarating though... She licked her lips and giggled, happiy...

Though... She finally had time to wonder, just how many people knew they were here? There must've been more. The SOAR would've reported them. And even if they didn't, ther must've been some energy discharge when they just up and appeared on this old Earth. She hummed, took a moment to parse the Internet, see if anyone spoke of them. Best be safe...

... Ho boy. Radiation pockets... New ones.


... At Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters, near Salem Center, New York, USA

Around the time of the Chief's and Cortana's emergence in Afghanistan.

The light of the sun began to fade over the horizon, an orange hue wrapping around the world.

The fabled School for Gifted Youngsters was a beautiful place. Built on an old homestead during the 1700s and resembling more a palace of Old British Royalty than any home of a wealthy American on the East Coast, the school built within the confines of the Xavier Mansion housed many dozens of 'special' children. Now, some would call the term 'special' a tad offensive, if only they thought it referred to the classic definition, not to the one utilized by the School itself.

The Gifted Youngsters of this entrepreneurship of teaching were, rather formidably and obviously, youngsters gifted with mutant powers rather than gifted with just incredible intellects and the overall inability or lack of desire to 'blend in' with the normal world. The teachers here were present to teach them how to both rejoin society properly and how to best utilize their powers in the name of the greater good of mankind.

In its beautiful, ornate walls, those taught played together, learned together and overall just acted as normal children to the best of their abilities, while their chaperones kept their eyes on them. One such chaperone was James Logan, a 'gifted individual' himself, with the gift of immortality through regeneration and an Adamantium endoskeleton as a late-term addition, he would come to be called Wolverine. His arms crossed to his chest, his leather jacket and black undershirt wrinkling a bit, he scratched the back of his head, pushing a hand through black hair.

A handsome man by all rights, Logan was also older than the average joe within New York by a country mile. He'd seen a lot of stuff along the years, being several centuries old, in fact. He watched a couple of the younger kids running around and sighed, then looked over with a huff as he heard heavy footfalls coming toward him. Logan spoke, his voice rough, greeting the approaching figure, "Afternoon, Scott..."

The man beside him gave a greeting, arranging the sunglasses he wore to conceal his powers on the bridge of his nose. The man was a more young type of handsome than Logan's usual brusque, rough self, but Logan treated him with respect, considering Scott was his Team Lead. He, too, wore a jacket, though his was a jean jacket. Beneath it was a white shirt, hidden well by the buttoned-up upper layer.

Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops, replied, "Good afternoon to you, too, Logan... Take it today's busy?"

"When isn't it?" Logan replied, "Kids are being kids, at least."

"Yeah... Hey, have you seen professor Xavier as of late?" Scott inquired, "Last I heard, some new mutants appeared around Sokovia..."

"Not much we can do there. Sokovia's not exactly a Mutant-friendly nation," He shrugged, then motioned to the beautiful wood stairwells leading to the upper floors of the mansion and stated, "As for the prof, I think he's still in link with Cerebro. Old Man must be looking for more than just the Sok kids if he's been in there for that long..." before letting out a short huff.

Scott took a moment to consider the possibility of another mass appearance of Mutants and what that'd mean for the School, then sighed and squelched those thoughts. He stated, "Sokovia can't be any worse than any other country we went through. Remember Budapest? Secret Agents... My back's still sore from that one sonic arrow that weird guy sent my way."

"Hah," Logan snorted, then gave him a light tap on the shoulder, "Yeah, that was something, alright. I think the Redhead liked ya."

"She sure had a funny way of showing it," Scott murmured, scratching his neck. "Jean and Storm still on a mission?"

He nodded, "In Africa, last I heard. Something or other going on there," And he shrugged, "Don't know. Maybe best if you ask the Prof about it."

"Yeah. Best I go find him now, before-" And he paused as he saw the professor 'roll in'. An elderly bald man with brown eyes came in on a special electric wheelchair. He arranged the tie around his neck and his jacket, then looked over to Logan and Scott with a grave gaze. The two men immediately tensed, noting that that type of stare from the usually cheery Charles Xavier meant either trouble, or brewing trouble.

"Scott, Logan," He greeted the two of them, rather stoic. "Good afternoon..." He turned to face them with his wheelchair, "We have to talk in private..."

"Lead the way, professor," Scott nodded. The two men followed along behind him, exchanging a couple of concerned glances, before entering the man's office. Xavier moved behind his desk with his chair, interlacing his fingers on his desk and motioning to the men to take the comfortable leather seats ahead of the desk, which contained a globe, a mat for writing, a small computer off to the side that looked like it was gathering dust, as well as various pens, pencils and a lamp. The two men took their seats, with Scott asking, "What happened?" rather quickly.

"Straight to the point, I suppose, then," Xavier hummed, then nodded, "We have a situation... I felt a sudden shift in Cerebro. Like, if you'll pardon the rather archaic expression, someone rolled a boulder into the otherwise calm lake of psychic energy. Something appeared, the likes of which hasn't been since the 1940s... Something incredibly powerful."

