The sky burned. Metal screamed.

Buildings groaned as they collapsed one by one, twisted steel spiraling like fallen angels from the floating carcass of Sokovia. Screams echoed through the shattered streets as evacuation efforts pushed toward the last boats. Clint stood on the loading ramp, ushering the final civilians onboard.

Then he heard it.

A woman’s voice, raw with panic—“Costel!” she screamed. “My son—he’s still in the market!”

Clint froze. He scanned the crowd. No child. No boy.

His eyes locked with hers—desperate, pleading.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Keep that boat running!” he barked, sprinting back into the ruins of the market square. Rubble crunched beneath his boots as he searched.

“Costel!” he shouted.

A small voice cried out from behind a collapsed fruit stand. Clint rushed over and found the boy—dust-covered, trembling, no more than eight.

“I’ve got you,” he said, scooping him into his arms.

Then the air shifted—wrong. Heavy. Charging.

A low hum vibrated the air, then grew into a roar.

An UItron airship.

Hovering just above the square, its mounted cannons locked on Clint and the boy. Its targeting sensors flared red.

Clint spun, nowhere to run, shielding the child with his body.

He didn’t have time to scream.

But someone else moved.

Pietro, bloody and exhausted, spotted the ship. Without thinking, he darted across the square, wind trailing behind him in a silver-blue streak.

He didn’t have time to calculate angles.

Didn’t care.

He crashed into a parked car—slamming it sideways with raw momentum—just in time to wedge it between Clint, the child, and the incoming fire.

The cannons unleashed.

The impact sent Pietro to his knees, shielding the boy and Clint with the wrecked car. He closed his eyes, expecting the searing pain—

But it never came.

A crackling sound erupted behind him—vibrating, powerful.

Pietro opened his eyes.

You stood behind him, arms outstretched, fingers trembling.

A glowing arc-shaped energy field shimmered in front of you, distorting the bullets mid-air before they dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Your legs buckled slightly. You gritted your teeth, holding the shield steady.

Pietro stared at you, stunned.

“You—” he breathed. “You got in front of me?”

You looked at him over your shoulder, voice hoarse. “Yeah. Guess it’s my turn.”

He exhaled, somewhere between disbelief and awe. His lips twitched into a tired smile. “You should’ve let me take it.”