Nick Fury sat in his office aboard the helicarrier, the glow of his computer screen casting sharp shadows across his face. On the display was a top-secret file bearing a title he had revisited countless times over the years:
The Avengers Initiative.
The program had been conceived in the late 20th century, not long after Carol Danvers—Captain Marvel—departed Earth. Back then, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already begun to detect more and more alien civilizations, watching powerful beings arrive on Earth who treated the planet like their playground. Battles erupted in cities, civilian lives were lost, and Fury had seen firsthand how powerless conventional weapons truly were.
Traditional armies, no matter how well-trained, couldn't stand against gods, monsters, or alien warlords. Fury had come to a single conclusion: only power could answer power. Earth needed its own response force. A deterrent. A symbol.
Thus, the Avengers Initiative. The name itself, lifted from the call sign painted on Carol's old fighter jet.
Now, on the screen, Fury scrolled through the candidate roster:
Captain Marvel – Carol Danvers
Captain America – Steve Rogers
Iron Man – Tony Stark
Hulk – Dr. Bruce Banner
Hawkeye – Clint Barton
Black Widow – Natasha Romanoff
War Machine – Lt. Col. James Rhodes
Lock – "the Oriental"
The cursor blinked beneath that last name.
For a long moment, Fury's single eye lingered on it. His hand hovered above the delete key as though it weighed a ton. Then, slowly, deliberately, he erased the entry.
Lock. Gone.
His jaw tightened. He opened a drawer and withdrew an object he had not touched in years—a pager, battered and unassuming to the untrained eye. Yet etched on its casing was a golden starburst with crimson wings stretching outward.
Carol's symbol.
Captain Marvel had given it to him before she left, modified with Kree technology so it could transmit a signal across the galaxy. No matter where she was, if Earth faced annihilation, one press of the button would bring her back.
Fury turned it over in his hand. His thumb hovered above the trigger.
Not yet.
Gods might walk among them now, but so far their battles had not threatened Earth's very existence. Chaos, yes. Casualties, yes. But extinction? Not yet. For now, Fury decided to hold his card close to his chest. He slipped the pager back into his pocket.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts.
"Director," came the voice of a staffer, "Iron Man, Captain America, and Dr. Banner are all aboard. Are you ready for launch?"
"Have Hill handle liftoff," Fury said, standing. "I'll meet them on deck."
He stepped out into the wind. The vast deck stretched before him, lined with fighter jets and S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel securing equipment. Beyond lay the open sea.
"Welcome aboard," Fury greeted as Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Bruce Banner approached.
Stark offered a polite nod, ever the pragmatist. Banner looked detached, keeping his emotions in check. Rogers, however, gazed at the carrier's fleet of fighters with a heavy sigh.
"If we'd had this kind of firepower back in the war," the super-soldier muttered, "a lot of good men would still be alive."
Fury's voice was steady, measured. "But you won. That's what counts. Now let's get inside—air's thinner up here."
Even as he spoke, the ocean around the vessel churned. Massive whirlpools opened on either side of the carrier, and the sea itself seemed to sink away. Then came the roar of engines. Four colossal turbines rose from the depths, each blade longer than a fighter jet. Water cascaded off them in waterfalls before the fans stabilized, spraying mist across the sky.
The deck shook. The carrier lifted, slowly, impossibly, until the entire warship was airborne.
The Helicarrier—S.H.I.E.L.D.'s flying command fortress—had taken to the skies.
On Fury's command, Hill triggered the cloaking system. Reflective panels shimmered into life, and in seconds the massive craft vanished from sight, hidden above the clouds.
Inside, the command deck bustled with agents managing every subsystem. Steve Rogers absorbed the sight with quiet amazement—not at the futuristic technology itself, but at something else entirely.
Pinned across walls, consoles, even doors and lockers, were glossy photographs of a grinning young man holding a pack of gum.
Lock.
The infamous "Yida Smile."
Everywhere Rogers turned, there it was. He blinked, puzzled. "Is… he some kind of celebrity? An actor?"
Banner smirked faintly. "Secret weapon. You could say he's our Hulk insurance policy."
Rogers frowned but let it go. Fury led them into a strategy room where Natasha Romanoff was already waiting. She and Stark exchanged a quiet hug—an attempt at reassurance after everything that had happened.
Banner was assigned to track gamma signatures worldwide, searching for the Tesseract. Stark and Rogers prepared for fieldwork. Fury, as always, kept his cards close to his chest.
Steve Rogers, however, felt the unease gnawing at him. He had only just awoken from a 70-year sleep, and already the world was stranger than he could have imagined. Faces grim, whispers half-spoken, and everywhere those photos of a man he didn't know.
What the hell happened while I was gone?
Meanwhile, far away in Europe, a concert hall glittered with chandeliers and tuxedos. A wealthy patron arrived—unaware that Hawkeye had already marked him as the key. His retina was the lock to a vault.
From the shadows, Loki emerged, dressed immaculately in a tailored suit. With casual cruelty, he seized the man and hurled him onto an art platform. Producing a cruel device, he jammed it into the man's eye.
In the vault nearby, Barton raised a mirrored scanner to his face. The device synchronized with Loki's, transmitting the stolen retinal data. A perfect holographic replica flickered, scanned, and passed. The vault opened.
Inside lay a tube of iridium—the stabilizer they needed. Barton claimed it and vanished.
On the plaza outside, Loki shed his human façade. Golden horns curved above his head, a dark cape draped his shoulders, and the scepter gleamed in his hand. He addressed the crowd with venom.
"Kneel. All of you. You were made to be ruled."
Fear spread through the civilians, but one elderly man, stooped yet unbroken, stood tall. "We have stood against tyrants before," he declared, voice shaking but resolute. "And we will not bow to you."
Loki's eyes hardened. "Then let your death be the lesson." He raised his scepter, energy gathering—
A shield crashed from above, deflecting the blast in a spray of sparks.
The crowd gasped as the star-spangled figure stepped forward.
Captain America.
"Last time I checked," Steve said firmly, "tyrants don't get the last word. Not while veterans still stand."
Loki smirked, unimpressed. "An antique soldier playing hero. How quaint."
The two clashed, shield against scepter. Civilians scattered, but Rogers held his ground, buying precious seconds. Yet Loki's strength far outmatched his. Blow after blow drove the captain back until the scepter was poised at his throat.
"Submit," Loki hissed.
Steve gritted his teeth. The plan had worked—he had led the god away from the crowd. "Not today."
A beam of repulsor energy blasted Loki off his feet. He hit the cobblestones hard, smoke curling from his armor.
Iron Man descended in a blaze of thrusters, his visor gleaming.
"Make a move on my antique buddy," Stark said, "and you're gonna need more than horns to keep your head on straight."
Loki lay sprawled, chuckling softly. This was all according to plan. He would allow himself to be captured, ferried back to the humans' floating fortress, and from there dismantle them from within.
That was the plan.
What he had not accounted for… was Lock.
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