Harry Potter: The Revenant

The next morning, the lab was a hive of controlled chaos. Tony Stark was in his element, surrounded by blueprints, coffee-stained sketches, and enough cutting-edge tech to make NASA jealous. He was perched on a stool, one foot propped up on a nearby table as he scribbled furiously on a touchpad, the holographic projection of his latest design rotating lazily in the air. Across the room, Howard Stark stood with his arms crossed, his ever-present air of exasperated brilliance making him look like the world's most frustrated genius.

Tony didn't look up as he muttered to himself. "Okay, if we run the power through the servos here... and dampen the feedback loop with a gyroscopic stabilizer... yeah, that'll do it. Rhodey's not just gonna walk again. He's gonna waltz."

Howard glanced over the rim of his glasses, his brow furrowing. "Waltz, huh? Maybe throw in a cha-cha while you're at it?"

Tony finally looked up, flashing that trademark smirk. "You joke, but I'm serious. He could moonwalk if he wanted. Hell, I might even teach him myself."

Howard rolled his eyes and turned back to his own project: the miniaturization of the Arc Reactor. Spread before him was a blueprint of the current version—an unwieldy, industrial-sized monstrosity that powered half of Stark Industries. He tapped the blueprint with the end of his pencil. "You realize, don't you, that this thing wasn't exactly designed to fit in your pocket?"

Tony spun around on his stool, pointing at his father with the flourish of a magician revealing a trick. "And that's where you come in, Pops. You're the guy who built the first one. I'm just asking you to think smaller. Much smaller. Like, 'Ant-Man's shoe closet' smaller."

Howard sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tony, do you even hear yourself? You want me to shrink down a multi-billion-dollar power source—one that already operates on the edge of feasibility—into what? A snow globe?"

"Not a snow globe," Tony corrected, hopping off the stool. He gestured wildly, as if sketching the idea in the air. "Think grapefruit. Maybe a cantaloupe. Something handheld, portable. And sleek. Like me." He struck a mock pose.

Howard stared at him, deadpan. "You know, sometimes I wonder if I dropped you on your head as a baby."

Tony shot him finger guns. "Nah, but Mom definitely did. Explains a lot, doesn't it?"

Howard muttered something under his breath—probably involving a few choice words—and returned to the blueprints. "Fine. Let's assume, for argument's sake, that this ridiculous idea is even possible. What about the palladium core? Shrinking it down increases instability exponentially."

Tony walked over, leaning casually against the table as if he had all the time in the world. "Easy fix. We stabilize it with a secondary element. Lithium dioxide. Reactive enough to balance out the palladium's... let's call it a 'diva complex.'"

Howard raised an eyebrow. "Lithium dioxide? And what happens when it overheats? You gonna cool it with sarcasm?"

Tony shrugged, unbothered. "Wouldn't be the first time it worked."

Howard gave him a long, measured look, then finally relented with a sigh. "Alright, fine. We'll try it. But don't come crying to me when this thing blows a hole through the lab."

"Deal," Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now, while you're playing mad scientist, I'm gonna focus on Rhodey's rig. Guy's been through enough without us saddling him with something that looks like it came out of a scrap heap."

Howard gestured to the mess of sketches on Tony's side of the table. "And what's this masterpiece supposed to do? Turn him into a cyborg?"

Tony grinned. "Close. Exoskeleton. Lightweight, responsive, and cool enough to make the Six Million Dollar Man look like a knockoff action figure."

Howard tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. "Alright. Show me."

Tony swiped a hand through the holographic interface, spinning the 3D model toward his father. The design was sleek, almost elegant, with a framework that hugged the human form while leaving room for full mobility. Servo motors at the joints, a flexible spine made of carbon nanotubes, and integrated sensors for muscle response.

"See?" Tony said, folding his arms smugly. "Not just functional. Fashionable. Because if Rhodey's gonna kick ass, he's gonna do it in style."

