Liam stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. The sizzling behind him faded as the smell of roasted meat and spices filled the air. It mixed with the faint burnt scent of New York's wreckage outside.
"How about this," he said casually, with a teasing smile. "I'll tell you that story… after we finish eating."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Stalling already, huh?"
Liam chuckled and leaned against the counter. "Not stalling — just waiting for the last guest to show up. The one who's probably dying to hear my story more than anyone else."
He tilted his head toward Natasha and Clint. "Isn't that right, Romanoff? Barton?"
Both of them tensed immediately. Natasha's hand twitched near her thigh where her gun would usually be. Clint's smile vanished, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Cap straightened and looked between them. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Natasha's tone was calm, but her eyes were sharp. "That depends," she said slowly, "on who exactly you think our guest is."
Liam's grin widened. "Oh, you already know," he said, his voice light but steady. "I'm betting your boss is halfway here already. One-eyed, all attitude — the kind of guy who can't stand not knowing anything."
Tony snorted. "Nick Fury?"
"Bingo." Liam smirked. "Come on, after everything that just went down, you think he'd sit back quietly? He's probably flying here right now, ready to ask a thousand questions and pretend he's got all the answers."
Clint clenched his jaw, while Natasha's expression stayed blank, though her gaze stayed fixed on Liam. Whatever she saw didn't make her relax, but she didn't move either.
Finally, she exhaled. "You're not wrong," she admitted quietly.
Liam laughed under his breath. "Then it's settled. I'll tell my story once everyone's here. Saves me from repeating myself."
Tony looked between them, tired but curious. "Fine by me," he said, leaning back and putting his boots up on a chair. "As long as you don't poison us first."
Liam chuckled and turned back into the kitchen. "Alright then. Let's eat before the food gets cold."
He worked fast, hands moving smoothly and confidently. Within minutes, the smell of grilled meat and toasted bread filled the room. The meat was golden and tender, the sauce thick and spicy. He stacked the plates neatly, wrapping each shawarma with a perfect crunch that made Tony's sarcastic grin fade for once.
And for Hulk — Liam went all out.
When he was done, a massive platter sat at the end of the counter. It held an enormous shawarma roll, nearly the size of a car tire. It could feed ten people, or one Hulk.
Liam wiped his hands and nodded toward it. "There. That one's for the big guy. Should be enough for ten people — or one of you."
Hulk's eyes widened in delight. "Hulk like food," he rumbled, grabbing the roll in one massive hand.
Liam grinned. "Good. Because I'm not making seconds."
He then grabbed one of the shawarma wraps he'd made and sat down with the others. The smell of roasted meat and warm pita filled the room. He took a bite — juicy, spicy, perfect. For a second, he forgot the city was half-destroyed and full of alien guts.
He looked around the table. Everyone was eating quietly. Even Tony wasn't running his mouth — which said a lot. Hulk was already halfway through his massive plate, crumbs raining down like a storm every time he chewed. Thor was laughing loudly, sauce on his armor.
He ignored the noise and opened his blue wheel panel, eyes narrowing as he checked how much EXP was needed to reach the next level for his mind fortress ability— Cosmic Level. The thought alone made his heart race. Having an ability strong enough to counter cosmic-level mind control and other similar psychic threats would be a game changer.
But as soon as he saw the number, his excitement faded.
'One million EXP.'
He let out a quiet breath. 'Yeah, no,' he thought to himself. It was better to trust his luck with the wheel than try to grind that much. One million EXP meant at least a hundred thousand plot points — enough for a thousand spins.
He was still lost in thought when a voice suddenly cut through his mind.
"What about me?"
It was sharp, annoyed, and unmistakably Asgardian.
Everyone turned. Loki sat at the far end beside Thor, glaring at the food like it had personally insulted him. His wrists were cuffed with glowing restraints, but his posture was as smug as ever.
Liam didn't even look up fully. He took another slow bite and said, "Prisoners don't get one."
Loki's eyes narrowed. "You dare deny me—"
Before he could start one of his royal meltdowns, Thor reached over and snapped something over his brother's mouth — a sleek metal muzzle that clicked in place perfectly. Natasha had handed it to him earlier, "just in case."
"There," Thor said, brushing his hands off. "Much better. Thank you, Widow."
Natasha sighed. "You're welcome."
Loki made a muffled, furious sound but Thor just grinned. "This device is most useful. Midgardian tools never cease to impress me.".
Just then — bang.
The door to the Shawarma joint slammed open.
The weak little bell above it jingled once, then broke off and hit the floor with a sad clink.
The team turned instantly. The sound of boots filled the room as four people stepped inside, weapons drawn but not aimed. The man at the front was impossible to mistake — long black coat, single eye patch, and the kind of presence that made the air go cold.
Nick Fury. Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
His face was unreadable as his one good eye swept across the room — then stopped on Loki. "Well," he said in that low, dangerous tone, "looks like I missed the fun."
Behind him stood four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in tactical gear, rifles slung and ready. Maria Hill stood a bit behind him, calm and sharp as always. Two agents flanked the door, while the last — a younger guy, maybe early thirties — hovered near the back.
Tony leaned back, still holding his wrap. "Took you long enough, Cyclops."
Fury shot him a look that could kill. "Keep talking, Stark. Maybe I'll find a way to ground you."
Before Tony could come up with something smart, the young agent at the back suddenly froze. His eyes widened, locked on Liam — who was sitting at the far end, quietly eating.
Then everything went to hell.
The agent's hand flew to his gun. No hesitation. No warning.
BANG!
The gunshot tore through the air, deafening.
Liam's head snapped back. The bullet hit dead center in his forehead. His shawarma slipped from his hand, back into the plate, as his chair tipped backward. He hit the floor hard. Eyes wide open.
Silence. Absolute silence.
Then the room exploded.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Tony shouted, jumping to his feet along with Steve. Natasha was already moving, gun out, eyes locked on the shooter.
Thor half-stood, lightning sparking around him like a brewing storm. Hulk growled so loud the walls trembled.
Fury spun toward the agent, his voice like a whip. "STAND DOWN! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
But the agent already had the gun pressed to his head before Fury could even finish his warning. Without a flicker of hesitation — before anyone could react — his finger tightened on the trigger.
BANG!
He shot himself.
Blood sprayed across the wall. The body dropped like a puppet with its strings cut along with the gun in his hand.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Fury's jaw tightened. He slowly lowered the pistol he'd half drawn and muttered, "Goddammit.."
***
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