It had been a month since the incident at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, and once the organization's secrets flooded the internet, its fate was sealed.
Governnts around the world were furious. An intelligence agency as deeply infiltrated by Hydra as S.H.I.E.L.D. was no longer sothing the world could tolerate.
Hydra—the shadow behind World War II, the puppeteer in the darkness.
Nations didn't just distance themselves from S.H.I.E.L.D.—so went as far as to label it a terrorist organization, banning all operations in the na of S.H.I.E.L.D. on their soil.
Within days, the once-mighty S.H.I.E.L.D. was dismantled. A few loyal agents wandered in disbelief, unable to grasp how an organization so vast could be reduced to ashes overnight.
It was over.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. that had once lood large was now driven underground—if it even existed at all.
Before disappearing from the public eye, Nick Fury handed over the reins to Agent Phil Coulson. Though "Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." was now a hollow title, Coulson accepted it.
What remained of the organization? A slightly dated aircraft with so high-end instrunts and a mysterious suitcase Fury gave to Coulson.
That was all.
__
In the Baxter Building, Susan Storm was scrolling through headlines with a sigh.
"Reed, this is just... tragic," she said, pity in her eyes.
Reed Richards nodded while popping a grape into his mouth. "Yeah. It really is. But honestly, once it ca out that one of the heads of the World Security Council was Hydra, I'm not surprised."
He gestured toward the screen. "With an infiltration that deep, it was only a matter of ti before S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed."
Reed's analysis was clinical, logical—as always.
Susan didn't argue. She knew how her husband's mind worked.
"By the way," she asked, changing the subject, "how's the spacecraft coming along?"
Reed's eyes lit up.
"Almost there, darling. Just the final testing left," he said, visibly excited. "If everything goes smoothly, we'll be in space next week."
The dream of exploring the stars—it was finally within reach.
When he arrived at his lab, Reed gave the command, "Lowndes, run a full systems test on the shuttle."
"Understood, sir," ca the calm, smooth voice of Lowndes—his AI assistant.
Reed smiled. Lowndes was performing well—efficient, reliable. But every ti he said the AI's na, it triggered a mory.
Sothing from four years ago.
A na he couldn't forget: Gene Mason.
That na had echoed across the scientific community for an entire year. After Mason Industries began rising like a cot, Reed had run a deep investigation to see if the founder—Gene Mason—was the sa man he'd crossed paths with before.
In the end, the conclusion was the sa as everyone else's:
No connection.
"Sir, the test results have been uploaded to your terminal," Lowndes reported, pulling Reed out of his reverie.
"Oh, great. Thanks."
He dove back into his work, focus razor-sharp once more.
anwhile, in space, at the headquarters of the S.W.O.R.D Bureau, Gene stood at the front of a sleek command room, presenting his latest invention to the Sharp Blade Squad.
"Take a look," Gene said, voice proud. "This will be our new interstellar shuttle."
He unveiled a compact spacecraft, sleek and beautiful.
"Whoa, that's aweso!" Spider-Man and Pietro chorused.
"Brilliant. This is what happens when the right minds handle R&D," said Captain Rogers, giving Gene a hearty pat on the back.
The Mandarin, too, clapped with a smile.
Wanda and the Winter Soldier weren't present—they were still stationed on Earth.
Gene soaked up the praise. After so long working alongside these agents, he had grown almost comfortable with them.
Almost.
The only thing that still drove him crazy?
Peter Parker and Pietro.
They were non-stop chatterboxes, always buzzing around, always asking questions. As a scientist, Gene craved silence and concentration—but those two never stopped.
"How'd you build sothing this efficient for under a million bucks?"
"Man, if the Commander gave a million dollars, I'd spend it all at a bar."
"I know this amazing place in New York," Parker said. "We should go soti."
"If there's no liquor, I'm not going," the Mandarin chuckled.
Even Rogers joined in, grinning. "Next ti we're planet-side, drinks on ."
The conversation spiraled into bar tales and drinking gas. And, despite himself, Gene found he kind of wanted to join in.
Not that he'd ever been to a bar. He'd been too busy building empires and saving galaxies.
Still...
Just as he opened his mouth to join the conversation—
Gene's voice suddenly echoed through the comms.
"All personnel, report to the War Room. We have a new mission."
His tone was unreadable. No joy. No anger.
Just cold focus.
The team exchanged glances.
For Gene to call a full assembly... sothing big was going down.
They raced to the command center.
Sure enough, the situation was extraordinary.
On the holographic screen, a new image from the S.W.O.R.D Satellite was displayed. The resolution wasn't perfect, but one thing was unmistakable:
A silver glimr, hurtling through space at an incredible speed.
Zooming in, the blur beca a silhouette.
It wasn't a ship.
It wasn't debris.
It was—
A person.
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