Chapter Text
Time Square, New York City, 2020
The air was crisp, the crowd restless. Sunlight reflected off the glass towers, and digital billboards pulsed with the face of President Jack Ryan, his face sober and direct. His voice echoed through the square, calm but resolute.
"We cannot stand idly by while these so-called White Masks, and the shadowy Keres Legion that has recently began to emerge from the darkness, continue to sow chaos. Even with the warnings from the previous administration, from President Obama himself, S.H.I.E.L.D. has made it clear they 'can't be bothered' with 'ordinary terrorists,' choosing instead to focus on threats of a different scale. Because of this, two years ago, as my first act as President upon election, I had quietly reactivated Rainbow.”
The broadcast then shifted to the logo of Rainbow’s logo, last seen in 2012 before the organization was shut down.
"Today, I am proud to formally announce the declassification and full reactivation of Rainbow. This multi-national, counter-terrorism unit will focus on the threats S.H.I.E.L.D. neglected: organized crime, state-sponsored insurgency, and global trafficking. We stand with our heroes, who fight superhuman threats on a daily basis, but we will not neglect the threats on the ground."
Down below on the streets, crowds of onlookers gathered to watch the broadcast while tourists paused mid-selfie. The broadcast was everywhere — on taxis, storefronts, even the holographic ad for Stark Industries.
Then came the sonic boom.
A blur of red and gold streaked across the sky, followed by a jagged-winged figure trailing smoke and fury. Carol Danvers, aka Captain Marvel, twisted midair, dodging a talon swipe from James Natale, the latest to wear the Vulture name.
The wind howled between the skyscrapers as Vulture hovered midair, wings flared wide and eyes gleaming with menace. Natale snarled, banking hard and slashing at her again. His claws missed, but the force ripped a chunk of concrete and piping from a nearby skyscraper. Debris rained down, scattering pedestrians below. Below, civilians scrambled for cover behind food carts and building lobbies, their screams echoing through Times Square
“How many Vultures does Spider-Man have? We should start a registry. Maybe color-code them,” Captain Marvel commented.
“Unlike those knockoffs,” he growled, “My wings aren’t tech. They’re me. Maggia made sure of that.”
Captain Marvel hovered, unimpressed as she charged a photon blast in her palm, eyes glowing.
“So, you’re a mutated assassin with bird bones. That means it’s gonna hurt a lot if something happens to your wings.”
“Go ahead,” Vulture sneered, shifting just enough so the crowd was directly behind him, “Blast me. Let’s see how heroic you are when you vaporize a few tourists.”
Carol’s glow dimmed instantly. She sighed, powered down, then crossed her arms, hovering in place like someone who looked utterly bored with life itself. Her nonchalance to the situation caused Vulture to blink in surprise.
“Wait… what?”
A shadow fell over him.
He turned slowly, confusion morphing into horror as he saw it: A massive gloved hand the size of an SUV, descending from above like divine punishment.
“Oh, porca miseria…”
The impact rattled nearby windows. Dust and feathers exploded outward as Vulture was pancaked into the asphalt, limbs splayed in a perfect Yamcha crater pose as the giant hand lifted, shrinking rapidly as Ms. Marvel retracted her arm with a gleeful bounce in her step.
“Did you see that? I nailed the timing!” she beamed, her hand returning to normal size.
Captain Marvel smirked, drifting down beside her.
“Perfect execution. Bonus points for style.”
“Thanks, Captain! I call it the ‘Wrecking Palm of Justice.’”
“We’ll need to work on the name...”
Behind them, Vulture groaned from his crater.
“I hate kids…”
Avengers Tower, Lower Manhattan, New York
The Memorial Wall stood silent in the heart of Avengers Tower, bathed in soft amber light. Each name etched into its surface carried a story, some heroic, some tragic, all unfinished.
Captain America stood alone before it, arms folded behind his back, his silhouette framed by the glow of fallen legacies. His eyes moved slowly across the faces of those that perished during the Skrull Invasion three years ago
Hank Pym, brilliant and broken; Janet van Dyne, fierce and graceful. Together, Ant-Man and the Wasp had built more than tech: They built trust.
Elias Wirtham, aka Cardiac, was not the easiest person to interact with, but during his short tenure as an Avenger, Cardiac’s medical profession had proven crucial on more than one occasion.
The Red Hulk, Thaddeus Ross, was able to make peace with the Hulk before his untimely demise leading the charge against Skrull tanks, and even then, he single-handedly held the line until the Avengers were able to break through the stalemate before he expired.
Hector Ayala, the infamous White Tiger, had also stepped up, leading the street vigilantes in the ground battle against Skrull forces until a Skrull sniper got to him.
