Natty

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

I genuinely at one point debated adding in these guys but I couldn’t make it work

Maybe I’ll have another think 🤔

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

I shall continue to post Ben as Ben is all I know

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

B E N 1 0
B E N 1 0

|| New York, Earth

Four Arms pushed himself up from the cracked pavement, dust rolling off his shoulders as he took in the strange little squad that had formed around him.

The woman with the scythe moved like she had been born holding it. She was dressed in a dark stylish outfit, save for her forearms and head. Here she wore a setting of shining bracers and a beautiful tiara or headpiece. She moved with the same confidence and precision as some of the galaxy's fiercest mercenaries and warriors. He was immediately happy that she seemed to be on their side and not against them.

The silver armoured figure beside her was unmistakably a Power Ranger, although not one he recognised. Ben had seen a few of them drinking on Knowhere once, loud and colourful and impossible to miss. He couldn’t say he recognised this one though. They had different markings and a different cut to the armour. It was curious to see though. Ben hadn’t expected to see a Ranger here on Earth.

The blue and yellow flyer was familiar in a different way. Ben had seen him on a news clip once. Or maybe Gwen had mentioned him during the long catch up after Ben’s return. Omni Boy. Or something close to that. There were too many heroes now to keep track of all their names. Regardless, it was clear this guy was durable, given the beating he had just easily recovered from.

And then there was the knight. Knight was maybe a loose word here since he wasn’t wearing any armour, although the name still stuck in his mind. Older than Ben by a good decade, he held an ebony blade in his hand. Ben had idea who he was, but he seemed to be at the centre of whatever was happening here. He looked like someone trying very hard to pretend he was not terrified.

The Beast loomed over all of them, its bulk swelling with every moment. The street was a ruin of broken concrete and overturned cars. Smoke curled from shattered storefronts. The air vibrated with the creature’s growl.

The Ranger’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Does anyone have a plan?”

Ben’s upper right hand tightened as his lower left rubbed at the back of his neck. Ben certainly wasn’t a tactician. Sure he’d spent nearly five years learning to survive by himself but a lot of that had come down to instinct and a fair amount of luck. The rest of his “team” would know exactly what to say if they were here. Max would probably already be barking orders, having assessed who everyone was and what their power sets were. Gwen would already be mapping out angles and weak points. Even his old teammate Rocket, up in space, would probably be yelling about flanking patterns and blowing something up from the inside.

But none of them were here right now. Just him and his four fists. He wasn’t sure if instinct and luck would prove too helpful this time.

Thankfully, before he could express his concerns and offer a meager suggestion of trying to punch it again, the knight spoke.

“Have any of you seen Dragonheart? I need to get up to its mouth.”

Ben blinked. He had no idea what a Dragonheart was supposed to be. But he followed the knight’s pointing and the idea clicked into place. Get the sword to the weak point. Get the knight in close. Let him finish it.

The others moved immediately. Buffy sprinted one way, scythe raised. The Ranger darted the other, energy building in his gauntlets. Invincible shot upward, ready to dive again.

The Beast reacted to their movement and hurled a crushed car toward the only two who had not yet repositioned.

Ben stepped forward and caught it with all four hands. Metal screamed against his palms and he groaned as his muscles took the impact. He twisted and flung it aside, sending it skidding across the ruined street.

Catching his breath, he looked down at the knight. The man’s grip on the sword was steady, but his eyes betrayed the truth. He was clearly new to this.
Ben knew exactly how that felt. Sure he had been full of bravado back when he first got the Omnitrix, but looking back now, he’d just been a scared kid.

Ben crouched, planting his feet and lowering all four hands toward him.

“Alright, knight guy. You’re up.” Ben softened his tone. “You’re standing in front of that thing with nothing but a sword. That takes guts, man. You’ve got this.”

The Beast roared again. The ground trembled. The others carved their openings.

Ben braced himself, muscles coiling, as he prepared to throw the knight straight toward the waiting jaws of the Questing Beast.

Young Justice Renegades: A Team Worth Dying For

The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the streets still glistened with the sheen of it. A narrow alley cut between two rows of crumbling apartments. A single streetlamp flickered above, its light stuttering like a heartbeat.

