Gunfire.
"Multiple contacts," Clint warned. "Eric, cover. No drawing attention."
"No drawing attention," Eric echoed, still recovering from the last blast.
He moved like light skipping between shadows.
Six men went down in two seconds. Four more were disarmed before they could react.
But the reinforcements kept coming.
Clint held position, covering Tony and Yinsen without ever breaking focus.
"If I had my armor…" Tony muttered, cursing the fact that he hadn't built something portable.
He hated feeling protected.
Hated being underestimated.
"Good control," Barton said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Keep—"
Then—
An improvised missile slammed into the ground nearby.
Eric turned too fast.
There was no time to think. No one except him would survive the blast radius.
Light erupted.
A photonic shockwave exploded outward from Eric, raw energy vented without filters through the suit to repel the missile's detonation.
The suit screamed under the strain, overheating to critical levels.
BOOOOOOM.
A second explosion, far more violent than the first, tore through the area.
The terrorist compound collapsed completely.
And it didn't stop there.
Rock pulverized outward. Structures crumpled. Improvised towers fell like wet sand.
Absolute silence.
Clint threw an arm up, shielding his face.
"DAMN IT!" he shouted. "THAT WAS NOT LOW INTENSITY!"
Eric reformed from drifting particles amid the dust, breathing hard, eyes wide.
"I…" He swallowed. "I didn't know my range was that terrifying."
He wasn't exaggerating.
He could feel it.
He hadn't even tapped half of what he was capable of.
And looking at the devastation—
What was his upper limit?
Tony coughed, trying to lighten the moment.
"So… that was you being gentle?"
"No," Clint replied flatly. "That was him losing control."
The alarms died.
Mostly because there was no base left to alarm anyone.
Clint scanned the horizon.
"This will draw military attention," he said. "We need to leave. Now."
He activated the comm.
"Immediate extraction. Repeat: immediate."
The Quinjet roared overhead, arriving in a blink.
"Hey," Eric said, nudging Tony forward. "You're alive. He's alive. That counts."
Then he looked down, ashamed.
"Sorry."
Clint surveyed the destruction, then the clear escape path.
"Forget it," he said. "If we're fighting aliens someday, that is exactly what we need."
Tony leaned on Eric, half-jumping as they moved.
"Aliens?"
Yinsen, supported by Barton, paid close attention.
"You'll understand once we're out of range."
Clint glanced at Eric.
"Log that as 'dramatic exit,'" he said. "Approved."
The Quinjet swallowed them whole.
---
On the other side of the world, in a facility that never appeared on maps, Wolfgang von Strucker watched with clinical interest.
"Light-speed movement. Energy projection. Full-body conversion," Strucker listed. "Fascinating."
He paused.
"I want the boy."
Alexander Pierce appeared on the secure line and refused immediately.
"Not yet."
Strucker's brow creased slightly. "He's young. Inexperienced. Emotionally vulnerable. He could be… guided."
Pierce smiled faintly.
"Normally, I'd agree," he said. "But this isn't a common asset."
He turned toward the screen.
"Eric Valerian is now, officially, Nick Fury's newest favorite."
Strucker raised an eyebrow.
"Fury gets attached?"
"No," Pierce replied. "Fury invests."
He pulled up another file.
Pentagon seals filled the display.
"The Council is already evaluating his significance," Pierce continued. "Not as a weapon… yet."
Strucker interlaced his fingers.
"Fury's little initiative."
"His childish project," Pierce agreed.
Strucker chuckled softly.
"Children grow."
"And some die," Pierce said calmly. "But not this one. Not now."
He leaned closer to the screen.
"If we touch him now, we trigger too many alarms."
Strucker was silent for a few seconds.
"Then we let him shine," he said.
"Exactly," Pierce nodded. "Let him get used to being watched. To being useful. To feeling necessary."
Strucker smiled slowly.
"And when he stops being the favorite toy…"
"Then we talk," Pierce finished. "HYDRA has always been patient."
From his office, Alexander Pierce looked out over the city.
He adjusted his tie calmly.
"Enjoy the spotlight," he murmured. "The brightest stars always cast the longest shadows."
---
The Quinjet cut through the desert like a black arrow, leaving fire, dust… and a terrorist base erased from any useful map.
Inside, the silence felt strange.
Tony Stark sat on the floor, back against the fuselage, breathing deeply.
The improvised reactor still glowed at his chest. A tired smile refused to leave his face.
Beside him, an older man, thin, scarred by captivity but intact in dignity, watched quietly.
"Well," Clint said, breaking the silence. "Guess we should do introductions before someone blows something else up."
He turned to Tony.
"Agent Clint Barton. S.H.I.E.L.D. Archer. Involuntary mentor"—he glanced at Eric—"to human fireworks."
Eric raised a hand.
"Hi. Eric Valerian. Probationary agent. Light, miscalculations, and several apologies pending."
Tony let out a rough laugh.
"Right…" He looked at Eric. "That explains a lot."
The older man cleared his throat.
"Yinsen," he said, accent heavy. "Doctor. Prisoner until…" he glanced around, "…ten minutes ago."
Tony turned to him instantly.
"Yinsen," he said sincerely. "I don't know how to thank you."
Yinsen smiled calmly.
"I expected to die there," he admitted. "This is a considerable improvement."
Eric inclined his head, respectful.
"I'm glad we arrived before the script got tragic."
Tony inhaled, then his expression hardened.
"I'm shutting down the weapons division."
The image of Stark weapons in terrorist hands burned behind his eyes.
The knowledge that he'd nearly died by his own legacy.
Clint blinked.
"Sorry—what?"
"I'm closing it," Tony repeated. "No more missiles. No more contracts. No more 'necessary sales.'"
Eric whistled softly.
"Wow. Get kidnapped for a few days and come back enlightened."
Tony looked at him.
"I got kidnapped by myself," he replied. "That's worse."
Clint crossed his arms.
"I have to ask," he said. "How does a guy who fights Norse gods end up captured by thugs with AKs?"
Tony raised his hands.
"Hey! It was a peaceful demonstration."
Eric leaned forward.
"Uh-huh," he said. "And I'm subtle."
Tony studied him, then smiled.
"Okay. I underestimated human risk."
Clint shook his head.
"Always mistake number one."
Yinsen watched the three of them, amused.
"In my experience," he said, "gods and geniuses fall to very simple things."
Eric nodded.
"Like motivated thugs."
Tony sighed and rested his head against the fuselage.
"I promise not to fight gods again without a Plan B."
Eric smiled.
"You'd be surprised how many start that way."
The Quinjet continued on course.
After a brief internal debate, Clint decided the silence had become uncomfortable.
All it needed now was popcorn.
"Alright," he said, pulling a tablet from a side compartment. "No one's bleeding, we're alive… time for in-flight entertainment."
Tony raised an eyebrow.
"If it's a rom-com, I'm throwing you out the ramp."
"Worse," Clint replied. "It's your future."
Eric, seated farther back, straightened immediately.
He'd removed the now-ruined suit, crossed his arms, and smiled like a man who knew exactly when to stay quiet.
"Oh, this is good," he murmured. "Tell me when the trauma starts."
Clint tapped the screen.
The Marvel Studios logo appeared.
Tony frowned.
"That name feels… suspiciously familiar."
The screen faded to black.
Is it better to be feared… or respected?
And I say—why not both?
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