The footage of the fight between Naruto, Taskmaster, and Kong were on a 3-D display made from a series of Stark Projectors.
Tony Stark yawned, "Alright, J.A.R.V.I.S., break it down for me. We've got a masked mercenary who can copy moves like a human Xerox machine, an orange-cloaked guy with ridiculous healing abilities, and a time-traveling overgrown Smurf with gravity tricks. What are we looking at?"
J.A.R.V.I.S. let out a sigh, "Once again sir. That is Taskmaster, whom as you well know, has a photographic reflex ability, allowing him to replicate any fighting style he observes. However, his limitation is clear: he cannot duplicate supernatural enhancements. The orange wearing man's reliance on some kind of energy-based augmentations ultimately gave him the upper hand."
Tony Stark looked at the masked figure, "Right, Taskmaster's great at learning, but if he can't manifest glowing fire energy like the orange guy through sheer willpower, he's going to get outpaced eventually like in this fight. Now, what about our blue-skinned overlord guy? He seemed… unimpressed."
J.A.R.V.I.S. zoomed in on the blue skinned man, "He called him Kang, but that is not the most important thing. Kang's technology allows him to manipulate gravity and exert force fields of considerable magnitude. His brief engagement with the man in the orange demonstrates strategic restraint; he did not fully engage, merely testing his resilience. Interestingly, his suit's healing capabilities failed to erase the inflicted scars, suggesting that the energy-based attacks contain properties beyond standard regenerative interference."
Tony Stark rotated back around to look at Naruto, "So, the guy in orange just gave Kang a permanent facial upgrade. Good to know. But let's focus on combat flow. From my highly sophisticated couch-based observation, guy in orange had an initial disadvantage against Taskmaster—until he started forcing unconventional attacks."
J.A.R.V.I.S. hummed in agreement, "Correct, sir. Taskmaster was able to control the pace of the battle through mimicry, countering the man in orange's traditional strikes with remarkable precision. However, once the man in orange realized this and introduced some kind of energy-infused techniques, Taskmaster's ability to adapt faltered. The decisive moment was when the man in orange enhanced his physical attributes beyond Taskmaster's capacity to mirror. The introduction of raw power overcame skill replication."
Tony Stark nodded in understanding, "So, classic case of 'You can copy my moves, but you can't copy my power-ups.' Got it. But then Kang steps in, and instead of a brawl, he flexes his gravitational muscle like he owns the place. The man in orange, credit where it's due, tanks that, taps into his inner energy turbo mode, and slashes Kang's face. And now, Blueberry Tyrant is upset."
J.A.R.V.I.S. let out a chuckle, "Indeed. The withdrawal suggests that Kang's primary objective was reconnaissance rather than elimination. His departure with Taskmaster implies he sees further use in his skills, possibly to refine countermeasures against the man in orange's abilities."
Tony Stark rubs his chin with his right hand, "So, in short: Taskmaster got outpaced, Kang got an unexpected skincare treatment, and the guy in orange got a crash course in gravity manipulation. I'd say Round 1 goes to the orange guy, but Kang doesn't strike me as the 'one-and-done' type. Thoughts?"
"If history is any indication, sir, Kang's return will be both inevitable and considerably more calculated." Replied J.A.R.V.I.S."
Tony Stark shrugged, "Yeah… great. Another super-powered megalomaniac with a grudge. Well, at least this one's someone else's problem."
"You have such a way with words sir" joked J.A.R.V.I.S."
"The real question is, who is the guy in orange?" asked Tony Stark
Brooklyn: Jessica Jones' Apartment
A figure had opened their eyes for the first time in a while, the bright day sun still shining brightly through the window, causing a hiss to level their mouth.
Raising a hand to cover their green colored eyes and that coverage of their eyes went further up to their head as they felt their brain revolt for a moment and the throb that passed through their skull. This made it very easy for them to close their eyes, put their head back on their soft pillow, and go back to bed. Which is exactly what they did.
Rolling over, they were treated to the warm breath of another person tickling their nose and those green eyes shot open in panic.
The first thought was 'How much did I drink last night'.
That was until they recognized the person in bed and let out a deep sigh of relief. Because it was not a strange man that was lying in bed next to her. No, it was the sleeping blonde face of her best friend Patricia "Trish" Walker, the blonde beauty was sleeping in her bed as well, the small smell of Jäger and redbull still tainting her breath. And on the other side of her blonde friend was her blond friend, Naruto. The tanned skin of his chest was peaking out from under the covers, the thin fabric of the flat sheet of her bedding doing very little to hide the lack of clothing he was wearing underneath. A quick peek under the blanket that covered them both showed that both of the ladies in the bed were also naked.