Howard leaned closer, studying the design. "It's... ambitious."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Ambitious? Come on, Dad. This is a home run. A slam dunk. A—what's a baseball metaphor you'd understand? A triple Lindy?"

Howard ignored him, pointing to one of the joints. "The servos here—if they seize up under pressure, it could lock the whole system."

Tony waved him off. "Already accounted for. Redundant fail-safes, because I know Murphy's Law loves to crash my parties."

Howard straightened up, giving his son an appraising look. "You're serious about this."

Tony's expression softened, just for a moment. "Yeah, I am. Rhodey's my best friend, Dad. He almost died because some Hydra reject thought he could mess with us. I'm not letting that happen again."

Howard nodded, a flicker of pride crossing his face. "Alright. Let's get to work."

For the next several hours, the two Starks buried themselves in their respective projects. Howard's hands moved with the precision of a surgeon as he adjusted the Arc Reactor schematics, muttering calculations under his breath. Tony, meanwhile, bounced between his holograms and the prototype components he was assembling, pausing every now and then to throw out a quip or hum a snatch of AC/DC.

By evening, they had something tangible to show for their efforts. On the table sat a small, glowing sphere—the first prototype of the miniaturized Arc Reactor. Its blue light bathed the room in a soft glow, and both men stared at it for a long moment.

Howard finally broke the silence. "I'll admit it. It's impressive."

Tony picked it up, turning it over in his hands with a satisfied grin. "Told you. Grapefruit-sized genius. You're welcome."

Howard smirked. "Don't get cocky. We're not done yet."

Tony set the reactor down and clapped his hands together. "Nope, but we're close. Now all we need is... oh, right. A suit of armor. You know, something subtle. Low-profile. Maybe with a built-in missile launcher."

Howard shook his head, chuckling despite himself. "You're impossible."

"And you love it," Tony said, already turning back to his sketches. "Now, let's talk jet boots. Because what's the point of saving the world if you can't look cool doing it?"

—

The training room, a hybrid of magic and technology, buzzed with energy. Magical wards shimmered faintly along the stone walls, while Stark Industries tech hummed softly from sleek panels embedded in the corners. In the center of the room stood Harry Potter, clad in a sleeveless black workout attire. His retractable Vibranium claws glinted as they emerged with a metallic snikt, their edges catching the light. Across from him stood Mad-Eye Moody, grizzled and grinning like a wolf who'd just sniffed fresh prey.

Moody shifted his weight onto his new Vibranium-laced prosthetic foot, a Stark-Potter collaboration. The reinforced boot struck the ground with a resonant thud, sending faint ripples across the floor. His magical eye whirred and clicked, fixing squarely on Harry.

"Alright, Potter," Moody growled, his voice as rough as sandpaper, "I want no excuses, no holding back, and definitely no whining when I put you on your arse."

From the sidelines, James Potter leaned casually against a warded pillar, his arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. "That's rich coming from a man who's probably going to need two healing potions and a pint of Firewhisky after this."

Sirius Black, lounging on a bench that looked more comfortable than it had any right to be, smirked. "Don't forget the ice pack, Prongs. Moody's joints might be Vibranium now, but the rest of him is still a couple of decades past its prime."

Lily Potter, standing beside them with her wand in hand, shot them both a look. "He's got enough fire left to make you two look like Hufflepuffs at a duel. So maybe keep the commentary to a minimum."

Sirius feigned offense, clutching his chest. "Hufflepuffs? Lily, that's cruel even for you."

"Focus, Black," Lily replied dryly, though her lips twitched with amusement. She turned her attention back to the combatants. "Harry, don't wreck his prosthetic. It took weeks of work to get it calibrated."

Harry glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "Can't make any promises, Mum. He did ask for it."

"Constant vigilance!" Moody barked, already firing a barrage of spells. A stunning spell streaked toward Harry, followed by a disarming hex and a blasting curse.

