The power of betrayal

Spreading the reasume

Thinking: *How did I do that?!*
Talking: hello little spiders
Rings: you where born to wield me
Mixed voice: really?
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At the Union Dry Docking Yard...

The night air buzzed with activity as cranes groaned and machinery whirred, lifting and unloading cargo crates stamped with obscure logos. Beneath the hum of industrial work, shadows moved furtively between the containers, as goons in various states of alertness patrolled the yard. At the edge of the operation, Y/N sauntered around, hands in his pockets, his appearance blending in perfectly with the stereotype: cheap tracksuit, scuffed boots, and a bored expression.

"Huh, who knew getting a job was this easy?" Y/N muttered to himself, shaking his head in amusement. He couldn't believe it—the Craigslist ad wasn't some elaborate joke.

Behind him, massive cranes swung crates filled with seemingly illicit goods from one place to another, a logistical ballet of crime. Y/N had been pacing around for over half an hour now, his duties limited to looking like he was doing something important, but in reality, he'd barely broken a sweat. At some point, out of sheer boredom, he had fashioned a makeshift yo-yo out of twine and a small bolt.

"Why, out of all the things imaginable, would you make a yo-yo?" came a gruff voice, rumbling inside his mind.

Y/N shrugged casually. "No idea. Just thought it would be fun to play around with."

A low growl of irritation echoed within his head. Atrocitus was clearly not impressed with his vessel's lackadaisical approach. Before the Red Lantern could lecture further, his senses flared.

"Two energy sources. Approaching fast," Atrocitus warned, his tone sharp. "Superhuman. High-speed."

Y/N's eyes narrowed, scanning the skyline. A faint roar grew louder, like the crescendo of a storm, until a streak of red and silver cut through the night sky.

"Looks like we've got an actual Avenger this time," Y/N murmured with a grin. But as he focused, the excitement faded slightly, replaced by annoyance.

Descending from the sky with a flourish of repulsor energy were *War Machine* and *Ironheart*. Not Iron Man, but his knock-off military project and the would-be successor. Y/N's grin twisted into a frown. He'd been hoping for one of Earth's mightiest heroes—maybe even the man in the gold and red suit himself. But still, he'd take what he could get.

War Machine's P.O.V

"Alright, everyone—hands up!" War Machine barked through his external speakers, his voice carrying authority. "Surrender the tech you stole, and we can get through this with as few bullet holes as possible."

Beside him, Ironheart hovered in her sleek armor, glaring down at the assembly of goons below. Her suit, though slimmer and more agile, gleamed with the same stark intensity.

"Really, Rhodey?" she said with a smirk. "You think threatening them is going to work?"

War Machine shook his head but didn't argue. "It's procedure."

Both iron-clad heroes raised their arm-mounted weapons, beams and micro-missiles primed to intimidate. Predictably, the goons didn't comply. Gunfire erupted from all directions, bullets sparking off their armored exteriors.

War Machine sighed internally. *Here we go again.*

Blasts of red and yellow energy surged forth, scattering the thugs with ease. Within minutes, most of the opposition had either been knocked out or thrown down their weapons in surrender. The duo made quick work of them, clearing the yard with ruthless efficiency.