The upstate New York air was freezing, carrying the sharp scent of crushed pine needles and damp earth. Peter and Felicia walked side-by-side down the overgrown dirt road leading away from the Kravinoff Estate, the rusted iron gates disappearing into the shadows behind them.
"So," Felicia said, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. She twirled a collapsible baton casually between her fingers. "Are you still planning to beg your high school friends to cancel their little urban exploration trip? You heard the man. Sergei might actually be incredibly hospitable. He'd probably serve them vintage vodka and show them his spike pits."
Peter groaned, rubbing his gloved hands together to ward off the chill. "Felicia, please. The guy wears a literal lion. I don't think Harry and Amadeus are ready for that level of intense geopolitical hospitality."
Despite her teasing tone, Peter could see the tight line of Felicia's jaw. She wasn't actually thinking about Harry's ghost-hunting club. Her mind was entirely locked on what Kraven had revealed in the study. Walter Hardy—the original Black Cat, her father—hadn't just stumbled into a random Hydra lab. He had actively brushed up against a Soviet Super-Soldier program operating out of a Hungarian black site.
If my dad had actually succeeded in stealing that serum, the unspoken thought hung heavily in the cold air between them, maybe he wouldn't have died in that prison.
Peter didn't share her optimism. His enhanced brain was already connecting the dots S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him.
"You're thinking about the Hungary job, aren't you?" Peter asked quietly.
Felicia stopped twirling the baton. She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes fixed on the dark tree line.
"Felicia, I don't think your dad ever stood a chance," Peter said gently, stopping in the middle of the road. "Think about the board. The original theft was highly likely orchestrated by Hydra from the shadows. They wanted to use the 'Soviet Super-Soldier Serum' to terrify the Pentagon and push forward a dormant American weapons upgrade program. Your dad was just a pawn to move the vial across the border. They never intended for him to survive."
Felicia's grip tightened on the metal baton until her leather gloves creaked.
Peter took a step closer, his white lenses narrowing in concern. "Have you noticed anything strange lately? Anyone tailing you? Any weird static on your comms?"
Felicia blinked, pulling herself out of the dark memory. "Are you worried Hydra is tracking me because of who my father was?" She let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head. "No. I haven't noticed anything out of place. Besides, I'm standing next to an Avenger. Hydra operates like a parasite. They aren't going to blow their cover just to assassinate a cat burglar. They're trying to stay in the shadows."
Peter nodded slowly. She was right. Hydra was perfectly content to let sleeping dogs lie. Just a few weeks ago, the Defenders had violently dismantled a massive human experimentation facility in the city. To the public, it was an 'illegal US military black site.' But Peter knew it was a Hydra front. And the terrifying part? Hydra was absolutely thrilled to let the US government take the blame. It was the perfect camouflage. As long as the public pointed their fingers at the Pentagon, Hydra remained invisible.
"Besides," Peter said, trying to lighten the mood as they resumed walking. "I don't need to worry about Harry coming up here anyway. He's paralyzed with fear right now."
"Over the ghost stories?"
"Over his girlfriend," Peter chuckled. "Liz just invited him over to her house for a formal family dinner. Meet the parents. The second Harry remembers he has to sit across a dining room table from her dad, he's going to completely forget this mansion even exists."
Peter glanced back at the Kravinoff Estate one last time, the gothic spires silhouetted against the pale moon.
Kraven hadn't actually given him a straight answer about the Avengers Tower tour. The massive Russian had simply stated he needed to 'consult with superiors in Moscow' and suggested Peter discuss the diplomatic nightmare with Captain America and Iron Man before issuing a formal invitation.
And then there was Kraven's final, lingering question. Where is the Chameleon's bio-mask? Peter had genuinely answered that he had absolutely no idea. Someone had stolen the shapeshifting tech out of federal evidence lockers weeks ago, and the trail was dead cold.
Washington, D.C. — The Pentagon.
While Peter was navigating the dark woods of upstate New York, Colonel James Rhodes was standing at attention in a sterile, heavily classified briefing room deep beneath the Pentagon.
General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross sat at the head of a massive oak conference table. The only light in the room came from the projector screen illuminating Ross's lined, exhausted face.
On the screen, a massive green fist smashed a Chitauri chariot into the asphalt of 42nd Street. The Hulk roared, a primal sound that rattled the small speakers of the projector.
"It's ironic, isn't it, Colonel Rhodes?" General Ross muttered, his voice thick with gravel and disdain. He clicked a remote, freezing the image of the Hulk mid-roar. "In just one day, a monster can destroy half a city and be universally crowned a hero. Tell me. What is your professional military assessment of your friend Tony Stark and his colorful little club?"
