The interior of the government sedan smelled of stale coffee and new leather. Nick Fury's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the windshield.
"I'm going to ask you this once," Fury said, his voice tight, cutting through the tension. "Did you see a weapon? A gun? A blaster? Anything?"
"No," Jarvis said immediately, clutching the strap of the seatbelt across his chest like a lifeline. "I saw a woman with very poor conflict resolution skills."
"Nope," Tony added from the back seat, leaning forward between the two front seats. "Just glowing fists. Which, scientifically speaking, suggests bio-luminescent energy manipulation or some kind of channeled photon blast. But definitely no gun."
"Glowing fists," Fury muttered, shaking his head. "Right. Standard Tuesday in LA."
He slammed his foot onto the gas pedal.
The sedan didn't accelerate so much as it lunged. The force threw Tony back into the leather upholstery. The tires screamed in protest, spinning against the asphalt before finding traction and launching the car forward.
"Good heavens!" Jarvis gasped, one hand bracing against the ceiling handle, the other instinctively reaching out to hover protectively over Tony's legs.
They wove through the mid-morning traffic of North Hollywood like a guided missile. Fury drove with a terrifying competence, swerving around a slow-moving station wagon and cutting off a delivery truck with inches to spare. Horns blared in their wake, a symphony of angry commuters.
"Mr. Fury!" Jarvis shouted over the roar of the engine. "There is a child in this vehicle! I must insist you adhere to the posted speed limits!"
"Unless you want the laser lady to get away, hold on!" Fury barked, drifting around a corner.
Jarvis's face went pale. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the massive, brick-sized cellular phone. His fingers, usually so steady when pouring tea or soldering a circuit, trembled slightly as he dialed.
"Who are you calling now?" Tony asked, peeling himself off the door where he'd been thrown by the turn.
"Your mother," Jarvis said grimly. "If we are to die in a fiery wreck caused by government incompetence, she deserves to know."
He held the phone to his ear. It rang once. Twice.
"Jarvis?"
The voice on the other end was clear, warm, and instantly commanding.
"Madam," Jarvis said, his voice dropping an octave into his professional register, though he couldn't hide the breathless quality caused by the g-forces. "I hope I am not disturbing you."
"You sound out of breath," Maria Stark's voice sharpened instantly. "Is everything alright? Where are you? Is Tony with you?"
"We are... currently in a situation, Madam," Jarvis said, choosing his words carefully as Fury swerved around a bus. "A minor complication."
"Define 'situation', Edwin," Maria said. The tone was low, dangerous. It was the Mother Tone. The one that made even Howard Stark stop talking about repulsors and pay attention.
"Nothing too big," Jarvis lied through his teeth, eyeing the speedometer which was currently pushing eighty in a forty zone. "We may be back a little later than anticipated today."
"Put him on," Maria demanded.
"Madam, really, it is—"
"Put my son on the phone. Now."
Jarvis winced. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at Tony. The boy was kneeling on the back seat, looking over Fury's shoulder at the road ahead, completely unbothered by the fact that they were treating a commercial district like a Formula One track.
"Nice drift!" Tony yelled as Fury corrected a slide. "You really know how to handle oversteer!"
"Thanks, kid," Fury smirked, glancing in the mirror. "My old man taught me to drive in a blizzard before I could drink."
"Master Anthony," Jarvis hissed, holding out the brick. "Your mother."
Tony's eyes went wide. The excitement vanished, replaced by the panic of a child about to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He took the phone.
"Hi, Mom!" Tony chirped, his voice rising in a perfect imitation of innocent delight.
"Anthony Edward Stark," Maria's voice crackled. "Tell me exactly what is going on. Jarvis is using his 'I'm trying not to panic' voice."
"Nothing's wrong, Mom!" Tony said, the lie rolling off his tongue with the ease of a future billionaire playboy. "We just... we heard about this really cool comic book store. In, uh, Burbank. Jarvis heard they have a first edition of Amazing Fantasy #15. We're heading there now to beat the rush."
