Luca spun around at the sound.
Behind the convenience store counter, two men—broad-shouldered and bald—leaned out, their expressions twisted with fear more than menace. One clutched a pistol, its make unidentifiable, aimed shakily at Luca's chest.
"Damn it! What are you staring at?" the gunman snarled, voice cracking. "I told you to get out! Don't draw those monsters here!"
The second man brandished a kitchen knife, his knuckles white, but his stance wavered. A low growl escaped his throat—more reflex than threat—but his hesitation gave him away. He wasn't a predator. He was cornered.
Then Luca saw her.
A young woman in a crumpled convenience store uniform lay sprawled beside the counter, her body still, surrounded by a dark pool of blood. Multiple stab wounds marked her torso. The scene told its own story.
Too scared to run, Luca realized. They barricaded themselves in… and turned on the only other person here.
At the sight of Luca's cold stare, the gunman straightened slightly, as if trying to reclaim authority. His voice rose, though it trembled underneath.
"Get out! If you don't leave now, this is your—"
He never finished.
Luca raised his weapon—a compact, folding laser pistol of his own—and fired.
A pale blue beam lanced out, striking the man square in the chest. His body convulsed as the energy seared through fabric and flesh, charring his torso black before the kinetic force hurled him backward into a heap of toppled shelves and canned goods.
Before the second man could react—before he could even process what had happened—a second bolt flashed through the air.
Boom.
He flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing into the refrigerated drink case, which cracked under the impact.
"Idiots," Luca muttered, stepping forward without checking if they were breathing. "Didn't you see I had a gun too?"
He put a round through each of their skulls—clean, efficient. Mercy wasn't on the menu today. Only survival.
Stretching his sore back—bruised from his own crash landing into the store—he turned toward the exit.
But the moment he reached the doorway, he froze.
Whether it was the noise from the gunfire, the explosion upstairs, or just rotten luck—he didn't know.
But now, half a dozen Chitauri warriors stood outside, their sleek exoskeletons glinting under the flickering streetlights, plasma rifles raised and humming.
They spotted him. He spotted them.
No hesitation.
Luca hooked a soda can off the floor with his boot and kicked it skyward. In the same motion, he snapped up his laser pistol and fired a rapid burst.
The spinning can collided with a Chitauri's helmeted head—clang!—and burst open in a spray of liquid and aluminum shards, staggering the alien long enough for one of Luca's beams to punch through its chest cavity.
The rest opened fire.
Plasma bolts seared the air around him.
Luca braced to dive for cover—
—when a golden-red streak plummeted from the sky like a meteor.
CRASH!
Iron Man slammed into the pavement in a shower of sparks, bowling through four Chitauri like tenpins. One unfortunate alien exploded on impact, its head rolling to a stop right at Luca's feet.
Luca sighed.
Third time this week… Is Tony Stark in the movies really this clumsy?
From the crater, Stark groaned, struggling to push himself up. His faceplate retracted just enough to reveal a grimace—and then he spotted Luca standing in the wreckage of the convenience store.
"…Soccer Boy?" Stark rasped, blinking as if trying to place him.
However, before he could figure out why this kid wasn't staying home and was instead running around,
more Chitauri soldiers swiftly surrounded him.
To them, taking down the Avengers was clearly a top priority.
Laser beams raked across Tony Stark's armor, buckling his stance. He barely held his ground, replying with weak bursts from his palm repulsors—nowhere near enough to turn the tide.
Wait a minute…
"Isn't this the scene right before Iron Man intercepted the nuclear missile?!"
The familiarity of it hit Luca like a jolt. If Stark left now to stop the bomb with his full arsenal, he'd be leaving himself wide open—swarmed and outnumbered. Luca couldn't let that happen.
Without hesitation, he raised his rifle and fired.
Two precise bursts dropped the Chitauri closing in on Stark.
But his interference didn't go unnoticed.
The aliens who'd ignored him moments ago now swung their weapons toward him.
Luca was already moving. He dove aside just as plasma bolts scorched the pavement where he'd stood.
In the street, Tony seized the opening. With a sharp thrust of his repulsors, he vaporized three Chitauri in rapid succession.
Luca rolled to his feet—only to freeze.
Two glowing beam rifles were already trained on him.
"Oh no—!"
"Kid! Move!"
Stark lunged, tackling one Chitauri to the ground while blasting another with a repulsor beam from his right palm.
But it was a fraction too late.
The second Chitauri fired even as it was thrown backward.
A pale blue laser lanced toward Luca.
Damn it—
He twisted mid-crouch, trying to evade—but his roll had left him low, unable to activate the full boost from his [Strength-Enhancing Boots]. His dodge was sluggish.
All he could do was throw his arms up in a desperate block.
BOOM!
Sparks erupted from his forearm as the blast slammed into him, hurling him backward into a parked car. The impact cracked metal and rattled his spine. Darkness flickered at the edges of his vision; for a heartbeat, he thought he'd black out.
His ears rang. Blood filled his mouth—coppery and sharp—and trickled from the corner of his lips, staining the dented car door.
But his right leg—still wired with a live current from the earlier electric shock—held firm, keeping him upright.
"This body…" Luca coughed, blinking through blurry vision. "…could really use a tune-up."
He lifted his arm, examining the mangled mess of his prosthetic. Then, slowly, a grin split his bloodied face.
"Hah… thank goodness I'm right-handed!"