The afternoon sun glinted off the glass facade of Stark Tower, casting long shadows across the busy Manhattan street below. Tourists snapped photos, taxis honked, and the city hummed with its usual chaotic rhythm.
Then the Batmobile rolled to a stop.
It was sleek, black, and utterly alien against the backdrop of yellow cabs and hot dog stands. The engine purred with a sound that wasn't quite combustion, wasn't quite electric.
The driver's door opened.
Bruce Wayne
stepping out, cape flowing behind him Stay close. All of you.
More doors opened. A cascade of colorful costumes spilled out onto the sidewalk. A boy in red and green. A young woman in black. A figure in a hood with a domino mask. They fanned out, eyes scanning every corner, every rooftop.
Across the street, a hot dog vendor paused mid-flip. His jaw went slack.
???
muttering What the hell...
[???: into comms FRIDAY, get the team to the lobby. Now.
The Bat-family tensed at the mechanical voice echoing from somewhere above. Bruce's eyes narrowed beneath the cowl.
Bruce Wayne
low, to his children Avengers. Stand your ground, but do not engage.
Damian Wayne
scoffing As if I'd need to try against these clowns.
Tim Drake
sighing Damian, we talked about the public relations thing.
A metal-suited figure descended from the sky, repulsors flaring softly as he landed on the pavement. Tony Stark lifted his faceplate, sunglasses somehow still on beneath the helmet.
Tony Stark
raising a brow This a cosplay convention, or did someone GPS the wrong tower?
Bruce Wayne
Bruce Wayne. We need to talk.
Tony Stark
tapping his chin Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? The one who punched me at that gala in Monaco?
Before Bruce could respond, the air changed.
It wasn't sudden. It crept in like a slow cold, a smell that didn't belong on concrete and exhaust. Sulfur. Like gunpowder and rotten eggs and something older, something other.
Every single person on the street froze.
The hot dog vendor dropped his tongs. A pigeon took flight. The Avengers exchanged glances. The Bats' hands went to their belts.
Bruce Wayne
quick, sharp Count off. Now.
Nightwing
Dick. Here.
Red Robin
Tim, here.
Red Hood
Jay. Here.
Batgirl
Stephanie. Here.
Black Bat
Cassandra.
Duke Thomas
Duke.
Robin
silence
Bruce Wayne
voice dropping an octave Damian?
Nothing.
A shimmer of blue light pulsed from behind the Batmobile. Faint at first, like heat off asphalt. Then it swirled, solidified, and took shape.
A figure emerged.
Three fingers per hand, two toes per foot. Fur the color of midnight. A tail that lashed behind him, prehensile and sharp-tipped. And a face—not monstrous, not human. Somewhere in between, framed by amber eyes and a flash of fangs in a nervous smile.
Kurt Wagner
raising both hands, gentle Ja, hello. Please don't shoot? I come in peace, I promise.
Damian Wayne
stepping out from behind the car, arms crossed He teleported me. It was not the smoothest ride.
Bruce Wayne
low Damian. Behind me. Now.
Tony Stark
already lifting his palm, red and gold plating whirring Okay, this is not a cosplay convention.
Kurt Wagner
taking a step back, tail flicking I am not a threat! I am a student. An X-Man. We are all— pauses, catching sight of something over Tony's shoulder —ah. And it seems I have brought company.
A jet, sleek and stealth-black, swept over the skyline. Emblazoned on its wing was a stark black X.
???
voice crackling from the tower's speakers FRIDAY's got a visual. We've got incoming—mark it as Sharon Carter, pinging the X-Men's frequency. Over.
The Avengers tensed. The Bats held their ground. And the blue-skinned mutant offered them all a sheepish, apologetic smile.
Kurt Wagner
So. This is going very well so far, yes?