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

SHIELD Facility: The Briefing Room

The sleek, high-tech doors of the SHIELD briefing room slid open with a quiet hiss. One by one, the recruits entered, their footsteps echoing faintly in the sterile chamber. Each of them had been summoned here with little explanation—just an urgent message from Nick Fury, promising something bigger than themselves.

Spider-Man was the first to arrive, his red-and-blue suit vivid against the gray walls. He perched on the back of a chair, idly spinning a web between his fingers. His mask’s expressive eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail.

“Guess I’m the early bird,” Peter Parker muttered, mostly to himself, before adding with a playful tone, “Hope the worm’s worth it.”

The doors opened again, and Daredevil entered silently, his crimson suit blending into the shadows of the room. Matt Murdock’s gait was deliberate, his heightened senses already mapping the space and its lone occupant.

Peter noticed him immediately, tilting his head. “Nice threads,” he quipped. “What’s with the all-red? Trying to corner the market on blind justice chic?”

Matt turned his head toward the voice, his lips twitching slightly. “Better red than dressed for a kid’s birthday party,” he shot back, his dry tone carrying a faint smirk. “Need another lesson, or do you want a rematch?”

Before Peter could fire back that he technically won that engagement, the room temperature noticeably spiked as Ghost Rider entered. His skull burned with blue-and-orange hellfire, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The chain draped across his shoulder clinked ominously with each step, the smell of charred air trailing behind him.

“Okay... that’s new,” Spider-Man said, dropping from his perch. He edged slightly to the side and muttered under his breath, “Do I say something funny or just... nope, shutting up.”

Ghost Rider’s burning gaze swept the room but remained silent. The doors hissed open once more as Wolverine strode in, his boots heavy against the metal floor. Logan scanned the room with a scowl that seemed permanently etched on his face. He settled in the corner, crossing his arms.

“Great,” Logan muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Flame boy and Spider-Kid. What’s next, a science fair?”

Peter didn’t miss a beat. “Pajamas and science jokes? Someone’s angling for class clown.”

The banter was cut short when the doors opened again, and Bruce Banner shuffled in, his expression as uneasy as his steps. He wore plain clothes—a stark contrast to the costumed recruits. Banner glanced at Ghost Rider and then Wolverine, visibly uncertain about where to stand.

“Sweet, now we’ve got a scientist,” Peter said, raising his hand in mock celebration. “Hey, Doc, can you whip us up a time machine? I’ve got some regrets about last week’s quiz.”

Before Bruce could respond, Daredevil’s voice cut through the chatter. “Quiet.” His head turned slightly toward Banner. “He’s not here to fight. Not like the rest of us.”

Logan’s sharp gaze shifted to Banner. “Yeah, we noticed. But you’re here, which means Fury’s got a reason. Let’s hear it.”

Right on cue, Nick Fury entered. His trench coat swayed as he moved to the room’s center, commanding immediate attention. His one good eye swept the recruits, appraising them like pieces on a chessboard.

“Good,” Fury began, his voice a low growl. “You’re all here. Let’s get one thing straight—you’re not a team. You’re barely an assembly of half-trustworthy loners. But AIM doesn’t care about that, and neither do I. You’re here because we need to stop something big. Something dangerous. And none of you can do it alone.”

Spider-Man raised a hand like a student in class. “Uh, quick follow-up: when you say ‘big,’ do you mean ‘save the world’ big, or ‘don’t screw up this team project’ big?”

Fury leveled him with a glare. “Sit down, Parker.”

Spider-Man mimed zipping his lips and sat. Fury continued, motioning toward Banner.

“Dr. Banner’s expertise is critical to this mission. AIM’s tampering with tech that’s way out of their league, and he’s the only one here who can understand it. And yes,” Fury added, preempting the inevitable question, “we know what happens when he loses control. That’s a risk we’re prepared to manage.”

Logan’s claws extended with a snikt as he glared at Fury. “You think you can manage the Hulk? If he goes green, this room’s getting leveled.”

Bruce flinched slightly but straightened. “If it happens, you’ll need to stop me,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “But I’m here to make sure it doesn’t.”

Fury stepped forward, his tone steely. “Banner’s right. You’re here to keep things from falling apart—not just the mission, but each other. I don’t care if you like it. I care if you can fight AIM and win.”

The room fell silent, the tension thick as the recruits exchanged glances. Finally, Logan broke the silence with a gruff sigh. “Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, don’t expect me to play babysitter.”

“I’ll settle for you not stabbing anyone on the team,” Fury replied dryly. He gestured to the far wall, where a set of doors slid open to reveal a massive training facility. Holographic enemies flickered into existence, and the terrain shifted between urban streets, dense forests, and barren wastelands.

“This is the Gauntlet,” Fury said. “You’ll train here before you see real action. The simulations are brutal, and failure’s not an option. Figure out how to work together, or AIM’s going to win. And trust me—you don’t want that.”

Spider-Man looked at the others, then at the arena. “Great. So... team-building exercises with deadly stakes. Just another Tuesday.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Kid, you’d better hope you survive Tuesday.”

Ghost Rider’s flames flared as he stepped toward the Gauntlet. “The kid’s got jokes. Let’s see if he’s got fight.”

SHIELD HQ

“The program is called the Avengers Initiative, so why aren’t we called the Avengers?” Spider-Man asked, leaning back in his chair with a casual shrug. His mask’s white eyes shifted slightly, giving him a look of playful curiosity.

Nick Fury, standing at the head of the room, raised an eyebrow and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Because…” he began, before pausing mid-thought. He furrowed his brow, clearly reconsidering whatever answer he’d planned. “Actually, that’s a pretty good question.”