Rhodey kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his posture rigid. "Are we discussing the Avengers' jurisdictional boundaries, sir? Or are we discussing their effectiveness in a combat theater?"
"I'm discussing the fact that we don't own them," Ross snapped, tossing the remote onto the table. "And I am deeply concerned about the 'Avengers' currently being built by our geopolitical rivals."
Ross slid a thick, black dossier across the polished oak. It stopped right in front of Rhodey.
Rhodey opened the folder. The top sheet was a heavily redacted CIA intelligence summary. It detailed extreme paramilitary movements across the globe. Four of the five permanent members of the UN Security Council—excluding France—had officially fast-tracked state-sponsored superhuman strike teams.
Russia was building the Winter Guard. China had the Ascendants. The British were deploying Excalibur.
And all of them were entirely subordinate to their respective governments.
"The Avengers have no official federal oversight," Ross continued, rising from his chair and pacing the length of the room. "They operate out of American soil, utilizing American airspace, and are entirely composed of American citizens. Yet, they do not consider themselves under the jurisdiction of the United States military. When President Ellis called me into the Oval Office this morning and asked me, point-blank, how many superhumans the Department of Defense actually controls..."
Ross stopped pacing. He looked directly at Rhodey, his eyes cold and hard.
"My answer was: 'We only have the War Machine.'"
Rhodey's jaw tightened. "If the United States is invaded, General, I believe the Avengers will protect us. They proved that in New York."
"And what if the United States isn't invaded, Colonel?" Ross shot back, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "What if the threat is political? What if the Avengers decide they don't agree with our foreign policy?"
Ross walked over, grabbed a second, thicker dossier from the desk, and slapped it hard against Rhodey's chest. Rhodey caught it instinctively.
"You are a soldier, Colonel Rhodes. You understand the chain of command. You know what needs to be done to secure this nation's future." Ross pointed a thick finger at the folder in Rhodey's hands. "Take a good look at the assets inside. Select the ones you deem operationally viable. You are going to lead them."
Rhodey looked down at the folder. Stamped across the front in bold, red classified ink were the words: PROJECT: U.S. AVENGERS.
"You will be their commanding officer," Ross stated, turning his back and walking toward the door. "Dismissed."
The heavy steel door sealed shut behind the General, leaving Rhodey alone in the quiet hum of the projector.
With a heavy sigh, Rhodey opened the dossier. He flipped through the personnel files, his brow furrowing deeper with every page. He had no idea the Department of Defense had been hiding this many enhanced individuals completely off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar.
The first file showed a blurry photograph of a containment suit glowing with intense blue light.
Subject 01: The son of a murdered physicist. Fell into a vat of experimental isotopes. Fused with the substance. Currently exists as a pure energy entity requiring a specialized magnetic suit to maintain physical cohesion.
Rhodey flipped the page.
Subject 02: A young military volunteer subjected to a classified gamma-radiation offshoot. Physiology converted into living, sentient lightning.
He flipped again.
Subject 03: A high school student from Queens. Recovered an unknown extraterrestrial amulet. Currently bonded to a heavily armored, winged alien exoskeleton. Rhodey rubbed his eyes, feeling a massive headache forming behind his temples.
He looked at the final file.
Subject 04: Designation - CITIZEN V. The attached photograph showed an advanced, humanoid combat robot. Its chassis was painted in a garish, overly-patriotic American flag motif, complete with a flowing red cape.
"And that's supposedly the most reliable asset in the entire deck," Rhodey muttered aloud, slamming the folder shut.
Ten minutes later, Rhodey strode out onto the Pentagon's secure flight deck. The heavy, gunmetal gray plates of the War Machine armor locked into place around his body, the shoulder-mounted gatling gun spinning up with a lethal whine.
He ignited his repulsors, shooting into the night sky like a bullet.
As soon as he cleared restricted airspace, Rhodey opened a heavily encrypted, private comms channel directly to Avengers Tower.
The line clicked open. Jazz music played softly in the background.
"Tony," Rhodey said, his voice heavy with pure, unadulterated exhaustion. "I know you're probably in the lab tinkering with a toaster or something, but you need to listen to me."
"Rhodey, honeybear, it is three in the morning," Tony Stark's voice crackled through the helmet speakers. "This better be an emergency."
"It's not an emergency," Rhodey said grimly, watching the lights of the Eastern Seaboard blur beneath him. "It's a warning. The Pentagon is making moves. You—and the rest of the Avengers—are in big trouble."