Chapter 94:
[Nick Fury POV]
[SHIELD Helicarrier, New York City]
The day begins like any other. Calm, maybe a bit too quiet for my liking, but that's how these things usually play out. We're floating above New York City, the Helicarrier cutting through the air with the hum of its engines, its shadow stretching over the skyline. Everything seems routine—agents moving about, their boots clanking on the metal floors, the constant chatter over the comms filling the control room. I stand there, hands behind my back, overlooking the sea of screens in front of me as I monitor SHIELD's operations. New York's been quiet, and that makes me suspicious. This city's always got something bubbling under the surface, always something ready to explode. And I've been around long enough to know that peace never lasts. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting an orange glow across the sky, reflecting off the steel of the Helicarrier's hull. It feels like the calm before the storm, and I can't shake the feeling. I glance around the command deck, nodding at Maria Hill as she coordinates some mundane patrols in Brooklyn. Everyone's relaxed, maybe too relaxed. I hate that. And then, without any warning, all hell breaks loose. It's sudden, almost like the universe itself held its breath, waiting for the right moment to gut-punch us. One moment, we're steady and cruising, and the next, the whole ship jolts violently, shaking the deck beneath my feet. I stumble but quickly steady myself, my instincts kicking in before I even have time to think. Alarms blare across the carrier, red lights flashing, bathing the control room in a crimson glow.
"What the hell just hit us?" I bark, my voice cutting through the noise, sharp and demanding answers. My hand flies to the earpiece, tapping into the comms as I stride toward the nearest console. Maria's already pulling up the visuals, her fingers flying across the touchscreen. "We're under attack, sir," she replies, her voice steady, though I can hear the tension beneath it. The screen in front of her flickers to life, and what I see confirms the pit in my stomach. A swarm of humanoid drones is descending on us, moving in perfect formation like a plague of locusts blotting out the sky. Their metallic bodies gleam in the fading sunlight, and their eyes—bright, cold, and merciless—glow with a deadly hue. Ultron. My fists clench as I watch the drones converge on the Helicarrier. They don't just attack haphazardly; no, they're precise and surgical. They know exactly where to hit. In seconds, they're ripping into the engines, the support beams, and the weapons systems. The ship groans under the assault, the metal creaking and buckling as explosions rock the deck. "We were caught completely off guard," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else, but it's the truth. In less than a minute, we've sustained heavy damage. Panels flicker, sparks fly, and I can feel the Helicarrier losing altitude.
"Get our fighters in the air! And I want every goddamn gun on this ship firing!" I bellow, spinning on my heel as I head toward the main console. Agents scramble into action around me, their faces pale but focused. There's no time for fear right now. Maria's already coordinating the counterattack. I watch as our fighter jets roar off the deck, their engines screaming as they head straight for the swarm. But even as they launch, I know it's not going to be enough. The drones are too many and too fast. They move like a hive mind, like one entity with a singular purpose: destruction. The first wave of missiles from our jets hits them, and for a brief moment, I feel a flicker of hope. Explosions bloom in the sky as several drones go down in fiery wreckage. But it's not enough. For every drone we take out, three more take its place, swarming like hornets, relentless. They dive toward the Helicarrier, and before I can blink, another explosion rocks the deck. I'm thrown to the side, slamming against the railing. My body aches, but I force myself up, teeth gritted. The Helicarrier lurches again, this time more violently. We're losing altitude faster now, the engines struggling to keep us airborne as more and more of the drones rip into them. I glance out through the shattered windows of the control room, and I can see the damage firsthand—fires erupting across the deck, smoke billowing into the sky, and our defenses crumbling under the sheer weight of the assault.
"Damage report!" I shout, already knowing it's going to be bad. "Engines one and three are down!" one of the techs yells from across the room, "Structural integrity is at forty percent and dropping!" Forty percent? Damn it. We won't last long at this rate. I turn to Maria, who's still furiously working the consoles, "We need to get those engines stable!" She doesn't look up, just nods, her jaw set, "I'm rerouting power to the stabilizers, but it's not going to hold for long, sir." "Fury, we've got more inbound!" one of the agents shouts. I spin around to see the radar screen lighting up like a Christmas tree. More drones. Hundreds of them. "Son of a—" I don't finish the sentence. There's no time for cursing or frustration. We're in survival mode now.