Fury rubbed his temple briefly, as if the thought had only now dawned on him. “I can’t keep calling you ‘the team’ on official reports. Sounds like I’m running a weekend soccer club.” He looked up, his tone sharpening with his decision.

“From now on,” Fury continued, his voice carrying the weight of authority, “you are the Avengers.”

Spider-Man gave a two-fingered salute. “Finally, some branding! Let’s hope we live up to it.”

Wolverine grunted from his spot against the wall, crossing his arms. “Cute name. Just hope you’re ready to back it up, kid.”

Ghost Rider’s skull tilted slightly, flames flickering. “We’ll see if it’s a name worth keeping.”

Fury didn’t wait for further commentary. “You’ll make it worth keeping. Dismissed.”

SHIELD Lab – A Few Days Later

The SHIELD lab hummed with the subdued chaos of innovation. Machines whirred softly, holographic screens flickered with complex diagrams, and an army of discarded coffee cups stood testament to long hours and little sleep. Bruce Banner and Spider-Man worked at the heart of it all, their contrasting styles forming an unlikely but effective partnership.

Banner sat hunched over a terminal, his focus unwavering as he navigated an encrypted AIM file. His furrowed brow and quiet demeanor spoke of a man carrying a heavy burden. Across the room, Spider-Man hung upside down from a ceiling support beam, scrolling through a tablet with the relaxed air of someone who thrived on chaos.

“Doc,” Spider-Man piped up, swinging gently back and forth. “You know what this lab’s missing?”

Banner didn’t look up, his fingers pausing briefly over the keyboard. “What?”

“Theme music,” Spider-Man said, grinning behind his mask. “Something with a little pizzazz. Maybe some soft jazz for your whole ‘brooding genius’ thing.”

Banner allowed himself a soft chuckle. “I think we’ll manage without it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Spider-Man quipped, flipping down and landing lightly on the floor. “I’m like a plant—I thrive in the right environment.”

Banner shook his head with a faint smile, but the file on his screen quickly wiped it away. “This encryption… It’s like trying to break into Fort Knox with a plastic spoon.”

“Fort Knox, huh?” Spider-Man leaned over his shoulder, peering at the screen. “Mind if I give it a shot?”

Banner hesitated but gestured toward the keyboard. “Be my guest.”

Spider-Man’s fingers flew over the keys with exaggerated flair. The screen flickered, and a chunk of the encryption unraveled.

Banner blinked, stunned. “How did you—?”

“Spider-sense,” Peter said nonchalantly, stretching his arms. “It’s good for more than just dodging flying debris. Turns out, it’s handy for spotting patterns too.”

Banner chuckled dryly. “That’s… one way to put it.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Spider-Man said with mock sincerity. “High praise from the guy who could probably write my college physics textbook.”

As the decrypted data filled the screen, Banner’s expression darkened. “This isn’t just your run-of-the-mill mad science,” he muttered. “They’re manipulating DNA at a fundamental level—rewriting evolution itself.”

Spider-Man whistled low. “Wow. They skipped ‘playing God’ and went straight for becoming Him.”

Banner glanced at him with a faint smile. “Pretty much.”

The gravity of the discovery settled between them, but silence rarely lasted long with Spider-Man.

“So,” Peter said, picking up a nearby microscope and squinting through it, “how does all this science-y stuff work? Is there, like, a button I press to turn me into a genius?”

Banner smirked. “It’s called years of study and discipline. Maybe give it a try sometime.”

“Hmm,” Spider-Man mused theatrically, tapping his chin. “Sounds hard. I think I’ll stick to slinging webs and bad puns.”

Despite the tension of their task, a rhythm began to develop between the two:

Spider-Man spun a web into the shape of a chemical formula, presenting it like art. “Behold—science, Spider-Man style!”

Banner raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that violates every known lab protocol.”

“Yeah, but it looks cool.”

Moments later, Spider-Man tried to snag a distant file with his webbing, only to miss spectacularly.

“You could just walk over and pick it up,” Banner suggested dryly.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Finally, the pair stood in front of a massive monitor, its glowing data revealing the full scope of AIM’s plans. The discovery was worse than they’d feared. AIM wasn’t just creating superhumans—they were developing a method to mass-produce them, turning powers into a commodity for war.

“If they pull this off,” Banner said grimly, “it won’t just be a few supervillains. It’ll be an arms race.”

Spider-Man exhaled sharply. “Awesome. Just what the world needed—supersoldiers by the dozen. It’s like Black Friday for bad guys.”

Banner shot him a look, but there was no malice behind it. “You’re taking this awfully well.”

Peter shrugged. “What’s the alternative? Freaking out won’t help. Besides, I’ve got a secret weapon.”

Banner raised a skeptical brow. “Oh?”

“You,” Spider-Man said, his voice losing its usual lightness. “You’re the one who cracked this. Without you, we’d still be scratching our heads over AIM’s tech. You’re the brains of this operation, Doc.”

Banner hesitated, surprised by the sincerity. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“And I think you’re not giving yourself enough,” Peter countered, his tone softening. “Look, I may be the guy in spandex, but you’re the one who’s going to stop AIM from turning people into living weapons. You’re the real hero here.”

For a moment, Banner relaxed, a genuine smile breaking through his usual reserve. “For a kid in a mask, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Spider-Man tilted his head playfully. “High praise from a guy with a gamma-powered rage monster. I’ll take it.”

They turned back to the monitor, their camaraderie undeniable.

“Ready to tell Fury we’re in over our heads?” Peter asked.

Banner sighed deeply. “Not even close.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Peter said. “But hey, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Banner shot him a wary glance.

“Okay, okay—bad phrasing,” Spider-Man admitted, raising his hands. “Forget I said that.”

With that, the two returned to their work, unlikely partners against a threat neither could face alone.

TO BE CONTINUED...