The war room was a clash of light and sound—monitors humming, satellites feeding live footage onto a massive glowing table, Stark’s AI spitting out percentages and tactical probabilities in a steady monotone. Maps stretched across the glass in front of them, glowing red markers blinking in problem areas across the globe.

The team was gathered—each in their usual rhythm. Natasha sat with her arms folded, eyes scanning the data like she was memorizing every inch of it. Clint slouched back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. Bruce hunched over the screen nearest him, muttering under his breath about “unstable readings.” Thor was perched far too comfortably in a chair clearly not built for Asgardian armor, sipping coffee like it was mead. And Tony, of course, had his feet on the table until Steve shot him a look sharp enough to make him shift them—though not remove them.

Steve stood at the head of the table, shield resting within arm’s reach. The posture alone commanded attention, but his voice carried it further. “Alright, listen up,” he started, tone crisp and steady. “We’ve got confirmed Hydra activity in the Eastern sector. Small cells regrouping, gathering resources, but if we don’t cut them off now, they’ll spread. Fast.” Sam leaned forward, tapping one of the red dots glowing on the map. “You’re saying they’re moving under the radar—but this pattern looks like a buildup. Like they’re waiting for something.” Bruce adjusted his glasses. “Or someone. Energy readings don’t match their usual tech. This looks… unstable. Like they’re experimenting with power they can’t fully control.” Natasha’s voice cut through, low and sharp. “That’s Hydra’s specialty. Dangerous, half-baked, and just enough to kill a lot of people before it blows up in their faces.” “Which is why we don’t let it get that far,” Steve said, eyes narrowing. “We split them before they organize. Aerial support covers the perimeter—Sam, that’s you. Clint, I want your eyes on rooftops. Natasha, infiltration and intel.”

Clint groaned, tossing the pen onto the table. “Translation: ‘Sit tight in the cold until Cap calls.’ You ever think maybe I wanna do the punching sometimes?” Natasha shot him a look that could’ve cut steel. “You’d get bored after five minutes.” Steve almost smiled, but kept his tone firm. “Play your role, Barton. You’re the one we trust to see things we can’t.” Thor leaned forward, his voice booming with eagerness. “And what of me, Captain? Shall I bring down the storm, crush these vermin before they can flee?” Steve’s eyes flicked to him, steady. “You’re on standby until we need you. Last time, you leveled three blocks before anyone even saw the enemy.” Thor gave a sheepish chuckle. “A glorious victory, nonetheless.” Tony finally leaned in, eyes flicking across the data. “So Cap wants a clean, quiet surgical strike—surgical, but not fun. What if, hear me out, we test a new drone system I’ve been cooking up? Minimal risk, maximum cool factor.”

Before Steve could respond, a new voice cut through the chatter like a blade. “Sit your ass down, Stark.” Nick Fury had stepped into the room, leather coat swaying behind him, his one good eye sweeping the team with that familiar mix of disdain and expectation. The room seemed to straighten instinctively. “Hydra doesn’t care about your toys. They don’t care about your pride. They care about control—and if we let them plant even one seed, it’ll spread. I’ve seen it happen. Too many times.” Steve gave a slight nod, acknowledging Fury but not losing momentum. “He’s right. This isn’t about flash. It’s about precision. Everyone has their assignment for a reason. If we do this right, we end it before it starts.”

Fury stepped closer to the table, tapping one of the red dots with his gloved finger. “Intel says they’ve got assets stashed underground. That means tunnels, choke points, and traps. You don’t go in thinking you’re invincible—you go in like soldiers, like a unit.” His gaze swept across the table, landing on each Avenger in turn.