Washington, D.C.
The White House lawn stretched before Steve Rogers like a stage awaiting its final performance.
He stood motionless in his golden armor, the Cosmic Cube's power thrumming through every cell of his enhanced body. The suit gleamed in the afternoon sun, its surface covered in geometric patterns that pulsed with reality-warping energy.
Behind him, the White House itself stood dark and empty. Hydra's command staff had already evacuated to underground bunkers or orbital platforms. The seat of American government had become nothing more than a symbolic backdrop.
Dr. Zola's consciousness inhabited a nearby monitoring drone, his mechanical sensors tracking the global situation with increasing confusion.
"Great Supreme Leader," his synthesized voice crackled, "perhaps you should prioritize stopping those rebellious traitors. Hydra bases worldwide are under coordinated attack. Large numbers of our evacuation vessels are leaving the atmosphere with civilian populations aboard."
"No need," Steve said calmly.
He opened his eyes, his gaze settling on Mjolnir. The legendary hammer lay quietly on the grass several meters away, its Uru metal surface reflecting the sky.
A year ago, he had lifted that hammer himself. The moment had been transformative—not just forcing Thor's submission, but proving to Steve that everything he had done was righteous and correct.
He was on the right path. The hammer itself had confirmed his worthiness.
It was simply unfortunate that those foolish, short-sighted heroes couldn't understand his vision.
But it didn't matter. With the Cosmic Cube's power at his command, everything would change. He would reshape reality itself into something better, something perfect.
But first, he had to eliminate the outsiders. Especially Ben Parker.
The Cube's reality-alteration abilities wouldn't work effectively on interdimensional travelers—their existence outside this universe's causal framework made them resistant to localized changes. But the artifact's infinite energy reserves were more than sufficient to defeat any enemy through raw power alone.
"But what if they simply leave?" Zola asked, his tactical programming identifying the obvious flaw. "What if the resistance forces evacuate completely, and the approaching Earth launches its antimatter weapons to destroy this planet?"
"They will come to me," Steve said with absolute certainty.
Although they were enemies now, he knew those heroes intimately. He'd fought beside them for years, trusted them with his life, shared victories and losses.
Even knowing it was a trap, they would still come for him.
Their foolish nobility made them predictable.
"See?" Steve's chin lifted slightly as he gazed at the distant sky. "I told you they would come."
A spacecraft descended through the clouds, its hull marked with improvised resistance symbols painted over Hydra insignia. The vessel's engines kicked up dust and debris as it settled onto the lawn.
The boarding ramp lowered.
Five figures emerged into the sunlight.
Tony Stark in his red-and-gold armor. Natasha Romanoff in a borrowed Kryptonian combat suit. Clint Barton with his compound bow. Thor Odinson carrying his black bear axe, Jarnbjorn. Bruce Banner in bulky Hulkbuster armor that looked hastily modified.
The original Avengers.
Steve felt something twist in his chest—an emotion he couldn't quite name. These had been his closest friends, his chosen family. The people he would have died to protect.
Now they stood arrayed against him like an execution squad.
"It's you," Steve said, unable to keep surprise from coloring his voice. "Is Ben Parker too afraid to show himself?"
"That's our business, Steve." Natasha took a deliberate step forward, her borrowed suit's systems humming with restrained power.
She stood at the center of the group—not physically, but symbolically. The team arrayed itself around her like a protective formation.
"Standing here now are the original Avengers," she continued, her voice steady despite the grief in her eyes. "Your closest friend. We won't make the same mistake again."
Banner shifted uncomfortably in the Hulkbuster armor. After regaining consciousness and learning what had transpired, he'd been surprisingly understanding about Hawkeye using the failsafe weapon. After all, Banner himself had created that contingency specifically for scenarios where the Hulk became an uncontrollable threat.
"And you, Thor?" Steve looked up at the Asgardian, gesturing toward Mjolnir on the grass. "Do you think I'm wrong too? I've already proven myself worthy."
"I've said this before," Thor replied, his voice carrying the weight of hard-won wisdom. "I will no longer leave everything to Mjolnir to decide. She may approve of you—but perhaps she is wrong."
His grip tightened on Jarnbjorn's handle.
"If even humans themselves cannot distinguish between good and evil, how can we entrust such judgment to a spell?"
"Enough philosophical debate," Tony interrupted, his faceplate retracting to reveal an expression of theatrical disgust. "We're here to settle this, you star-spangled hypocrite. You can't convince any of us, just as we apparently can't restore your common sense."
His eyes studied Steve's golden armor with obvious disdain.
"Although I do have one question—you didn't modify one of my suits for that thing, did you?"
"My God!" Tony's voice rose dramatically. "Whose aesthetic sensibility created this monstrosity? It's absolutely tasteless!"
"Gold?! Seriously?!"
"Do you people have to make everything look like it belongs in a nouveau riche's gaudy mansion? Why didn't you just add a giant gold chain around the neck while you were at it? You're actively destroying the Tony Stark brand image!"
Steve awkwardly tried to steer the conversation away from his armor's appearance.
"I have always been completely clear-headed about my purpose," he insisted.
"Oh, good, glad we cleared that up." Tony's tone turned mock-serious. "In that case, please settle the copyright fees for using my technology. You can transfer payment directly to my offshore accounts."
