[center][img]https://preview.redd.it/omniverse-fanart-by-ethanpierceart-insta-v0-hc0vd4rnmz1b1.jpg?width=1080&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=1e17e51b9653de9bbc5d60d1d2ff751acd582d1c[/img][/center] [b]|| Bellwood, Earth[/b] Ben had imagined stakeouts would feel cool. Maybe perched on a rooftop. Maybe night vision goggles. Maybe something dramatic. Instead, he was sitting behind a guardrail on a service road, staring at an empty industrial lot while the Rustbucket idled quietly behind them. They had been here for hours. Long enough that most of the snacks were gone and the boredom had settled into his bones. He sat in relative silence next to Grandpa Max and Gwen. Gwen had given him a list of albums and playlists to listen to in order to “catch him up”, so he had some sort of excuse to be sitting in silence. Truth be told he was still annoyed about the gas station. Being benched like that had been driving him crazy. Max adjusted the bulky listening rig on his lap that he can be adjusting for the last few hours. The thing looked like it belonged in a museum, with huge snaking cables that made their way into the Rustbucket’s open door behind them. A sputtering crackle came from the speaker. [color=springgreen]“Are you sure that thing even works?”[/color] Ben asked, removing his headphones. [color=indianred]“This used to pick up Plumber chatter from three systems away,”[/color] Max said, giving the device a large slam with his hand. Something inside clumsily rattled in response. [color=indianred]“Now it can barely hear a microwave.”[/color] [color=7ea7d8]“Maybe because it’s from before microwaves existed.”[/color] Gwen smirking, looking up from her tablet. Ben glanced back over the guardrail and down into the empty lot below. [color=springgreen]“Your source was sure the Forever Knights were moving something through here tonight?”[/color] [color=indianred]“He was,”[/color] Max said. [color=indianred]“Not Intergang. Different group they think. Local. He didn’t know what they were selling, just that the Knights were buying.”[/color] [color=springgreen]“Probably weapons.”[/color] Ben chimed, trying not to sound hopeful. [color=indianred]“Could be,”[/color] Max replied. [color=indianred]“Could be tech. Could be anything.”[/color] As if to answer Ben’s prayers, headlights swept across the cracked pavement below as the low sound of an engine crept closer. Ben straightened. [color=springgreen]“Finally.”[/color] A battered white transit van rolled into the lot and parked. A moment later, two black SUVs came in from a different entrance on the far side, engines low and controlled as they pulled up opposite the van. The sellers climbed out of the van first. As his grandpa had detailed, they looked like a small‑time gang: mismatched jackets, bulletproof vests, cheap tactical gloves. By the way they seems to be moving, it was clear they weren’t professionals. Not soldiers. Just people who had decided to make money doing something ugly. Then the Forever Knights stepped out of the SUVs. Their armor caught the flickering street light, illuminating them in a dim yellow light. They wore heavy medieval plate with broad pauldrons and layered chest segments, a crude emblem displayed proudly on their tabards. Each one wore a chain‑mail hood that draped over their shoulders, the metal links shifting as they moved. Under each hood sat a sculpted mask; a smooth, expressionless metal face with narrow eye slits. The same eerie metal faces that gave Ben nightmares five years ago. A few carried swords sheathed at their sides, the hilts jutting from worn leather scabbards, while two held compact rifles. They moved to quickly form a perimeter around the van with the same unnerving rigidness Ben remembered from childhood. [color=springgreen]“That’s definitely them.”[/color] Ben confirmed aloud, his pulse picking up. Max lifted his binoculars to his eyes. [color=indianred]“Alright. Stay low. Once we know what the deal is, I’ll call it in to S.W.O.R.D.”[/color] [color=7ea7d8]“And remember, S.W.O.R.D. said no intervention.[/color] Gwen chimed in, tapping something on her tablet. [color=7ea7d8]”We observe only.”[/color] Ben knew that last comment was directed at him but he didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the van. The deal was beginning. The sellers slid open the side door. Annoyingly, from his current angle, Ben couldn’t see inside. He leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse. The listening rig crackled again. A burst of static. A few muffled voices. Nothing clear. [color=indianred]“Come on. Give me something.”[/color] Max begged, giving it another quick hit on the side. The sellers began unloading the cargo. They placed down a few crates and boxes. And then the first figure stumbled into view. Blue skin. Tall. Hands bound. Bruised. [color=springgreen]“That’s a Kree,”[/color] Ben whispered. [color=springgreen]“I think.”[/color] Another alien followed. A Tetramand, but smaller than any Ben had seen. Scrawny and short, Ben was sure it was a kid. Its extra arms were strapped tight against its torso. It winced with every step. [color=7ea7d8]“They’re not selling weapons.”[/color] Gwen’s voice was barely audible. More movement. A squat, clay‑colored alien shuffled forward, head down, flinching at every sound. Ben’s stomach twisted. [color=springgreen]“They’re refugees.”[/color] The sellers reached back into the van and lifted out a small containment unit. Frost clung to the edges. Inside, something tiny curled in on itself. Pale. Thin. Trembling. Ben didn’t know what it was. But he knew it was alive. And terrified. One of the sellers jabbed a cattle rod into the Tetramand’s ribs. The alien spat weakly in response, and the seller struck it again, harder. Ben’s jaw clenched. Max placed a hand on his shoulder. [color=indianred]“Ben. We wait. I need to call this in.”[/color] [color=springgreen]“They’re treating them like cattle,”[/color] Ben said quietly. [color=springgreen]“They’re treating people like cattle.”[/color] [color=indianred]“I know,”[/color] Max said. [color=indianred]“But we can’t move until—”[/color] Another seller kicked the Kree hard enough to send him sprawling. Ben stood. Gwen grabbed his sleeve. [color=7ea7d8]“Ben, don’t. S.W.O.R.D. said no intervention.”[/color] [color=springgreen]“I’m not watching this happen,”[/color] Ben said. [color=springgreen]“Not again.”[/color]