Jennifer lay in the tangled sheets for several long minutes after waking, staring at the ceiling while the phantom ache between her legs slowly faded.
The letter still rested on the nightstand, its elegant script mocking her in the dim morning light filtering through the curtains.
Lightning. Unlimited. No limits.
She flexed her right hand. A thin blue-white arc danced between her fingers—silent, beautiful, terrifying in its potential. She closed her fist and the spark vanished.
Enough.
She reached for the burner phone on the nightstand—the one she and Natasha used when one of them was out in the field. Her thumb hovered over Natasha's name for a heartbeat before she pressed call.
It rang twice.
"Jen?" Natasha's voice came through crisp and calm, but there was background noise—low hum of engines, distant voices, the faint metallic echo of a large enclosed space.
"Where are you right now?" Jennifer asked. She kept her tone even, casual.
A short pause. Too short.
"I'm just out," Natasha said smoothly. "Dealing with some personal matters. Nothing big. I'll be home soon."
Jennifer closed her eyes.
Personal matters.
In the middle of an alien-god invasion crisis.
Her gut twisted—sharp, instinctive. She knew that tone.
She knew the careful wording. She also knew exactly what was happening on the Helicarrier right now, because she had seen it on a screen years ago in another life.
Natasha was lying.
Not maliciously. Protectively. Probably trying to keep Jennifer out of the crossfire.
But still lying.
"Okay," Jennifer said quietly. "Be safe."
"You too."
The call ended.
Jennifer stared at the blank screen for five seconds.
Then she stood.
She dressed quickly—black tactical pants, long-sleeve compression shirt, boots. No armor; she didn't need it anymore. She walked to the center of the bedroom, raised her right hand, and let the lightning come.
It started as a spark between her fingers.
Then a crackling web.
Then a roaring cascade of electric blue-white power that wrapped around her entire body like living armor. The air ionized, smelled of ozone and burning metal. Her hair lifted, static-charged. Her eyes glowed the same electric blue as the storm inside her.
She didn't need to aim or speak a command.
She simply willed it.
Lightning exploded outward from her core—not destructive, not chaotic—controlled. It folded space around her in a blinding flash. One heartbeat she stood in her bedroom; the next she was high above the Atlantic, wind screaming past her, the massive shadow of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier drifting below like a steel island in the clouds.
She hung there, suspended in a cocoon of crackling electricity, invisible to radar, unseen by the naked eye unless someone happened to look straight up at exactly the right second.
She waited.
Ten minutes.
She counted them silently.
Below, the Helicarrier was already tilting slightly—engines straining. Alarms would be blaring inside. Agents running. Loki smiling in his cell.
And Bruce Banner—
—losing control.
Jennifer felt it before she saw it: the shift in pressure, the sudden spike of raw, animal rage bleeding through the air like heat from an open furnace. Somewhere deep in the ship, a man was no longer a man.
The Hulk was waking up.
She heard the first crash—distant, muffled by layers of armor and bulkheads. Metal tearing. A roar that vibrated through the hull and up into the sky.
Agents screamed.
Gunfire rattled—useless.
Then a louder crash—something massive punching through a corridor wall.
Jennifer drifted lower, lightning coiling tighter around her. She positioned herself directly above the section of the ship where the lab had been in the movie she remembered.
She could feel the Hulk now—pure, directionless fury smashing through obstacles, heading toward the containment areas.
Toward people.
Toward Natasha.
The roar grew louder.
A section of the flight deck buckled outward—green fists punching through reinforced steel like tinfoil.
The Hulk erupted onto the open deck, seven feet of green muscle and incandescent rage. Agents scattered. A Quinjet nearby rocked as he backhanded it off the edge.
Natasha appeared at a side hatch—black tactical gear, pistols drawn, stance low. She didn't shoot. She talked—calm, steady, the way only she could.
"Banner. It's me. You're okay. Just breathe—"
The Hulk turned. Locked eyes on her.
Roared.
He lunged.
Jennifer moved.
She dropped like a thunderbolt.
A single, blinding spear of lightning tore from the sky and slammed directly into the Hulk's face.
The impact was deafening—pure white-blue flash followed by a crack that shook the entire carrier. The Hulk staggered backward, roaring in pain and surprise.
Electricity danced across his skin, arcing between his teeth, grounding through his massive frame into the deck. Smoke rose from scorched green flesh.
Every agent on deck froze.
Natasha's pistols lowered an inch. Her eyes widened.
Thor—already on the flight deck after containing an earlier skirmish—raised Mjolnir instinctively, lightning crackling along its head in answer.
Tony Stark's suit rocketed up from a lower hangar, repulsors glowing. His faceplate flipped open as he hovered, staring at the glowing figure floating above them.
"Who the hell—?" he started.
Jennifer landed lightly on the deck between the Hulk and Natasha. Lightning still played across her arms and shoulders, harmless to her, deadly to anything else. Her eyes glowed electric blue.