But the wall didn’t only honor heroes.
To the left, a smaller panel bore the images of five known criminals: Tombstone, Hallow’s Eve, Chasm, Molten Man and Bengal. Men and women who had once terrorized the streets, clashed with vigilantes, and defied the law. Yet when the Skrulls descended, they chose differently. They fought, protected and ultimately gave their lives saving civilians who once feared them.
Steve’s gaze lingered there longer than he expected. Redemption wasn’t a clean thing. It was messy, painful, and sometimes final. His eyes drifted upward to a single photo framed in quiet reverence: an African-American man in a crisp USAF uniform, smiling with quiet confidence.
Sam Wilson. The Falcon
The man Steve had chosen to carry the shield. The man who had flown straight into the heart of the Skrull mothership, luring several missiles behind him. It was a suicide maneuver that crippled the enemy’s command and turned the tide of battle, but when the dust had settled, no body was ever recovered. Just wreckage. Just silence.
Steve exhaled slowly, the weight of memory pressing against his chest. He hadn’t touched the shield since that day, using a hard light tech shield instead. Not out of grief but out of respect.
“Still leading the charge,” he murmured.
Behind him, the tower hummed with life. But here, in this quiet corner, time stood still.
And Captain America remembered.
The training room at Avengers Tower buzzed with energy: Holographic targets flickered, reinforced mats lined the floor, and the distant hum of repulsor tech echoed from the walls. Ms. Marvel stretched her arm across the room to snag a water bottle, then snapped it back with a grin.
“You know, Patriot,” she said between sips, “For a fellow teenager, you’re like… aggressively responsible.”
Rayshaun Lucas, aka Patriot, stood stiffly near the control console, adjusting the settings on his multi-mode shield.
“Discipline is a virtue,” he replied, not looking up.
Greg Willis, aka Gravity, floated upside down nearby, lazily orbiting a punching bag.
“Virtue’s great and all, but you act like you’re forty. You ever laugh? Or do you just salute in your sleep?”
“I can adapt. I’m not rigid.”
“You couldn’t tell a joke from a taunt if it wore a name tag.”
Ms. Marvel snorted.
“Grav’s got a point. Last week I said you fight like a spreadsheet and you thanked me.”
“That was a compliment,” Patriot said, confused.
“Exactly,” Gravity replied, flipping upright, “Case closed.”
Before the teasing could escalate, Theodore ‘Teddy’ Altman, aka Hulkling, stepped in, arms crossed and voice calm.
“Guys, maybe cool it a little? We’re not even officially launched yet. Project Rising hasn’t started, and we’re already poking holes in each other.”
Ms. Marvel raised her hands in surrender.
“Fair.”
Patriot nodded toward Hulkling.
“Thanks, Altman. You’re right.”
He turned to the group, his expression softening just slightly.
“Look, we were the first four out of sixteen interns to be cleared for field duty. That’s not just luck. It’s trust. The Avengers are watching us, assessing the others. We need to set the tone.”
Ms. Marvel leaned against a wall, thoughtful.
“So, we are the pilot squad.”
“Exactly. If we mess around, it reflects on everyone. We’re not just training. We’re representing the success of Project Rising.”
Gravity floated back up, this time with a more serious look.
“Okay, spreadsheet. You win this round.”
“Let’s just make sure we’re the kind of team others want to follow,” Hulkling commented.
“To not messing up.”
“To not getting pancaked by giant hands.”
“To setting the example.”
They clinked bottle, fist, and shield in a quiet moment of unity — the first of many. Ms. Marvel then flopped onto one of the padded benches, her stretchy limbs sprawled like spaghetti.
“Okay, training done. What’s everyone doing after this?”
Patriot groaned, adjusting the straps on his shield.
“I’ve got ‘society integration’ lessons with Stark and Rogers.”
“That sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘How Not to Scare Civilians 101.’”
Patriot sighed.
“Pretty much. Iron Man’s gonna lecture me on charm, and Cap’s gonna quiz me on etiquette. Like I haven’t spent the last three years in a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility disguised as a boarding school.”
Hulkling raised an eyebrow.
“Wait, seriously? You were in one of those covert training academies?”
“Yeah. No dances, no field trips. Just tactical drills and fake math tests.”
“No wonder you salute in your sleep.”
“It’s not that bad. I just don’t see why I need to learn how to ‘blend in’ when I’m already trained to operate in hostile environments.”
Ms. Marvel chuckled. “Hostile environments like brunch?”
“Exactly.”
Hulkling tapped his tablet.
“I’ve got homework. Horizon High doesn’t care if you’re saving the city — late is late.”
Gravity groaned.
