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The Chitauri came.
The Chitauri left.
They left behind Loki, the mastermind of the invasion, a number of their soldiers who didn't make it back through the portal, and a New York City in utter ruins.
The good news:
Loki was in custody. Even the Chitauri soldiers left on Earth had collapsed the moment their connection to the mothership was severed, dropping like puppets with their strings cut.
The second the wormhole snapped shut, the Chitauri still swarming the skies over New York simply powered down and fell from the sky, one after another, like stones.
Clearly.
In this sudden war for the planet, Earth had emerged victorious.
The bad news:
New York City was severely damaged. The five-block radius around Stark Tower was hit the hardest.
That had been the main battlefield, and it was almost completely leveled.
Other parts of Manhattan had sustained less damage—but that was only in comparison to ground zero. Compared to the rest of the city, the damage was still catastrophic.
Beyond that, the outer boroughs had their own scars.
With one major exception.
...
"We have a situation in Queens, Jackson Heights. An entire city block has been practically wiped off the map by the Chitauri."
"HUH?"
Aboard the Helicarrier, Commander Maria Hill, dressed in her tactical gear, was reviewing the satellite imagery of New York. Her voice came through the comms of the original Avengers, who were just starting to celebrate Iron Man's revival.
"It's strange. The attack seems highly concentrated. That one block in Jackson Heights was hit with a full-scale carpet bombing. Intel suggests the Chitauri forces in Queens were enraged by something and converged on that location."
The Avengers, still standing amidst the wreckage of the main battlefield, exchanged confused looks.
Captain America was the first to speak.
"Why?"
"We don't know, Captain. Agents are en route to investigate now."
Maria Hill's voice was all business. Her tone then shifted slightly. "All Chitauri life signs have been extinguished. Congratulations, Captain. We won."
As her words sank in.
A collective sigh of relief went through the Avengers. They looked at each other.
And then—
Tired, bruised smiles broke out on their faces.
That night.
It wasn't just the New York City news channels. It was every channel in the country—and around the world. The Chitauri invasion was the only story.
Without a doubt.
The original Avengers, the heroes who had fought on the front lines, were now public figures.
Captain America, Steve Rogers.
Iron Man, Tony Stark.
Thor, the God of Thunder.
Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff.
The Hulk, Bruce Banner.
Hawkeye, Clint Barton.
The legitimate news networks reported the details of the battle.
The less reputable ones ran sensationalized specials on the heroes' backstories and rumored love lives.
The most popular topic, by far, was the confirmed return of Captain America, Steve Rogers. He had reappeared after being presumed dead for decades, looking exactly the same.
After all, Captain America was a national symbol. His popularity was already sky-high. Now, with his dramatic return from the dead, his celebrity had exploded.
...
Hawk was currently eating a relief meal handed out by a local church group, watching an old 18-inch TV that was playing a documentary about Captain America's "Secret history."
He had no choice.
His apartment building was now a pile of rubble. It wasn't just him, or just the people from his building. Technically, everyone who lived on his block was now homeless.
About half an hour after the battle ended, their entire street had been cordoned off by a group of men in black suits and black ties.
Some residents who tried to go back and salvage their belongings from the wreckage were turned away.
The official reason: Federal emergency zone. No entry.
Fortunately, the agency that sealed off the block took pity on them. They were provided with temporary shelter in an unused hangar at LaGuardia Airport, and local churches were brought in to provide free food.
But...
As Hawk was chewing on a piece of dry bread and listening to the TV, he heard a sniffling sound next to him.
He turned his head.
He saw a large, burly man, probably in his mid-thirties, hugging his knees to his chest, his face buried between his legs. The quiet sobs quickly escalated into full-blown, gut-wrenching wails.
Another survivor nearby couldn't help but ask.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"My house... it's gone."
"It's okay."
The other man, relieved it wasn't something worse, tried to comfort him. "Don't worry, we have insurance."
He shouldn't have said that. At the mention of insurance, the man began to cry even harder.
Now the other survivor was completely lost.
"What is it now? You didn't have insurance?"
"No, I did."
"Then..."
"I just called my insurance company," the man choked out between sobs, looking up at the other survivor. "They said... they said an alien invasion falls under the 'Act of God' clause. It's not covered."
The other survivor's face froze.
"WHAT?"
"NOT COVERED?"
"NO WAY."
"HOW CAN THEY NOT PAY OUT?"
"SHIT, I GOTTA MAKE A CALL."
"..."
Hearing this exchange, the other survivors in the hangar immediately scrambled for their phones, frantically dialing their own insurance companies.
About a minute later, a second person started crying.
Then a third.
A fourth.
In the blink of an eye, the entire hangar was filled with the sounds of people realizing they were about to be homeless.
Hawk, now surrounded by a chorus of despair, felt a lump form in his throat. His apartment was gone, and insurance wasn't paying.
But then, he stopped.
Wait a minute.
That apartment was federal housing. And it was going to be taken away next year anyway when he turned eighteen.
That was the whole reason he'd been saving up, why he had over thirty thousand dollars stashed away.
Once he turned eighteen, the government would kick him out of the system in the name of "Independence."
After all, at eighteen, he would legally be an adult in the state of New York, and no longer eligible for juvenile orphan benefits.
What's that?
You don't have money for rent?
Sorry, not our problem. There are plenty of homeless people under the bridges and in the subway tunnels of New York City. You can try asking them if they mind sharing.
So...
I don't even own a house. The insurance company not paying out has absolutely nothing to do with me.
Hawk snapped out of it. He looked at the faces of the other survivors, which were twisting with grief and rage. A thought occurred to him, and he quietly got to his feet and started walking toward the hangar exit.
He was suddenly afraid there was about to be a riot.
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