"Done."
On the floating island, Rowan Mercer etched the final glowing rune into the side of a bright yellow school bus. The symbols sank into the metal like ink into water, locking themselves into place. He stepped back, satisfied, and turned to the massive figure beside him.
"Emil," Rowan said casually, "this bus is yours from now on. I'll walk you through the controls in a minute."
Emil Blonsky, better known to most of the world as the Abomination, nodded slowly. Until recently, his job at the academy had been simple: stand at the gate and make sure nothing stupid tried to walk in.
Now the school floated in the sky.
A gatekeeper was unnecessary. A driver, on the other hand, was not.
The yellow bus in front of them was no ordinary vehicle. Rowan had rebuilt it from the frame up, layering magic and technology until it barely resembled its former self. It could fly, turn invisible, expand its interior far beyond its external size, and withstand direct magical or conventional attacks. It was designed to ferry teachers and students between the floating island and the cities below with maximum safety.
Rowan had created plenty of portal anchors across major cities worldwide, each one capable of instant transport. But those were emergency tools, not daily conveniences.
Portals were efficient, but they were also vulnerabilities.
If portals became routine, the island's defenses might as well not exist. Anyone who gained access to one could step straight inside. Transportation vehicles, on the other hand, had to physically pass through the island's layered protections.
And that meant passing Emil.
While Rowan explained the basics of flight control and defensive systems, a sudden roar split the air. A red vintage sports car blasted upward on jets of fire, arcing smoothly over the island before touching down beside the training field.
Rowan glanced up and smiled.
"Morning, Director Coulson," he said, waving. "Didn't expect a visit this early."
Phil Coulson stepped out of the car, his expression tight. Rowan had granted access to the island to only a handful of people outside the academy. Coulson was one of them.
After the Washington disaster, the world had learned a brutal lesson. Governments fell. Cities died. Power structures collapsed in minutes.
The old global security apparatus had proven useless.
SHIELD had been rebuilt from the ground up, no longer a shadowy intelligence arm of one nation but a fragile international coalition tasked with anticipating disasters it could not actually stop. Its real function was simple: identify threats early and ask Rowan for help before everything went to hell.
Coulson had been chosen as director for one reason. He knew where the lines were and understood Rowan well enough not to cross them.
If someone else had been placed in charge, someone obsessed with authority or moral grandstanding, the new SHIELD likely wouldn't have survived its first disagreement.
Coulson didn't waste time on pleasantries.
"Rowan," he said, moving fast, "we've got a situation. A big one. Aliens have entered Earth."
Rowan blinked, then frowned slightly.
"Slow down," he said calmly. "Define 'entered.'"
This wasn't a Chitauri invasion. Loki was ruling Jotunheim, not dancing on Thanos' leash. The Space Stone was secured. And with the island hovering above New York, any organized fleet would have triggered half a dozen alarms before breaking atmosphere.
Coulson took a breath and laid out the facts.
Thirty minutes earlier, global satellites had detected multiple spacecraft appearing near Earth almost simultaneously. Some vanished shortly after arrival. Others descended openly, entering the atmosphere without requesting permission or responding to communication attempts.
Governments reacted the only way they could. Interceptions. Missile launches. Emergency alerts.
A few ships were destroyed. Most were not.
Several vessels landed successfully and then disappeared from all tracking systems, likely using stealth far beyond Earth's current technology.
Worse, civilians had seen it.
Videos were already spreading. News agencies were broadcasting live. Panic was starting to ripple outward, faster than anyone could contain it.
No clear demands. No unified fleet formation. No obvious invasion pattern.
Just… aliens. Everywhere.
When Coulson finished, Rowan stood in silence for a moment, then chuckled softly.
"That's it?" he said.
Coulson stared at him. "That's it?"
"Relax," Rowan said, clapping a hand on Coulson's shoulder. "This isn't an invasion. Not the kind you're imagining."
He thought it through quickly. Scattered landings. Mixed ship designs. No coordination.
"Bounty hunters," Rowan concluded. "Ravagers. Freelancers. Probably chasing something valuable."
Coulson frowned. "You're sure?"
"Pretty sure," Rowan replied. "And even if I'm wrong, it's still manageable."
He met Coulson's eyes, unbothered.
"If this were a real invasion force, you wouldn't be standing here asking questions. You'd already be evacuating continents."
Coulson let out a slow breath, tension easing just a fraction.
"So you can handle it?"
"I'll take care of it," Rowan said. "But that thing we discussed earlier? Setting up academy recruitment offices worldwide?"
"Yes?"
"Speed it up."
If aliens were descending on Earth for profit, then Earth needed stronger defenses than governments could provide. Talent had to be found early, trained properly, and protected from being exploited.
Coulson nodded. "Understood."
As the SHIELD director turned to leave, Rowan looked up at the sky, senses extending far beyond the island, touching the edges of space itself.
Aliens on Earth weren't the problem.
They were the symptom.
And symptoms could always be treated.