Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies.
This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.
x.x.x.x
IT GETS BETTER
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Earth.
Shield Helicarrier.
Jerry clutched his side piece, feeling the reassuring weight of the cold metal in his hands, this wasn't his job— He was just one of the carrier's many technicians, but the Helicarrier was under attack and all hands were needed on deck.
He stuck close to the multi-billionaire in shades and the super assassin after spotting them moving up the lower decks. He offered his assistance in helping them locate whatever it was they needed locating as well as manpower, well as much manpower as a technician could offer.
If he was being honest however, he'd have to say that he'd much rather stick close to Agent Romanoff considering just how experienced she was at dealing with stressful situations like these, many of which she herself had caused to enemies.
So yes, he felt safer with her around.
"Yes sir." She said, pressing the device in her ear. She whispered her order to the billionaire who gave her a nod in return.
She threw a motivating glance at Jerry, who now knew that she was to leave and felt less safe due to fact yet responded in kind and watched the Black Widow leave. Reasoning that she expected him to protect the billionaire.
I can't even protect myself. He laughed at himself.
So here he was, alone with Justin Hammer—who to his knowledge didn't have any superpowers or wearable superweapons.
He is a super genius. He reminded himself. Maybe the guy wasn't a Stark with an Ironman suit, but with his ever-present touch whether directly or not in every technological advancement occurring and causing such paradigm shifts—he deserved every prop he got.
Which was why he found it hard to believe that such a man didn't have his own Ironman suit.
They won't believe this. Jerry lamented inside, not that he could tell anyone that wasn't a Shield operative. But even among Shield agents few would believe that he met the man himself. Less so his E-scape group, who would kill to be in the same room with the man, the creator of their virtual universe.
Jerry gathered up his courage, preparing himself to ask for an autograph, a memento he would eternalize into a family inheritance for even his grandkids to see.
While he waited for the courage to gather, the painful silence between them only interrupted by their footsteps and the blaring alarms chipped away at what little he had. Reminding him that they were actually still under attack.
"Updog."
"Huh, sir?" Jerry responded dumbly, looking to his side to see if the billionaire was speaking to someone else.
"Updog." He said again with a playful smile.
"I'm sorry sir, what's 'updog'?" Jerry asked, prepared to be called stupid if need be than pretend to know that which he didn't.
"Hah, nothing much man, how about you?" Hammer laughed.
"I don't think I…oh!" It clicked for Jerry.
"Wow, he's an actual person." Jerry said out loud. Upon realizing it he tried offering his sincerest apologies when the man came to an abrupt halt. Gesturing for Jerry to stay still as he reached into his suit and withdrew the sleekest piece of handheld weaponry Jerry had ever laid eyes on.
He raised his pistol, a futuristic, silver finished desert eagle with a golden dragon inscribed along the barrel's length with the beast's maw open at the barrel's edge.
"Standard rounds." He whispered to the gun, walking nonchalantly around the corner and seemingly into the dark, or a rather low lit area of the deck. Jerry inched closely behind, telling himself that a man with such a gun did not need his protection.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
It was fast, cold and surgical like a viper's strike. Each bullet was lethal, each slug broke through helmets and were buried between the brows of men who died so fast their eyes remained open in shock.
He heard it now—the footsteps of the approaching hostiles, this was going to be a fire battle and finding cover was the best thing to do. Which he assumed the billionaire had done.
Jerry huddled behind a station counter, clutching his gun with sweat filled palms with as much strength as he could muster, his heart drumming wildly in his chest as he awaited the confrontation.
Jerry looked over the counter—this was a sight he would never forget—the man, Hammer, stood and watched the hostiles approach, and as soon as they registered him in their sights and raised their weapons, he began firing.
No erratically, not even swiftly, he walked through the barrage of bullets. No, he walked out of their path with the energy of a man enjoying an afternoon stroll through a sunny park, and with every subsequent whip of his arm and Blam!, a hostile dropped even as he closed the distance.