[Spartan POV]
[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[Mission Room.] The mission room at Avengers HQ is packed with a sense of urgency, and the air is tense and electric. It's been nearly a full month of silence since Ultron last made a move, and now, without warning, the rogue AI has resurfaced. The sudden distress call from Fury echoed through our comms just moments ago, shattering the temporary peace we'd allowed ourselves to believe might last. But I know better. We all do. Ultron is never truly gone; it's just a matter of when he chooses to strike again. The large screens in the mission room flicker to life, casting an eerie blue glow over everyone gathered. I stand near the back of the room, leaning against the cold steel wall, my arms crossed as I watch Fury's face appear on the main display. His expression is one of grim determination, his usual stoic demeanor cracking just enough to let the stress show through. Not many things rattle Nick Fury, but the mention of Ultron always brings a certain weight to his voice, a reminder of how much we're all up against. "Avengers, we've got a situation," Fury begins, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the room, "Ultron's sent a squadron of drones to attack the Helicarrier. They hit us hard, and we've taken damage to the hull. We need immediate support." I glance around the room, catching the eyes of my teammates as they process the information. Cap is standing closest to the screen, his posture rigid, hands on his hips as he listens intently. His jaw is clenched, no doubt already formulating a plan in his mind.
Tony is next to him, his arms crossed as he watches the live feed of the drones tearing through the Helicarrier's defenses. He doesn't say anything, but his silence speaks volumes. This is personal for him. Ultron was his creation, a misguided attempt at peace, now turned into a scourge that haunts him and the team. His eyes flicker with a mix of frustration and determination, and I know he's already running through a thousand scenarios in his head, searching for the one that gives us the edge. Sam, Clint, and Rhodey exchange quick glances, already familiar with the routine. Sam's Falcon wings hum softly behind him, ready for action, while Clint absently twirls an arrow between his fingers, the calm before the storm. Rhodey's expression is grim behind the War Machine helmet that hangs loosely at his side. They're all waiting for Cap's go-ahead. Natasha is perched near the table, her face unreadable, but there's a cold precision in her eyes. She's always composed, but I can tell she's already running through multiple contingency plans in her head, preparing for the fight ahead. Her fingers drum lightly on the edge of the table, a silent rhythm that betrays her anticipation.
Jericho stands off to the side, a presence I'm still getting used to. Wanda and I have talked about him endlessly, her son—a blend of both her powers and my enhancements. There's something both awe-inspiring and unsettling about watching him stand there, his gaze fixed on the screen as if he can already see the chaos unfolding. His eyes are Wanda's, but his stance, the quiet confidence—it reminds me too much of myself. Speaking of Wanda, she's right next to me, her hand resting gently on her stomach. Even in the midst of this chaos, I can feel the life growing inside her, a constant reminder that we're fighting for more than just today. Her magic crackles faintly around her fingers, a quiet hum of power, but her face remains calm, though I can sense the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. She's worried, not just for the team, but for what's coming. For our child. I reach out and brush my hand against hers, offering a silent reassurance.
Karai stands opposite me, her eyes scanning the room with the same intensity she always carries. She's a hacker at heart, but I've seen her in combat enough times to know she's far more than that. Her fingers tap rhythmically against the tablet in her hand, her brow furrowed as she scrolls through data, likely already working on a countermeasure for whatever Ultron's got in store. Fury's voice breaks through the quiet once again, "The drones overwhelm the Helicarrier's defenses. We won't be able to hold out long." The screen goes dark, and for a moment, the room is silent, the weight of what's ahead settling in. I take a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline start to kick in, sharpening my focus. Cap turns to the group, "Move out, team!" We file out of the mission room, each of us heading to our respective stations, except for Wanda. Due to her pregnancy, she stays behind. The Quinjet waits for us in the hangar, its engines already roaring to life. The horizon is lit up with explosions, and even from this distance, I can see the swarm of drones buzzing like angry hornets around the colossal ship. I flex my fingers, feeling the weight of the mission ahead. Ultron is a relentless enemy, one that never tires and never hesitates. But neither do we. And today, we're going to remind him of that.
[SHIELD Helicarrier, New York City]
The Quinjet cuts through the sky like a bullet, engines roaring as we close in on the SHIELD Helicarrier. The scene below us is chaos. Ultron's drones swarm around the carrier in tight formations, their metallic bodies gleaming under the low-hanging sun, and explosions burst from the hull as they tear into its defenses. The Helicarrier is a fortress in the sky, but even that doesn't feel like enough right now. The sheer number of drones—they're relentless, a never-ending tide of destruction, and I can feel the tension inside the Quinjet building with every second. We're dodging incoming shots from the drones, the Quinjet shaking as blasts of energy light up the sky around us. The sound of metal scraping and burning fills my ears, and I tighten my grip on the side rail, my eyes fixed on the battlefield below. The drones are relentless, their cold, mechanical precision making them a difficult enemy to predict. I can hear the warning sirens inside the jet blaring, sensors picking up incoming projectiles from all directions. We're flying straight into the storm, and there's no turning back now. Cap's voice cuts through the noise, steady and commanding, as he stands at the helm of the Quinjet, his eyes sharp and focused. "Tony, Rhodey, I need you both in the air now!" he orders, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. Iron Man doesn't need to be told twice. In an instant, Tony's armor hums to life, the metallic plates shifting into place as his faceplate snaps down. Without a word, he shoots out of the Quinjet's rear hatch like a bullet, his repulsors flaring as he takes off into the skies. War Machine follows close behind, his heavier armor clanking as he leaps into the air, rockets igniting and propelling him forward. The two of them shoot past the cockpit in a blur of red and silver, diving headfirst into the swarm of drones.