"Don't have the money?"
"No worries—I can tip you a few rockets to help with your cash flow problem!"
Tony's mouth operated like a verbal machine gun. Before Steve could formulate a response, Tony's shoulder armor plates had already sprung open with mechanical precision.
Dozens of micro-missiles launched simultaneously, their trajectories deliberately irregular to avoid point defense systems. They locked onto Steve Rogers with predatory certainty.
Steve simply waved his hand dismissively.
The missiles vanished as if they had never existed—popped like soap bubbles, erased from reality itself by the Cube's power.
"A futile struggle," Steve said.
"What about this one?"
Natasha appeared in front of him faster than human eyes could track. Her borrowed Kryptonian combat suit amplified her already considerable skills to superhuman levels.
Her fist connected with Steve's chest plate with the force of a meteor strike.
The impact sent Steve and his several-hundred-pound armor flying backward across the lawn, leaving a trench in the manicured grass.
"Wow!" Hawkeye's voice crackled over the comms. "Did you see that, Tony? That girl Felicia who lent Nat her suit is terrifyingly strong!"
"Too fast," Tony replied. "Didn't catch it clearly."
Hawkeye grinned despite the tension. He'd seen it perfectly clearly, of course. But the display had genuinely shocked him.
The suit increased Natasha's combat effectiveness by orders of magnitude—easily hundreds of times her normal capability.
Of course, it still wasn't enough.
Steve rose to his feet completely unharmed, his golden armor not even scratched. He stood with arms spread, arrogantly inviting their attacks.
"Try harder."
"Ha!" Thor hurled Jarnbjorn with all his divine strength.
The black bear axe spun through the air like a lightning-wreathed blender, crackling with electrical discharge. It slammed into Steve's chest with enough force to level a building.
BOOM!!!
The impact drove Steve backward several steps—the first time any attack had visibly affected him.
Banner seized the opportunity. His Hulkbuster armor's hydraulic fists extended like jackhammers, delivering six devastating punches in a single second. Each blow hit with tonnage that could crumple tank armor.
But it still accomplished nothing.
Steve pushed outward with one arm. The gesture looked almost casual, but the force behind it was titanic.
Banner's several-ton Hulkbuster armor sailed upward like a kicked ball, trajectory carrying it completely out of Earth's atmosphere.
Then Steve turned, his movements economical and precise. Two punches sent Natasha flying despite her Kryptonian enhancement. A thought redirected all of Thor's lightning back at its source, causing the Asgardian to cry out in genuine pain as his own power electrocuted him.
"That reminds me of fighting Thanos," Steve said conversationally, as if they were sparring in a training room rather than locked in mortal combat. "We fought side by side like this. Wouldn't it be better if we returned to how things were before?"
"You're the one who betrayed us," Hawkeye said quietly.
His fingers moved across his bow's specialized arrow selector. A unique projectile locked into place—black metal shaft, strange crystalline warhead that seemed to drink in light.
He raised the bow, drew, and fired in one smooth motion.
The arrow streaked toward Steve's center mass.
Just before impact, Hawkeye triggered the detonator remotely.
Space itself distorted and tore.
This was technology Ben Parker had provided—reverse-engineered from the Dark Elves' singularity grenades. The warhead created a localized gravitational anomaly that would rip apart anything caught in its radius.
Steve hadn't expected Hawkeye to possess such a weapon. He'd always underestimated the archer—seeing him as merely human, merely mortal.
The mistake nearly cost him.
Half his body almost got caught in the spatial distortion before he could react.
But with a single thought, reality twisted around Steve like taffy. The version of him that was about to be bisected became a phantom, an echo. The real Steve Rogers appeared unharmed next to Hawkeye, his hand closing around the archer's wrist with crushing force.
"Everything I do is for a better world," Steve said, his voice carrying genuine anguish. "Don't you understand that?"
He bowed his head, meeting Hawkeye's eyes directly.
"Clint. I can create a world where no one is harmed. A world where we're still friends and allies. All the dead can be resurrected—your family, our fallen comrades. They can all return to us."
His grip tightened, bones grinding together.
"All you have to do is say three words: Hail Hydra."
"If I said that," Hawkeye managed through clenched teeth, "they would curse me to death."
He was fairly certain Steve had just fractured several bones in his wrist.
"What if I told them you abandoned Earth?" Steve's voice rose with genuine anger. "That you obeyed an outsider's orders and left our planet to be destroyed? Would they be proud of you then?"
His face twisted with righteous fury.
"I'm protecting this planet! But what are you doing? Helping the people who want to destroy our home?"
"Wake up!"
"Recognize who our real enemies are! And who your true friends are!"
Despite his anger, Steve ultimately didn't break Hawkeye's wrist. Instead, he flung the archer away with controlled force.
Thor caught Clint mid-flight, his enhanced Asgardian reflexes preventing a fatal landing.
The original Avengers regrouped, standing together once more. They faced Steve Rogers across the torn lawn—five against one, yet somehow outmatched.
"Ben Parker may not be our friend," Natasha said carefully, choosing each word with precision. "But Hydra is certainly our enemy."
She took a step forward.
"You're the one who needs to wake up, Steve."
"Come back to us."