Groaning to herself, Jessica slipped out of the bed and quickly grabbed the first things he could before throwing herself into a quick non-hair wetting shower. She emerged from the bathroom wearing a big white T-Shirt that read "City College of New York" across the front in soft purple letters, a pair of soft purple sweatpants and nothing else.
A quick glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand showed her that it was 2 in the afternoon. Groaning lightly, she reached over to her best friends shoulder and shook her as gently as her super strength would allow her to.
"Ngghh, Jess , if you're going to go down on me again, go ahead" muttered Trish, refusing to wake up
"Trish" hissed Jessica
Trish blinked her eyes opened as she heard her best friend instead of the sexy voice of Tony Stark from her dreams.
"Jess?" she asked despite seeing her BF in front of her
"Yes" replied Jessica
"You and Naruto aren't fighting over who gets to do down on me first are you?"
Jessica shook her head to show a negative answer and Trish pouted and rolled on her back, looking up at the ceiling.
"You plan on getting out of bed? Or do you want to lay in bed all day?" asked Jessica as she actually slide out of bed, forgoing any time of pants at the moment she walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth and answer nature's morning call.
"Bitch I might be" muttered Trish as she slowly put herself back together, glancing at Naruto who was still sleeping.
Trish slipped out of the other side of the bed, leaving the blond assassin in bed alone to continue sleeping.
"What did we even do last night Jess?" asked Trish as she raided her emergency bag of clothes on the top shelf of the closet.
"Jager bombs, Jello shots, and Naruto" replied Jessica
"Sounds like fun" muttered Trisha as she slipped into the shower.
Naruto awoke to breakfast cooking, the sizzling of bacon, the smell of buttermilk pancakes with a hint of blackberry jam. He rubbed his eyes and walked out of bed, his nudity not an issue for him.
He gave Trisha a playful swat on the ass and pulled Jessica into a fierce kiss before pulling back and looking around.
"Alright ladies, as much as I would love to sit around playing house. I have to go, Where are my pants?" asked Naruto
Jessica pointed to a pile of folded clothes and Naruto quickly slipped on the black joggers, and white t-shirt.
"I take it my actual clothes are in the wash?" asked Naruto as he slipped on the socks and shoved his feet into his boots.
"Yup, now take your sandwich and fuck off" replied Jessica as she shoved a sandwich wrapped in paper towel into his hands and Naruto rolled his eyes as he took it and left.
"You guys are perfect for each other" joked Trisha
"Eh, we're just having fun Trish, you know how it is" replied Jessica
"Oh trust me, I know how much fun it is when he's around. But I think that your crazy matches his crazy in a way" replied Trisha
"Maybe, but I don't want to commit to Naruto. We have fun together, but this is not that serious" said Jessica with a hint of finality in her voice.
With Naruto:
The neon glow of a sign flickered erratically as Naruto stepped onto the cracked pavement of Fulton Street. The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt, distant halal carts, and the faint, lingering exhaust of a bus that had just hissed to a stop down the block. He moved with purpose, hands loose at his sides, his plain white T-shirt clinging slightly from the humidity. The fabric was thin, making him feel strangely exposed under the orange haze of the streetlights. His black joggers were lightweight, easy to move in, and his boots—scuffed but sturdy—hit the pavement with a quiet but firm rhythm.
Then, he felt it.
It wasn't the sound, not exactly. More like a shift in the air, a tension that coiled at the back of his mind. The kind of thing that didn't come from paranoia but experience. A presence. A watcher.
Naruto didn't turn around. That would be too obvious. Instead, he glanced at a shop window as he passed—a distorted reflection, but enough to confirm it. A shadow trailing him, keeping just the right amount of distance. Not walking with purpose, not heading somewhere of their own.
They were following him.
He kept his stride even, his breathing controlled. He wasn't armed—not tonight—but that didn't mean he was defenseless, it meant that he would be leaving a bigger mess than he would have preferred. With no gun or blade, he would be forced to use his bare hands, it was worse for them than for him.
He slowed as he reached a crosswalk, pretending to check his pager. In the small screen's dark reflection, the figure lingered across the street, half-hidden near a lamppost. Still there. Still waiting.
A test, then.
When the light changed, Naruto crossed, but halfway through, he pivoted. A sudden, sharp turn, doubling back toward the direction he came from. His heart rate stayed steady, his face blank. Just a guy who forgot something.
