NATASHA POV
I watched as Steve hit the floor with a thud, his expression a perfect mix of shock and confusion. He was down, not because he'd been outmatched in strength, but because he'd been taken by surprise.
A moment of professional curiosity mixed with a dash of personal satisfaction washed over me. Tony's face, a mirror of my own amusement, confirmed he felt the same way, and I knew he'd already saved at least three backups of the video.
It wasn't every day someone got the drop on Captain America.
But the moment of levity was fleeting. This kid wasn't done. He turned his gaze from Steve's fallen form to us, his eyes burning with an unholy fire. I moved to intercept, stepping between him and Tony.
The kid was good. His movements were fluid and disciplined, not the wild flailing of a street brawler, but the precise motions of someone who had trained relentlessly.
As we engaged, I could feel the quality of his strikes. They were sharp, calculated, and aimed to disable. He was clearly a martial artist, and a damn good one at that. For the first thirty seconds or so, I had the upper hand, my experience with feints and deceptive movements giving me the edge.
He was quick, but his lack of real-world, high-stakes combat experience was a clear weakness. He fell for my simple misdirections, allowing me to control the flow of the fight.
But then, everything changed.
Under a minute into the fight, he began to adapt. He stopped falling for my feints and started countering my moves with a terrifying speed.
His body, which FRIDAY had deemed "normal," moved with an efficiency that belied his human physiology. He blocked a kick, pivoted, and with a powerful shove, sent me stumbling back a few feet, giving him the opening he needed.
My distraction had bought Tony enough time to start suiting up, his nanites beginning to crawl up his arm. But the kid was faster.
He closed the distance in a single stride, delivering a swift, powerful kick directly to Tony's chest, throwing him back against the wall with a sickening thud.
The sound of shifting metal and breaking tech filled the air as Tony went down, his eyes wide with a surprise that was no longer amused. This kid was not here for an argument; he was here to fight.
STEVE ROGERS POV
I hit the ground with a thud, the world spinning for a moment from a perfectly placed uppercut and shoulder throw combo. It was a humiliating, eye-opening experience. I'd fought gods, monsters, and entire armies, but this kid, a civilian by all accounts, had taken me down.
I had underestimated him, and if he had been armed or truly wanted to kill me, it could have been the end. But as I watched him engage Natasha, a disciplined, fluid blur of motion, I saw no killing intent, only a cold, focused fury.
I got to my feet, shaking off the disorientation just as he kicked Tony in the chest. I lunged to grab him, but he was too quick, his reflexes sharp as a razor. He evaded my grasp and pivoted, his attention already split between Natasha and Tony, who was now fully suited up.
The fight turned into a three-on-one battle. He didn't stand a chance, but instead of going down, he kept us at bay. He was a master of evasion, a ghost in the fight. He used the penthouse's terrain to his advantage, sliding past our attacks and sneaking in quick, precise blows.
He couldn't evade every hit, of course. My shield clipped him, Tony's repulsor blasts grazed his attire, and Natasha's kicks landed true, but he just absorbed them.
He didn't falter. He just kept fighting. His tenacity was something else; it was a pure, unyielding will to fight for something he had lost.
The fight continued for a few intense minutes until the unmistakable sound of a thunderous boom made us look towards the window.
Thor, Mjölnir in hand, crashed through the glass, his face etched with a mix of concern and bewilderment. He took in the scene—me, Tony, and Natasha locked in a losing battle with a normal human—and a low rumble of laughter left his chest. He didn't question us; he simply acted.
He moved with a speed that defied his size, grabbing the kid in a vice-like grip. With him finally immobilized, I didn't hesitate. I delivered a sharp, clean blow to his jaw, knocking him unconscious.
As he went limp in Thor's grasp, I looked at him, not as an enemy, but as a victim. He was just a kid, lost and hurting, lashing out at the people he thought were responsible for his pain.
Thor held the unconscious boy in a grip that could crush stone, looking at the three of them with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. A low, rumbling chuckle left his chest. "Would you look at that? Earth's mightiest heroes and it took three of you to take down a boy in a fight?"
"It's four because you pitched in," Stark argued, his voice a defensive grumble as he rubbed the spot on his chest where the boy had landed a kick. The metal of his half-formed suit shifted with a hiss.
Natasha stepped forward, her eyes never leaving the boy's face. "So, who is he?" she asked, cutting through the banter. Her professional curiosity was already in high gear.
Steve, still rubbing his jaw, looked at Tony. "You tell me." The question wasn't just about the boy's name; it was a silent acknowledgment that this was a problem no one had seen coming, a problem that had somehow walked straight to them with a singular focus.
Tony's face, exhausted from the recent events, hardened into its default CEO mask. "Let's put him in a cell first. Until then, FRIDAY will look up what we can find about him."
Thor carried the kid away, his movements as fluid and effortless as if he were carrying a feather. As the sounds of his footsteps faded, I looked at Natasha and Tony. The silence was heavier than any of Thor's thunder.
We had won the battle, but this stranger was just a boy and this fight did not feel like victory.