Puente Antiguo, New Mexico. A rundown barbecue joint.
Half the town had been reduced to rubble by the Destroyer's rampage. Streets were cratered, buildings were gutted, and the cleanup crews wouldn't arrive for days. But somehow — through the kind of cosmic luck that only applied to establishments serving really good food — this particular barbecue joint had survived without a scratch.
At the most conspicuous table in the place, three men sat together in a combination so visually absurd it looked like the setup to a joke.
A billionaire in a custom-tailored suit that had cost more than most cars and was currently covered in desert dust and scorch marks.
A blond giant in silver scale armor and a red cape, eating with the enthusiasm of a man who'd just been resurrected.
And a dark-haired teenager in a hoodie, methodically demolishing a plate of ribs like it was a competitive sport.
"ANOTHER PLATE!" Thor slammed his empty dish onto the table hard enough to rattle the silverware, grabbed a massive mug of beer, and drained it in a single pull. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand — the same hand that had been channeling divine lightning thirty minutes ago — and grinned. "The food in the mortal realm may lack refinement, but this spice you call cumin has won my undying loyalty!"
"Eat up, big guy." Tony glanced at the tower of empty plates accumulating on the floor beside Thor's chair. "Carb-load now so you've got the energy to go home and kick your brother's teeth in."
"Loki..."
The grin faded. Thor's hand tightened around his mug, knuckles going white. The mirth in his eyes gave way to the grim resolve of a man who knew exactly what was waiting for him on the other side of the rainbow bridge.
"He is blinded by hatred and jealousy. I must return to Asgard immediately — before he does something that cannot be undone. Jotunheim hangs in the balance."
Thor lifted his mug. "Consider this a farewell toast. Jake, Tony — you are true warriors. If I survive and quell my brother's madness, I will return with Asgard's finest mead." His blue eyes were steady. Serious. "That is a promise."
"Don't jinx it," Jake mumbled through a mouthful of lamb. "Just get up there and handle your family drama. Your dad's still waiting for someone to wake him up."
The three of them clinked glasses — beer, whiskey, and a can of cola — and for a moment, the ruined desert town felt like the most important place in the universe.
Some bonds were built over years of shared experience. Others were forged in the span of a single night, in fire and lightning and the shared understanding that the person next to you would hold a divine bomb together with their bare hands rather than let you die.
This was the second kind.
Then the rumble of engines killed the mood.
Three black Chevrolet Suburbans pulled up outside the restaurant in tight formation. Doors opened in synchronized fashion, and a man stepped out who made the desert heat feel like it dropped ten degrees.
Bald. Black leather trench coat. Eye patch. An expression that said the entire world owed him money and he was here to collect.
Nick Fury.
Behind him, looking like a man who'd been voluntarily drafted into an uncomfortable situation, came Coulson. And behind Coulson, wearing an expression that gave away absolutely nothing, walked Natasha Romanoff.
The atmosphere in the barbecue joint went from celebratory to arctic in about two seconds.
"Looks like the party's heating up in here."
Fury walked to the table, his single eye sweeping across all three of them before settling — inevitably, specifically — on Jake.
"Mind if we join?"
"Yes," Tony said without looking up from his plate. "This venue is reserved by Stark Industries. If you'd like to eat, there's a line. It starts outside."
Fury ignored him entirely — a skill he'd clearly spent decades perfecting — pulled out a chair, sat down, and dropped a thick manila folder onto the grease-stained table.
Thump.
The folder was stamped with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s eagle insignia. Beneath it, in bold block letters:
[AVENGERS INITIATIVE — DRAFT]
"I'd love to wait in line," Fury said, "but the planet won't let me."
He gestured toward the window, where the ruins of Puente Antiguo were still smoldering in the distance. "A week ago, we thought Earth was the only populated world in the universe. Today, a god from Norse mythology smashed a town with his hammer, and an alien suit of armor nearly turned New Mexico into a crater."
His eye swept the table.
"Gentlemen. The world has changed."
He looked at Thor. Then at Jake. Then at Tony.
"We need to respond to that change. We need a team. Extraordinary individuals, brought together to fight the battles that no single person — no matter how powerful — can win alone."
Thor stood.
The chair scraped back, and Mjolnir appeared in his hand with the casual ease of a man picking up his car keys. His cape caught a breeze that shouldn't have existed indoors.
"I am a prince of Asgard. I have a duty to the Nine Realms." His voice carried the weight of someone who meant every word and had the power to back it up. "If Earth is threatened, I will return. But I will not take orders from a mortal organization."
He nodded to Jake. Then to Tony. A warrior's farewell — brief, respectful, and final.
Then he walked out the door.
Three seconds later, a column of rainbow light erupted from the parking lot, punching through the atmosphere with a sound like the sky being unzipped, and the God of Thunder was gone.
Fury's eye twitched. But he said nothing. Beings like Thor were inherently uncontrollable variables. You didn't recruit them — you just hoped they showed up when you needed them.
His real targets were still at the table.
"So." Fury redirected his attention. "What about you two?"
His gaze settled on Jake. "Consultant Rivers. Or should I say, codename Omni. You possess the power to reshape the planet, and the potential to save it. S.H.I.E.L.D. can offer you—"
"Offer what, exactly?"
Jake cut him off mid-pitch, grabbing a napkin to wipe barbecue sauce off his fingers. His tone was pleasant. His eyes were not.
"A custom cell? A leash with a nice label on it? The honor of being your personal attack dog?"
"We offer oversight and direction," Fury said, his voice flat and serious. "Power needs restraint."
"Give me a break, Nick."