A boy no older than twelve sprinted into the alley, his bare feet slapping against the wet concrete. His breath came in sharp bursts as he moved, his eyes wide as he kept glancing over his shoulder in fear.

Something moved behind him. A soft rusting, like feathers brushing stone.

The boy stumbled on the uneven cobblestones, falling to his knees, his palms scraping the ground. He pushed himself up, but a shadow slid across the wall beside him. It was long, thin and just plain wrong.

He froze.

Two pale eyes opened before him in the dark. They reflected the streetlamp like an animal’s, but the shape behind them were too human. Whatever it was clung to the leftmost wall as if gravity meant nothing. Its limbs bent at unnatural angles as it perched there. As it stalked.

The creature dropped silently to the ground. It moved effortlessly despite its bizarre proportions.

The boy could only whimper.

The creature’s head tilted as its jaw opened. A low clicking sound echoed in the alley. The air grew colder.

None of them paid any attention to the rain that began to fall from the sky around then. Nor the storm clouds that had appeared overhead.

KATHOOMM!

A crack of thunder split the sky.

A streak of blue light tore down from the rooftop, hitting the creature with a force so brutal that it shook the alley. The boy shielded his face from the burst of sparks.

Gabi Rivero, Wonder Girl, stood tall from where the lightning had struck, her axe humming with residual energy. Her now wet hair clung to her face and her chest rose and fell with the effort of the landing.

The creature hissed, its skin rippling. Feathers pushed out through its shoulders and its mouth elongated outwards into something like a beak made of bone.

Gabi tightened her grip.

“Corre. Ahora.” She barked, taking a glance to the boy behind her as she ordered him to run.

He obeyed immediately. He scrambled to his feet in seconds and began to book it. A small wave of relief washed over Gabi. She couldn’t begin to imagine how events would have differed if she had arrived even a few moments later.

She couldn’t think about that now though, as the creature before her began to pounce.

Gabi swung her axe up to block the lunge, but the creature moved faster than she expected. She let out a cry as Its talons raked across her forearm. The cut opened instantly. Her blood welled up and quickly began to run down her wrist.

The creature seemed to pause slightly as it recovered itself. Its pupils widened. Its breath quickened. And a thin line of saliva dripped from its beaklike mouth.

It lunged again, this time with hunger.

Gabi stepped back this time, but the creature’s claws caught her thigh. The pain was sharp and immediate. She gasped and nearly dropped to one knee. The creature inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of her blood.

It clicked its teeth. It wanted more.

Gabi gritted her teeth and swung the axe in a tight arc. The blade crackled with electricity. The creature twisted away, but not fast enough. The edge caught its shoulder and tore through a line of feathers causing black ichor to spray across the wall.

The creature shrieked, darting forward with renewed frenzy. Its claws hammered against the haft of her axe. Each impact sent vibrations up her arms. She staggered back. Her heel slipped on the wet concrete.

The creature saw the opening.

It pounced.

Gabi braced herself and slammed the butt of her axe into its jaw. The blow knocked it sideways, but it recovered instantly, skittering across the wall like a spider. It launched itself from above, talons outstretched.

Gabi raised her axe and let the lightning surge through her arms. She swung upward with all her strength.

The blade connected.

The creature dissolved into a cloud of black feathers that scattered across the alley. They drifted down like ash.

Gabi exhaled. She’d done it. Barely.

Her leg throbbed. Blood trickled down her thigh. She wiped her fingers across the wound and stared at the fading feathers.

It was a teyollohcuani. A blood feeder. A shapeshifter that shouldn’t exist outside of the old stories.

And this was the third one she’d found this week.

---

The motel room smelled of damp wood and cheap disinfectant. A single lamp cast a warm circle of light over the bed. Rain tapped against the window in a steady rhythm.

The sound of it soothed her.

Gabi sat on the edge of the mattress, her shirt laying discarded on the floor, stained with blood and ichor. Her skin was a map of bruises. Purple blooms along her ribs. A deep bruise on her shoulder where a creature two nights ago had slammed her into a wall. And then tonight’s wounds. The gash in her are arm and the long cut across her thigh.

She winced as she peeled away the bandage. The wound pulsed faintly, as if it still remembered the creature’s touch.

