The Chitauri came.
The Chitauri left.
Their commander, Loki, and countless soldiers unable to retreat in time remained on Earth, but the invasion force slunk away, leaving behind only a ravaged New York City.
Good news—
Loki had been captured. And the stranded Chitauri soldiers, cut off from their mothership, collapsed like puppets with their strings cut.
When the wormhole finally closed, the Chitauri still rampaging above Manhattan went dark instantly, plummeting from the skies like dumplings dropping into boiling water.
It was clear now—
The Earth had won this war.
Bad news—
New York was devastated. Around Stark Tower, five blocks were nearly flattened—the main battlefield, torn apart.
Other parts of Manhattan fared a little better, though "better" only in comparison. Across the city, damage was still severe.
And then there was Queens.
With one exception.
"Jackson Heights took the worst of it. A whole neighborhood was practically leveled by the Chitauri."
"What?"
On the Helicarrier, Maria Hill's voice carried through the earpieces of the weary Avengers, just as they were celebrating Iron Man's recovery. Reviewing satellite images, she continued:
"Strange, really. Only that district in Queens was hit with a full-scale bombardment. According to the data, the Chitauri in that area suddenly became enraged, concentrated their forces, and poured their firepower there."
The Avengers exchanged puzzled looks.
Captain America was the first to ask.
"Why?"
"Unclear. Agents are already en route."
Hill's voice softened. "But one thing is certain—the Chitauri are finished. Their life signals are gone. Congratulations, Captain. We won."
A collective breath of relief washed over the team.
Smiles broke through their exhaustion.
That night—
Not only New York, but every national and international channel ran nonstop coverage of the invasion.
The Avengers—now fully exposed to the world—became household names.
Captain America, Steve Rogers.
Iron Man, Tony Stark.
Thor, God of Thunder.
Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff.
The Hulk, Bruce Banner.
Hawkeye, Clint Barton.
The serious outlets reported the battle. The tabloids ran with scandals, speculation, and gossip.
And the most popular of all—Captain America.
Dead for decades, now suddenly alive and unchanged, his very existence reignited America's symbol. His return was the hottest story on the planet.
Meanwhile—
Hawk sat in a temporary shelter, chewing on bread handed out by church volunteers, watching a battered old TV broadcasting "Captain America's secret history."
His home? Gone.
Not just his—his entire block had been reduced to rubble. Half an hour after the battle, black-suited men had sealed off the neighborhood. No one was allowed back.
Excuses: federal lockdown. No entry permitted.
At least the government moved them into a disused hangar at LaGuardia Airport and partnered with nearby churches to provide food.
But…
As Hawk gnawed on his bread, he heard sobbing nearby.
Turning, he saw a burly man, mid-thirties, burying his head in his arms, his whole body shaking. The sobs grew into loud, wrenching cries.
Another survivor frowned.
"What's wrong?"
"My house is gone!"
"Oh, that's all?" The survivor sighed in relief, then tried to console him. "Don't worry. We've got insurance."
The words backfired.
The man wailed harder.
Now the others looked confused.
"What? Didn't you buy insurance?"
"I did," the man choked out.
"Then—?"
"I called them. The insurance company said alien invasions are listed as exemptions! Not covered!"
Everyone froze.
"What?"
"Exemptions?"
"They won't pay?!"
"That can't be right!"
"That's bullshit, I'm calling mine now!"
Phones came out. Survivors dialed furiously.
One minute later, another cry broke out.
Then another.
And another.
Within moments, the hangar echoed with the sobs of people realizing their homes were gone forever—and their insurance was worthless.
Hawk sat among them, his nose stinging as the grief pressed in.
But then he paused.
Wait.
His building was federal housing. A welfare apartment.
And next year, when he turned eighteen, the government would've taken it back anyway.
That was why he'd scrimped and saved three thousand dollars—because once he was "independent," he'd be out on the streets like everyone else.
Eighteen was adulthood in New York law. No more orphan benefits.
No money for rent?
Not the government's problem. Join the homeless under the bridges and in the sewers.
So…
He'd never really owned a home to lose.
Insurance? Compensation? Not his problem.
Hawk blinked back his own tears, looked at the devastated faces around him, and quietly stood.
He didn't want to be here when desperation turned into gunfire.
…
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/euridome]
[Thank You For Your Support!]