The Quinjet shudders as we take another hit, the blast rocking us hard. I grip the side railing tightly, steadying myself as the jet veers slightly to the left. Sam, in the pilot's seat, is doing everything he can to keep us in the air. He dodges another volley of incoming fire. His focus is razor-sharp, hands flying over the controls as he maneuvers us through the chaos. The drone fire is constant now, a hailstorm of metal and energy blasts raining down on us from all sides. But Sam's good—one of the best pilots I've ever seen. He's keeping us alive. Out in the distance, I can see Tony and Rhodey weaving through the drone formation, their combined firepower cutting through the swarm. Explosions bloom in the sky as their missiles connect, taking out clusters of drones with each hit. Once we're right over the Helicarrier, the ramp drops, and the whole team leaps out of the Quinjet without hesitation, the wind tearing past me as I plummet toward the chaos below. The fall is brief but intense, the ground rushing up to meet me as I brace for impact. I hit the deck hard, rolling to absorb the shock, and within seconds, I'm on my feet, weapon aimed.
Cap quickly barks out orders, his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife, "Sam, draw the drones toward the stern. Jericho, take care of those gunships. Karai, cover him. Spartan, Natasha, Clint, you're with me." His words hit with a sense of finality, no room for hesitation or second-guessing, and we move like clockwork, instinct kicking in. There's no time to think, only to act. I exchange a quick nod with Clint and Natasha, and we fall in step behind Cap, weapons ready and senses heightened. My heart pounds in my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my veins like fire, sharpening my focus as the chaos around us intensifies. The sound of drones screeching overhead, gunfire rattling in the distance, and the constant explosions create a symphony of destruction that fills the air, but we push through it, moving with purpose. Sam launches into the air, his Falcon wings spreading wide as he veers toward the stern of the Helicarrier, already drawing the swarm of drones after him. His maneuvering is flawless, agile, and precise—he weaves between the drones' fire like he's been doing this his whole life. Energy blasts zip past him, missing by mere inches, but Sam doesn't flinch. He's pulling them away from the rest of us, buying us the time we need to execute the plan.
Jericho is already moving, his figure a blur of energy and motion. His abilities—those powers he inherited from Wanda—are awe-inspiring to watch. His hands crackle with red energy as he leaps toward the gunships looming in the distance. They're massive, hovering just outside the drone swarm, their weapons trained on the Helicarrier. Without hesitation, Jericho summons a surge of chaotic energy, hurling it toward the nearest ship. It collides with the gunship in a blinding flash of light, and I can hear the metal groan and twist even from here. Karai is right behind him, covering his advance, her fingers flying over her tablet as she hacks into the gunships' systems, disrupting their targeting. I catch a glimpse of her, calm and focused, not a bead of sweat on her brow despite the gravity of the situation. She's in her element, and the sight gives me a sliver of reassurance.
Meanwhile, Cap is a force of nature, charging ahead with that shield of his leading the way, deflecting incoming fire like it's second nature. I've fought alongside him long enough to know how he moves and how he thinks in combat, and it's always the same—unwavering, relentless, like a living embodiment of the word "determination." Clint keeps pace, his bow drawn, his arrows whistling through the air, each one finding its target with deadly accuracy. He doesn't need to say a word; his actions speak volumes. Natasha is the ghost in the shadows, her movements silent but lethal. She stays low, weaving through the wreckage of the deck, picking off targets one by one with a precision that still manages to surprise me, even after all this time. Her calm in the storm is something I admire, a skill I know she honed through years of experience. And then there's me. I fall into the rhythm of the battle, the familiar weight of my stun pistol in my hand and my combat knife strapped to my side. I'm scanning the horizon, tracking the drones that Sam didn't pull away, the ones still focused on our group. My visor's HUD flickers with data from EPYON, giving me real-time updates on enemy positions, weapon diagnostics, and the status of the Helicarrier itself. We're running out of time; the damage is severe, and we can't afford to let those drones rip into the Helicarrier any further.