Thankfully her connection to the rain god meant that her healing was accelerated. It was probably the only thing keeping her conscious right now. That didn’t mean she didn’t hurt like hell though.

She reached for a small device on the nightstand. A gift from Julian. A reminder of a time when she had not been alone.

She pressed the activation stud.

A soft hum filled the room as light erupted and a holographic map unfolded in the air. It was littered with writing. Crude notes and markings.

It was her path. Her hunt. Every town she had visited. Every creature she had faced. Every place she had bled.

She lifted a finger and dragged it across the glowing outline of the town she had just saved. As if using a pen, the hologram reacted to her movements and crossed it out. Another kill confirmed. Another step in a journey that had begun two years ago.

Her eyes drifted north, back to where it had begun.

Seattle.

She remembered the day she left. The ache in her chest as she walked away from the team. Eilidh’s fierce hug and Seline’s constant offers to come along with hers. Red had quietly understood and Connor’s had put a steady hand on her shoulder and wished her the best of luck. She had promised she would be back. She had believed it herself.

Then the first creature appeared. Then another. Then another. And she had followed the trail south, deeper and deeper, until the world narrowed into a single purpose.

Her thigh throbbed, jutting her out of her memories. It was sharp. Immediate. She sucked in a breath and pressed a hand to the wound.

She looked back at the map.

So many marks. So many encounters. So many close calls. After everything two things were very clear.

The first was that things were worsening. It wasn’t just teyollohcuani. Other creatures of the night were rising. Monsters were appearing more and more.

The second thing was that she couldn’t keep doing this alone.

The rain outside grew heavier. It sounded like distant applause. Or a warning.

She stood, reaching for her axe. The metal glowed faintly in the lamplight.

Her gaze returned to Seattle.

She had made up her mind.

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

Very happy to be overruled on this plan if people have other ideas, but my first thoughts are that Buffy + Silver Ranger apply pressure from the sides / act as distractions, whilst either Invincible or Ben try and wrestle with it again. Then the remaining one out of those 2 either carry or fastball special Dane to the mouth

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

I fear Dane will be upset with Ben as neither him nor I have ever seen dragonheart

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

|| Upstate New York, Earth

The forest was too quiet for his liking tonight. It made every branch snap underfoot crack like gunfire. Leaves brushed against Pierce’s legs as he pushed through the undergrowth, keeping his pace steady so the two kids behind him could keep up.

Tall, lean, and constantly alert, Pierce had learned early that being noticed could get you killed. His hair was tied back to keep it out of his eyes, his clothes were worn from weeks on the move. Along his forearms and shoulders, thin quills lay flat against the skin, pressed close until he needed them. A few were broken from earlier fights. A few were stained. His mutation was a gift that had saved his life more times than he cared to count, and a curse that had made him a target long before tonight.

He had not planned on taking care of anyone. Then he found the two kids three weeks ago in the ruins of a gas station, hiding behind a collapsed freezer door. They had been starving and terrified, convinced the armored men chasing them would appear at any moment. He had seen that fear before. He had lived it. Mutants did not get warnings. They got hunted. They got blamed. They got disappeared. He could not walk away from them.

Pierce had heard what the men chasing them called themselves. The Forever Knights. Some kind of secret order obsessed with that King Arthur shit. He had crossed paths with them a few times too many already. Whatever their gimmick was, it did not make them any less dangerous.

The older of the two, Manny, followed close behind him. He was big for his age, broad shouldered and heavy footed, with his mutant powers erupting in the form of an extra pair of limbs that jutted out of his sides. They moved in uneven rhythm as he tried to stay quiet. His skin had a rough, stony texture that caught the moonlight in dull patches. He looked older at first glance, but the way he kept glancing at Pierce for reassurance made it clear he was still just a kid.

His sister, Helen, was small and wiry, constantly fighting her own mutation. Every few steps she flickered forward in a short burst of speed she could not fully control. She would vanish a foot ahead, stumble, then hurry back into place. Her hair was tied back in a messy knot that had half fallen apart from running. She kept one hand on Manny’s sleeve whenever she felt herself slipping.

They were good kids. Pierce could only hope he could get them somewhere safe.

A metallic clatter echoed through the trees.

Pierce stopped instantly and raised an arm to block the kids. Torchlight flickered between the trunks. The sound of boots moved in perfect rhythm, closing in from behind.