The two men blinked. That big a discharge of energy meant real trouble, depending on the situation at hand. And something as strong as the '40s? Logan's gut grew tight. If it was another one, if it was someone as capable as his and Steve's old friend... He had a nagging feeling he knew what it might've been. He told the professor, "You sure, prof? Was Alice actually telling us the truth back then...?"

"It certainly seems to be the case," The man sighed, "The figure, whomsoever they may be, appears to have landed in Afghanistan. I can't ascertain an exact position, but..."

"They're dead in the middle of a warzone..." Murmured Scott, his voice filled with a combination of annoyance and worry that one wouldn't usually find in the stoic young man, "One we have no ability to travel into for now. US Military's still in active operation in that place, not to mention NATO allies... If Stryker or his higher-ups catch us even stepping foot into that place, they'll have all the rights to nail us to the wall."

"Indeed, Scott..." The Professor sighed.

Logan growled, then asked, "What do we do then? We can't just let someone else nab this new guy, especially if he or she's like Alice... We promised her before she went MIA..."

"I know, old friend," Xavier replied as soothingly as he could... "I'm considering our options. If possible, I will use Cerebro to keep tabs on him, but other than that, I cannot promise anything unless we engage in small-talk with Stryker and the President. Something I'm not willing to do at the moment," He told them, "So, we wait. Perhaps we'll be lucky and someone will bring him over to at least this continent..."

"And then we go talk to him?" Scott asked, "What if SHIELD gets involved?"

"We'll just have to pray old Nick is keen on continuing that little bout of cooperation we had in Budapest, though with less shooting this time," The Professor quipped, giving a quick smile. Logan snorted derrisively. As if goddamn Fury would be willing to just let a possible asset like this slip out of his hands. Xavier, sensing the tension, told his two trustworthy lieutenants, "It's very likely SHIELD is already tracking the contact, as well."

"So, we sit it out..." Scott stated, "Watch and observe?"

"Best we can do, I'm afraid," The Professor replied. Logan sighed deeply and rubbed his face, visibly annoyed. Xavier added, "The moment he's brought stateside... We will find him and talk to him... And if SHIELD decides to step in, well, let's remind them we are also allowed to talk to those we consider part of our own people. Until then, I want you two at the ready. As soon as Jane and Storm are back from the Congo, we will call them over and send the X-Men to see what can be done."

"Gotcha, professor," Logan nodded. Scott gave his approval as well, before the Professor gave them a relaxed smile and waved them away as respectfully as possible. Both Logan and Scott stood to their feet and stepped out of the office. Xavier let out a deep sigh and leaned his forehead into his hands, wondering just what kind of mess they'd gotten into. It had been nearly seventy years since Alice had appeared. Nearly as many since she and Steven Rogers had gone missing. Why today, of all days, would a new figure like her even appear? Did they have a knack for coming into being during turbulent times in history?

... He needed some tea and a clear head to go back to Cerebro. Keep tabs on their newfound friend...


SHIELD Helicarrier, skies high above the Indian Ocean

Operating in International Territories near by the Horn of Africa

Zero Hour

The Helicarrier was a behemoth of a vessel. Four turbofan VTOL engines kept the massive city-sized afloat above the rest of the world, an all-watching eye meant to ensure liberty, security and safety for the United States of America and its allied nations. It currently operated as near to the Horn of Africa as its naval capabilities allowed, remaining in the heavens above, between the clouds and camouflaged by the extensive photoreactive camouflage panels on its belly.

One squadron of recently developed F35 Fighters maintained High-Altitude Combat Air Patrols around the vessel, just in case she and her retinue were detected by any power hostile to the US. ELINT aboard monitored communications channels for reported sightings of the massive vessel in the sky and wiped any supposed photos or footage at a alarmingly fast speeds.

SHIELD was meant to be a secret organization and the Helicarrier, their trump card. With two runways, multiple defensive and offensive systems and even missile launchers plus three squadrons of Fighters and a dozen gunships, manned by thousands of SHIELD's finest men and women and with a complement of Special Forces troops that would put even some of NATO's non-American, yet recognized member forces to shame, she was a Flying Fortress, a beacon of peace in turbulent times.

And her commander and the overall commander of SHIELD's Operations, including its more black ones, saw fit to maintain a high readiness status among her crew. The Bridge was running through a combat drill as the man stood there, atop a pedestal of sorts and amongst a dozen holographic touch-screens and displays that showed both security cameras and the vessel's status.

Dark-skinned, tall, with a bald head, a thick beard and a black eyepatch covering his right eye and clad in possibly the most spy-esque outfit of a black, leather longcoat, black shirt, black pants and combat boots, Nicholas Joseph Fury regarded his fellow, grey-and-black-clad staff members as they ran the drill, consoles beeping, the red alert signal, three shrill notes, playing over the PA and scarlet alarm lights flashing.

"Sections thirteen, fourteen and fifteen are last sealed. Hangar is airtight. Crews secure at their stations," Reported a com officer.