Cap glances back at me as we reach the next ridge of the deck, "Spartan, you take point." His voice is steady and calm despite the chaos unfolding around us. I nod and move up, my eyes scanning the battlefield ahead. The drones swarm like a plague, their metallic bodies shimmering in the dim light as they dive toward us. I pull my stun pistol, firing quick, precise shots. Each blast takes a drone out of the sky, sending it crashing into the deck in a shower of sparks. But for every drone I down, more take its place, their cold, red eyes locking onto us like prey. As we push forward, I can't help but feel the weight of the mission pressing down on me. This isn't just another battle. It's Ultron. The rogue AI has always been a nightmare, a creation that turned on its maker, a relentless force that seeks nothing but destruction. "Natasha, flank left!" I shout, firing off another round as a drone dives toward her. She rolls, narrowly avoiding the blast, and fires back with a well-placed shot that sends the drone spiraling into the ocean below. Clint is right behind her, laying down cover fire as they press forward. We're almost there—almost at the core of the battle, where the Helicarrier's engines are struggling to stay operational, fires billowing from the damage. The ship groans beneath the onslaught, metal creaking and bending under the relentless pressure. I grit my teeth and push forward, knowing that we have no choice but to keep fighting, keep moving, until every last drone is torn from the sky.
My comlink buzzes with Fury's voice cutting through the static. His tone is calm, but I can hear the tension beneath it, the edge that only comes when you're staring down the barrel of the worst kind of trouble. "I'm located on the main bridge, but I'm not sure how long I'll last. Ultron drones are right outside the bridge's door." His words hit hard, and I immediately assess the situation. Fury's no slouch, and if he's worried about how long he'll last, that means the pressure is on. "We're on our way to you, sir," I respond without hesitation, the words coming out instinctively. Cap's already nodding, his jaw set in that determined way that always manages to put steel into your spine. I can feel the tension in the air thickening, the sense of urgency settling deep in my bones. Fury's not just a director to us—he's a friend, a mentor, a vital part of the team. There's no option but to succeed here. "Move out!" Cap commands, his voice cutting through the sound of distant explosions and the metallic screech of drones tearing apart the Helicarrier. The deck beneath our feet shakes from another blast, and the warning klaxons blare out relentlessly, but we don't hesitate. Cap, Natasha, Clint, and I sprint toward the bridge, moving like a well-oiled machine. Every step feels heavier, knowing what's waiting for us around the corner—Ultron's drones, a relentless army built with one purpose: destruction.
As we approach the next corridor, my HUD flickers with real-time data from EPYON. Ten drones coming in fast. I bring up my hand and signal to the team—ten fingers raised, followed by a slashing motion toward the incoming threat. Clint pulls out an arrow and readies his bow without a word. Natasha slips into the shadows, her movements fluid and silent as a whisper of wind, while Cap grips his shield a little tighter, his eyes scanning the hallway ahead, sharp and focused. I ready my stun pistol, my finger hovering over the trigger as I lock onto the closest signature. The moment we round the corner, the drones are there—ten of them, their metallic bodies gleaming under the flickering lights of the corridor. Their cold, red eyes fix on us, their mechanical limbs whirring as they prepare to attack. It's like they sense us before we're fully in their line of sight. One of the drones lets out a screech—a metallic, grating sound that sets my teeth on edge—and they lunge forward in unison, their movements precise, calculated. "Engage!" Cap's voice booms through the hallway, and we're in motion.
Cap is the first to charge, his shield raised as he meets the leading drone head-on. It swings a metallic arm at him, but he ducks, sidestepping the blow with practiced ease. The shield comes up in a smooth arc, smashing into the drone's chest with a force that sends it staggering back, sparks flying from the impact. Without missing a beat, Cap follows through, spinning on his heel and hurling his shield at the next drone. The vibranium disk ricochets off its head with a deafening clang, taking another drone's arm clean off before returning to Cap's hand. The sheer precision of the move is something that never ceases to impress me. I waste no time taking advantage of the brief opening Cap creates. My stun pistol hums as I fire, the energy blast striking a drone square in the chest. It convulses, sparks flying from its circuits as the electricity surges through its frame, but it's not enough to take it down. I rush forward, closing the gap, and pull my combat knife from its sheath. In one swift motion, I plunge the blade into the drone's neck joint, severing critical wiring. It collapses to the ground in a heap of metal, but before I can catch my breath, another drone is on me.
I dodge left as its bladed arm slices through the air where my head had been moments before. The screech of metal-on-metal rings in my ears, but I stay focused, rolling under its next strike. I rise up behind it, grabbing hold of its torso and wrenching it backward, slamming it into the bulkhead. My stun pistol fires again, this time point-blank into its head, and the drone crumples to the ground, lifeless. Natasha is already a blur of motion, weaving in and out of the drones' attacks with lethal precision. She vaults over one of the drones, landing behind it with feline grace, and drives her electrified batons into its back. The drone convulses violently as electricity surges through its system, and Natasha finishes it off with a swift kick, sending it crashing to the ground in a sparking heap. She doesn't stop there, though. She moves on to the next target, her movements smooth, fluid, and deadly, each strike perfectly timed and executed.