“Stay behind me,” he hissed quietly. “No matter what.”

Manny swallowed hard. Helen pressed closer to him.

It was then that the Forever Knights stepped into the clearing ahead of them. The darkened metal of their armor cut out from the green of the forest. Some wore tabards marked with faded heraldic symbols. Others held a variety of weaponry. Spears. Swords. Even guns. Their faces were hidden behind metal masks shaped like stylised visages; cold and expressionless.

The lead Knight raised his blade. His voice carrying around the clearing, filtered through the metal of his mask.

“Stand fast, wanderers. The chase is ended. Yield, and your suffering shall be brief.”

If they weren’t in mortal danger, Pierce would’ve laughed from the ridiculousness of it all.

Instead, he had to act.

His quills snapped upright along his arms, and he fired a volley of them with practiced precision. They sparked harmlessly off raised shields. The Knights merely advanced in formation, unshaken.

Pierce fought anyway. He moved with speed. With precision. He was someone who had been fighting for his life since childhood after all.

He ducked a swing, drove a quill tipped elbow into a mask, and sent another Knight stumbling with a burst of force. For a moment it looked like he might break through.

But the Knights were trained too. And sadly they were better.

A Knight swept his legs out from under him. Another slammed a gauntlet into his ribs. Manny roared and tried to charge, but a crackling net wrapped around all four arms and tightened until he dropped to his knees. Helen tried to run, but a weighted cord caught her mid burst and sent her tumbling.

In seconds all three were pinned, wrists bound in glowing restraints that hummed with unfamiliar power.

Pierce struggled against them, breath ragged.

“Where are you taking us,” he demanded, spitting towards them in anger. “What the fuck do you want with us?”

The Knight who had spoken before stepped closer. His mask was different from the others, he could see now. Solid gold instead of the silver of his subordinates. His sword lowered, but the hum of its energy remained as he spoke.

“You trespass upon sacred dominion. You harbor aberrations. The decree is ancient and unbending.”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a reverent whisper.

“You shall be cast beyond the mortal veil. To your Annihilation. As was done in ages past. As shall be done again.”

And with that, the Knights hauled them to their feet and dragged them deeper into the trees. The forest swallowed them without a sound.

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

|| Amsterdam

The bathroom was cramped and humming with the flicker of an old fluorescent tube. Lena stood before the mirror, adjusting her appearance. Her reflection looked back at her, pale under the harsh light, hair pinned up beneath the oversized hood of the coat she had chosen. It hung off her like a curtain, but it hid the neon leggings and RAF jacket well enough. It was not much of a disguise, but it was better than walking into a crowded station looking like a traffic cone.

Her phone was wedged between her cheek and shoulder as she lifted the hem of her jacket. The bruises along her ribs were deep and ugly, mottled purple and yellow. She pressed a fingertip to one and winced.

“Lena, that sounded bad.” Emily said through the phone, her voice ringing with concern.

“It’s fine,” Lena said quickly, even though it absolutely wasn’t . “Just checking something. I’m okay.”

“You always say that. And every time I picture you limping home pretending nothing happened.”

Lena let out a breath and lowered the jacket.

“I am being careful. Proper careful. This is just a quick look around. Nothing dangerous. I will be home before midnight.”

“You said that last week.”

“And I made it home, didn’t I?” Lena forced a smile she hoped Emily could hear. “I love you. I will call you the moment I am done.”

There was a long pause.

Then, quietly..

“I love you too. Please come home safe.”

“Always,” Lena whispered, and ended the call before her voice could betray her.

She pulled the hood up, checked her goggles, and slipped out of the bathroom. The moment she opened the door, the roar of the station swallowed her. Announcements, rolling luggage, the churn of thousands of footsteps. She stepped out, then reached back and tugged the OUT OF ORDER barrier back into place, hiding the little pocket of quiet she had borrowed.

The station proper opened before her like a steel cathedral. Glass arched overhead, sunlight cutting through in pale beams. Commuters surged in every direction. Screens flickered with arrivals and departures. Security officers stood at intervals, scanning the crowd.

She moved with the flow, tapping her goggles. They powered on with a soft hum, and Winston’s furry face appeared in the corner of her vision.