The follower hesitated.
Just a second too long.
There it was.
Whoever they were, they weren't expecting that move.
Naruto didn't slow down. He headed toward a side street, slipping between two closed storefronts into a narrow alley. The dim light barely reached the wet pavement, and the scent of damp brick and old garbage filled the space. He didn't stop walking, didn't make it obvious he was waiting. But he listened.
The footsteps reached the entrance of the alley. Then—silence.
No charge forward. No retreat. Just waiting.
A long pause stretched between them, a silent game of patience.
Then, finally, the steps continued forward. Not hurried. Not nervous. A controlled march towards him.
Naruto exhaled slowly. This wasn't some random thief or some drunk following too close. No, this was a professional of some kind. And as far as he was concerned, there was a rather limited number of people who could find and tail him. Even few people who knew what he looked like and alive to do so.
"Pleasure to see you again, Fury" greeted Naruto as he stepped out to meet the man wearing the eye patch in the alleyway.
"You are one tough guy to track down" commented Fury
"How long have you been tracking me?" asked Naruto
"This is an unofficial, off the book meeting. Nothing is going on the record other than me bumping into you in the streets of New York City" replied Fury
He blinked and Naruto had his hand around his neck, lifting him several feet off the ground as he slammed him into the brick wall of the alleyway, "You would do well to forget everything you might have seen prior to this moment or I will rip your fucking eye out and pop it like a water ballon"
Fury wheezed as he nodded before Naruto dropped him and glanced to his left before saying, "You brought a single sniper for me, pathetic"
"Maybe I don't think of you as that kind of threat" retorted Fury as he rubbed his neck, the one-eyed man glaring at the blond assassin, "But that is not that type of meeting"
"Talk quickly" hissed Naruto
Fury pulled out a small scrap of paper, "This is it"
Naruto grabbed it and his eyes scanned the paper before scuffing, "You expect me to believe this shit? Nobody knows where he went missing"
"The Soviets were always looking for him, more than even the Americans. I have authorization to pay you 5 million dollars for this if you choose to accept this"
Naruto balled up the paper and threw it back at Fury, "I'll think about it"
Fury opened his mouth but Naruto exploded in a burst of smoke, leaving the one-eyed man looking around in wonder.
Russia: Khabarovsk
The thaw came slowly that year, as if winter was reluctant to loosen its grip on the city. The ice on the Amur River fractured in great, groaning shifts, sending jagged plates adrift under the pale sunlight. The streets, long muted under blankets of snow, now pulsed with renewed energy—car tires splashing through slush, boots knocking away the last stubborn frost clinging to the cobblestone paths of Lenin Square.
On Muravyov-Amursky Street, the scent of damp earth mingled with the sharp aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafting from small, dimly lit cafés. The hum of conversation floated through half-opened windows, where radio stations played soft echoes of early 2000s Russian rock, and news anchors spoke of a world changing beyond these Far Eastern borders. A sense of transition hung in the air—not just from winter to spring, but from old to new, the city standing at the crossroads of history and modernity.
The Transfiguration Cathedral, its golden domes still streaked with patches of frost, gleamed under the hesitant sun, while students in heavy coats shuffled past, their breath still visible in the crisp morning air. Along the river embankment, the first bursts of green peeked from the soil, the promise of warmth stirring life into the city's parks and boulevards.
Near the central market, babushkas in thick scarves arranged fresh vegetables and jars of homemade pickles, their voices sharp but warm as they haggled with passersby. Soldiers in well-worn uniforms leaned against a kiosk, smoking, their gazes distant as they listened to the rumbling of cargo trains in the distance. The remnants of the Soviet era still whispered from weathered murals and the sturdy, gray apartment blocks that lined the cityscape, but change was undeniable—new cars from Japan, neon-lit storefronts, and the first stirrings of a globalized world creeping into this once-remote frontier.
And yet, Khabarovsk remained timeless. The Amur still carried the stories of those who crossed it, the streets still echoed with the laughter of children playing in courtyards, and the sky—wide and boundless—held the same quiet watch over a city that had seen empires rise and fall, waiting for whatever came next. Yet, if you ventured into the wrong place, you would find a more vile, twisted scene.
Snow drifted lazily over the industrial sprawl of Khabarovsk, the bitter wind cutting through the silence of the docks. The warehouse loomed in the darkness, its rusted exterior hiding the business of the men inside—Russian gangsters, hardened by the cold and the violence that came with their trade.
