A/N: Alright, here we go. This is my second crack at my original idea for 'Marvel: Reborn'. Plot elements in the original story just became to convoluted and I wound up writing myself into a corner, so I'm starting fresh here. Some things will remain the same, while others will be vastly different.

Gunfire. That was all he could hear. Gunfire. Mortar shells. Grenades. Tanks. Shouting. Planes in the sky engaged in desperate dogfights with enemies. Around him, soldiers were either fighting, dyeing or dead. Some of them he called friend, others he called enemy.

Though, in the long run, it didn't really matter. In the end, they would all become food for maggots. So why did he continue to fight?

Because he had to.

"Charge!" shouted Steve Rogers, the legendary super-soldier, and sole hope for the allied forces, known to the world as Captain America. Amidst the din and grime of a pitched battle, he alone stood out as a beacon for those who followed him. Like a ray of light during a harsh storm all manner of men gathered around him. Young, old, rich, poor, American, British, Canadian and French all rallied to his side for the one final push that would pave the way to an assured victory for the allied forces.

Over two hundred men heeded his call, and joined his savage strike against the Nazi line. Both sides met like a clash of thunder. Bullets pierced hearts, rifle butts struck heads, bayonets carved through flesh. A severed arm flew past Steve's head as he drove his gloved fist into the mouth of a high-ranking officer. With his other hand, Steve wielded a round, star-spangled shield which protected him from harm. "Seize those doors!" he barked, pointing to a quartet of men, who promptly obeyed his order. After all, their suicidal battle would be useless if they were unable to pierce the Nazi stronghold.

"Captain, Nazi reinforcements are on the way!" someone called out to him, "ETA twenty minutes!"

"Then we've got fifteen!" Steve roared back as he tackled a German machine-gun operator, and ripped the weapon from its base. He turned it back on the German line, mowing the men down with their own gun in a bloody spectacle. "Move up!" Six of his men flanked him, providing cover fire as he made his way to the entrance, still mowing down Nazi's, until the machine-gun's magazine ran dry.

"Captain?"

Steve blinked twice, bringing himself back to reality. He wasn't in Nineteen forty-five anymore, he had to remember that. He was in the modern day. More than seventy years had passed since he had left that time in his life. It was a lot for him to take in when he had first awoken, as so much had changed. The world had gone on without him, something he had never really conceived as he was fighting in the battlefields of Europe. People now carried telephones in their pockets, and had wires hanging out of their ears. Bright screens lit up entire streets flashing advertisements for their products. Men were now allowed to marry other men, and women could marry women. Music, in his opinion, had gone downhill.

He was sitting in a large mess hall, filled to about half capacity with men and women wearing blue-gray fatigues. On the left breast of each chest, there was a round insignia with an eagle carrying a shield and sword. Most people also bore firearms strapped to their belts, or in holsters under their shoulders.

"Captain, are you alright?"

Steve shook his head, ridding himself of the sounds of mortar fire and tank shells as he re-adjusted to his new position. He was no longer in a battle. He was among friends and allies. Younger government agents who revered him as an idol, or a god-like figure.

And with that, came certain parallels to another man, who had been reverently adored. A man that Steve wanted to never be compared to so long as he lived.

"Yes," He breathed slowly, bringing his jackhammer-like heartbeat down to a normal level. "Yes, I'm fine," he repeated, more to himself than anything. Most of the men and women around him seemed to be appeased by his words, with their worry lines all but disappearing. Only a few seemed to remain skeptical, as they exchanged looks among themselves. It was the subtle cues he picked up on the most. Those who were still concerned were his most loyal friends in the twenty-first century.

"You were telling us about the siege of the Hydra stronghold in North Germany?" A wide-eyed agent, named Sam Rodriguez said intently, as he leaned in, obviously very vested in what Steve had to say.

"What more's there to tell?" the youngest Agent present, Daisy Johnson, replied sarcastically as she leaned back in her chair, putting her hands behind her head. "He showed up, which they did not-zi coming. Then Cap here kicked their asses until they were Red, White n' blue!" A cackle of laughter erupted from the table. Two agents nearly fell from their chairs as a joke-telling battle ensued. Their distraction was so great that no one noticed Steve slip away from the table on his own. Which was what he really wanted. He didn't want to be with them. He wanted to be with his brothers. The ones who had died years ago. Who's remains where scattered over Europe. And there really was only one place he could feel close to them again.

