Avengers 2000

[AntonioCC]

AVENGERS 2000​

Disclaimers: All characters are property of Marvel Entertainment and henceforth Disney, I don't own anything here.

Spoilers: for the Raimi Spiderman movies, Hulk (2003), Daredevil (2003), Ghost Rider (2007) and the X-Men movie series

Inspired by this fan trailer:

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0aU24zgVpRY

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Year 200X. Somewhere.​

The jungle was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of distant helicopter rotors blending into the night's chorus of chirping insects. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting fragmented shadows on a team of special forces operatives advancing through the underbrush. Clad in black tactical gear and armed with state-of-the-art weaponry, their movements were silent, precise, every step a testament to their rigorous training.

At the head of the group, the leader raised a fist, bringing the team to a halt. His night-vision goggles scanned the perimeter of a heavily guarded compound ahead—a fortress of concrete and steel incongruously placed in the heart of the jungle.

"Targets in sight," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Neutralize on my mark."

The guards patrolling the compound's outer defenses never stood a chance. Suppressed gunfire hissed through the air like venomous snakes, and one by one, the sentries crumpled to the ground, silent. The team advanced, bypassing infrared sensors and laser grids with mechanical efficiency. Inside, the air was cooler, tinged with a metallic tang and the faint hum of advanced machinery.

Rows of computer screens bathed the inner laboratory in pale blue light, illuminating workstations cluttered with schematics, glowing vials, and an array of alien-looking tech. One operative paused, his gaze lingering on a row of cylindrical canisters glowing faintly with an unnatural, pulsing energy.

"This isn't your usual black-market weapons lab," he muttered, his voice thick with unease. "What the hell is AIM cooking up here?"

The leader was about to respond when the silence was shattered by a shrill, bone-rattling alarm. Red lights strobed through the lab, painting the walls and operatives in an ominous glow. Scientists and technicians who had been hunched over their workstations sprang into action. But instead of fleeing, several reached for syringes stored in a secure case at the center of the room.

"Hold positions," the leader ordered, his tone sharp. "What are they doing?"

The answer was horrifying.

In unison, the scientists plunged the needles into their arms. Their bodies convulsed violently, veins glowing with fiery energy that pulsed and spread beneath their skin. Their forms began to twist and bulge unnaturally, bones snapping and reforming as their screams transformed into guttural roars.

"Hostiles are enhancing themselves!" the leader hissed into his comms. "Repeat—hostiles are enhanc—"

Before he could finish, one of the transformed scientists lunged. The leader opened fire, but the bullets ricocheted off the creature's mutated flesh, sparking harmlessly. The creature closed the distance in seconds, slamming him into the nearest wall with bone-crushing force. Around the room, other enhanced scientists joined the fray, tearing through the operatives like paper dolls.

"Fall back!" the leader shouted, blood dribbling from his lips. "Fall ba—"

His words were swallowed by a deafening explosion. The ground trembled as flames erupted through the compound, consuming everything in a fiery wave of destruction. When the inferno subsided, all that remained was smoking rubble, flickering flames, and the faint, malevolent glow of molten metal.

S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ – Classified Briefing Room​

The faint blue glow of a computer screen illuminated Nick Fury's face as he sat alone in his office. The classified report before him displayed a single line of damning text in bold red letters: NO SURVIVORS.

Fury leaned back in his chair, his expression grim as he scanned the accompanying details for the third time that night. The photos were even worse than the report—aerial shots of the jungle revealed nothing but scorched earth where the facility once stood. Closer images showed fragments of destroyed machinery and shattered canisters, their contents still faintly glowing amidst the ruins. Highlighted in the final transmission logs was a single word: "powers."

Fury exhaled sharply and tossed the file onto his desk. "As if gamma accidents, radioactive spiders, and mutant protests weren't already giving me enough headaches," he muttered.

He turned to his terminal, typing in a secure access code. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo blinked onscreen, then transitioned to a restricted file: AVENGERS INITIATIVE. Fury's lone eye narrowed as dossiers and surveillance images flickered across the screen.

The first showed Peter Parker—Spider-Man—caught mid-swing between Manhattan's skyscrapers, his agility and raw potential evident in the frozen frame. Next came Matt Murdock, his crimson mask shrouding his identity as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Then Bruce Banner, depicted mid-transformation, his face twisted with anguish as the Hulk emerged.

Fury's gaze lingered as more profiles appeared: Johnny Blaze, flames licking hungrily at his skeletal visage as the Ghost Rider, and James "Logan" Howlett, claws extended and feral eyes blazing as Wolverine prowled through a smoky battlefield. The final profile belonged to Blade, the Daywalker, captured in a rare moment of stoic stillness, his swords sheathed at his back.

Five names. Five faces. Each one a loner with more scars than he cared to count.

"Five broken weapons," Fury said aloud, leaning back in his chair. "But if AIM is throwing juiced-up monsters at us, they're the best chance we've got—assuming I can get them to stop trying to kill each other long enough to do some real damage."

He pressed a button on his comms, his voice sharp and decisive. "Hill," he called, "prep the dossiers. Get me a jet. We've got some recruiting to do."

The screen dimmed as Fury stood, the weight of the coming storm settling on his shoulders.