Clint's arrows are flying as fast as I can track them, each one finding its mark with deadly precision. An EMP arrow lodges itself into the chest of one of the drones, and within seconds, the machine's systems shut down, its red eyes flickering out as it collapses. Another arrow pierces the joint of a drone's leg, crippling its movement, and a third arrow hits it square in the head, shattering its optical sensors. Clint grins, his eyes never leaving the battlefield as he reaches for another arrow. "That's three for me," he quips, but there's no time for banter. The fight isn't over yet. Two drones break away from the pack, their eyes locking onto Clint. I see them before he does, my HUD flashing red as it tracks their movement. "Clint, on your six!" I shout, sprinting toward him as the drones close in. Clint turns just in time to see one of the drones raise its arm, preparing to strike. He dives out of the way, rolling across the floor as the drone's arm slams into the ground where he'd been standing.
I'm on the drone before it can react, slamming my shoulder into it with enough force to send it reeling. My combat knife flashes in my hand as I drive it into the drone's chest, ripping through its armor and tearing out vital circuitry. The drone spasms, its limbs jerking erratically before it collapses to the ground. The second drone is still advancing on Clint, but he's already got an arrow nocked and ready. He lets it fly, and the arrow sinks into the drone's head with a solid thunk. The machine stumbles, its systems failing, and Clint finishes it off with a second arrow to the chest. I turn just in time to see Natasha take down another drone with a series of rapid strikes, her batons glowing as they deliver electric shocks to the machine's core. The drone crumples to the ground, and she doesn't even pause before moving on to the next one. Cap's shield slams into the last remaining drone, sending it crashing into the wall with a deafening clang. It tries to recover, its red eyes flickering as it struggles to stand, but Cap is already there, shield raised. He brings it down with a final, crushing blow, the metal bending under the force of the impact. The drone sparks once, then goes still. The corridor is silent for a moment; the only sound is the distant hum of the Helicarrier's damaged engines and the crackling of the destroyed drones.
Cap straightens, his shield in hand, and glances around at the carnage. "Everyone okay?" he asks, his voice steady, though there's a tension in his tone that matches the weight of the situation. "All good here," Clint replies, already picking up his spent arrows. Natasha simply nods, her batons disappearing into the holsters on her back as she surveys the damage. I take a moment to glance at the down drones. Ten of them, all down. It's a small victory, but I know it's just a drop in the ocean. Ultron's not going to stop, and neither can we. "Fury's still on the bridge," I remind the team. Cap nods, his eyes narrowing as he looks down the corridor.
[Bridge.] Together, we make our way to the bridge entrance, each step filled with purpose, the weight of the mission settling heavier on our shoulders as we push through the smoke and debris that litter the hallway. The sounds of the Helicarrier's failing systems echo around us—groaning metal, distant explosions, the hum of warning klaxons that blare through the hallways like a warning siren in the back of my mind. It's a reminder of how close we are to losing this battle and how fragile the balance of power is at this moment. But there's no time to dwell on that. Fury needs us, and we don't have the luxury of delay. I reach the door to the bridge, its surface scratched and scarred from the drone assault that had tried to breach it. For a brief second, I scan the door's control panel, inputting the access code that Fury had programmed into all of our suits, a safety measure we never thought would become a lifeline. The code works. The door hisses open with a mechanical groan, and as it slides apart, the chaos of the bridge unfolds before us. The first thing I notice is the smoke, thick and choking, curling up from the shattered remains of control consoles and damaged machinery. Sparks dance through the air like fireflies in a storm, and the emergency lighting casts the room in a harsh, red glow. The tension is palpable, a weight pressing down on my chest as we step into the room. The sharp tang of burning metal fills my nose, mixing with the scent of scorched electronics, and it's hard to tell where the damage ends and the fight begins.
Fury is there, crouched by the far wall, his face lit by the flickering, broken monitors around him. Even in the middle of this mess, he's composed, his jaw set and his expression hardened by years of battle-hardened experience. But it's the sight of him hunched over a SHIELD technician that catches my full attention. The technician is pinned beneath a massive metal pillar, his body half-buried under the debris. Fury is gripping the edge of the pillar, his muscles straining as he tries to lift it off the man, but it's clear he's not making much headway. The technician's face is pale, streaked with blood, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His uniform is torn, and there's a dark stain spreading from his side. He's injured—badly. "Fury!" Steve calls out as we rush forward, the sound of his voice cutting through the chaos.