…xxXxx…

"Pardon me," the blue-furred Mutant doctor, Hank McCoy, said as he bustled through the streets of Manhattan during rush hour. The street was absolutely packed, and there was very little room to walk. Added to this were two facts. One, he was on a very tight schedule, as he was supposed to be teaching his very first class at NYU in less than two hours. The other fact was that people didn't bother to get out of his way. Some even went as far as to deliberately push him. This was of course, due to his unusual skin condition, and beastly appearance. For the most part, his gorilla-like physique allowed him to shrug off the impacts of shoulders and elbows. But it was their sneers that cut deep into his soul. "Excuse me," he mumbled, as he tried to push past a very large man, who had tattoos running p and down his arms, and even up as far as his neck.

Clearly, not the type that Hank would want to upset.

But it was way too late for that, as the good doctor could clearly see the words 'death to muties' written on his arm. Definitely not a good sign.

"Die you fuckin' freak!" The man roared as he reared his arm back and launched a powerful, wide-swinging punch in Hank's general direction. And although McCoy prided himself as a pacifist first and foremost, he had been in his fair share of fights, most of which had been started by his mutation. And so, he had reverently studied basic fisticuff techniques, and how best to avoid them. With a twist of his arms and shoulders, Hank re-directed the man's strike, as two more thugs approached from behind, one bearing what looked like brass knuckles, the other wielding a switchblade.

"Now, now, gentlemen," Hank said cautiously as he raised his arms in front of his body, trying to show that he meant them no harm. Of course, as he expected, this didn't seem to help one bit. "I am sure we can all be perfectly civil here and-." He was cut off by being roughly grabbed from behind, forcing Hank to drop his peaceful nature and tap into his more bestial side. He brought his legs up to his chest, forming a ball with his body before kicking out at the fat man. All four of them fell to the ground, with Hank being the first to fully recover, due to his honed reflexes. "There really is no need to-" he said as one of the men grabbed his leg.

Reacting quickly, Hank spun around and kicked him in the face, just as a squad car pulled up to the curb, and two police officers stepped out.

"Well, better late than never," Hank mused under his breath, as both officers, a man and a woman, raised their weapons to a ready position.

"ON THE GROUND!" The male officer roared violently.

"There really is no-," Hank said peacefully, all too aware of what would most likely happen if he so much as moved the wrong way. One wrong gesture, one wrong word, and he'd wind up being shot at by police. "No need for this!" Hank continued calmly, trying to diffuse the situation as diplomatically as possible.

"ON THE GROUND NOW, DIRTBAG!" The female officer shouted.

"I'm the victim here!" Hank said coolly as he slowly got down on his hands and knees. His words seemed to fall on deaf ears, as the police placed him in a set of handcuffs. As he was dragged towards the squad car, a water bottle flew through the air, striking him on the side of the head. Of course, I should have known, he thought to himself, deep inside his thoughts. He looked out the window of the cruiser, seeing the sea of sneers and scowls aimed at him. Though he could not hear their words, they still struck deep. Sticks and stones break my bones, Hank sighed as the car drove off reciting the children's mantra, but words forever hurt me.

…xxXxx…

Flash! The blinding light nearly rendered her sightless. And the blurry spots lingered for a few long seconds as a small fit of giggling escaped the young woman beside her.

"Oh god," the Redheaded Jean Grey gasped, as she rubbed her temples, still slightly dizzy from the light. "Why did you do that?" she asked her companion, who just couldn't stop her fit of laughter. Which was most likely due to Jean's reaction and facial expression.

"Well for fun," the younger, Asian-American woman, Jubilation Lee, quipped with a grin across her lips as the two of them walked down a busy New York street. "And perhaps for a little fame. You never know," she smirked as she slapped Jean on the shoulder. "'could come in handy when I'm a famous fashion designer and model. Be a good pic for my autobiography cover."

"A selfie?" Jean chuckled as she tossed a strand of her shoulder-length red hair out of her face. "You'd put a selfie in your autobiography, even if you got one made?" she asked as she re-adjusted the shoulder of her purse, noticing the sign that said 'watch for pick-pockets'. Jean's eyes immediately started scanning everyone around her, but that wasn't all she did. She set her powerful psychic powers to work, looking for potential criminals by scanning the forefronts of their thoughts. Most of them were random tangents of thought, about hot news topics. Which celebrities were marrying who, how much money they had in the bank, if their significant other was cheating on them, and so forth.