“Same. I’ve got a physics lab due once winter break ends. Horizon’s brutal.”
Ms. Marvel perked up.
“Wait, you guys go to Horizon High? That STEM school on Roosevelt Island?”
“Yep. Top-tier, but not exactly merciful when it comes to homework.”
“I’ve got a friend who studies there!” Ms. Marvel said, but then her eyes widened as she suddenly sat upright, “Oh no. I was supposed to meet him at Pier 25 in an hour!”
“Kamala Khan? Late to something? I’m shocked. Better stretch your way there. Or maybe ask Stark for a punctuality upgrade.”
Ms. Marvel groaned, already heading for the locker room.
“You guys are the worst. I’ll see you later. Don’t touch my snacks! Civilian mode: Engaged!”
She disappeared behind the door, her voice echoing faintly while Gravity leaned back, arms behind his head.
“She’s definitely gonna be late. Ten bucks says she forgets her phone.”
“Let’s just hope she doesn’t stretch into traffic again,” Hulkling added.
Pier 25, New York
The late afternoon sun hung low over Pier 25, casting long shadows across the wooden planks and snow-dusted benches. A light snow had begun to fall just fifteen minutes ago, blanketing the pier in a thin, powdery veil. The Hudson River rippled gently beside the dock, its surface catching flecks of orange and silver from the fading sky.
On one of the benches sat a young Chinese teen, bundled in a black parka zipped to his chin. A small flag patch of Singapore was stitched neatly onto his sleeve, its red and white colors muted against the dark fabric. His short, tapered hair, unkempt and poking out all over the place, was tousled by the breeze, and his naturally droopy eyes were fixed on the pages of The Count of Monte Cristo. He traced lazy shapes into the snow beside him with one gloved finger, absentmindedly sketching spirals and stars as he read.
He didn’t notice the figure approaching until it was too late.
“Boo!” came a cheerful voice behind him.
The youth jolted, nearly dropping his book. He turned to see a girl in bright winter layers: A splash of pink, teal, and mustard yellow, grinning at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
Kamala Khan.
“You’re lucky I didn’t stretch-slap you,” she teased, hands on her hips.
Wesley Zhao stood, brushing snow off his coat, his expression caught between mild annoyance and quiet relief.
“You startled me,” he complained, his voice soft.
“It’s been a while, Wesley. You’ve gone full hermit mode.”
He tucked the book into his sling bag, the cover peeking out between the zippers.
“Didn’t want to interfere with your superhero outings, that’s all.”
“Interfere? You think I’d rather be punching bird-themed criminals than hanging out with my second oldest friend?”
“Well, you’ve got a team now. Missions. Training. I figured I’d just stay out of the way.”
Kamala’s smile softened.
“You’re never in the way, Wes. Besides, I needed a break from all the shield-slinging and gravity jokes,” she replied as she leaned against the railing, watching the snowflakes drift lazily onto the river’s surface, “So… how’s New York treating you?”
Wesley exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air.
“Honestly? I’d rather be back in Jersey City. Across the road from you. It was quieter. Less… chaotic.”
“You mean less superhero chaos?”
“Exactly. The day we moved in last year, we saw Spider-Man fighting Electro. They crash landed right outside our moving truck. My mom dropped a box of syringes meant for the clinic and nearly fainted. The funniest part was both Spider-Man and Electro apologizing to my mom before they resumed punching each other in the face.”
Kamala laughed.
“Classic New York welcome.”
Wesley nodded.
“My parents chose Tribeca for the new vet clinic because it’s one of the few neighborhoods that doesn’t attract capes and criminals every other day. No alien invasions, no rooftop battles. Just overpriced coffee and dogs in sweaters.”
“Sounds peaceful,” Kamala said.
“It was. Until I had to start commuting to Roosevelt Island for school.”
“Horizon High, right?”
“Yeah. Great school. Terrible subway ride.”
“What happened?”
“Ran into the Scorpion. He was just standing in the middle of the platform like he was waiting for the train. People were panicking, afraid that he’s going to go on another killing spree to lure out Spider-Man, but he didn’t do anything. Just muttered something about ‘not in the mood’ and then walked off.”
Kamala blinked.
“That’s unusually considerate of him.”
“I assume he was having a good day. Still, I took the long route for a week after that, then signed up for a dormitory room.”
“You’ve got the worst luck.”
“Tell me about it. But seeing you again? That’s good luck.”
Kamala and Wesley strolled side by side through the light snowfall, their boots crunching softly against the slush-covered pavement. The pier faded behind them as they made their way toward a cozy-looking café tucked between a bookstore and a florist, its windows glowing with warm light and fogged slightly from the inside.
