Chapter 294: Nobody in Hell's Kitchen Is a Coward
Today, this spectacle would be etched permanently into memory — for every civilian standing in the Big Apple, staring up through miles of open sky at alien warships pouring out of a rift in the heavens, and for everyone else around the world who happened to have a television or a screen open at just the wrong moment. None of them would ever forget what they witnessed today.
An invisible dread settled over the entire Big Apple.
Thousands upon thousands of people stood frozen in the streets, heads craned skyward, faces awash in shock and terror. The alien warships surged out of the black hole like colossal steel beasts, each one a portent of some unknown, terrible fate.
Even in Hell's Kitchen — a neighborhood normally too loud, too chaotic, too used to its own brand of danger to be rattled by much — this sight stopped people cold.
They'd already heard the warning straight from Ethan himself. Even so, seeing it unfold with their own eyes, nobody could hold back a gasp.
"Holy hell — these aliens really went all out, huh." Frank Castle stood in the street, his face a mask of open shock.
Somewhere along the way, the cigarette had slipped from his fingers unnoticed. His eyes never left the fleet.
The Big Apple had already dissolved into chaos. The warships hadn't made a single move yet, hovering silently overhead — but their mere presence was already enough to send the city spiraling into panic.
People threw out one theory after another about what the ships wanted, but no matter the guess, everyone agreed: this was not a good sign.
The wealthy families who'd relocated to Brooklyn were now spiraling into full panic of their own.
They'd assumed that simply leaving the Big Apple would keep them safe from whatever was coming. That assumption was looking a lot shakier by the minute.
They frantically ordered their staff to get them out of the city as fast as possible — some even tried chartering private planes for a quick escape.
Then they watched a commercial airliner get shot straight out of the sky by one of the warships, and whatever hope they'd been clinging to collapsed entirely.
They understood, all at once: no vehicle on Earth was going to save them right now.
The roads were already gridlocked solid. It was far too late to actually flee the city.
All they could do was stand there, helpless, watching the warships draw closer by the second. For the first time, more than a few of them genuinely regretted their earlier indifference — the eye-rolling, the outright dismissal of the warning.
Still, they refused to give up entirely. Their logic was simple: you didn't need to outrun the threat itself. You just needed to outrun everyone else.
Public order had completely broken down by this point. Over at S.H.I.E.L.D., Pierce's phone hadn't stopped ringing.
"Yes, yes, of course, not a problem! We'll absolutely keep those businessmen safe — they've already been relocated somewhere secure. And yes, we've been preparing to counter this alien threat for some time now. Defending Earth is precisely what S.H.I.E.L.D. exists to do! The Illuminati is standing by, ready to engage at a moment's notice!"
Pierce hung up the phone, forcing down his own barely-contained excitement, and turned to Reed — already suited up and ready — barking an order. "The Illuminati moves out. Now!"
"Standing by!" Reed's eyes burned with something that looked a lot like ambition.
If he led the Illuminati to successfully turn back this alien invasion, the whole world would practically worship them for it — and as the Illuminati's founder, that admiration would fall squarely on him.
He knew this mission was steep. But — the bigger the risk, the bigger the reward, as the saying went.
For his own sake and for the innocent people of the Big Apple both, he intended to give this everything he had.
Tsukasa, meanwhile, remained as lackadaisical as ever, genuinely baffled by everyone around him going all grim and self-sacrificial over this. This was just an alien invasion. Compared to the parade of monsters he'd already fought his way through in the world of Zi-O, this barely registered as a footnote.
Hope this one actually brings a decent opponent, he thought, rising to his feet, already preparing to head out. Otherwise this is going to be boring.
In a shadowy corner of Hell's Kitchen, tucked inside a run-down, cut-rate motel room, dim lighting barely reaching into the corners — a solitary figure sat slumped in front of an old television set. This was the broken, one-armed man that America's golden boy had become: Steve Rogers. The former Captain America.
Nobody knew that the once-untouchable idol of an entire nation was now reduced to living out of a cheap motel room.
Steve's face was pale, gaunt, as if he'd been drowning in despair for months without any way back up.
His face was covered in stubble, his hair a tangled mess — every inch of him showing the signs of a long, slow collapse.
In his hand he clutched a can of beer, gone flat and warm hours ago, the same numbing crutch he'd been reaching for since first thing that morning.
On the television screen, footage played of the news shaking the entire world: an alien invasion.
That terrible sight sent an unexpected flicker of light through Steve's otherwise hollow eyes.
He shot to his feet, as if some old current of life had just surged back through him — only to catch sight of his own empty left sleeve a moment later, and watch that spark get doused as fast as it had come.
Steve gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head, muttering to himself. "Right. My shield's gone. My arm's gone too. I'm just a relic of a bygone era now — I can't fight for this world the way I used to.
A new era's already here. There's no ship left in this world with room for an old dog like me anymore. Captain America is out of the game. Protecting this world belongs to the new generation now — people like Ethan."
Steve tried hard to talk himself into accepting that harsh truth. But the flicker still burning in his eyes told a different story entirely — deep down, he still ached for it, still wanted it.
He wanted, more than anything, to stand on a battlefield one more time, to face down an alien invasion head-on, to defend the world he still loved.
That's when three figures walked through the motel's front door — two men, one woman, all heading straight toward Steve.
"We need you, Steve. The world needs Captain America," Natasha said, dressed in her signature bodysuit, addressing the broken man in front of her.
Hawkeye said nothing, simply watching Steve in silence.
"Don't look at me like that. They just came and asked me to help find him — that's all," Dr. Banner said, shrugging. As a former Avenger who'd since joined Hell's Kitchen, tracking down Captain America hadn't exactly been a difficult ask.
Steve stared at them without a word, eyes dropping instead to what remained of his severed arm — as if to say, what exactly am I supposed to do now, like this?
Banner didn't say anything either. Instead, he produced a shield out of seemingly nowhere and tossed it to Steve, then, a beat later, threw him a Senzu Bean too.
"Ethan asked me to pass along a message before we came. Pick up your shield and get out there and fight. Nobody in Hell's Kitchen is a coward. Don't make me lose respect for you."
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