"Well I got to learn to strut my stuff," Jubilee shot back playfully, "can't exactly afford to hire models at the moment. So I'm gonna have to be my own model," she continued as they turned a corner. With a flicker of her eyes, Jean saw a sight that every American citizen would know. A grouping of metal statues posed in iconic stances. There was little about their structure that was of note, and they were so commonplace that most tourists didn't bother to notice them, but Jean at least gave them a courtesy glance.

After all, they were the Avengers. Hawkeye. Goliath. Wasp. Iron Man. Vision. Mister Fantastic. The Invisible Woman. The Human Torch. The Thing. Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

Gone since before Jean had been born. But even she knew how much she owed them. How much everyone owed them. She bowed her head in respect, and Jubilee did the same, as they passed. With a small sigh, Jean glanced over the graffiti that smeared the area around the shrine to the fallen heroes. Gang signs, declarations of love, hate messages. It was sacrilegious.

"Watch out for the kid coming up your right," Jubilee whispered into Jean's ear softly. Jean, being vigilant, snapped her eyes up to see a young, well-dressed male, no older than seventeen approaching. He had well-kept hair and designer-style clothes. His walk was confident, and he bore a slight, charming smile. A smile which Jean learned was a clever charade once she so much as peeked into his thoughts. Nice tits Red, the young man thought, his face concealing his crude thoughts, they'd look a hella lot better with my dick in between them, though. Jean, who widely considered herself to be the right combination of 'fun' and 'proper', was downright shocked to hear those thoughts coming straight out of such a seemingly nice kid. She was so distracted that she didn't notice just how close he was, until he walked right into her. Their shoulders collided, and Jean realized too late that it was a clever machination, and his hand slipped right into her purse, grabbing as much as he could in less than a second.

"Sorry," the young man said, very convincingly, "sorry, ma'am. Shoulda watched where I was goin'." He said, as he walked away. Somewhat amusingly, Jean realized that he should have taken his own advice. Jubilee had stopped several steps back, and had mimed tying her shoe while the pickpocketing boy had struck. Now that his back was turned, she stood up, being right in his path. The two of them collided, and Jean noted that Jubilee actually rammed her shoulder into his chest hard, all while keeping a steady smile on her face.

"Sorry, sexy," the younger woman purred as she patted his chest area, where she had hit him. "Wasn't looking where I was going," she continued skillfully as her free hand slowly reached down, and slipped a small piece of paper into the boy's hand, while simultaneously taking back Jean's wallet and phone. "Maybe I can make it up to you," Jubilee smirked as she pulled away from him, and returned to Jean's side with a confident grin on her face.

"You know he's under-age, right?" was all Jean could say as they walked away, more briskly than before.

"Do you really think my standards are that low?" Jubilee snapped back, as she returned her stolen items. "That I'd stoop to….well, someone like him? Even if he wasn't a minor?"

"You're only nineteen," Jean shrugged sympathetically, "only a year's-."

"I said that to distract him," Jubilee said, cutting her off sharply. "Get him to stroke his ego a little, keep his limited brain power focused on something other than what's in his hands."

"Yeah well if you knew what that low-life was thinking like I-," Jean began, quickly regretting her words as she felt the psychic displeasure waves radiating from Jubilee's mind. She didn't go inside her mind, out of respect. But she also didn't need to in order to know she had touched a nerve. A nerve that happened to run very deep. "Hey," Jean said, taking their conversation by the horns and steering it in a completely different direction, "how 'bout we go check out that Museum up ahead before we head to the University, to get you registered?"

"Do I look like the Museum type?" Jubilee chirped back, the traces of her dour expression fading away fast.

"No, but I do," Jean shrugged playfully, as she led the two of them down the street. "If I remember the signs correctly, that World War Two exhibit will still be on. I wanna catch it," she finished delightfully.