“You know,” Kamala said, pulling her scarf tighter, “your family’s like a traveling circus. Singapore to L.A., then Jersey City, and now here. You’ve moved more than Spider-Man changes suits.”
“Yeah. Singapore until I was three, then Los Angeles until I was eight. Jersey City was the longest stretch where I got to meet you and Bruno. Then New York last year.”
“Any idea why?”
“Not really. My parents say it’s always ‘for the clinic,’ but I think they just like starting over. The vet clinic’s finally doing well now, though. Tribeca’s been kind to them.”
They stepped into the café, greeted by the scent of espresso and cinnamon. A barista waved from behind the counter, and Kamala gave a friendly nod before they settled into a booth near the window. Wesley unzipped his coat and leaned back.
“My brother’s doing well too. Rudolph’s two years into his FDNY paramedic role and already has his fair share of some wild shifts.”
Kamala raised an eyebrow.
“Wild how?”
“He’s ferried vigilantes like Daredevil and Iron Fist. Twice, he had Captain America in the back, who casually asked him about the latest trends like the pain was nothing while Rudolph was busy trying to stop him from bleeding out.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. But it’s not just heroes. He’s had villains too. Shocker once. One of the Crimson Dynamos another time. And then there was Sabretooth. That was a bad day. Sabretooth was barely restrained, and Rudolph had to sit next to Wolverine the whole ride. Wolverine jammed his claws into Sabretooth’s head three times during the twenty-minute trip just to keep him from suddenly murdering the paramedics.”
Kamala blinked.
“Three times?”
“Yeah. Rudolph said it was like riding with a ticking bomb and a grumpy bomb disposal expert.”
Kamala laughed, half in disbelief.
“Your brother deserves a medal.”
“He says he just wants a week without someone bleeding on his boots.”
They both chuckled, the warmth of the café wrapping around them like a blanket. Snow continued to fall outside, but inside, Kamala and Wesley sat tucked into their booth, steam rising from their newly arrived mugs of Spanish lattes and plates of fresh quiche between them. Kamala took a bite of her mushroom quiche, then leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.
“So… you still keeping the snake-y stuff under wraps?”
Wesley paused mid-sip, his eyes flicking to the window before settling back on her.
“Yeah. Still slithering in secret.”
“You know, you could’ve just said ‘yes.’”
Wesley gave a quiet chuckle, then set his cup down.
“I’m open to your invitation, Kamala. Project Rising sounds promising. But I’m not exactly thrilled about using my powers to fight crime while dressed like a Halloween reject.”
“Hey, stretchy suits are in this season.”
“Well, my parents already worry enough about Rudolph. He’s out there every day, patching up vigilantes and villains. They don’t need me out there too, especially not with powers I still don’t fully understand.”
Kamala’s expression softened.
“You’re thinking about L.A.”
He nodded slowly.
“I didn’t mean to hurt Anya. It just… happened. One second, we were goofing around, the next my energy lashed out. She was lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“I remember you telling me about that incident,” Kamala said quietly, “I also recall that you mentioned how her dad never blamed you.”
“No, but my parents weren’t taking any chances. They packed everything up and moved us across the country. They didn’t want attention drawn to me. Not from heroes, from villains, from anyone.”
“But you’ve got control now. You’ve grown. Scarlet Witch and Doctor Strange helped you out.”
“Yeah, but I like my life the way it is. School, books, quiet. No explosions or those rooftop chases you’ve been getting involved in a lot. Still, if things go sideways… Let me know, and I’ll be there. Just because I don’t like the idea of using my gifts to fight crime doesn’t mean I would turn my back on a close friend who needs my, well, serpentine specialty.”
They clinked their latte cups gently, a silent pact between old friends.
“Okay,” Kamala said, brightening, “Enough heavy stuff. Tell me, did you finally beat that impossible level in Celeste?”
Wesley groaned.
“Don’t remind me. I’m still stuck on the wind tunnel. I swear it’s coded to mock me…”
Characters
Project Rising:
1) Rayshaun Lucas/Patriot - Captain America: Sam Wilson #18 (January, 2017)
2) Kamala Khan/Ms. Marvel - All-New Marvel NOW! Point One #1.NOW (January, 2014)
3) Theodore Altman/Hulkling - Young Avengers #1 (February, 2005)
4) Greg Willis/Gravity - Gravity #1 (June, 2005)
Introducing:
1) Carol Danvers/Captain Marvel - Marvel Super-Heroes #13 (December, 1967)
2) Steve Rogers/Captain America - Captain America Comics #1 (December, 1940)
Villains:
1) James ‘Jimmy’ Natale/Vulture (4th) - Amazing Spider-Man (Vol. 2) #592 (April, 2009)