“Your feed is active. The train is approaching Platform Seven in ninety seconds.”

“Copy.”

Ambassador Tomas Varg was a quiet, meticulous man who had spent the last decade auditing defence contracts across Europe. Tomorrow he would testify before the European High Court about a corporation whose financial trails led, if you knew how to read them, straight into Talon’s shadow. Lena had recognised the pattern. Winston had helped her confirm it. And now Varga was walking into a station that was far too open, far too predictable, and far too easy to kill a man in.

Publicly executing someone about to testify against them was definitely the kind of warning Talon would want to give to their collaborators. As awful as it sounded, Tracer hoped she was right.

His security team was scattered through the concourse. Lena spotted them quickly. Dark suits and subtle earpieces. Easy to spot when you knew what you were looking for. They were competent, but they were not prepared for Talon.

She drifted toward Platform Seven, blending into the crowd.

The rumble of the approaching train vibrated through the floor.

“Forty seconds.” Winston warned in her ear.

Lena scanned the platform again.

And froze.

A woman leaned casually against a pillar near the tracks. Dark hair tucked under a cap. Green jacket. Hands in pockets. Her face was half in shadow, but Lena knew it instantly. She had memorised it years ago from briefing photos.

Cheshire.

Thankfully she was not wearing the signature piece of her costume right now; the smiling cat mask that depicted her namesake. The thought of it still made Lena shudder slightly.

Her leg ached at the memory. The thin white scar along her thigh pulsed with phantom heat. The poison had nearly killed her. Angela had worked through the night to pull her back. She definitely wasn’t someone who she wanted to face again. And Cheshire did not show up anywhere without a reason.

“Winston,” she whispered. “I have visual on Cheshire.”

A sharp intake of breath crackled through the comms.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. She’s watching the platform.”

“Understood. Stay back. She rarely works alone.”

The train began to screech into the station, brakes screaming.

And then the world blew sideways.

A thunderous crack split the air. The concourse shook and smoke erupted from the ticket hall, followed by screams.

Through the haze, two shapes emerged. She recognised both of them immediately from their profiles on S.H.I.E.L.D’s most wanted list.

The first was massive. Francis Kwan’s silhouette was unmistakable even through smoke. Years of dock work had built him into a wall of muscle long before Talon ever got their hands on him. Now he moved inside a reinforced harness that fed power into the enormous grappling claw mounted to his right arm. Hook was what he called himself now.

The armour plating across his chest and shoulders was dented and gouged from past jobs, each mark a reminder of how hard he was to stop. He fired the hook of his namesake into a support beam and swung forward, the claw tearing sparks from the metal as he hauled his bulk across the floor like a living battering ram.

The second figure was leaner and far more fluid. Frank Payne; Constrictor. A former government operative whose career had collapsed under scandal before he vanished into the mercenary world. His suit was a dark, flexible weave threaded with metallic coils that wrapped around his arms and torso. The coils pulsed faintly as they charged, then snapped outward like electrified whips. Sparks danced along them, illuminating the sharp lines of his mask.

Winston’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Lena, fall back. Varga is moments from disembarking.”

Lena’s heart hammered.

She glanced back toward the pillar where Cheshire had been standing.

She was gone.

A cold spike ran through her chest.

“Shit.”

And she ran toward the smoke.

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

|| S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Atlantic Ocean

“You cannot just blink into an active assassination attempt in a foreign capital and expect the world to shrug it off!” Dugan’s voice filled the room, ricocheting off the low beams and metal filing cabinets. “Ministers from three continents are on my line. They want to know if Overwatch is back. They want to know who authorised you. They want to know why you were even there.”

Dum Dum Dugan stood behind the desk, broad and immovable, hands braced on the worn wood. A thick moustache, weathered skin, grey at the temples, and eyes that catalogued danger and disappointment in equal measure. Tracer had rarely seen the man so angry.

She couldn’t look him in the eyes as he went on. Instead they drifted to the wall of memories behind him. Framed newspaper headlines clustered in a yellowed collage, with bold titles about crises a decade gone, faces frozen in the moment of being saved. A corkboard held Polaroids one of which Lena immediately recognisesd. A slightly younger Dugan in the centre of a photograph with the old Overwatch team, everyone close enough to be family. The image made the shouting feel like a violation of something tender.