…xxXxx…

"Come then!" the heavily armoured Knight roared challengingly, as he drew an impossibly large sword from its scabbard. Behind him, a woman in a tattered dress curled in a corner, cowering in fear. Fear of the monster which the brave knight was confronting alone. "Let me test my steel in your flesh, demon!" The demon, a blue-furred devil, brandished a sword of his own. Along with a dagger, which he wielded with his whip-like tail.

A furious duel ensued. Back and forth, the two fought, with an epic orchestra keeping pace with every sweep of a sword. It was, after all, the brilliant climax of a wonderful musical number, which the audience seemed to be enjoying reverently. Roaring applause accompanied the final sweep of the knight's sword, which 'pierced' the Demon-man's heart. And as he fell, the Hero and the Princess shared a tender, passionate kiss. The crowd went wild, and quickly gave a standing ovation.

Among those was Pepper Stark, the young heiress to a fortune five hundred company. Definitely the richest person in the theatre at the moment. And perhaps the second-richest person in the city, after her shut-in grandfather. And while a great deal of her wealth came from the company he had created, she was definitely a shrewd businesswoman in her own right. She owned a small, but growing line of cosmetic products, as well as shares in both Apple and Microsoft. Not to mention the building she was in at the moment. So, no one could say she was purely a product of her family's wealth.

As the theatre lights came up, Pepper soon found herself being once more surrounded by journalists and paparazzi, some of whom were trying to get her opinion on the performance. Others trying to get her view on world politics, and others simply attacking her with subtle words for being rich. But she was used to them, and simply brushed them off as she made her way backstage. She had a pass, after all, and she intended to use it. Both in order to get away from the leeches, and to ask several questions about the production.

"Miss Stark!" the balding, stereo-typical looking Director gasped as he practically launched himself from his chair, dropping several papers that had previously been on his lap. "My…..what a surprise!" he exclaimed excitedly. "That such a prominent-."

"Please, just spare me the song-and-dance," Pepper smiled warmly, "you've got no idea what it's like dealing with Yes-Men all day. Anyway," she continued as she looked around, seeing the busybodies bustling about, getting out of costumes and into their regular clothes and such. "I just thought I'd like to see a behind-the-scenes look," she shrugged, still looking around. Props were being gathered, costumes were being turned in. It was a somewhat surreal thing to see a Knight's sword propped up against a camping chair.

"Well of course," the Director smiled, as he waved his arms gently, "of course! Of Course!"

…xxXxx…

"Ma'am, I think you should take a look at this," one of twenty-five data analysts said, completely out of the blue, as he signalled to his commanding officer. Maria Hill, a thirty-seven year old woman with a tight bun of black hair pinned behind her head turned towards the man. She turned her nose up slightly at him, as she caught the scent of a cheap meal practically radiating from his breath. She didn't let that deter her from her job, however, and leaned forward, over the back of his chair in order to get a better look at his screen.

They were in the S.H.I.E.L.D. Deep-space monitoring sector, buried in the side of a mountain in the Eastern Himalayas. Far from any prying eyes, which was perfect for what they did, and how they did it. Because even though a good chunk of people believed that extraterrestrials might exist, none of them actually had the slightest clue how right they were. Which was one of the areas that S.H.I.E.L.D. was practically forced to excel, keeping information from the public when they weren't ready to hear it.

They had done it for twenty years, with the Mutant Population, secretly moving Mutants around the world, to secure cities were they would be isolated from the rest of the world. But of course, the government had intervened, and that information got out to the public. Though, thankfully, the organization's name had been kept an absolute secret, even among the firestorm of political and public backlash. Still, Maria didn't know if it was best for the Mutants to be public. Mutants were being harassed left, right and centre, and a few had struck back. With violent results. To her, it was only a matter of time before someone started a civil war over the whole thing. Especially given the fact that Mutants as a whole were denied so many basic rights, such as the right to a lawyer, the right to vote, the right to marry, and the right to a fair trial.

She shuddered to think of the consequences of people learning of aliens.

"What is it?" Maria asked the Agent, as she stared intently at the screen.

"This, ma'am," the young Agent said as he pointed to the upper left corner of his screen. "It's a meteor shower, headed straight for us."

"So?" Maria scoffed, unimpressed by his findings. "It'll burn up in the atmosphere. No worry."

"Ma'am, this wasn't on my screen thirty seconds ago," he said, as he pointed to the screen once more. "And it's changed direction twice."