Harry moved like water, sidestepping the stunning spell, deflecting the hex with a flick of his claws, and raising a shimmering magical shield to absorb the blast. The explosion rippled outward, but Harry absorbed the kinetic energy through his Vibranium-coated skeleton, channeling it into his magical core.

"Nice opener," Harry said, his voice laced with amusement. "But you'll have to try harder than that."

Moody let out a low chuckle, his wand spinning in his hand. "Don't get cocky, lad. You've got claws and speed, sure. But you still haven't learned to watch everything."

Without warning, Moody's prosthetic foot stomped down, releasing a shockwave of energy that shattered Harry's footing. As Harry stumbled, Moody closed the gap with startling speed, slashing his wand in a wide arc. A whip of fire erupted from its tip, aiming to bind Harry in an instant.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He flipped backward, retracting his claws and summoning a pulse of magic that dispersed the flames mid-air. As he landed, his claws extended again, and he charged, his movements a blur.

The clash was deafening. Harry's claws met Moody's shield in a shower of sparks, and the room shook with the force of the impact. Moody grunted, his prosthetic absorbing much of the force, but Harry wasn't done. He spun low, aiming a swipe at Moody's legs, forcing the older man to leap back with surprising agility.

James let out a low whistle. "I'd almost feel bad for Moody if I didn't know he was enjoying this."

"Enjoying it?" Sirius laughed. "The man's practically cackling. Harry's giving him the workout of his life."

"Focus, Harry!" Lily called, her tone sharp but encouraging. "He's baiting you into overcommitting!"

Harry smirked. "I know, Mum. I've got this."

"You'd better," Moody growled, slamming his wand into the ground. A ripple of earth rose beneath Harry, throwing him off balance. Moody capitalized immediately, firing a Petrificus Totalus that Harry barely managed to deflect with a hastily summoned shield.

"You're getting predictable, Moody," Harry taunted, Apparating behind him in a flash. Before Moody could turn, Harry slashed at the air, releasing a wave of raw magical energy from his claws.

The blast struck Moody's shield, shattering it like glass and sending the Auror skidding back several feet. Moody's prosthetic foot dug into the ground, anchoring him.

"Predictable, am I?" Moody grinned, his magical eye spinning wildly. "Alright, Potter. Let's kick it up a notch."

He slammed his foot down again, and the room erupted with chaos. Enchanted debris flew toward Harry, enchanted chains snaked from the walls, and the air itself seemed to buzz with Moody's layered spellwork.

Harry responded in kind, his magic surging like a tidal wave. His claws glowed with energy as he slashed through the chains, redirecting the debris with precise bursts of magic. He leaped and spun, his movements a perfect blend of raw power and calculated finesse.

From the sidelines, Sirius let out a low whistle. "Is it just me, or is Harry actually winning?"

James grinned. "It's not just you. That's our boy."

Lily, however, looked less impressed. "Don't jinx him," she muttered. "Moody's not done yet."

She was right. With a guttural yell, Moody unleashed a spell that turned the floor beneath Harry into quicksand. At the same time, he fired a barrage of curses, each one aimed to disarm or disable.

Harry's eyes flashed. He slammed his claws into the ground, sending a pulse of energy outward. The quicksand solidified, and the curses were absorbed and redirected in a burst of raw power that sent Moody flying backward.

The room fell silent as Moody hit the ground, groaning but laughing. "Alright, Potter," he said, pulling himself up with a wince. "You've got me. Bloody good show."

Harry retracted his claws, offering a hand to the older man. "Not bad yourself, old man."

Moody grinned, taking the hand. "Don't get cocky. You're still a few decades away from matching my experience."

Lily stepped forward, wand already in hand. "Hold still, Alastor. Let me check that prosthetic."

James clapped Harry on the back, beaming. "That was bloody brilliant, son. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Neither did I," Sirius added, though his grin was mischievous. "But I'm definitely glad I wasn't on the receiving end."

Harry chuckled, brushing sweat from his brow. "So, who's next?"

