S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters – The Triskelion
Director Nick Fury stood at the center of the command floor, one hand resting against the console, his single eye locked onto the massive screen before him. His expression was controlled as always but the faint tension in his jaw and the veins subtly visible along his temple told a different story.
The display showed a live satellite feed.
SFIT was burning.
Smoke curled into the sky, emergency vehicles flooding the perimeter, and cutting through it all as a formation of unknown ships hovering above the school convention. On the ground, an organized force of armored primates advanced with military precision… chasing a lone figure speeding through the streets on a transforming motorcycle.
"Director," an agent reported, fingers moving rapidly across a holographic interface, "Ultron sentries are en route to the scene. Local emergency services have also been deployed. Estimated arrival—two minutes."
Fury didn't look away from the screen.
"Alright," he muttered then commanded "Get me Dr. Wakeman."
"Yes, sir."
The agent tapped a command. The main screen flickered, the battlefield feed shrinking to the side as a new window opened.
A woman appeared.
Aged, composed, with styled blonde-gray hair and sharp, intelligent eyes behind sleek, modern glasses. She wore a pristine white lab coat over a dark turtleneck, her posture straight, her expression already carrying a hint of impatience.
"Director Fury," she said, voice calm but edged. "This better be important."
Fury finally turned slightly toward the screen.
"Dr. Wakeman."
She folded her arms. "What do you need?"
Fury exhaled quietly, the kind of breath that carried weight.
"The authorization you requested," he said. "You've got it. Full clearance. Deployment included."
There was a brief silence.
Then Wakeman sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"…Let me guess," she said dryly. "San Fransokyo."
Fury didn't answer.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced off-screen, likely pulling up her own data.
"And your 'advanced robot army' can't handle it," she added, a faint bite in her tone.
Fury remained silent for a moment… then gave a small, acknowledging nod.
That was enough.
Wakeman let out another exhale, this one heavier.
"Figures."
She straightened, professionalism snapping back into place.
"Fine. I'll handle it."
Without another word the feed cut.
The screen went dark for a split second, reflecting Fury's face in the glass calm, unreadable… but undeniably tense.
Behind him, the battlefield feed continued to burn.
_______
Miles away...
In a brightly lit suburban laboratory, the call ended with a soft click.
Dr. Nora Wakeman lowered her hand from the console, her expression shifting from irritation to focus.
"…Of course it's San Fransokyo," she muttered.
She turned and walked briskly across the lab. Monitors flickered with schematics, robotic components neatly arranged across worktables. At the far end, a sliding door opened with a quiet mechanical hiss as she approached.
Beyond it was not another sterile chamber but a bedroom.
The space was unmistakably lived in. Posters lined the walls, gadgets and tools scattered across desks and shelves. It felt less like a lab extension and more like a teenager's room… just with far more advanced tech lying around.
On the bed lay a familiar figure.
A robot girl with smooth white plating and bright blue accents, her "hair" styled into twin pigtails bolted neatly to her head. Blue bangs framed her face, and her design mimicked clothing a cropped top, skirt, and boots seamlessly integrated into her body. A small bolt rested at her midsection like a belly button, and her four-fingered hands were tucked lazily behind her head.
Dr. Wakeman stepped into the doorway.
"XJ-9!!"
The robot perked up instantly, turning her head.
"Jenny," she corrected, sitting up. "It's Jenny."
Nora paused, already annoyed. "…What?"
Jenny sighed. "Jenny. I changed my name to Jenny. Remember?"
Nora groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Jenny tilted her head. "So what's the crisis anyway? I've been in my room for, like, 24 hours. Do you hear any alarms going off? Everything is totally mellow."
"Oh, really?" Nora said flatly.
She reached over and turned up the volume on a nearby console.
WEEOOO! WEEOOO! WEEOOO!
Emergency alarms blared through the room.
Jenny winced, then gave a sheepish little laugh. "Heh… wow. I wonder how that got turned down."
Nora adjusted her glasses. "The space monitor has detected a Class-C vessel entering Earth's atmosphere. It is currently wreaking havoc in San Fransokyo."
Jenny slid off the bed and stretched, completely unimpressed. "You know how often that thing goes off? I could set my internal clock by it. Would one afternoon off really hurt? But nooo, it's always—"
She suddenly mimicked Nora's voice in a perfect imitation:
"'XJ-9, bust up that meteor.'
'XJ-9, battle those aliens but be back in your room before 5:00.'"
She dropped the act, arms crossing.
"Meanwhile, nobody even knows my name," she muttered. "I want to have friends… hang out… do normal teenage stuff. But who's gonna hang out with a rusty hunk of metal like me?"
The frustration lingered in the air.
For once, Nora didn't snap back.
Instead, her expression softened slightly. She walked over and tapped the edge of the bed, signaling Jenny to sit.
After a brief hesitation, Jenny did.
"Oh, honey," Nora said more gently, "I understand how you feel. Your systems,your abilities, they're still developing. It's a complicated time."
Jenny looked down, quiet now.
"When you get a little older," Nora continued, "you'll understand why this matters."
She stood, composure returning as she walked back toward the door.
"Now," she said, voice firm again, "be a good robot… and go stop those invaders."
Jenny's shoulders dipped slightly.
"Yes… ma'am," she said softly.
"That's my XJ-9."
The door slid shut behind Nora.
Silence filled the room.
Jenny sat there for a moment… then muttered under her breath,
"…My name's Jenny."