…xxXxx…

"Well looks like we got us some fresh meat," a particularly rough looking man scowled as Hank found himself being roughly pushed into a holding cell. Of course, Hank didn't want to pay the man any attention. But that wasn't really an option, as his fellow prisoner slammed Hank against the bars of the cell. "and he's a freak ta boot." Hank wanted to reply, to offer some sort of rebuttal. But he didn't have the energy, or the motivation. He just let it happen.

"Hey," the inmate growled, as he pushed Hank again, "I'm talkin' to ya!"

Again, Hank didn't reply. He just stood there and let the punishment come to him. He wondered what had gone wrong, what he had done to deserve his current situation. His day had started out so well, after all. He was on the precipice of a new life, a new career, and it had all fallen apart in a matter of hours.

A single tear fell down the side of his cheek as he was slammed up against the wall again. His shoulder began to hurt, but he still didn't move. No need to give the police another reason to charge him with assault. Or whatever other criminal charge they could pull out of their asses and slap on him.

"You fuckin' deaf?" the large man growled as he gave Hank another shove. This time, however, yet another Inmate spoke up.

"How 'bout you leave 'im alone?" a man with a very thick southern accent spoke dryly. From how Hank's tormentor reacted, this other man obviously commanded a great deal of either fear or respect. Or perhaps both. The cruel man backed away, as the southerner gave Hank a once-over and said, "you don' look like you shoul' be ere'," he said plainly as he closed his eyes casually. "'rough day, friend?"

"Yes," Hank squeaked softly, "I-."

KRA-KOOM! The ceiling of the Police station collapsed upon itself as something sliced through the roof like a hot knife through butter. Chunks of debris rained down upon everyone inside. Prisoners and Police alike screamed in pure panic as a hole was ripped into the side of the building by what appeared to be an oversized boulder, at first glance. A second glance, however, revealed that this was in fact a meteorite, as large as a car. With its pure mass, it ripped the bars of Hank's cell open. Both people he had been locked inside with raced for the exit. No one stopped them, and Hank was left to consider his options.

On one hand, he knew that this would be his only chance to leave. On the other, though, he could see one of the officers who had wrongfully arrested him trapped under a metal support, which had been knocked loose. With a deep sigh, Hank went against all conceivable logic and bounded over a desk to help the woman, who was only barely conscious. "Hang on!" he shouted as his padded feet landed next to her head.

"Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpme!" the young woman frantically screamed at the top of her lungs. Doing his best to ignore the piercing cries he studied the position of the beam, and his surroundings. Applying the proper mathematics, he positioned himself accordingly and gripped the beam tight and gave a mighty heave. For a brief second, the support did not move an inch. But, ever so slowly, it began to give way as his superhuman strength went to work. The weight was far from his maximum deadlift, but the positioning wasn't as ideal as he would have liked, so there was a fair amount of strain put on his shoulders.

"Hrrgg!" he groaned as he lifted the beam past his shoulder, giving the woman ample time to pull herself free. With another mighty heave, he shoved the twisted metal aside, letting it crash through what remained of his cell, and a row of desks. He stood on the spot for a brief moment, merely panting as the adrenaline flowed through his system. He cast a singular glance over to the woman he had saved, who looked at him with complete shock as three of her companions rushed to her aid, bandaging her leg, which had been crushed by the beam, as well as several gashes on both arms. Their peaceful moment was soon interrupted, however, with a loud hiss sound.

It took hank a few seconds to locate the exact source of the sound, but he soon discovered that it was coming from the meteorite itself. Gas was seeping out of it, and Hank came to a horrifying conclusion. The meteor wasn't a meteor. It was a spaceship. Filled with nasty-looking green blobs vaguely shaped like humans. Who proceeded to aim their gun-like apparatuses in his general direction, forcing Hank to dive desperately out of the way of incoming fire.

…xxXxx…

"Gruk-!" one of the foul creatures gasped as T'challa, King of Wakanda drove a ceremonial vibranium sword through what he assumed was its gut. Cold, purple blood spewed everywhere as the alien fell to the ground, dead. T'challa didn't even blink at the creature's sudden demise, as he swiftly swung his sword through the neck of another creature, and impaled another with a thrown spike.