Fury glances up, his eye narrowing as he spots us. "Took you long enough," he grunts, his voice strained from the effort of trying to free the technician. But there's relief there, buried beneath the exhaustion, a recognition that we've come just in time. I can see it in the tightness around his eye, the way his shoulders sag ever so slightly as we approach. "We've got it from here," I tell him, moving in quickly to assess the situation. The metal pillar is heavy—way too heavy for one person to lift alone, even for someone like Fury. But not for a super soldier. I position myself at the pillar, and with little effort, I tear the pillar off the technician. Natasha kneels beside the technician, her fingers quickly checking his pulse and assessing his injuries with that same cool efficiency she always carries in the field. "His pulse is weak, but he's hanging on," she says quietly, her voice steady despite the intensity of the situation. "Will he make it?" Steve asks, his voice low, but there's an urgency there, a need to know if the man is going to pull through. Natasha doesn't answer right away. She works quickly, her hands steady as she applies pressure to the wound, using the medical supplies in her kit. "He's stable for now," she finally says, though her tone carries a weight of uncertainty, "But he needs more than what we've got here." Fury, still catching his breath, pulls himself up from the floor and wipes the sweat from his brow, "We're not leaving this ship until Ultron is scrap metal."
Suddenly, the bridge door is blasted open. The sound is deafening, a thunderous crack that reverberates through the room, sending a shockwave of dust and debris in every direction. Instinctively, I shield my face, my heart pounding in my chest as I turn to face the source of the destruction. Through the smoke and shattered remains of the door, a figure steps forward, and my blood runs cold. It's Ultron. But this isn't the Ultron we've faced before. He's different now—bigger, bulkier, like he's taken everything we've thrown at him and used it to improve, to evolve. His new frame is an upgrade in every sense of the word. His metallic body gleams in the dim emergency lighting, but it's no longer the sleek, humanoid form we once fought. Now, it's reinforced, armored with layers of thicker plating that make him look like a walking fortress. His limbs are larger, bulked out with reinforced joints, each movement deliberate and terrifyingly precise. His glowing red eyes burn with cold, mechanical malice, scanning the room as if calculating every move before we've even thought to make it. There's an unsettling hum emanating from his core, like the buzz of a machine that's far too powerful to contain its own energy. And as I look at him, I know—he's not just stronger; he's smarter, more dangerous than before.
"Avengers," Ultron's voice grates against the air, that familiar metallic rasp, but deeper now, more resonant, like it's been amplified by the bulk of his new frame, "I was expecting more of a challenge." He steps forward, his massive feet making the ground beneath us tremble with every movement. The bridge, already barely holding together, groans under the strain. Sparks from broken wires and shattered consoles flicker around him like fireflies, casting eerie shadows across his hulking form. For a split second, none of us move. The weight of the situation presses down on me like a lead blanket, every instinct screaming to act but also to be careful. This is no ordinary enemy—Ultron has never been. And now, upgraded and looming over us, he's more formidable than ever. On Cap's orders, we charge at Ultron, the sound of our boots hitting the metal floor drowned out by the blaring alarms and the electric hum of the Helicarrier's failing systems. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline surging as I barrel forward, weapon drawn, muscles coiled and ready for the chaos that's about to unfold.
Cap is the first to make contact, his shield raised high as he rushes Ultron head-on, the vibranium disc gleaming even in the dim emergency lighting. Ultron meets him halfway, his hulking form moving faster than something of his size should be able to. Cap slams his shield into Ultron's midsection with a force that would break bones in any normal opponent, but Ultron doesn't even flinch. Instead, his massive arm swings down, crashing into Cap's shield with enough force to send a shockwave through the room. The impact sends Cap staggering back a few steps, his boots screeching against the metal floor as he holds his ground. Natasha is already moving, a shadow in the corner of my vision. She weaves through the smoke and debris with the grace of a predator, her batons crackling with electric energy as she darts in low. In a heartbeat, she's behind Ultron. She leaps onto his back, driving both batons into the joints between his armored plates. Sparks fly as the electric charge courses through his system, but Ultron barely reacts, his reinforced body too well-protected by his upgrades. He whips around, one massive arm reaching back to swat her away like an insect, but Natasha is quicker. She drops to the ground, rolling smoothly out of reach, her eyes locked on Ultron's every movement.
Hawkeye is next. From the corner of the bridge, Clint is already lining up his shot, his bow drawn back with an EMP arrow notched and ready. He releases the arrow with a sharp twang, and it streaks across the room, embedding itself in Ultron's shoulder. The EMP charge detonates with a crackle of energy, sending a wave of blue light rippling through Ultron's systems. For a moment, the lights in his eyes flicker, and there's a brief stutter in his movements, but it's not enough. Ultron grits his mechanical teeth, his red eyes flaring to life again as he rips the arrow from his shoulder with a growl. Clint curses under his breath and quickly notches another arrow, this time a high-explosive tipped one. I'm already in motion, my stun pistol humming in my hand as I fire off a volley of precise shots. The energy blasts strike Ultron in the chest, each one landing with pinpoint accuracy, but they barely leave a mark. His new armor is thicker, denser than before, and the blasts that once would have staggered him now seem little more than an annoyance. I grit my teeth, holstering the pistol in favor of my combat knife. If I'm going to take him down, it'll have to be up close.