—

The air inside the secondary sparring room was thick with tension, frustration, and the faint scent of sweat. Natasha Romanoff, clad in her sleek black workout attire, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching six-year-old Rose Potter bounce around like she'd had three helpings of dessert. Which, knowing Rose, was entirely possible.

"Rose," Natasha said with an edge to her voice, her piercing green eyes narrowing. "What did I just tell you about standing still?"

Rose stopped mid-bounce, tilting her head innocently. "Umm... stand still or you'll make me do a million push-ups?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "It was ten push-ups. But if you'd rather make it a million…"

Rose's eyes went wide. "No! No, no, no. Ten's fine. I can do ten. I'm standing still. See?" She planted her feet firmly on the mat, though her hands fidgeted at her sides, and she couldn't stop shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

From the edge of the room, 13-year-old Tonks snorted, her short hair shifting from bright purple to bubblegum pink as she tied back a few loose strands. "She's like a sugar-high Niffler, Nat. Honestly, it's impressive you haven't just tied her to the floor."

"You think I haven't thought about it?" Natasha muttered under her breath, earning a laugh from Tonks.

"I heard that!" Rose called out, sticking her tongue out at Natasha.

"Rose," Natasha said sharply, her tone dangerously low, "stick your tongue out again, and you'll be doing push-ups for the next hour."

Rose quickly snapped her mouth shut, though the glint of mischief in her emerald eyes never wavered.

Meanwhile, 15-year-old Ororo Munroe leaned against the far wall, her striking white hair catching the light as she observed the chaos with a serene expression. Dressed in sleek athletic wear, she radiated calm, though her eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. "Nat, she's six. Maybe we should take a gentler approach?"

Natasha turned her sharp gaze toward Ororo. "I don't do gentle, Storm. That's not what I am here for. Besides, she's the one who insisted on training with me." She smirked slightly. "If she can't keep up, she's not ready."

Rose puffed up indignantly, hands on her hips. "I am ready! I'm just… warming up!"

Tonks crouched beside Rose, mock-seriousness plastered on her face. "Yeah, warming up by bouncing around like a Crup on caffeine. Really intimidating stuff, Rosie."

"Don't call me Rosie!" Rose snapped, stomping her foot and glaring at Tonks. "That's what Harry calls me, and I only let him do it."

Tonks grinned, her nose scrunching in delight. "Aw, is that so, Rosie-posie?"

"TONKS!" Rose screeched, lunging forward and swatting at her.

Tonks laughed, dodging easily and ruffling Rose's hair in the process. "Alright, alright, calm down, little firecracker."

"Rose." Natasha's voice was cold and commanding, cutting through the moment like a blade. "If you're done playing, get back into position. Ororo, you're up. Let's see if she can focus against someone with actual discipline."

Ororo stepped gracefully into the sparring ring, her movements fluid and precise. She knelt down to Rose's eye level, her voice soft but firm. "Rose, remember what I said earlier? Focus is the key to harnessing your energy. If you stay focused, I'll teach you something special."

Rose's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Like what?"

Ororo smiled knowingly, a faint breeze rustling through the room, lifting the ends of her hair in an almost magical display. "I'll teach you how to call the wind."

Rose gasped, her bratty exterior momentarily dropping. "You mean… like you do? Like flying hair and everything?"

"Exactly," Ororo said. "But only if you show me that you can control yourself."

"Deal!" Rose said quickly, bouncing on her toes again before catching Natasha's glare and forcing herself to stand still. "I'm ready, 'Roro! Hit me with your best shot!"

Ororo stood, taking a defensive stance. "Alright, then. Show me what you've got."

Rose charged forward with all the grace of a hyperactive squirrel, swinging her small fists wildly. Ororo sidestepped easily, her movements as smooth as water. "Control, Rose. Wild energy won't win you a fight."

"I'm controlling it!" Rose protested, spinning around and attempting a high kick that barely reached Ororo's knee.

Ororo deflected the kick gently, her voice calm. "Try again. This time, think before you strike."