“I am not arguing intent. But you blinked into a diplomatic incident.” he said, voice hardening. “The press is already spinning it into a comeback narrative. The helicarrier phones are lighting up. We are flying back tonight for briefings and damage control. You understand what that means?”

Lena kept her stance steady. The memory of the hotel sat under her skin like grit. “I was trying to stop a man from being killed,” was all she could muster.

“And you did not,” Dugan said. “And now half the political world thinks you are about to start a one woman intervention force. I cannot have ministers calling me asking whether we sanction vigilantes. I cannot have ambassadors demanding answers about Overwatch’s return.”

He was right of course. As the former S.H.I.E.L.D - Overwatch liason she couldn’t imagine the backlash he was getting right now. She saw the stressed it has caused him the first time; back when they called for her team to be shut down. Those weren’t fun days.

“How’d you know this was going down any?” he asked, changing the subject.

She almost gulped in response. In truth she’d had an urgent phone call a few nights ago from an old acquaintance. He had been an agent of Talon, lulled in by their promises of easy riches, not knowing what his role would truly entail. He’d made it out since thankfully, but still got the odd communications from old squadmates.

His identity wasn’t hers to reveal though. Dugan was one of the good ones and wouldn’t intentionally put him in danger, but who knows what would happen if the wrong person came across his name on a report.

She simply shook her head, trying to look innocent.

“Just got lucky I suppose.” she tried, her voice saddening the more she spoke. “Or unlucky I guess.”

For a beat the steel in his expression softened. He let out a long breath and finally dropped into the chair behind the desk, the leather sighing under him. It was clear he didn’t believe her, although from the look she knew he wasn’t going to pry further.

“You did good work, Lena,” he said, quieter now. “You gave him a chance no one else could have. I am not taking that away from you.”

She nodded once. “The vote failed.”

“Most of them were scared they would end up like him,” Dugan said. “Fear won the room.”

Lena’s jaw tightened. “Brilliant.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Officially, SHIELD is telling you to return to retirement,” he said. “That is the line I am giving the politicians. It’s a line I urge you to take.”

His hand moved across his desk, pressing the stop button on the small recording that sat between them.

“I know you though Lena,” he continued, locking eyes with her. “So unofficially, if you are going to keep digging, you need to be smarter. Stealthier. You cannot be the face of this.”

She met his gaze. “I understand.”

“Good,” Dugan said. “Because as great as it is to see you, I’m hoping we don’t do this again.”

They exchanged pleasantries as she made her way out of the office and into the metal of the corridor.
Immediately after the door shut behind her, she slumped against the opposite wall. For a moment she just breathed, letting Dugan’s words shrink to a distant, sharp thing. Frustration sat heavy in her chest. She was mad at herself. Mad at Talon and at the way the world kept rearranging itself into new kinds of harm.

After Overwatch disbanded she had gone back to the RAF expecting the cockpit and the routine to be an anchor and finding instead a desk full of forms. She and Emily had made a flat out of the quiet, small ordinary rituals that felt like a life worth keeping. That life had been enough, until it wasn’t.

She had been watching the chatter for months. Encrypted threads, old handles resurfacing, patterns in attacks that smelled rehearsed. Then Baptiste’s warning about Mercer.

Maybe it was an after-effect from the chronal displacement. Maybe it was undiagnosed ADHD. Either way, she couldn’t keep sitting still.

Dugan was right though. She needed to do better.

---

The lab was only two decks down. Somehow she’d remembered the route through the winding corridors and squads of patrolling S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

The room was cluttered with screens, tools, and half‑assembled devices. Winston was perched near the ceiling, gripping a support beam with one hand while adjusting a sensor array with the other. His broad frame moved with surprising precision, dark fur catching the light as he shifted his weight. Thick glasses rested on his nose, and his expression held the focused intensity of a scientist deep in his work.

It was an odd sight given Winston was a cybernetically enhanced gorilla. Tracer had gotten used to it over the years though.

For a moment, Lena simply watched him. The way he moved from station to station, the quiet hum of his mind working faster than most people could speak. It felt like Gibraltar again. Like old times. She had missed him more than she liked to admit. Missed the steadiness, the certainty, the way he always made space for her even when he probably was not supposed to.