Blam! Blam! Blam! Went the rhythm following the sudden fall of bodies, bodies he stepped over to continue shooting at whoever remained alive at the end of the passage. He was not only a man fearless of death, but one who brought it with him.
The glare of gunfire made his face light up, bringing his figure to light. The expression on him was as cold as the terrifying shadows that followed his feet.
Dread hung in the air, the silence was blood thick and filled with burnt gunpowder from spent casings. Jerry felt a chill down his back in the quiet, cold sweat beaded over his forehead and stung his closed eyes, forcing him to open them.
He wished he hadn't, staring at him was that same expression of nothing, no, an expressionless and stoic face, one that saw massacre and was bored at it, one that took human life like leaves on a tree.
From behind those shades he imagined eyes that bore through his soul, bringing all his secrets and darkest thoughts to bare, from behind those very dark shades he swore he could see a reflection of the devil, of something universally primal that sent shivers through his entire being.
God, please save me. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed. When he reopened them, gone was the billionaire.
There was nothing human about that man. Nothing.
As he walked the halls, Hammer stashed his weapon and retrieved his phone and made a call, leaving a message behind before stashing the device. He'd help Shield get their ship up and running, but he had his plans, plans that needed seeing through no matter what.
Take me. take me. take me. take me. take me. take me. take me.
"Fuck off." Hammer said to the voice.
He soon arrived at the upper deck and into the bridge, which had the bullet riddled bodies of mercenaries next to those mangled Shield agents unlucky enough to be within blast range of a thrown grenade.
"I'll deal with the virus." He said to Fury, who cast the man an appreciative gaze.
Fury could finally have much needed space to breathe and maneuver, half the comms were down when he most needed the reports, half the carrier was on fire with available crew working to put it out and help their trapped colleagues.
Tony and Rogers were on an ongoing mission to restart a failed rotor—those needed upgrading. He admitted. He'd have to go back to lobbying for an increased allocation of funds, or maybe he wouldn't, maybe if the world saw his vision of the Avengers, they'd understand too and wouldn't need any more convincing.
"Fury, your systems are back online." Hammer said.
He's Hammer, what do you expect? Fury nodded. The drift stabilized, and the alarms didn't blare in a cacophony anymore—the Helicarrier was no longer falling.
"Apart from damage suffered in the explosion and hulk fight, everything is back online sir." Agent Maria expanded, quickly browsing through the reports that were coming in.
"Do we have eyes on Loki or the scepter?"
"Afraid not sir."
"Where's Coulson?"
"Sir, you have to see this yourself." Maria gestured at the recorded feed, which prompted Fury to rush to his critically injured agent.
*.*.*.*.*
Kamar Taj.
Kathmandu, Nepal.
The Ancient One was busy; she had students to teach, disciples to nurture, traitors to catch and if her visions of the immediate future were to be trusted, an alien invasion to guard against.
She sat in her chamber and withdrew the phone, one he'd made specially for their communication.
A recording sat on it, one she was prompted to play by fatigue, the sooner she listened, the sooner she got it over with.
"Ancient one, I hope you've been keeping it clean for me…heh, I meant your head by the way. No, this isn't one of my prank calls. I'm afraid things are going to get serious from here on out. I'm cashing my boon in—y'know the one the guy in diapers said you're duty bound to grant me. Yeah. So I need you to come to the following coordinates [*****] Oh, and dress to kill. With love, your Hammer."
*.*.*.*
Things are about to happen here that you won't see coming. Stay tuned, you don't want to miss out.
This week's second chapter is probably going to be for Invincible Me or maybe Well dressed Wolf—haven't updated that one in a while. Don't even get me started on I Am Hulk. I know guys believe me, I get your messages, I'll do my best to give all my stories great endings, I hate leaving things unfinished, but I can only focus on so many things at once.
Have faith my peeps, I'll get it done. Stay safe, really do. And don't get sick, because that sucks monumentally.
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