Chapter 6 — S.H.I.E.L.D. Auxiliary Personnel
In the Helicarrier's command center, Maria Hill's eyes narrowed at a sudden blip on her monitor. A warning flashed red across her screen.
"Director," she called sharply, "unauthorized jet lifting off from the deck."
Nick Fury's jaw clenched. His blood pressure was already in the danger zone today, and this pushed it into "doctor's orders: sit down before you pop a vein" territory.
Perfect. As if he didn't have enough going on with an alien invasion.
He glared at the monitor like it had personally betrayed him. "Tell me you're joking."
Nope. The little icon on the screen was climbing steadily.
Fury's expression darkened—not metaphorically. If his skin got any darker from stress, the lights in the room would have to be turned up just to see him. "Have the council lost their damn minds? Are they seriously thinking about dropping a nuke on New York? What's next—evacuating civilians into the blast zone for a better camera angle?"
He didn't waste more time. Fury stalked out, grabbed the nearest rocket launcher from the armory rack, and strode up to the deck like he was going to personally introduce someone to a bad day. The unauthorized jet hadn't even cleared the Helicarrier when Fury shouldered the launcher, took aim, and sent a capitalist iron fist right into its engine.
Boom. One less suicide mission to worry about.
Then Hill's voice came back in over his earpiece. "Director—there's another one."
Fury stopped dead. "Another—? What the hell, are they breeding?"
Before he could decide whether to shoot the next jet or throw himself off the deck in frustration, Hill's voice cut in again, sharper this time. "Sir, Stark's in the field. The… uh, the kid in pink pants just took a hit for him. His condition's critical. Stark's taking him to the nearest aid station. Medical telemetry says his vitals are unstable."
Fury stared at nothing for a full beat. "Kid in pink pants?"
That mental image was going to stick whether he wanted it to or not. He shook it off. "Between one kid and the entire city…" He pressed his comm again. "Stark. You copy? Put the boy down somewhere safe and send me your coordinates. Medical team will reach you in two minutes."
Tony's voice came back immediately, tinged with disbelief. "Two minutes? What are they coming on, an ox cart? He doesn't have two minutes. Give me their coordinates instead."
In his arms, Ethan Miles was pale enough to pass for a vampire at a blood bank. Tony glanced down at the young man and couldn't decide if he was reckless, heroic, or just criminally stupid. They'd known each other for less than five minutes before Ethan decided to intercept a high-powered energy blast meant for him.
"Why'd you even do that?" Tony muttered under his breath, not expecting an answer.
Ethan, if he'd been conscious, would've said something along the lines of: Yeah, I'm an idiot. Didn't even see that cannon. My bad. But hey—let me armor up and you can try that again.
Right now, all Ethan could feel was the tearing ache in his chest and the rush of wind in his ears as they flew. Voices came and went around him like snippets from a dream.
"Listen, Stark." Fury's voice cut in again, all business. "We've got a nuke inbound to New York. Impact in three minutes. One person or the city—make the call."
Tony slowed, coming to a hover on a rooftop. He didn't answer right away, weighing the decision, then crouched down to set Ethan on the concrete. His voice softened. "Kid, I don't know what possessed you to play bodyguard, but… thanks." He tapped his comm and sent his location to Fury.
Then, to Jarvis: "All power to the thrusters."
"Sir, that will compromise your return trajectory," Jarvis warned.
"Just do it."
Across the battlefield, Captain America and Thor were still holding the line. Hawkeye was down to empty quivers. Hulk was pinned under sustained heavy fire. Black Widow's voice cut over comms: "I can close the portal."
Cap spun, smashing an alien in the face with his shield. "Do it!"
"Negative." Tony's voice snapped through. "Hold it open, there is a nuke coming. And I know just the place where to send it." He pushed his thrusters into overdrive, intercepting the nuke mid-flight.
There was no hesitation. He angled up, forcing the missile's trajectory skyward, right through the glowing portal. The warhead crossed into alien territory just before detonating in a blinding bloom of fire.
Inside his helmet, Tony exhaled. "Kid… maybe I get why you did it now."
The blast rippled across the Chitauri network. Every alien soldier on Earth convulsed and collapsed as their neural link went dead. The last Leviathan crashed belly-up into a skyscraper, groaning like a dying whale.
On the ground, Cap scanned the battlefield as the portal began to shrink. "He did it. Come on, Tony, you can do it."
A heartbeat later, Iron Man tumbled back through the closing rift like someone had just spit out a watermelon seed.
The Hulk caught Tony mid falling just like in the movies and brought him down.
He hit the pavement, helmet clanging, but alive. Relief swept the team. Even in the Helicarrier command center, the tension broke. They'd won. The aliens were down. New York still stood.
---
At the S.H.I.E.L.D. hospital in New York, doctors wheeled Ethan into surgery. A quick scan showed—surprisingly—only a few fractures and soft tissue injuries.
One surgeon frowned at the readout. "This is 'critical'? He's banged up, sure, but…"
Still, protocol was protocol. They ran deeper scans, only to hit an anomaly. His body was too healthy in some ways—organ function optimal, muscle density above average—yet his vital signs were abnormally low.
Hill's next report to Fury was cautious. "Sir, the boy who saved Stark isn't stabilizing. Doctor says his heartbeat is almost gone."
Fury sighed. "Tell them to do everything they can. I'm not a miracle worker. And neither are they, but it's their job to try."
Minutes later, Ethan's body temperature spiked. His once-muscular frame began thinning at alarming speed, skin tightening over bone like he was burning through every ounce of stored energy.
For the doctors, this was both concerning and—strangely—encouraging. At least it was a change. Within minutes, they identified the cause: his metabolism was running like a furnace, devouring fat and energy reserves at a dangerous pace. The man wasn't just injured. He was starving.
Solution: high-grade nutrient injections. Lots of them.
Fury signed off on the expense without blinking. "Put it on Stark's tab."
Ethan, still unconscious, wasn't aware of any of this. Inside his mind, his Character Template Fusion System had reactivated, and this time, the interface was crystal clear.
---
Character: Ethan Miles
Race: Human
Bloodline: ??? (Unlocks)
Class: Warrior (Fusion Progress: 20%)
Energy: Rage
Talents: ???, ???, ??? (Unlocks)
Attributes:
Strength — 53
Agility — 40
Stamina — 52
Intelligence — 30
Spirit — 41
Specializations: Weapons, Fury, Protection (Inactive)
Combat Skills Unlocked:
Mortal Strike, Cleave, Charge, Kick (Punch), Execute, Overpower, Sweeping Strikes, Bladestorm, Giant Strike, Bloodthirst
---
"Huh," Ethan thought, drifting in that strange between-place of unconsciousness. "Bit of a mash-up. Rage, bloodline talents… guess we're going full RPG with this."
He mentally ran the numbers on his stats and decided they were balanced enough—for now. But if this was twenty percent… what would a hundred look like? The thought made him grin, even in his sleep.
---
Back in the Helicarrier command center, Hill's voice came over Fury's comm again.
"Director, update from the hospital. Doctors have stabilized him. Vitals improving, though his temperature's still high."
Fury's shoulders eased a fraction. "Good. File everything on him—medical, field performance, the works. And flag it for recruitment review. Kid's got potential. I want him on our auxiliary list."
If you impressed Nick Fury enough to get that line, you'd just earned yourself a spot on the world's strangest job waiting list.
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