Avengers 2000

Avengers 2000

Disclaimers: All characters are property of Marvel Entertainment and henceforth Disney, I don't own anything here.

Spoilers: some for the movies specified in the Fandoms ticket

A Lab in the Desert

The sun hung low over the barren desert, casting a fiery glow across the weathered research facility. The paint on the building had long since peeled away, the cracked windows offering little protection against the elements. Inside, however, the lab hummed with life, the faint whir of machinery breaking the silence, accompanied only by the scratch of a pen.

Bruce Banner sat hunched over a desk, the pages of his notebook cluttered with hasty, frantic scrawls. His fingers trembled slightly as he wrote, the tension carved deep into his face. He paused, gripping the pen tighter, his eyes clouded as memories rose unbidden—the anger, the chaos, the Hulk.

Don’t think about it. Focus.

He took a slow, steadying breath and forced his attention back to the page.

The silence was shattered by the creak of the door swinging open. Bruce didn’t flinch. He hadn’t flinched in years. But his body stiffened, every muscle poised to react, ready for whatever might come next.

From the shadows, a figure stepped forward, calm and deliberate. Nick Fury, his trench coat flowing behind him, entered the dim light of the lab, his presence as imposing as the long desert night.

Bruce’s hand instinctively moved under the desk toward a hidden weapon. But Fury raised a hand, a silent gesture of peace.

“I’m not here to start a fight,” Fury’s voice was firm, unshaken. “I’m here to talk.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed. His voice, low and cautious, cut through the air like a blade.

“Whoever you are, you’ve got five seconds to leave before I make you.”

“Nick Fury,” the man replied, his tone completely unfazed. “Director of SHIELD.”

Bruce snorted, leaning back in his creaking chair, eyes locked on Fury. “SHIELD, huh? You tracked me all the way out here for what? A conversation?”

Fury’s expression didn’t change. He stepped further into the room, his boots tapping softly on the concrete floor.

“You’re a hard man to find, Banner,” Fury remarked, his voice cold and steady. “But I’m used to finding people who don’t want to be found.” He placed a thick file on the desk and slid it toward Bruce. “You’ve been on AIM’s radar. They’re not just looking for you—they’re preparing for you.”

At the mention of AIM, Bruce’s jaw tightened. He reached for the file, flipping it open with a careful, deliberate motion. Images of glowing serums, mutated test subjects, and burning labs flashed before his eyes.

“They’re experimenting on people,” Fury said, his voice low but unwavering. “Turning them into weapons. And if they find you, they’ll do worse. They’ll find a way to weaponize the Hulk.”

Bruce stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the concrete. He spun toward the window, staring out into the endless expanse of the desert, the vast emptiness mirroring the chaos inside him.

“I’m not your weapon,” Bruce muttered, his voice hard, edged with bitterness. “I’m not someone you can just point at a problem and hope it goes away. The last time I got involved…” His words faltered, his grip tightening on the window frame. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

Fury stepped closer, his tone unwavering. “You think I don’t know what happened? I didn’t come here blind. Let me be clear—I’m not asking for the Hulk. I’m asking for you.”

Bruce turned, frustration burning behind his eyes. “And what happens when he shows up? Because he always does.” His voice cracked. “I try to control it, but the anger... it’s always there, just under the surface.”

Fury’s gaze softened for a moment, but his resolve remained unyielding. “You’ve spent all this time trying to hide from it. Trying to bury it. But we both know that doesn’t work. The Hulk is part of you, Banner. And AIM? They’ll do worse than unleash him—they’ll weaponize him. The only way to stop them is to face it.”

Bruce clenched his fists, his knuckles white as the weight of Fury’s words pressed down on him. His mind raced with the implications, the risks. For so long, he had run—from the monster, from the anger, from himself. Fury’s words were like a hammer against the walls he’d so carefully built.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be what you need,” Bruce said quietly, doubt heavy in his voice. “The Hulk is dangerous. If I lose control—”

Fury cut him off, his tone softer now, almost sympathetic. “You’re not the only one with demons, Banner. Everyone on this team is running from something. The difference is, they’ve stopped running.”

Bruce stared at Fury, the weight of those words sinking deep into his chest. Fury stepped back toward the door, his voice firm but not unkind.

“We’re building a team, Banner. A team that can face threats no one else can. You don’t have to decide now, but think about this—if you wait too long, it won’t just be you paying the price. The world needs you.”

With those final words, Fury disappeared into the shadows, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts.

For a long moment, Bruce stood in silence, his breathing shallow, the stillness of the lab a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him. He looked down at his trembling hands, half-expecting them to turn green, but they didn’t.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting back to the file on the desk. Fury’s words echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain.

Maybe... it’s time to stop running.