Fury raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the kid. Even in the middle of a high-speed pursuit, he was impressed. That was a solid, detailed lie.
There was a pause on the line. Tony held his breath. He knew his mom had a built-in lie detector, but he also knew she wanted him to be happy.
"A comic book," she sighed, the tension bleeding out of her voice. "You two and your adventures. You really had me worried, Tony."
"I know, Mom. I'm sorry. We'll be quick. I just... I really wanted to see it."
"Okay," she said softly. "Just... be careful. Traffic in LA is terrible. And listen to Jarvis."
"I will. Love you, Mom."
"Love you too, baby. Put Jarvis back on."
Tony handed the phone back to Jarvis, letting out a long exhale. "She bought it."
Jarvis put the receiver to his ear. "Madam?"
"Jarvis," Maria's voice was steel again. "I trust you. But if you don't bring him back in one piece, you and I are going to have a very long conversation. But that can wait, I want you both back, no matter what...I don't know what's really happening and every instinct in my mind is screaming that I demand you both come back but, as his mother I know Tonys been feeling stuck so whatever is going on may be the thing to bring his smile back...Be careful, both of you."
"I promise, Madam," Jarvis said solemnity.The concern in her voice for her son and for himself warmed his heart. "With my life."
He ended the call and collapsed back against the seat, looking utterly drained. He looked at Tony, who was grinning smugly.
"The capacity for deception you possess is both impressive and deeply concerning," Jarvis muttered, pocketing the phone.
"Kid's got a future in espionage," Fury commented, checking his side mirror. "Why were you even talking to the space lady, Stark? Most people run away from explosions."
"I wanted to help her," Tony said, his voice turning serious. He looked at his hands. "She seemed... lost. Like she didn't know who she was." He paused, then added in a lower mumble that Fury barely caught, "Plus, my alien tech senses were off the charts. I bet she has a portable fusion reactor in that wrist gauntlet."
"You got a good heart, kid," Fury said, shaking his head. "Stupid, but good."
Tony beamed at the compliment, but his attention was quickly drawn to the window. Above the highway, running parallel to the road on an elevated concrete track, was the Metro Rail.
And on top of the speeding train, a green and black blur was running.
"There!" Tony shouted, pointing upward. "On the roof! It's her!"
Fury looked up, cursing under his breath. He grabbed the radio handset attached to the dashboard.
"Suspect is on the northbound train," Fury barked into the receiver. "In pursuit."
He tossed the radio down and looked at the intersection ahead. The light was red. Traffic from the right lane was pouring across their path.
"Hold on to something!" Fury yelled.
"Oh, bloody hell," Jarvis moaned, wrapping both arms around Tony and pulling him into a tight embrace.
Fury didn't brake. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. The sedan drifted, tires screeching in a long, agonizing wail. The car slid sideways into the intersection, effectively turning into the oncoming lanes.
Cars honked. Brakes locked up. A delivery truck swerved to avoid them, jumping the curb and taking out a row of newspaper dispensers.
"You absolute maniac!" Jarvis screamed at the back of Fury's head. "You are driving on the wrong side of the road!"
"Short cut!" Fury yelled back, wrestling the wheel to keep the car from spinning out.
CRUNCH.
The rear bumper of the sedan clipped the front of a Honda Civic. The impact jolted them violently. Jarvis's head slammed against the headrest, and Tony bit his tongue.
"My apologies!" Jarvis yelled out the window at the poor driver of the Honda, his British politeness overriding his terror for a split second. Then he turned back to Fury and covered Tonys ears. "You pillock! You absolute wanker! You're going to kill us all!"
Fury ignored him, gunning the engine and swerving back into the left lane, merging onto a parallel access road that ran directly beneath the train tracks.
Tony shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness. The car was speeding up again, the engine whining in protest.
But amidst the chaos, Tony felt a nagging itch in his brain. Like something in the back of his mind.