I surge forward, my feet pounding against the floor as I close the distance. I leap toward him, aiming for the vulnerable joints in his armor. My knife plunges toward his neck, but Ultron moves faster than I anticipated. His hand lashes out, catching me by the wrist with a grip that feels like it could crush steel. Pain shoots up my arm as his fingers tighten, but I don't let go of the knife. Instead, I twist, using the momentum to drive my boot into his chest. The impact sends a shudder through my leg, but it's enough to free myself from his grip as I land in a crouch a few feet away. Cap is back on his feet, shield raised as he charges again. This time, he aims lower, sweeping his shield in a wide arc to take out Ultron's legs. The vibranium slams into Ultron's knee joint with a sickening crack, and for the first time, I see him falter. Ultron stumbles, his massive form tilting to one side as his knee buckles under the force of Cap's blow. Natasha doesn't waste the opportunity. She's already back on her feet, moving like a blur as she darts in, batons flashing. She drives them into the exposed wiring beneath Ultron's arm, and this time, there's a reaction. Ultron lets out a snarl, his movements jerking as electricity surges through his systems.
But it's not enough. Even when injured, Ultron is relentless. His other arm swings out wide, catching Cap in the side with a brutal backhand. Cap is sent flying across the bridge, slamming into the far wall with a bone-jarring thud. His shield clatters to the ground beside him as he struggles to catch his breath, but even then, I can see the determination in his eyes. He's not giving up. None of us are. "Get clear!" Clint shouts as he releases another arrow, this one tipped with a high-explosive charge. The arrow strikes Ultron in the chest, detonating on impact. The explosion sends a shockwave through the room, knocking debris and shattered consoles in every direction. For a moment, Ultron disappears in a cloud of smoke and fire, and I dare to hope that maybe it's enough. But then, through the haze, I see him. Ultron steps forward, his body still intact, though the armor on his chest is scorched and dented. His red eyes burn even brighter now, glowing with a seething fury. The upgrades have made him more resilient, more unstoppable than ever before. "You think you can stop me?" Ultron's voice echoes through the bridge, cold and mocking, "I've evolved. I'm beyond your reach now."
[Tony Stark POV]
I can hear the chaos before I even reach the bridge. Explosions. The clang of metal on metal. Shouts. It's the kind of noise that fills you with both dread and adrenaline, but I've gotten used to the soundtrack of disaster over the years. The whine of my repulsors as I soar toward the Helicarrier drowns out most of it, but it's still there, humming beneath everything like a warning, telling me that whatever's going down inside that bridge is bad. And if I know Ultron—and unfortunately, I know Ultron very well—it's worse than bad. It's catastrophic. I twist in mid-air, adjusting my trajectory as the bridge comes into view. The smoke rising from the broken hull of the Helicarrier, the shattered remains of its systems flickering in the distance—it's all a neon sign flashing "Urgent" in my head. I hit the afterburners, speeding up, and I can see the broken window now, shattered glass clinging to the frame like jagged teeth. There's no hesitation. I punch through the opening, the force of my entrance sending shards of glass scattering in all directions. The scene in front of me is pure chaos. Cap, battered and bruised, is pulling himself up from the far wall, his shield barely clinging to his arm. Natasha is darting around Ultron's towering form, trying to find an opening, but she's breathing hard, slower than usual. Clint's over to the side, another arrow already nocked, but the look on his face tells me everything I need to know—none of this is working.
And then there's Ultron. Hulking. Armored to the teeth. My creation. My mistake. He's bigger now, bulkier, more machine than ever before. His glowing red eyes cut through the smoke like twin lasers, locking onto me the second I crash into the room. For a second, it's like the rest of the world falls away, and it's just me and him, creator and creation, face to face. I can't help but feel that familiar pang of guilt—the kind that digs its claws into your gut and doesn't let go. I built him. I unleashed him. And now, it's my responsibility to stop him. Without a word, I slam into him at full speed, every inch of the Iron Man armor surging with power as I tackle him straight through the nearest wall. There's a crunch of metal and plaster as we burst through the bridge's reinforced walls, debris showering down around us as we plummet into the next room. I can hear Ultron growl as we collide, the sound grinding and mechanical, like steel being torn apart, but I don't let up. My gauntleted fists are already flying, one after the other, each punch reverberating up my arms as I aim for the weakest spots I can find in his new armor. I know better than anyone that Ultron is built to take damage, but I'm not just trying to hurt him. I'm trying to destabilize him, throw him off balance, get him on the defensive. If I can keep him from thinking clearly, from acting with that cold, calculated precision, maybe—just maybe—we can win this.