"Conn to Captain, holding steady on course and at half-flank," The 'Helmsman' of the ship stated, "Reactor output nominal and we're running as silent as we can."

The head engineer called out, his accent thick Scottish, "She's purrin' mighty fine, sir. Photoreactive camouflage active with no fluctuations, aye. Systems nominal across the board and no issues on main weapons systems, aye. Gunnery confirms, deployment of automated turrets without issues, deck crews confirmin' status nominal, all non-deployed Air Assets currently standing by for orders."

"Air Traffic Control, in contact with CAP squadron confirming Skies are Clear," The Radar and ATC Operator stated, "Radars show only friendly IFFs in the air for the next several thousand meters. ELINT?"

"Tagging coms. Horn of Africa civilian and military traffic clear of sightings, just reports of Pirates. USS Samuel B. Roberts and escorting craft are engaging to disable raiders, but there's no other major action seaside," the ELINT operator reported, "Pakistani, Chinese, Indian and Iranian coms are the usual gibberish and posturing. Saudi coms are showing slight spike, but nothing out of the ordinary in this general area."

Fury gave a nod of approval, then said, "Alright. Stand down Red Alert, go to yellow..." And, indeed, red lights turned yellow and the wail of alarms grew quieter at his orders. Calm as can be, Nick ordered to com, Radar and ELINT, "Keep our CAP out and get us moving on a short patrol around the Horn. Keep ears open if they start asking for backup or if one of Xavier's weird kids shows up... Speaking of, keep a line open to Xavier."

"Aye, sir!" The crew replied.

Fury hummed, then grabbed an apple off a tray sat beside him and bit down into it, calmly staring out at the blue sky and white clouds beyond. Footsteps echoed behind him, against the hard steel of the bridge's floor. The man turned toward her, viewing the back of the Bridge, which also contained a small study, a telecom room in the far right, the lifts down to the deck in the middle and a table for meetings on the left.

The approaching figure was a young woman, perhaps in her early thirties. Short brown hair stood neatly, loose threads caught in a bun on the back of her head. She wore a standard SHIELD bulletproof suit with the roundel emblem of the SHIELD Eagle, its wings spread, head gazing right with an eye open. Written in small letters at the thicker edge of the emblem was the full translation of the acronym. The 'Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division'. The US's personal ace in the hole when dealing with the Special, be it Mutant, Alien, or otherwise.

Fury greeted her, "Agent Hill. Things get boring in Spook Town?"

"Director Fury," She smiled jovially, "You know I come up here for my peace and quiet."

He let out a dry laugh, before telling her, "We just went through the last drill for the day."

"And?" She asked, crossing her arms to her chest.

"Your department was a bit slow on closing their doors, but we managed. Stealth ain't your strong-suit anyhow," Fury shot back. It was Maria Hill's turn to let out a short chuckle. Fury examined her. Aside from the standard body-suit and armor, the woman carried a single short-barreled Glock pistol on her belt, alongside various other utility items. Maria Hill always liked to be ready, it seemed. He gave an approving nod, then looked outward and bit into the apple again, stating, "It's been quiet for the past few weeks."

"Well, after you and Professor Xavier had that bout, I'm not surprised his team either went to ground or went home. Congo's been getting messy again..." She sighed deeply, "And Afghanistan. Word of new Ten Rings operations in the area ever since that Stark guy escaped. Things are getting pretty bad since they drove the Northern Alliance and some ANA units back into the mountains..."

"Still not SHIELD's jurisdiction, Hill. Ten Rings is the actual Military's problem," Fury sighed, "We have bigger fish to fry."

"I know, sir," Hill nodded, "Just sayin'. Any word from the Chinese on the location of the TR HQ?"

"No. They're keeping that close to their heart," He shrugged, then scratched his beard. With a quiet hum from Hill, who had her arms behind her back and stood at parade rest, the bridge went eerily quiet, sans the beeping of consoles and the rare two crewmen exchanging talks. The patrol continued somewhat unabated, the F35s flying around the ship as CAP barely visible in the distance...

All silence broke when an audible alarm blared across the entire ship. Fury blanked, then demanded, "Status! We been detected!?"

"No, sir! Massive energy signature! A radiation spike in Afghanistan, congruent with Cherenkov... Wait..." Radar and sensors replied, stunned. She let out a breathless, "My God... DIRECTOR!" as she swiped her console's display, sending what she'd detected across to one of Fury's screens. The man turned with Hill and his one good eye shot wide open. Hill covered her mouth, then turned to Nick.

The man licked his lips, reading the signature. He held the screen with both of his gloved hands and read and re-read the alert. He grit his teeth, then barked, "CASE KRATOS! Get me a direct link to the 160th SOAR and open up a SAT! I want eyes on this Energy Signature, now! Hill, prep a team and see if you can't locate him fast! If not, have your department scan for any news mentioning him! Phone, video, audio, something!" and activated the PA as Hill ran out to the elevators, "All SHIELD Units... CASE KRATOS. I repeat, CASE KRATOS..."

And his lips twisted into a faint grin as he stated, "... We have a Spartan!"