The Hulk shook his head, snarling, fists clenched.
Jennifer looked straight at him.
Then at Natasha.
"Hey," she said quietly.
_________________
The flight deck of the Helicarrier was a storm of sound and motion.
Alarms screamed in overlapping waves. Agents shouted orders, weapons clattered, boots pounded metal. The Hulk's roar still echoed from below decks, shaking the entire structure like a struck bell.
Jennifer stood between the raging green monster and Natasha Romanoff, lightning still crackling along her arms and shoulders in thin, living arcs. The air around her smelled of ozone and scorched steel.
Natasha's pistols were half-raised, eyes wide—not with fear, but with something closer to stunned recognition.
For a heartbeat, the chaos seemed to pause. Natasha's lips parted, but no words came. Then the Hulk snarled again, fists slamming into the deck plating, buckling it inward. The moment shattered.
Jennifer turned slightly, keeping one eye on the Hulk. "You need to go after your friend," she said. "Clint Barton. Hawkeye. He's leading the aerial assault right now—broke in with mercenaries. He's already moving on the engines."
Natasha blinked once. Then her training snapped back into place. She holstered one pistol, nodded sharply. "How do you—?"
"Later," Jennifer cut in. "Go. I've got this."
Natasha hesitated—only a second—then turned and sprinted toward the nearest access hatch, disappearing into the ship.
Almost simultaneously, a high-pitched whine cut through the air.
From the starboard side, a single arrow streaked across the sky—sleek, black, tipped with a glowing red warhead. It struck the port engine nacelle with surgical precision.
A muffled boom followed. The engine coughed black smoke, flames licking from ruptured panels. The Helicarrier lurched hard to port, tilting twenty degrees. Loose equipment slid across the deck. Agents screamed as they grabbed railings.
Tony Stark's red-and-gold suit rocketed past overhead, thrusters flaring. "Engine one is down! I'm on it!" His voice crackled over open comms—half-annoyed, half-adrenaline.
He dove toward the damaged nacelle, repulsors already glowing white-hot as he began welding and rerouting power in mid-air, just like he had in the footage Jennifer once watched on a screen in another life.
Below decks, the Hulk roared again—closer now. Thor's voice boomed in answer, hammer striking flesh with thunderous cracks.
Jennifer exhaled once.
She turned away from the chaos on the flight deck and strode toward the nearest interior hatch. Lightning still played across her skin, harmless to her, deadly to anything foolish enough to get close. Agents parted like water. None dared raise a weapon.
She moved fast—down corridors, past sparking panels, through emergency bulkheads that hissed open at her approach. Frost rimed the edges of every door she passed; her Casket power leaked unconsciously, cooling the overheated metal.
She reached the detention level in under ninety seconds.
The glass cage was empty.
Shattered.
Phil Coulson lay on the floor in front of it—chest torn open, blood pooling beneath him, eyes already glassy. The agent's blood had smeared across the control panel. Loki was nowhere in sight.
Jennifer stopped.
The lightning around her hands flared brighter—blue-white turning almost violet.
She felt something snap inside her chest.
Not grief. Not yet.
Rage. Clean, cold, electric.
She raised her right hand.
A single bolt—thicker than her arm—lanced from her palm and struck the empty cage dead center. The reinforced glass exploded inward in a shower of molten shards. The frame buckled, glowing red-hot.
Then she heard it—a low, mocking chuckle from the shadows of the corridor behind her.
Loki stepped into view, scepter in hand, blood still wet on the blade. His armor gleamed under the emergency lighting. He tilted his head, smiling.
"Well, well," he purred. "Who are yo—"
Jennifer didn't let him finish.
She thrust both hands forward.
Ten thousand volts erupted from her palms—not a single bolt, but a sustained torrent of pure, blinding electricity. It slammed into Loki like a freight train made of lightning.
His body arched violently. The scepter flew from his grip, skittering across the deck. His armor smoked. His eyes rolled back. Every muscle locked in spasm.
He didn't scream—he couldn't. The current stole his breath.
Jennifer walked forward, lightning still pouring from her hands, arcing across the floor in writhing blue-white snakes. Loki staggered, knees buckling.
She stopped inches from him.
"You killed him," she said quietly.
Loki tried to speak—managed only a choked gasp.
Jennifer raised her left hand.
A portal opened beneath Loki's feet—frost-rimed, perfectly circular, edges crackling with ice. No destination in her mind. No plan. Just away.
Loki's eyes widened in sudden panic.
He fell.
The portal snapped shut behind him with a sound like breaking glass. Silence followed—thick, absolute.
Jennifer stared at the empty space where he had been.
Then at Coulson's body.
Lightning flickered once more across her knuckles, then died.
She knelt beside the dead agent. Closed his eyes with gentle fingers.
Above decks, the Hulk still roared. Thor's hammer struck again. Tony's repulsors flared as he wrestled with the failing engine.
Jennifer stood slowly.
She had just banished a god to nowhere.
And the battle wasn't over.