"Hak!" the African King bellowed as he downed another one of the invades, feeling its surprisingly icy blood splatter over his chest piece. He cast a look around, seeing the bloody display around him. Over twenty bodies lay on the New York City pavement. Six of them were alien. The rest were human. Innocents who had been caught in the crossfire. Not far from his feet, a dead mother lay over her deceased child. With her last breath she had tried to shield her daughter, and ultimately failed. And, as a Father himself, that made the King's blood boil into a rage.

"Forward!" he roared to the Wakandan guard, who raced to his side, sworn to protect their King. Each was armed rather simply, with nothing but a spear and a shield. Any military that saw them would most likely laugh, until they saw how those weapons were used in combat. The twenty guards formed a wedge shape, with T'challa at the helm as they carved their way through yet another gaggle of the foul aliens. Spears and swords carved through flesh in a brilliant display of combat prowess as the Alien creatures were forced into a sudden retreat.

"They've fallen back!" one of the guards proclaimed excitedly. "We've won!"

"No," T'challa replied, as he felt the most subtle tremor in the pavement beneath his feet. "No, they have not been beaten yet." He said grimly as he noticed that the Aliens were indeed re-grouping for a second assault on the Wakandan embassy. Which forced the king to weigh his options carefully. He looked around, seeing that people were still being evacuated from the area. There was no way that they'd all be taken to the safe-zones in time, as the emergency responders of New York were currently stretched thin as it was. Not that he blamed them for their inability to respond. No one could have trained any of them for this. "Guards get these people to safety!" the King ordered briskly, as he swept his sword to the side, flinging Alien blood from it. "Inside the Embassy, now!" he barked, as the enemy horde surged forward with bloody delight.

"Your majesty," another guard gasped hurriedly, "hurry!" As he spoke, the Alien line warped and shifted. Beings merged together in threes, becoming larger, and presumably stronger. Perhaps strong enough to break through the Embassy's defences. Something which Tchalla could not, and would not allow.

"Get inside now!" he ordered, "I will hold them off for as long as I can!"

"My King-!" the guard protested vehemently.

"Go!" T'challa barked fiercely, "Go! If I do not return," he said gravely as he assumed a fighting stance. "Shuri and Azari are to share my throne!" he roared as the rage of battle assumed him once more. He forgot all about the people huddled within the walls of his home away from home. He forgot about his son, and his daughter. He forgot about his Kingdom. He only focused on those in front of him. The slimy, green invaders from another planet. The tip of his sword scratched the pavement as he charged forward, uttering a prayer to the Panther God of his people, asking for strength in his coming trial.

"Grrazik bruk-kalma!" The invaders chanted hoarsely as they surged forward, firing strange projectiles in T'challa's direction. He dodged, of course, with the speed and grace of a panther on the hunt as he fixated his gaze on the largest green beast. The commander, no doubt. Just the person T'challa wanted to kill.

"Kwa utukufu wa Wakanda!" he roared as he leaped high into the air, into the midst of the horde. A bloody daze overcame him as he swept his sword left, right, up and down. He stabbed, he slashed. He ducked and pivoted. All the while making his way through the Aliens, one by one with clean percision that had been drilled into him since birth. Within twenty seconds, ten invaders had fallen to the ground, with another two already halfway there.

But his skill soon became a crutch, as he was surrounded by three large bodies. With nowhere to run, he soon found himself clearly outmatched. Every move soon became a killing stroke, as he was left without room to manoeuvre around his adversaries. He severed limbs and knees and necks until something struck him from behind, knocking him to the ground. He looked at his body as a slimy, green substance covered his up to his shoulders, rendering him unable to move. Though, curiously, he was moved into an upright position by the unknown substance.

"Graza neek ku-tan….curious sensation, is it not, Nak-tu?" one of the Aliens spoke, as it dissolved into three separate bodies. Surprisingly, T'challa was not at all shaken by their sudden ability to speak English. What did surprise him was that the Aliens now seemed to be more humanoid than before. Not entirely human, but they definitely resembled one more closely now. Though they were still semi-see-through, and very green. Like American Jell-O. "The amalgamation of a species' languages?"