On the sidelines, Tonks shook her head, laughing. "She's like a tiny tornado."

"More like a tiny hurricane," Natasha muttered. "But if she learns to channel all that chaos, she'll be dangerous. Maybe even good."

As the sparring continued, Rose grew increasingly frustrated, her attacks becoming sloppier. Finally, she stomped her foot and glared up at Ororo. "You're not even trying! This isn't fair!"

Ororo crouched down again, placing a gentle hand on Rose's shoulder. "Fair doesn't matter in a fight, little one. What matters is how you adapt. Now, take a deep breath and try again."

Rose scowled but obeyed, taking a deep breath. This time, when she lunged forward, her movements were more controlled, her small fists striking with purpose. Ororo blocked each one with ease but nodded in approval. "Better. Much better."

When the sparring finally ended, Rose collapsed onto the mat, panting but grinning. "Did you see that? I almost got you, 'Roro!"

"You did well," Ororo said, offering her a hand to help her up. "But there's still much to learn."

Natasha smirked, walking over and crossing her arms. "Not bad, kid. You might just survive training with me after all."

Rose puffed up proudly, wiping sweat from her brow. "Told you I'm ready!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Natasha said, ruffling Rose's hair despite the younger girl's protests. "Tomorrow, we're working on stamina. You'll love it."

Rose groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the mat. "You're mean, Nat."

Natasha's lips curved into a rare smile. "You'll thank me one day, brat."

—

In the quiet of the safehouse infirmary, the sharp tap of Rhodey's crutches echoed against the sterile tiles. The air felt thick with focus, the room holding a tense but determined energy. James "Rhodey" Rhodes, sweat dotting his brow, was taking slow, measured steps across the room. His face was tight with concentration, each movement deliberate, his legs supported by magically reinforced braces. The metal braces, sleek yet intricate, covered his lower legs like a second skin, etched with glowing runes that flickered softly with magical energy. Despite their advanced design, they weren't exactly built for comfort.

"Alright, Mr. Rhodes, just one more step," Andromeda Tonks said, her voice gentle but steady, a calming presence amidst the strain. Her wand was held loosely in one hand, her other hovering just an inch from his shoulder. Her eyes remained watchful, ready to step in if anything went wrong.

Rhodey exhaled slowly, his face scrunching slightly as he forced himself to take another step. "Yeah, no problem," he muttered, his voice edged with sarcasm. "Just living the dream here, taking a stroll in a high-tech torture chamber."

"Magic is hardly torture," Andromeda replied with a soft laugh, glancing at him with that familiar, knowing look. "You're doing great, really. These braces aren't exactly easy to get used to."

Rhodey's gaze flicked down to the glowing silver and black braces encasing his legs, the runes on them swirling with energy. "I don't know what kind of dream you're living in, but mine doesn't involve glowing metal plates strapped to my legs," he grumbled. "They're impressive, don't get me wrong. But subtle? Not so much."

From the other side of the room, Ted Tonks leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he spoke, his tone light and teasing. "Subtlety's overrated, Rhodey. Those runes are holding your legs together, keeping you from collapsing under your own weight. It's not about style points—it's about keeping you on your feet."

Rhodey scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, I'd be more into these if they were less 'mech warrior' and more 'James Bond.' I'm just saying, Tony's promised me these new hybrid leg braces. Magic and Stark tech combined. I'm talking Bluetooth, maybe a little holographic display—something sleek, you know?"

Ted chuckled under his breath. "You're dreaming, mate. Stark doesn't do simple, he does 'overcomplicated but shiny.' But I'll bet my left arm they'll look pretty impressive when they're done."

Rhodey shifted his weight onto his crutches, adjusting his grip. "Well, I'm counting the days until Tony's done 'reinventing the wheel,' because I need something that doesn't feel like I'm marching to battle every time I take a step."

"Tony will get there," Andromeda said, her voice firm but encouraging. "Until then, though, you've got magic—and patience. And judging by the sweat on your brow, you're starting to realize it."