Jake leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a glint of something sharp and knowing in his eyes.
"You can't even clean out the parasites nesting inside your own organization, and you want to put a leash on me?"
Behind Fury, Natasha's posture shifted — a micro-movement, barely visible, but Jake caught it. She'd gone from relaxed professional to combat-ready in the space between heartbeats.
Fury's pupil contracted.
Parasites. The word hung in the air like a live grenade. Did this kid know about HYDRA? How? The infiltration was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s deepest, most closely guarded secret — a cancer that Fury himself had only recently begun to suspect.
"Relax." Jake waved a hand. "I'm not interested in your internal problems. What I'm saying is — I'm busy. I've got a salary to collect from Stark Industries, new games coming out this month, and zero desire to join your superhero boy band."
He paused.
"Unless..."
The casual energy vanished. Jake leaned forward, and the teenager disappeared entirely, replaced by something older and sharper and considerably more dangerous.
"Unless I get to be the Captain."
Fury blinked. Then he let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You? A sixteen-year-old kid wants to lead a team of superhumans?"
"Why not?" Jake pointed at Tony. "I've got the best brain on the planet for tactical support." He pointed at himself. "I've got the strongest fist on the planet for everything else. And—"
He dropped his voice to a register only Fury could hear.
"—I know things you don't."
The table went very quiet.
"For example, Nick..." Jake's voice was barely above a whisper, but every word landed like a hammer strike. "Don't waste your time recruiting me as Captain. If I were you, I'd be sending a team to the Arctic right now. Specifically — to that anomalous metallic reading your survey crew flagged yesterday under the polar ice."
Fury's face turned to stone.
The Arctic report. Filed yesterday. Classification level: eyes-only. Three people in the world knew about those readings, and two of them were in this room.
Jake smiled.
"Dig a little deeper. You'll find someone much better suited for the Captain's chair." He picked up his cola. "An old popsicle with a shield."
The words hit Fury harder than the Destroyer's self-destruct.
Captain America. Steve Rogers.
The symbol. The legend. The man S.H.I.E.L.D. had been searching for since 1945. The greatest soldier who ever lived, frozen somewhere under the Arctic ice for seventy years.
And this teenager had just told him exactly where to find him. Over barbecue. While eating ribs.
Fury stared at Jake for a long, measured moment. His single eye was running calculations that would have made a chess grandmaster dizzy — threat assessments, trust evaluations, probability matrices, and the uncomfortable realization that the kid across the table might genuinely know more about the future than anyone alive.
A breath. A decision.
Fury picked up the folder, straightened his trench coat, and stood.
"It seems we need to significantly reassess your file, Consultant Rivers."
His voice had shifted — still controlled, still authoritative, but with a new undertone of something that might have been respect. Or wariness. With Fury, the two were often indistinguishable.
"We'll table the Captain discussion for now. But the door to the Avengers is always open for you."
He turned and walked out, his coat flaring behind him. Coulson followed. Natasha paused for half a second — just long enough to give Jake a look that said I don't know how you know what you know, but I'm going to find out — and then she was gone too.
The Suburbans pulled away. The dust settled.
"Old popsicle?" Tony leaned over, curiosity burning behind his eyes. "Is that a new ice cream brand? Because if Stark Industries is missing a market opportunity, I need to know."
"No." Jake looked out the window at the clearing sky — the perfect circle of stars still visible where Thor's energy blast had vaporized the clouds. "It's the world's greatest antique. And once he wakes up... the Avengers will actually be complete."
"But before any of that—" Jake turned back to Tony. "Since the mission's done, can I file for paid leave? I hear the hot springs around here are decent."
Tony rolled his eyes. But he was smiling.
"Granted. I need to get home and fix my armor anyway. And I think the Anti-Jake Armor project just got bumped up the priority list."
"Knock yourself out." Jake shrugged.
Whatever you build, it's just going to end up as Upgrade's new outfit anyway.
Three days later. New York City. Stark Tower penthouse.
Jake lay on the couch in his private apartment — one of the perks of being Stark Industries' most valuable employee — staring at the system interface floating in his vision.
The Thor arc was wrapped. The Destroyer was scrap. Loki's plans were in shambles, at least temporarily. By all rights, Jake should have been relaxing.
But the Omnitrix had other ideas.
The massive influx of Odinforce energy that Feedback had absorbed — even the portion he'd fired into space — had left residual traces in the system. High-dimensional divine power, lingering in the watch's gene banks like cosmic sediment. And the system was processing it.
[System Alert: Residual high-dimensional energy detected.]
[Attempting to unlock new gene bank partition: Andromeda Galaxy.]
[Unlock progress: 100%.]
[Congratulations! New alien forms acquired:]
[Water Hazard — Orishan hydrokinetic warrior.][Terraspin — Geochelone Aerio wind-based defender.][NRG — Prypiatosian-B radioactive powerhouse.][Armodrillo — Talpaedan seismic driller.][AmpFibian — Amperi bioelectric jellyfish.]
Jake sat up.
"The Andromeda Five."
Five aliens from one of the most powerful sets in Ben 10 lore. Each one was a heavy hitter in their own right, but the standout—
NRG. A being of pure radioactive energy contained inside a virtually indestructible nuclear containment suit. In the Ben 10 universe, it was devastating. In the Marvel universe — where arc reactors and nuclear technology were the foundation of half the world's power infrastructure — it was practically a cheat code.
A walking nuclear reactor that could project radiation beams, survive in any environment, and shrug off practically any physical attack while sealed in its suit.
Jake leaned back against the cushions, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Life in the MCU," he murmured, "just keeps getting better."