A rooftop on the battlefield.
Sharon Carter knelt on one knee, her tight black combat suit wrapping around her textbook-perfect figure, accentuating every curve.
With a slender waist, long legs, and a bust that could be called an architectural marvel, even the thick smoke of the battlefield couldn’t hide the highlights of her silhouette.
She had no time to think about any of that right now.
Holding her phone tightly to her ear, her voice practically overflowed with urgency.
“Officer, something’s wrong!
Iron Man and Iron Monger are fighting in Queens!
Requesting immediate backup!
Casualty assessment—” On the other end of the line, there was silence for about three seconds.
Then Nick Fury spoke.
His voice was very flat, but Sharon could hear it.
It was the kind of flatness that came when someone forced down their utter breakdown into their throat, using their very last breath to maintain composure.
On the other end, Fury covered his eyes with one hand.
He was thinking of Luke.
All the missions Luke had taken flashed before his eyes.
Luke went to Berlin.
Berlin blew up.
Then Luke went to Los Angeles.
Something happened at the port of Los Angeles.
Then Luke rented an apartment in Queens, saying he wanted to keep a low profile and lay low for a while.
Fury had actually breathed a sigh of relief at the time.
He had thought: *The brick has been moved and placed in the corner.
Nothing’s happening; it’s finally quiet.* And then this whole mess with Iron Man and Iron Monger fighting broke out in Queens.
Fury slowly closed his single eye.
He had a strong, uncontrollable feeling.
He had originally thought this guy was a brick—wherever he was needed, he’d be moved, and wherever he went, things would stabilize.
It turned out to be the exact fucking opposite.
He was a harbinger of disaster!
A genuine, bona fide disaster magnet!
Before he went, it was a time of peace and prosperity.
After he arrived, it became a living hell.
Even when things went completely sideways, the guy still off-clocked right on time!
Fury even began to suspect whether Luke, every time he was called over, was just passing by, meddling on a whim, and then patting his butt and leaving, leaving a total mess for S.H.I.E.L.D.
to clean up— Forget it, there was no end to the anger.
“Contact Black Widow.
I’ll send people over.” “Understood—” “Carter,” Fury added, “don’t touch anything.
Wait for backup.” “And one more thing.” He paused, his tone meaningful.
“Where is Luke right now?” “I…
I don’t know.” Fury: “…Fine.
Hanging up.” The call disconnected.
Sharon stared at her phone screen for a second and quickly dialed the next number.
The phone rang twice and connected.
The roar of an engine poured through the receiver along with the howling wind, sounding like someone was speeding down a highway on a motorcycle.
“Agent Romanoff, the situation is—” “I know.” Black Widow’s voice came from the other end, crisp and cold, but with an unmistakable edge of gritted teeth.
“You know?” Sharon was taken aback.
“Luke.” The tone in which Black Widow uttered those two words made it sound like a name that had left a permanent shadow over her entire career.
“Less than ten minutes after starting work, he completely blew all my informant info, you know?
All of it!
My fucking lead is completely dead.
Don’t even get me started—all that undercover work for nothing!” Sharon went silent for two seconds.
“So…
you’re on your way?” “Of course!
I’m almost in Queens!” The engine’s roar suddenly pitched higher, sounding like she had stepped even harder on the gas.
“Carter, listen to me.
Don’t do anything right now.
Wait until I get there.
I’ll figure something out.
Don’t you dare—” Sharon didn’t hear the rest.
Because just then, a massive explosion echoed in the sky.
She looked up.
Iron Man’s red-and-gold armor was slammed into the street below by a single punch, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Iron Monger hovered in the air, his massive metallic body blocking half the sky.
His cannons roared as energy slowly began to charge.
Sharon saw it.
She pulled the phone away from her ear and gripped her gun tightly.
Natasha was still saying something on the other end, but her voice became distant and muffled.
Sharon gritted her teeth.
No.
She couldn’t just stand by and watch.
Taking a deep breath, she slightly adjusted her aim, targeted the brightest spot right in the center of Iron Monger’s chest, and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was crisp and clean, like a pebble tossed into a quiet lake.
Down on the street.
Tony Stark was struggling to crawl out of the rubble.
Two sections of his armor were already deformed, and a crack in his helmet left him with only a third of his vision on one side.
He panted, staring up at Iron Monger.
“Stane, what the fuck are you thinking?!” He gritted his teeth.
“What have you done—” “Your father once said the same thing to me.” Iron Monger looked down at him, his voice coming through the armor with a grating, unsettling calmness.
“Conceited, arrogant, always thinking you’re the center of the universe.” “You—” “The Stark family is all cut from the same cloth,” Iron Monger said, slowly raising his arm and aiming his cannon.
“Disgusting.” Tony wanted to stand, but his legs had no strength left.
“Even if I get nothing out of this, you are going to die here today.” The cannon charged, a blue light gathering.
And then.
*Crack.* A bullet struck, hitting Iron Monger right in his right shoulder joint.
It wasn’t enough to cause any real damage.
But it was enough to make Iron Monger pause for a second.
Iron Monger turned his head.
His targeting system swept the area, locking onto the source of the signal.
On the rooftop, a woman in a black combat suit was reloading a sniper rifle.
Tony looked in that direction, his expression changing instantly.
“No—” Iron Monger was already laughing, a dark, savoring chuckle that could be felt even through the metallic face of the armor.
“Aren’t you trying to save people, Stark?” The cannon pivoted.
The blue light gathered once more, but this time, the energy was three times what it had been before.
“Then I’ll let you watch me kill.” *Boom!* Sharon’s reflexes were quick; she crouched and lunged to the side, her legs driving her forward— But she was too slow.
The blast had already left the barrel.
At this distance, she would never make it in time.
She knew this with absolute clarity.
Her mind was still racing, but her body had already bypassed logic, and she closed her eyes— Her feet left the ground.
She was scooped up by something, flying sideways through the air.
Then came an earth-shattering explosion behind her, a wave of heat rushing over her.
The landing spot shifted to the edge of another building’s rooftop, where she touched down steadily, her heels planting firmly on solid ground.
Sharon opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was yellow.
Very yellow.
A bright, eye-searing kind of yellow.
A yellow pinstripe suit, stuffed with a Hawaiian beach-style floral shirt underneath, the collar pressed over the suit’s lapels, and a pair of sunglasses sitting squarely on his nose.
The face behind the sunglasses belonged to a middle-aged man who, no matter how you looked at him, exuded a hint of greasy charm.
Luke loosened his grip slightly, letting his sunglasses slide two millimeters down the bridge of his nose.
He then looked down at Sharon in his arms through the gap.
His expression was exactly like that of a middle-aged uncle who had sneaked away from his tour group to crash another scene, radiating an indescribable, knowing vibe: “Oh my, quite a scare, wasn’t it~” His voice dragged with a lingering drawl, a tone that was cheesy but not sickening—calm, yet incredibly punchable.
“How are you feeling, little beauty~” Sharon Carter stood frozen in place.
She glanced back at the rooftop behind her, which had just been blasted into rubble, dust still settling.
She turned back, staring at the man before her.
He wore a suit yellower than a taxi, leather shoes, and crooked sunglasses, looking at her with an expression that practically screamed, “This uncle is here to save you!” Her brain was working at full capacity to process the transition between two things: From “I’m going to die” to “I’m alive.” And from “I’m alive” to— Who the fuck is this?