Rhodey shot her a dry look. "Patience? You mean 'slow torture,' right? Because if that's what it's supposed to be, I'm acing it."

"Slow and steady wins the race," she teased, stepping back slightly as Rhodey took another tentative step forward, clearly struggling but pushing through.

"Slow and steady, huh?" Rhodey shot back with a smirk, though the muscles in his legs were clearly trembling. "Well, tell that to my pride, because it's taking a beating right now."

Ted's voice drifted over, amused. "Ah, the mighty James Rhodes brought low by a pair of crutches. Who would've thought?"

Rhodey's lips twitched into a smile despite the frustration in his eyes. "I thought we were friends, Ted. You're supposed to be supporting me, not making me feel like a walking joke."

Andromeda chuckled softly but didn't miss a beat. "Trust me, Mr. Rhodes. It's a good look on you."

As Rhodey took another labored step, the sweat on his brow started to increase, and he let out a groan. "How many more laps are we doing here? This feels like a marathon."

"Three more," Andromeda replied matter-of-factly. "And I'm serious about this. You're progressing faster than I thought possible, but you're not ready for anything more yet."

"Three laps?" Rhodey looked as though the very idea might break him. "This is the worst day of my life. You sure you're not trying to kill me with kindness?"

"Kindness," Andromeda quipped, her eyes glinting. "It's all in the details."

Ted wandered closer, his voice quieter now. "Do you really think Stark's going to pull it off? You know, with the new braces?"

Andromeda glanced at Rhodey, her gaze softening. "If anyone can make it work, it's Tony. He's got a way of combining magic and technology that... well, no one else could even begin to approach."

Rhodey overheard them, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm sure Tony's planning to have me walking like a cyborg with rocket boosters by the time he's done. That man can't help himself. Give him an inch of magic, and he'll build a whole damn armory out of it."

Ted laughed. "That sounds about right. You'll be taking down the bad guys with style and laser beams soon enough."

Rhodey shook his head, his grin widening. "As long as he doesn't turn my legs into something straight out of The Terminator, I'll be good." His eyes sparkled with mischievous humor despite the exhaustion lining his face. "But seriously, as soon as I'm back on my feet, Tony owes me one. And I'm talking a steak dinner. Wagyu."

Andromeda gave him a wry smile as he took another step forward, determination still in his posture. "I think you're earning more than that, Rhodey. But a steak sounds good."

Rhodey's voice was full of dry humor as he shifted his weight onto his crutches again. "Make it a big steak. I think I've earned it after all this... slow-motion walking." He grinned at Andromeda and Ted. "And when I'm back to normal, I'm gonna make sure Tony knows he's footing the bill."

—

The warehouse in Mauritius was a chaotic maze of wooden crates, each humming faintly with the untapped potential of vibranium. The faint glow of runes on some of the more ancient-looking crates made the room feel like it was on the verge of sparking to life, but the tension among the agents was all too real.

Phil Coulson stood in the middle of it all, tablet in hand, watching like a conductor overseeing an orchestra. Every few moments, he'd glance up to make sure the agents were handling the cargo carefully. His calm, no-nonsense demeanor exuded authority, though there was always that twinkle of dry humor in his eyes.

"Alright, people," Coulson said, his voice cutting cleanly through the hustle. "This is vibranium. You break it, you buy it—though I doubt Fury will let any of you put it on layaway."

From across the room, Billy Koenig groaned loudly, carrying a small scanner as he meandered through the stacks of crates. "Y'know, Phil, I think I actually prefer babysitting duty at this point. Sure, Rose Potter levitated my sandwich last week, but at least she didn't make me feel like I'm in the middle of an Indiana Jones movie—minus the cool whip."

Coulson smirked but didn't look up. "You're telling me you'd rather deal with a six-year-old who turned your coffee into purple jelly than be here securing one of Klaue's biggest vibranium stashes? Really?"