A Rooftop in New York City​

The cool night breeze swept across Peter Parker's face as he pulled his mask halfway up, letting the air soothe the ache behind his eyes. He perched on the edge of a rooftop, his Spider-Man suit scuffed and worn from countless skirmishes. Below, police officers wrapped up the aftermath of a mugging he had thwarted minutes earlier. Two would-be thieves were being loaded into a squad car, their ill-gotten gains dangling from a lamppost in a cocoon of webbing.

Peter sighed, leaning back against a rusted vent. The city never slept, and neither did he. Not really. There was always something—always someone in need of saving.

"Alright, Pete," he muttered to himself, tugging at a loose thread on his glove. "One more sweep, then home. Aunt May's gonna kill me if I forget the eggs again."

His body protested as he stretched, muscles aching from a week of relentless crime-fighting. For once, his spider-sense was quiet. He let himself relax—until a voice cut through the stillness behind him.

"So, this is how New York's hero spends his nights. Chasing purse-snatchers and skipping grocery runs."

Peter's spider-sense flared, instinct taking over. In one fluid motion, he flipped backward, firing a web at the source of the voice.

A hand shot out from the shadows, catching the web mid-air with an effortless snap.

Nick Fury stepped into the pale moonlight, his trench coat swaying as he walked. The single eye beneath his black eyepatch bore into Peter with a gaze that felt like it could peel back layers of his soul.

"Whoa!" Peter blurted, adrenaline spiking as he scrambled to regain his footing. "Okay, I've ticked off a lot of bad guys, but you don't strike me as the type to hold a grudge over a couple of stolen diamonds."

Fury didn't react to the quip. His expression remained unreadable as he approached, boots clinking faintly against the rooftop.

"Relax, kid. If I wanted a fight, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Fury said coolly, slipping a slim tablet from his coat.

Peter's posture stiffened, but curiosity edged out his caution. "Alright, Mr. Eyepatch, you've got my attention. Who are you, and why do you know who I am?"

Fury handed him the tablet without a word. The screen lit up, displaying blurry images: labs in ruins, glowing figures injecting themselves with some kind of serum, and crates bearing an ominous acronym: AIM.

Peter frowned as he scrolled through the photos. The scenes were surreal, unsettling. This wasn't the work of a mad scientist with a vendetta or a tech billionaire in a flying suit. This was organized, calculated chaos.

"Ever heard of AIM?" Fury asked, his voice low and deliberate. "Advanced Idea Mechanics. A bunch of overfunded, underregulated science zealots. They're playing with tech and biology way out of their league. Labs are blowing up, bodies are piling up, and they're not showing any signs of slowing down."

He tapped the screen, pulling up a still image of a man mid-transformation. His veins glowed like molten metal, his face twisted in agony.

"That serum? Turns people into living weapons. Unstable ones."

Peter's stomach churned as he studied the image. He'd seen his share of monstrous transformations—he still had nightmares about Dr. Connors and Norman Osborn—but this felt different. This wasn't a tragic accident; it was intentional. Deliberate.

"This... this feels like a job for the Fantastic Four or something," Peter said, half-joking.

Fury's lips twitched, a faint shadow of a smirk. "You think you're the only one dealing with this kind of thing? You're not. But the kind of people who can stop it? There aren't as many of them as you think. And that's where you come in."

Peter blinked, his mind racing. "Me? I'm just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. I deal with carjackers and people trying to steal the Declaration of Independence."

Fury raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You stopped Doctor Octopus from turning Manhattan into a science experiment. Took on the Green Goblin and walked away. I've been watching, Parker. You've got power, you've got brains—and most importantly, you've got heart. That's what makes you the right person for this."

Peter hesitated, his fingers brushing against the tablet's screen. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him like a lead blanket. "I already can't keep up with what I've got. Aunt May, school, rent—it's a miracle I haven't flunked out of life yet. How am I supposed to handle this?"

Fury stepped closer, his tone softening but his gaze losing none of its intensity. "You're not alone, kid. Not anymore. I'm putting together a team—people who can handle what no one else can. You've already been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Imagine what you could do if you didn't have to do it alone."

Peter swallowed hard, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. For years, he'd been trying to balance the impossible—saving lives while keeping his own from falling apart. The thought of sharing that burden was... tempting. But it also terrified him.

"I don't know if I can," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Fury's expression softened just enough to reveal a flicker of understanding. He placed a sleek black communicator on the ledge beside Peter. Its surface gleamed under the faint city lights.

"You don't have to decide right now," Fury said. "But when the time comes, you'll know what to do."

Peter stared at the communicator, its simple design a stark contrast to the storm of doubt swirling in his mind. Fury turned, his coat billowing behind him as he made his way toward the rooftop's edge.

"One last thing," Fury said over his shoulder. "When you stop thinking about what you can't do and start focusing on what you must do, you'll find your answer."

Before Peter could respond, Fury was gone, swallowed by the night.

Peter lingered for a long moment, the weight of the communicator heavy in his hand. Finally, with a deep breath, he slipped it into his belt. The city still needed him tonight—but now, there was something bigger looming on the horizon.

With a flick of his wrist, he fired a web and swung into the darkness, the glow of the communicator pulsing faintly against his side.

TO BE CONTINUED...