Coulson held the phone a moment before asking: "Sir — Mike is technically my recruit. Once his training is complete, is there a possibility he comes to my team?"
The answer was immediate. "No."
Coulson accepted that without argument. "Understood."
"You've already got one superhuman on your roster, Coulson."
"Yes, sir." He shifted tack. "Speaking of which — the Extremis-derived serum. Is there any development on an enhancement protocol suitable for Donnie?"
"The Extremis compound, even the stabilized version, isn't compatible with his biology," Fury said. "The thermal mechanics conflict directly with his cryokinesis. We're working on something else. If a viable product comes through, Gill goes to the top of the list."
Coulson felt something close to relief at that — not much, but something. "Thank you, sir."
He hung up and started the mission report.
The next morning.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. childcare facility was clean and unremarkable — the kind of place designed to be forgettable on purpose. A teacher met them at the entrance with practiced efficiency, took the paperwork, and walked Ace inside before the kid had a real chance to register what was happening.
Skye watched the door close, then walked over to where Coulson was standing.
"I told him his dad would be back soon," she said. "That Mike might even make the full hero thing work eventually." She glanced at the door. "He got genuinely excited. Is that true, or was I just—"
"It's true," Coulson said. "The serum issue is resolved for now. The rest is on Mike." He paused. "He's got the right disposition for it. I've seen worse raw material make it through the Academy."
Skye nodded slowly. "So that's it. Mission's done."
"The mission's done. The Centipede organization is still out there — whoever funded that lab, whoever supplied the serum. Those threads didn't get cut. But that's a different team's problem now." He turned toward the car. "At least Mike's alive. Ace still has a father."
He opened the driver's door, then looked back at her over the roof. "Have you thought any more about what I mentioned?"
"Joining your team."
"Joining my team."
Skye leaned against the passenger side, arms folded. "I'm not really a team player."
"We're not exactly a conventional team." Coulson's tone was perfectly even — the mild, reasonable voice of someone who had learned that a hard sell was the wrong approach entirely. "We track down the things that don't fit anywhere else. The cases that fall through the cracks between the official categories." A beat. "You'd have front-row seats to the strangest show on Earth. Which is, if I'm reading you correctly, exactly what you've been after."
Skye was quiet for a moment.
"I hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D. from a truck with a Wi-Fi antenna," she said. "If I'm joining up, I need something more interesting to do than what I've already been doing from the outside."
The phone in Coulson's pocket buzzed. He checked it.
Ward's voice, when he answered, was flat and professional. "Coulson. 0-8-4 assignment just came through. They need confirmation."
"Confirmed. We move shortly." He pocketed the phone and looked at Skye.
She was already reading his expression. "What's an 0-8-4?"
"You have about ten minutes to decide if you actually want to know."
Skye straightened. "I'll pass. I've already burned too much time on this — I was supposed to be in New York a week ago." She met his eyes. "Another time."
Coulson nodded. No pressure in it. "That's a shame. Though I believe we'll run into each other again." He got in and settled behind the wheel. "Stay away from the Rising Tide, Skye. Not as a threat — just some advice. That organization isn't what you think it is, and I'd rather not have to process your file twice."
He pressed a sequence on the center console.
The car lifted.
Not the smooth capsule-tech levitation of a Universal Capsule vehicle — this was older, mechanical, a different kind of engineering entirely, the kind that hummed with decades of quiet refinement. Coulson slid his sunglasses on.
"See you around."
Skye watched the car rise and level off, hovering perfectly above the asphalt. She put her thumb up.
"Flying cars," she said, to no one in particular. "That's actually really cool."
The car banked and was gone.
Tony found Steve in the training bay at Avengers HQ, working through a routine that most people would have needed a spotter for. Rogers finished his set when he heard Tony come in, stood up, and hit him with a thumbs-up before Tony could say anything.
"Choosing to bring back the civilians from New York — that was genuinely selfless, Tony. I mean it."
Tony stopped. "That wasn't my wish."
Steve blinked.
"My wish hasn't changed since day one. Resurrect my parents." Tony dropped onto a bench. "They're back. Both of them." He tilted his head. "The New York resurrection — that was Smith. He made a second wish."
Steve's brow furrowed. "The dragon can grant two wishes?"
"Apparently this version can. It made several over the years and it's the first time I've seen a second wish." Tony shrugged. "Anyway. Everyone should be thanking Smith, not me."
"We really should," Steve said, meaning it. He racked a weight. "So what brings you in? New mission?"
"New idea. I want to hear what people think." Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Hear me out — an Iron Legion. Not just suits in storage. Active deployment. Automated units running global patrols, responding to threats in real time. If another invasion comes through while Smith is off-planet, we're not scrambling from zero. We already have something up."
Steve listened. When Tony finished, Steve straightened to his full height, which was a response in itself.
"No."
"Just — no?"
"Tony, you're talking about filling the planet with autonomous weapons systems." Steve's voice stayed even but his shoulders didn't. "There are people who want to live in a world, not a managed facility. Every enhanced individual on Earth right now is a person who made a choice to be here. You can't outsource that to machines." He paused. "And are you seriously not thinking about an omnic crisis? You build the army, something goes wrong with the control architecture, and suddenly the army is the problem."
Tony opened his mouth.
"Think about it," Steve said.
Tony closed his mouth. He thought about it for slightly longer than he'd intended. Then he stood. "I'll consider the counterarguments."
He made the same pitch to Bruce, to Natasha, to Jessica Jones — working through the roster with the methodical thoroughness of someone who genuinely wanted input, not just agreement. The results were consistent. Nobody liked it. The objections varied in phrasing but arrived at the same destination.
He was sitting in Bruce's lab afterward, slightly more deflated than he'd admit, when Bruce pulled up a chair.
"Can I suggest a different starting point?"
Tony gestured for him to continue.
"The Hulk." Bruce said it the same way he said everything about himself — factually, without drama. "If something goes wrong the current response options are Smith Doyle and maybe Thor on a good day." He met Tony's eyes. "You want to build something that makes Earth safer? Build something that can stop me. Something that works when none of the gods are available."
Tony was quiet for a moment.
The concept assembled itself in his head in real time — larger frame, reinforced joints, dedicated containment systems, force output calibrated specifically for Hulk-level resistance. Not a standard suit. Something built for exactly one scenario.
"Anti-Hulk armor," he said.
Bruce nodded. "Start there. It's concrete, it's necessary, and you can actually finish it." A beat. "The Legion idea isn't going anywhere. Neither is the problem you're trying to solve. But this one has an obvious first step."
Tony stood up.
"Hulkbuster," he said, like he was naming a project file. "I'll build the Hulkbuster."