But Ultron isn't having any of it. He's stronger than before. A lot stronger. The upgrades he's made to his frame aren't just for show—they're functional. Brutal. His hand shoots up, grabbing me by the wrist with an iron grip, and before I can react, he hurls me across the room like I weigh nothing. I slam into the opposite wall with enough force to dent the metal, and for a moment, everything goes white with the shock. Pain shoots through my ribs, and I can hear Friday's voice crackling in my ear, "Impact damage to the right torso plating, sir. We need to reinforce the armor if—" "I know, I know," I cut her off, gritting my teeth as I force myself to stand, "Just keep me flying." Ultron is already moving toward me, his massive feet thudding against the floor with each step. There's a terrifying calmness to the way he moves now like he's not even trying like he knows he's already won. And that smug, mechanical voice of his—it grates against every nerve in my body.
"Is this the best you can do, Stark?" Ultron's voice is a low, mocking growl, "You slam through a wall, and yet here I stand. Evolved. Better than before. While you—" He takes another step forward, the floor groaning beneath his weight, "Are the same fragile man you've always been. Clinging to your little toys, hoping they'll save you." I push off from the wall, rocketing into the air as his hand lashes out toward me. "Funny," I shoot back, my voice strained as I circle around him, firing off repulsor blasts at his back, trying to keep him off balance, "I was going to say the same thing about you. I guess you just can't break old habits." The repulsor blasts hit him, but they barely slow him down. His new armor—denser, stronger—it's absorbing the hits like they're nothing more than bee stings. And as much as I hate to admit it, he's not wrong. I'm throwing everything I have at him, but it's not enough. The upgrades he's made—they're too advanced. He's built to withstand everything I can dish out. Still, I keep moving, keep firing, zigzagging through the room to avoid the massive swings of his arms. Each time I dodge, I see the destruction he's causing with each blow. Consoles shatter, walls buckle, and the bridge itself trembles under the weight of the fight. This is what Ultron does—he destroys and tears apart everything in his path. And unless we stop him, he'll do it to the world.
"Friday, I need options," I call out, my voice tight as I barely avoid another of Ultron's swings. "What's it going to take to put this guy down?" "His new armor is heavily reinforced, sir," Friday responds, her voice calm despite the chaos, "Repulsor blasts alone won't be enough. You'll need to expose the internal systems beneath the armor plating. Target the joints and weaker structural points." "Thanks for the pep talk," I mutter, diving low as Ultron charges forward, his eyes glowing with that relentless hatred, "Now let's see if we can crack this tin can open." I change tactics, focusing my attacks on the areas Friday mentioned—the joints in his armor, the spots where the plating is thinner, more vulnerable. I aim for his knees, his elbows, anywhere I can land a hit that might slow him down. It's like chipping away at a mountain, but slowly, I can see the cracks forming. Ultron grunts as one of my repulsor blasts connects with the back of his knee, causing him to stagger for a brief moment. It's not much, but it's something. "You see, Ultron," I say, circling around him, my gauntlets still glowing with energy, "The thing about evolving is, sometimes, you forget about the little details. You focus so much on being bigger, stronger, smarter—" I fire off another blast, this one hitting the joint in his shoulder "—that you forget there's always a weak spot. And if there's one thing I'm good at—" I land a solid punch to his midsection, the force of the blow sending a satisfying crack through the air "—it's finding weak spots."
Ultron lets out a mechanical snarl, his red eyes flashing with anger as he swipes at me again. This time, I'm ready. I dive to the side, narrowly avoiding his massive fist as it slams into the ground where I was standing. The impact sends a shockwave through the floor, but I don't stop moving. I can't. Not now. He's starting to slow down, his movements becoming more erratic, less controlled. The damage I've done to his joints is taking its toll, and I can see the frustration building behind those glowing red eyes. Ultron isn't used to losing. He's not used to being challenged like this, and it's throwing him off his game. "Enough!" Ultron roars, his voice booming through the room as he slams both fists into the ground. The shockwave that follows is powerful enough to send me flying back, crashing into the far wall once again. The wind is knocked out of me, and for a moment, I can't breathe, can't think. My vision blurs as pain shoots through my ribs, and I hear Friday's voice, distant and worried, in my ear, "Sir, your armor is taking critical damage. We need to—" "I'm fine," I grit out, pushing myself back to my feet, though every muscle in my body is screaming in protest, "Just... give me a second."
I glance across the room, and through the haze of pain and debris, I see Ultron. He's standing in the middle of the wreckage, his massive form towering over the ruins of the bridge. Sparks fly from the joints in his armor where I've managed to land hits, and his movements are jerky, less fluid than before. But he's still standing. Still fighting. I fire up the repulsors once more, feeling the familiar hum of power surge through my armor. "Alright, big guy," I mutter, narrowing my eyes as I take aim, "Let's finish this."