I forgot something, he thought, staring at the back of the passenger seat where Agent Coulson sat silently. I know this scene. I know this movie. The train... the chase... but what did I forget... ?
The train tracks roared over an underpass. The train rattled loudly on the tracks directly above them. Suddenly, a screech of tearing metal echoed from above.
"Heads up!" Fury shouted.
A massive, jagged plate of aluminum—part of the train's siding that Carol had likely blasted off—came crashing down.
It slammed into the hood of their car with a deafening CLANG.
Sparks flew. The car shuddered violently, skidding to the right. Fury fought the wheel, his forearms bulging with effort, correcting the skid just before they slammed into a concrete pillar.
"Is everyone okay?" Jarvis gasped, checking Tony for injuries.
"I'm fine!" Tony yelled, adrenaline pumping through his veins. "That was awesome! ..."
But his mind was still racing. What did I forget? It's something important. Something about the car... something about the people...
The sedan shot up a ramp, rejoining the main road that ran alongside the train tracks. Ahead, the tracks curved toward a dark tunnel mouth.
"Train's heading for the tunnel," the man in the passenger seat—Agent Coulson—said calmly.
"Let's greet them at the station," Fury replied, his eyes locked on the road.
He made a hard left, cutting across two lanes of traffic, the tires smoking. They shot down an alleyway, scattering pigeons and trash cans, then burst out onto another street, taking a shortcut that only a local—or a super spy—would know.
Tony watched Coulson. The agent was sitting perfectly still. Too still. He hadn't flinched when the metal hit the car. He hadn't grabbed the handle when Fury drifted.
Then, the radio on the dashboard crackled to life.
"Mr. Fury?" The voice was tinny, confused, and unmistakably familiar. "This is Agent Coulson."
Fury's eyes flicked to the radio.
"I'm still here at the Blockbuster," the voice on the radio continued. "And, uh... where did everybody go?"
Time seemed to freeze in the car.
Fury looked at the radio. Then he slowly turned his head to look at the man sitting in the passenger seat.
Jarvis, hearing the voice, looked at the back of the passenger seat, his eyes widening in horror. "But... if that is Agent Coulson..."
Tony stared at the back of the passenger's head. The realization hit him like a repulsor blast. A smile, sharp and knowing, spread across his face. He snapped his fingers loud enough to be heard over the engine.
Click.
"Oh, right," Tony said, his internal monologue finally syncing with reality. "That Coulson is a Skrull!"
In his mind a Sherlock dressed Tony with a magnifying glass, looked over at the fake coulson and nick fury, then the road ahead, while a stocky and small version of jarvis came up behind him. Sherlock Tony took one look at the situation coming to a single conclusion.
Jarvis:" What's going on, Sherlock. By god man what is that thing !"
Tonylock:" It's elementry my dear Watson. This is a skrull !"
He said pulling down a chart with the image of a green skinned figure, with an odd chin that looked suspiciously like that of a waking raisin and pointed ears. " A skrull is, a shapeshifter. An alien lifeform capable of mimicking the appearence of anyone it so happens to turn into, copying their most recent memories, and dna. Though I must say...They are quite ugly indeed".
The man in the passenger seat turned. His face was no longer the mild-mannered Phil Coulson. His expression was a rictus of alien malice.
In a blur of motion, the Fake Coulson reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun.
"MOTHER FUCKER!GUN!!" Fury shouted.
Fury took one hand off the wheel and chopped downward, striking the Skrull's wrist. The gun clattered onto the dashboard. Fury lunged, grabbing the Skrull's arm and slamming it against the dash, pinning it.
"Stay back!" Jarvis roared, throwing his body over Tony, pressing the boy deep into the leather seat.
Fury backhanded the Skrull across the face. It was a solid hit, but the alien was stronger than a human. The Skrull growled, a guttural, wet sound, and drove his elbow into Fury's ribs.
"Oof!" Fury grunted, the air leaving his lungs.
The impact knocked Fury's hand off the steering wheel. The car swerved violently to the left, crossing the median. They were careening into oncoming traffic again.