“Lena,” he said without looking down. “I am glad you came. I have been reviewing the data you sent.”

She smiled faintly. “You working up there now?”

“It is efficient,” Winston replied. He dropped lightly to the floor, landing with a soft thud that made several tools rattle. He moved to a nearby workstation, tapping at a custom keyboard built with oversized reinforced keys shaped for his hands. “I started with the mercenaries. They were straightforward.”

“How straightforward?” Lena asked, scooting to his side.

Winston brought up a series of dossiers, an array of familiar faces appearing on the screen before her.

“All former military. Different countries, different units, but the same pattern. Discharged, disappeared, and then resurfaced in the private sector. No shared employer. No shared handler. No shared ideology.”

Lena’s shoulders sank a little. “So they were just hired guns.”

“Yes,” Winston said gently. “Nothing more.”

She exhaled, disappointment clear in her voice. “I was hoping for something that pointed somewhere. Someone pulling strings.”

He gave his chin a quick wiggle as if to tell her to wait, then moved across the room to another workstation, this one with a vertical keyboard angled for his reach. “But the sniper is different.”

Lena straightened. “Go on.”

Winston climbed halfway up a support column to reach a monitor mounted near the ceiling. With a few taps, he brought up ballistic data and a map of past incidents.

“Her shot does not match any of the mercenaries’ profiles. Her equipment does not match theirs. Her movements do not match theirs.”

He zoomed in on the ballistic readouts. “And we have seen her work before. Same calibre, same rifling pattern, same firing signature. Several assassinations over the past two years. Different countries, different clients, same shooter.”

Lena frowned slightly, taking all of the information in. “How do you know it is a she?”

Winston shifted to another monitor, adjusting his glasses. “One of the earlier incidents had partial surveillance. Not enough for an identification, but enough to confirm the shooter’s build and gait. Female, lean, highly conditioned. The rest of the evidence lines up with that profile.”

Lena stepped closer. “Do we have anything else on her?”

Winston shook his head. “Very little. She comes and goes. No pattern in her travel. No financial trail. No digital footprint. She appears, takes the shot, and disappears again. The only reason we can link her at all is the ballistic signature.”

“So she is a ghost,” Lena said quietly.

“In practical terms, yes,” Winston replied. “Whoever she is, she is careful. Professional. And she does not want to be found.”

She sighed, falling back into a chair. She was glad she had something, but as she stated before, she needed a direction.

“Thanks, Winston,” she said, giving her old friend a smile. “I appreciate you helping me, genuinely.”

“Just don’t let Dugan know. That man will skin me alive,” he said.

“His office did look like it needed a new rug,” she jested back.

The two fell back laughing. For a brief moment it felt like nothing had changed and their lives hadn’t forked off in different directions. She had missed this. She had missed her family.

It was then that the door slid open, revealing another former teammate.

Bobbi Morse stepped inside, a tablet tucked under her arm. She wore a fitted SHIELD field jacket over a pale shirt, blonde hair pulled back in a loose tie, sharp blue eyes scanning the room before landing on Lena. She looked exactly as Lena remembered: composed, athletic, effortlessly confident.

And for a split second, memory hit like a spark. Warm skin under her hands. A laugh against her throat. A kiss at the base of her neck.

Lena blinked hard, forcing the image away.

“Oh. I did not realise you were here,” Bobbi paused.

“Just finishing up,” Lena straightened a little too quickly. Her voice sounded normal. She hoped it sounded normal.

The last time they had seen each other had been Bobbi’s wedding day. Although then she’d spent the majority of the day reuniting with old colleagues, getting obscenely drunk, and trying to avoid how good Bobbi looked in white.

Hunter was a lucky man indeed.

She couldn’t be thinking those thoughts though. Not with Emily sat back in their flat.

Bobbi stepped past them, perching against a desk. “I’ve been helping Winston with a case. Some of the biochemical data overlaps with my old research. He needed an extra pair of hands.”

Winston nodded from his workstation, giving Lena a very knowing look. “She has been invaluable.”

Lena managed a polite smile. “Good. That is… good.”

Working with Winston might actually be a bit more painful than she thought.

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

Tracer #2 coming at one point this weekend