Green Beret | MCU (On Hold)

CHAPTER 4

"Loki's manipulating you."

"And you've been doing what exactly?"

"You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you."

"Yes, and I'm not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy. I'd like to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction."

Troy heard the raised voices echoing down the corridor long before he reached the lab. As he stepped inside, unnoticed by the others, he paused in the doorway, surveying the storm of tension already brewing.

"Hey, guys," he called, attempting to break the tension. No one looked up.

"Me?" Thor pointed to himself, bewildered by Fury's accusation.

"Last year, Earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously outgunned," Fury countered sharply.

Troy tried again, louder this time. Still nothing. His jaw clenched as he watched them argue—Earth's mightiest squabbling like children.

"My people want nothing but peace with your planet," Thor said, voice calm but strained.

"But you're not the only people out there, are you? And you're not the only threat. The world's filling up with people who can't be matched, that can't be controlled."

That was the last straw. Troy stepped forward and bellowed, "GUYS!"

The room fell silent. Heads turned. Every eye now locked on Troy as he stared them down with firm disappointment.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked, scanning the room.

Banner said nothing, hands trembling slightly as he gripped the scepter. The thing practically radiated tension—and gamma.

Troy walked over calmly and took it from Banner, his movements deliberate. "This scepter is trouble. Loki is trouble. You've all seen what it did to Barton—how it hijacks the mind. It's controlling us, even Loki himself. That's how deep this thing goes."

He returned the scepter to its cradle.

"We need to focus on what's in front of us. Right now. Before it's too late."

"Kemp's right," Steve said, tone firm, shifting away from his argument with Stark. "If we don't stand together, Loki wins."

Stark gave a casual shrug, the smirk already forming. "So... what's Loki's plan?"

Troy exhaled, shaking his head. "Still working that out. But I do know this—he wants the 'Other Guy' to come out and play. We keep Banner safe, or we're handing Loki exactly what he wants."

Troy turned to Banner with a glance. "No offense."

"None taken," Banner muttered, retreating toward the counter, rubbing his fingers together in a familiar anxious rhythm.

Troy looked to Romanoff. "Agent Romanoff, do you know a secure place for Banner?"

Natasha gave a small nod, stepping forward. It was a subtle gesture—but Fury, watching quietly from the corner, caught it. Romanoff acknowledge people often. When she did, it meant trust. Or something close to it.

She guided Banner toward the exit, the two disappearing down the corridor.

Troy turned back. "Now, let's refocus on the—"

A deafening screech ripped through the ship. The room exploded in chaos. Red lights strobed. Sirens screamed.

"Damage report: engine two is compromised."

Loki's plan had begun.

The blast knocked Troy off his feet. Alarms wailed as crew scattered. He scrambled up and dashed into the corridor, only to be confronted by a squad of brainwashed agents.

Without hesitation, he surged forward like a linebacker, barreling through them with sheer force. He disarmed and dropped them quickly—non-lethal blows. These were still people, puppeted by Loki's influence. He couldn't afford to kill pawns.

"I could use some assistance down here," Romanoff's voice crackled in his earpiece—followed by a roar that shook the deck.

The Hulk.

"Thor?" Troy barked into his mic, scanning the chaos.

"I'm on my way," Thor responded. A blur of red cape and spinning hammer shot past Troy like a missile.

Troy raised his eyebrows. "I need one of those," he muttered before another shockwave hurled him into a wall.

His shoulder screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain. He needed to get to engine two.

A schematic posted along the corridor caught his eye. He studied it fast, memorizing the path. He sprinted.

Engine two was wrecked. Black smoke curled through the fractured metal, the engine screaming against gravity. He tried the door—gunfire erupted. He ducked, slammed it shut, cursing under his breath.

Peeking through the sliver of opening, he saw the engine's remains—and a hand clinging to what was left of a walkway.

Steve.

Troy didn't hesitate. He holstered his weapon, kicked the door open again, and slid behind debris for cover. Bullets ripped the air, but his focus was locked on Steve's hand.

He fired a volley toward the shooters, drawing attention. Then he lunged, dropped flat, and grabbed Steve's wrist.

"Steve?!" he shouted over the noise.

Their eyes met—Steve's face was battered, smeared with ash and sweat. He reached up with his other hand.

Troy winced as a bullet grazed his arm. He pulled the trigger—three clean shots. The threat dropped.

Steve scrambled up and rushed toward a red emergency lever. They locked eyes.

Cover me.

Troy nodded and turned to provide cover fire as Steve yanked the lever.

The Helicarrier lurched again—but it was stabilizing. For now.

Enemy planes buzzed past, escaping. Troy groaned. Too late to stop them.

Steve returned to his side, grim but resolute. "This isn't over."

Suddenly, a remaining minion staggered upright behind them, gun raised.

Before either could react, Iron Man slammed into the attacker, crushing him against the bulkhead.

Tony's helmet retracted. "You guys looked like you were struggling."

Troy rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Stark."

"You're welcome," Tony smirked. "Honestly, I don't know how you manage without me."

Steve offered Troy a small smile. "Thanks for having my back."

Troy shrugged. "You can't do something stupid by yourself."

Steve paused, his gaze distant. "It's been a long time since I've heard that."

The moment broke with a buzz in their ears.

"Agent Coulson is down," Fury's voice crackled over comms.

Silence.

"Paramedics are on their way," a background voice added.

Then, quieter. "They're here... They called it."

Troy dropped his head. Another friend. Another soldier down.

No time to mourn. But the ache settled deep, all the same.

Edited.