Hell’s Kitchen, New York City

The neon lights of Hell’s Kitchen flickered faintly through the downpour, their colors bleeding into the rain-slicked streets below. Above, on a rooftop high above the city, Matt Murdock sat motionless in his dark red suit, the cowl pulled back just enough to expose his face to the cool night air.

His world was alive with sound: the rhythmic patter of rain on rooftops, the distant hum of traffic, muffled conversations carried up from the alleyways. Every sound told a story, every vibration painting a vivid picture in his mind. Below him, criminals continued their business, unaware of the silent figure watching from the shadows.

Not tonight, Matt thought. I need the solitude.

But then, something disrupted the steady rhythm of the rain—a faint creak of weight on the rooftop behind him. The movement was deliberate, too calculated to be random. Matt tensed, every muscle coiled and ready, his senses sharpening.

“I’d say you’re a hard man to find,” came a low, steady voice, “but you’re exactly where I thought you’d be.”

Matt didn’t turn at first. He already knew who it was—Nick Fury. The slow, measured pace of his steps, the even rhythm of his heartbeat, and the unmistakable authority in his voice all told Matt everything he needed to know.

“Matt Murdock,” Fury continued, his footsteps drawing closer. “Or should I say Daredevil?”

Matt’s hand instinctively moved toward his billy club, his fingers brushing the cold metal. He didn’t immediately reach for it, though; he kept his posture casual, but his voice was edged with caution as he responded, “That depends. What do you want?”

Fury paused a few feet away, standing tall and unmoved by the rain. “Not much for small talk, are you?” he remarked, unfazed. “I’m here to offer you a job.”

Matt turned his head slightly, taking in the subtle sounds around him—the rain on Fury’s coat, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Calm, controlled. No threat. Not yet.

“Not interested,” Matt replied curtly, not missing a beat.

Fury’s tone took on a trace of amusement. “You don’t even know what I’m offering.”

“I don’t need to,” Matt shot back, standing and finally facing him. “I’ve got enough problems without adding someone else’s to the pile.”

Fury held his ground, his single eye gleaming in the dim light, unshaken. “I know all about your problems, Murdock. But this isn’t just about you—or Hell’s Kitchen. It’s about something bigger.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “I’ve heard that line before. ‘Something bigger.’ Every time someone says that, it means people like me end up cleaning up someone else’s mess. I don’t play those games, Fury.”

Fury’s expression hardened, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “This isn’t a game.” He stepped closer, his words dropping. “AIM. You’ve heard of them.”

Matt’s face darkened, though he didn’t flinch. “I know who they are. And I know they’re not my problem. I deal with what’s here, on these streets. Let someone else handle AIM.”

Fury’s patience seemed to thin. “That’s the thing about AIM—they don’t stay in their lane. They’ve got a project in motion that could affect everyone. You think you can ignore them? You think Hell’s Kitchen is going to be spared when they’re done?”

Matt turned away, facing the city below, the rain mixing with the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. “I’ve heard this speech before. Save the world, join the fight, blah blah blah. But you don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Fury stepped closer, his voice quieter but still firm. “You think I don’t know about the blood on your hands? The nights you wonder if you’ve crossed the line? Guess what? You’re not the only one. But unlike most, you’re still standing. Still fighting.”

Matt clenched his fists, his pulse quickening. “I don’t need your approval, Fury. And I don’t need your help. I’ve made my choices, and I’ll live with them.”

Fury nodded slowly, acknowledging the resistance, but his resolve didn’t waver. “Maybe you don’t need my help. But you can’t outrun what’s coming. AIM’s not just some corporate lab—they’re building weapons, creating monsters. If we don’t stop them, your city, your people, they’re going to pay the price.”

Matt’s lips pressed into a thin line, a storm of conflicting emotions surging inside him: guilt, anger, doubt. Fury’s words were like knives, each one cutting through the walls he had carefully built around himself.

“I work alone,” Matt said after a long silence, his voice low.

Fury shrugged slightly, as though he’d anticipated this response. “I’m not asking you to join a choir, Murdock. But this fight? You can’t win it on your own. None of us can.”

Matt remained silent, his face unreadable. Fury watched him for a moment, then reached into his coat, pulling out a small file and placing it on the ledge beside Matt.

“Take a look,” Fury said, stepping back. “Decide for yourself. But don’t wait too long—time isn’t on our side.”

With that, Fury turned and walked back into the rain, his footsteps fading as he disappeared into the night.

Matt stood motionless for a long moment, listening to the city below. His fingers brushed against the edge of the file. He didn’t need to open it to know what it contained. He didn’t need Fury to tell him that a storm was coming.

But as much as he wanted to ignore it, to turn away, deep down, he knew Fury was right.

Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t enough anymore.

TO BE CONTINUED...