Billy sighed dramatically, waving his scanner around a particularly large crate. "Do you know how hard it is to scrub glitter out of your tactical vest? Because I do. She said, and I quote, 'Now you sparkle like a hero, Mr. Koenig.'" He paused, narrowing his eyes. "And don't get me started on the puppies incident."

Coulson raised an eyebrow, half-paying attention as he flipped through the intel on his tablet. "Puppies?"

Billy threw up his hands, exasperated. "She conjured a whole litter of golden retrievers in the command center, Phil. Do you know how hard it is to wrangle puppies while Fury's staring at you like you just committed treason? I swear, that kid is chaos in pigtails."

Coulson finally glanced at him, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You're just mad because one of them chewed on your shoes."

Billy jabbed a finger at him. "Those were my lucky field boots!"

"Right," Coulson deadpanned, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. "I'll make sure we get you a new pair. Maybe some glitter-resistant ones."

Before Billy could launch into another tirade, the comms in Coulson's ear crackled to life. "Director Coulson, this is Bravo Team. West perimeter secured. No hostiles in sight so far."

"Copy that, Bravo," Coulson replied smoothly. He tapped his earpiece and glanced at the agents near the entrance. "Keep your eyes open. Klaue may be sitting in a S.H.I.E.L.D. cell, but his friends don't strike me as the type to just let this stash go unnoticed."

As if on cue, the unmistakable roar of engines echoed from outside. Coulson's head snapped up, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked toward the open warehouse doors. Two SUVs screeched to a halt just beyond the perimeter, their headlights cutting through the dim evening light.

"Phil…" Billy said, his voice tight with apprehension.

Coulson raised a hand, signaling for calm. "Koenig, get the agents in position. Non-lethal unless absolutely necessary. Let's see who's bold enough to crash our little treasure hunt."

Billy swallowed hard but nodded, moving quickly to relay orders. "Alright, people! Defensive positions! And remember, if you get shot, I am not writing the report to HR!"

Coulson moved toward the entrance, one hand resting on the ICER at his side. He watched as a dozen heavily armed mercenaries poured out of the SUVs, led by a tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek. The leader barked orders in rapid-fire Swahili, his men fanning out in a practiced formation.

"Scarface?" Coulson murmured to himself, tilting his head. "Wow, Klaue really needs to diversify his hiring practices."

Billy jogged up beside him, breathing hard. "So, uh… what's the play here, Phil? Talk it out? Offer them a gift basket?"

Coulson glanced at him, his expression perfectly deadpan. "Let's save the gift basket for after we win. Maybe throw in some glitter for good measure."

Billy groaned. "You're never letting that go, are you?"

"Not a chance," Coulson replied smoothly.

Before the mercenaries could advance, Coulson stepped into the open, his calm, almost disarming demeanor on full display. He held up his hands, ICER still holstered, and called out, "Gentlemen! I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this vibranium is officially off the market. If you leave now, I promise we won't ruin your Yelp reviews."

The scarred leader sneered, raising his weapon. "We don't take orders from bureaucrats."

Coulson's smile didn't falter. "Bureaucrat? Ouch. I prefer 'highly effective problem solver.'"

The first shot rang out, and Coulson ducked back into cover as the warehouse erupted into chaos. Billy let out a strangled yelp, fumbling with his ICER. "Phil, they're shooting at us! Again! Why is it always guns?!"

Coulson fired back with practiced precision, his voice calm even as he issued commands. "Welcome to fieldwork, Koenig. Focus on non-lethal takedowns. And if you see Scarface, aim low—guys like him hate losing the high ground."

Billy muttered under his breath, taking cover behind a stack of crates. "I miss the puppies. I really miss the puppies."

Coulson couldn't help but chuckle as he took out another mercenary with a perfectly placed ICER shot. "Don't worry, Billy. After this, we'll grab some celebratory coffee. You can even add glitter if it helps you cope."

Billy groaned but kept firing, his muttering growing louder. "Next time, I'm taking the babysitting duty. Glitter and all."

---

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