He moved like a shadow, his breath steady despite the freezing air. He was dressed in black thermal gear built for silence and speed. No bulky armor. No unnecessary weight. Just his blades, his suppressed pistol, and a mission.
He crouched near a stack of frozen shipping crates, watching through the gaps in the steel siding. Inside, the gangsters were gathered around a table cluttered with cash and vodka bottles. Cigarette smoke curled toward the rafters, mixing with the hum of a nearby space heater. They were relaxed. Comfortable.
They had no idea death was already inside with them.
A guard stood near the side door, shifting his weight to keep warm, his gloved hands wrapped around a cheap Kalashnikov. The assassin struck fast. A sharp pull, a swift slice. The man's throat opened in a clean line, his breath turning to red mist in the cold. He was dead before he could hit the ground.
He twirled around and crept along the outside of the building, his footsteps swallowed by the hum of machinery. He moved between the stacks of cargo, his pistol drawn. Two men stood near the back, arguing in low voices. He took them both in quick succession, two suppressed shots, two bodies slumping against the crates.
Then, the silence broke.
A shout. A chair scraping against the concrete. They'd found the body.
The assassin didn't hesitate, he moved faster than they could react. A knife to the gut of a man who got too close. A shot to the head of another trying to reload. He rolled behind a crate as a shotgun blast shredded the air where he had been. One of them yelled about a radio, begging their ally to call for backup.
The assassin pulled a bag of sand from his belt, lobbed it over the crates. A spray of sand left them the remaining gangsters staggered, disoriented, as sand hit everyone due to the nature of the pouch.
He moved in.
The first man barely had time to raise his weapon before the assassin's knife found his throat. The second swung blindly, a crowbar in hand. A twist, a disarm, and the steel bar cracked against his skull.
The last man stumbled back, reaching for his sidearm. The assassin shot him twice—once in the chest, once between the eyes. He crumpled to the ground.
Fifteen still breathing. Not for long.
The assassin moved fast. He hugged the shadows, slipping behind a stack of boxes where two gangsters leaned, smoking. He struck with precision—a quick pull of the first man's head, snapping his neck with a sickening crunch. The second barely had time to react before a suppressed round entered the side of his skull.
Three down.
He pivoted, pressing against the crates, eyes scanning. One of the men at the table got up, stretching. He started toward the smoking area—toward the bodies.
Bad luck for him.
As the man turned the corner, the assassin caught him in a chokehold, yanking him back into the shadows. A violent twist. A snap.
Four.
Then, a mistake.
A bottle crashed against the floor. One of the men at the table turned toward the sound, brow furrowing. "Hey, Maksim?"
No answer.
The assassin had seconds. He raised his pistol and fired twice. The first shot hit a man in the chest, sending him backward into the table. The second punched through another's forehead, his blood misting over the stacks of rubles.
The warehouse erupted.
The gangsters scrambled, overturning chairs, reaching for weapons. The assassin was already moving. He vaulted over a crate as an AK-74 spat rounds at where he'd been a second before. A gangster rushed him with a knife. A mistake.
A sidestep. A twist. The assassin drove his own blade under the man's ribs, twisting it before letting him crumple.
Seven down.
The catwalk guards opened fire, bullets tearing into the wood below. He rolled behind cover, drawing a second pistol. Two quick shots, silenced and deadly. One guard tumbled over the railing, landing with a sickening thud. The other slumped against the metal bars, blood pooling beneath him.
Nine.
The remaining men were shouting in Russian, calling for reinforcements. One sprinted for the garage door, likely trying to get outside. The assassin took him down with a single shot to the spine.
Ten.
The last five regrouped near the back, ducking behind crates and overturned tables. They were nervous now. Good.
The assassin grabbed a flashbang from his belt, pulling the pin and tossing it over the crates. A burst of white light and sound engulfed the warehouse.
He moved in.
The first man, still disoriented, caught a knife to the throat. The second fired blindly, missing. A quick step forward, a round to the temple.
The third swung wildly with a crowbar. The assassin caught his wrist, disarmed him, and slammed his head into the metal shelving, cracking his skull.
The last two tried to run. He shot one in the back, then closed the distance with the last. A knife fight. The gangster was fast, desperate. The assassin was faster. He dodged, countered, and buried his blade deep into the man's chest.
Silence.
Fifteen bodies cooling in the cold.
When Naruto arrived, he found all these people dead. His eyes scanning the area, the blood stained snow was like a crimson scar on the landscape.
"Fury, the Soviets are still using him" said Naruto into his watch, "The Winter Soldier is alive and active"