The Skrull lunged for Fury's throat, his hands shifting, fingers elongating into claws.
"Jarvis!" Tony yelled from beneath the butler's arm. "Do something!"
Jarvis didn't think. He didn't weigh the moral implications. He reached into his pocket, his hand finding the cool metal of the switchblade he had packed.
Click. The blade sprang out.
With a shout that was more strange and loud than any normal battle cry, Jarvis swung the knife down over the seat.
SHUNNK.
He drove the blade deep into the Skrull's forearm, pinning the alien muscle.
The Skrull screeched, an unearthly sound that vibrated in Tony's teeth. It released Fury's throat, thrashing in pain.
"Hang on!" Fury wheezed.
He grabbed the wheel with both hands. He didn't try to straighten the car. Instead, he saw what was coming. A massive railcar—a city bus moving perpendicular to them at the intersection ahead.
Fury yanked the wheel hard to the right, intentionally throwing the car into a spin.
"Bollocks!" Jarvis shouted, curling around Tony like a human roll cage.
The sedan spun. The world outside the windows became a blur of motion.
CRASH!
The passenger side of the sedan—the side where the Skrull was sitting—slammed violently into the front of the moving railcar.
Metal screamed. Glass shattered into a million diamonds. The impact was bone-jarring. The sedan was dragged for ten feet, sparks showering the windshield, before the railcar finally ground to a halt.
Silence.
Heavy, ringing silence.
Steam hissed from the crumpled hood of the sedan. The smell of ozone and radiator fluid filled the cabin.
"Tony?" Jarvis's voice was a ragged whisper. He shifted, glass falling from his jacket. "Master Anthony, are you hurt?!"
"I'm good," came the muffled reply.
Jarvis pulled back. Tony was blinking, his hair messy, but completely unharmed. His eyes were wide, darting around the wrecked cabin.
"That," Tony breathed, "was...AWESOME!."
In the front seat, Nick Fury groaned. He touched his hand to his forehead, wincing. When he pulled his fingers away, they were coated in bright red blood. A jagged cut had opened up right above his left eye—the result of his head slamming into the steering wheel.
"Ugh," Fury grunted, blinking blood out of his eye.
He turned to look at the passenger seat.
The Fake Coulson was dead. The impact of the railcar had crushed the passenger side door inward. But the body slumped there wasn't Phil Coulson anymore.
The camouflage had failed. The skin was green and scaly. The ears were pointed. The chin was ridged. A Skrull, in its true form, lay broken amidst the airbags and shattered glass.
Fury stared at it, his one good eye wide with shock. He had heard the laser girl say they could mimic anyone. He had heard her warnings. But seeing an alien corpse in his passenger seat was something else entirely.
"Well," Fury coughed, spitting a little blood. "I guess that settles the identification dispute."
Jarvis sat up, dusting glass off his shoulder. He looked at the alien, then at the knife still embedded in its arm, then at Fury. He took a deep, shaky breath, adjusting his tie which was now miraculously only slightly crooked.
"I believe," Jarvis said, his voice trembling but dignified, "that we have sufficiently voided the warranty on your vehicle, Mr. Fury."
Tony scrambled up, leaning over the center console to stare at the dead Skrull. Most kids would have screamed. Most kids would have cried.
Tony Stark leaned in closer, his eyes practically sparkling with fascination.
"Look at the dermal ridges!" Tony exclaimed, poking the dead alien's shoulder. "The molecular structure must revert to a default state upon death. That implies an active metabolic process for the shapeshifting, not a permanent biological alteration. This is fascinating! Jarvis, do you think it's still alive?"
Jarvis looked at the boy, then at the bloody, wrecked car, and finally let out a long, hysterical laugh.
"No, sir," Jarvis choked out. "I do not think even an alien could survive something like that."
we've reached a problem, the lightspeed engine that Marvel built is missing the power source guys quick, we need to fill the tank with power stones !