"Indeed, Gah-zan," a second Alien, presumably Nak-Tu, replied as it too, disassembled into three bodies. This one was slightly different though. T'challa could see a distinguishing crest upon his forehead. Almost like a crown of sorts, which told the Wakandan King that this one was in a position of power. And if he could still move, T'challa would have struck the killing blow right then and there. "Look at the poor human," Nak-Tu cooed condescendingly as he approached the trapped King, "so helpless. So clueless. I almost feel sorry for it."

"You'll be the sorry one," T'challa chuckled as he met the Alien's gaze, "when I get out of here."

"You are a bold one, human," Nak-Tu replied, as the shape of his hand twisted and contorted, forming a long spike, which the Alien cocked back. With a single thrust, Nak-Tu slammed the tip of his spear-arm right into T'challa's faceplate. The weapon shattered against the vibranium metal, and T'challa let out a second laugh as the Alien screeched in pain. T'challa was now assured that he was completely safe, even while encased within the hard, green substance. Since his armour wisely protected every inch of his body that was currently exposed, they couldn't simply pierce it. The only way that they'd be able to harm him was it they released him, which would be a very bad idea on their behalf.

…xxXxx…

"Holy shit!" Jean blurted as she cringed behind a half-wall, which was thankfully constructed out of steel and concrete. More than capable of taking at least a few hits from the slimy alien's gun-like weapons. Her heart was pounding as she crouched low, but it was her head that hurt. Panicking thoughts radiated all around her. And although she had trained herself to ignore the thoughts of other people whenever in a large crowd, at the moment it was like trying to ignore the sounds of Race-cars on a track, or a jet taking off. It was almost impossible, but not completely.

Sweat rolled down her head in thick beads, nearly clouding her vision. She actually had to divert a portion of her telekinesis to 'wipe' her brow so she could think more clearly. Which was almost useless, given just how stressed she was. She was a Student advisor at a privately funded prep school for Mutants. Not a soldier or a police officer. She didn't have an army to lead, or special training in bad-ass 101. She was just Jean Grey. All she had were her wits and Mutant curses to get her, and as many people as she could out alive.

Not exactly a lot to go on.

"Run!" Jubilee, who had been huddled next to Jean, shouted as she practically pushed Jean out of the way. Mere seconds later the wall they had been hiding under collapsed, and the air were they had been was filled with deadly laser-like weapons. "You can run, can't you?" the younger girl cried out as she pulled Jean along.

"I'm in heels!" Jean snapped as something exploded to her left. A display case, containing antique rifles from the civil war, shattered, littering the area with glass and wood chips. "I wasn't exactly expecting to-!" she gasped as she pulled herself and her young friend behind a stone pillar. "-run a fucking marathon!"

"Hey watch your mouth!" Jubilee quipped rapidly, "there's kids aroun-" the tail end of her sentence was cut short by the top half of the stone pillar exploding into a thousand tiny pieces. Both women were covered in a fine layer of dust, and a few pebbles bounced off their heads. Only a few pieces as large as Jean's fist landed with a thud. One of these chunks was picked up by Jubilee, who leaned out from cover as her hand was enveloped in a multi-coloured glow. "Hey bastards! Let's play catch!" she hollered as she side armed the rock with incredible speed and precision. Though Jean didn't actually see it, she knew that the rock was glowing, just as the young woman's hand had been. An interesting aspect of Jubilee's mutant powers was her ability to 'charge' objects with pure energy, creating a sort of makeshift grenade, in addition to being able to blast straight energy out of her palms into a multi-coloured beam. Though, a severe downside to that was that she hadn't always had complete control over that ability. More than one person, including Jean, had been injured by accident.

Though now, Jubilee was more than adept at using her powers, as the stone seemed to blow up in the faces of the aliens, giving the two more than enough time to run out from cover once more, into a new wing of the museum. This one was entirely dedicated to the Second World War. Uniforms, weapons, bombs, even a Jeep adorned the space. But it was entirely clear to anyone who entered that the centrepiece was a mannequin dressed in Captain America's uniform. From head to foot, the ensemble was entirely authentic, albeit missing the iconic shield strapped to the forearm. Though neither of them had the time to truly appreciate the sight before them.

Because living was far more important to them both.

"Behind the Jeep!" Jean shouted, as she used her telekinesis to pull down the overhanging plane, blocking the entrance they had come through with debris. At least for a few seconds, they were safe.

Or at least Jean thought, until she realized that there was no other way out of the room.

"Well way to go!" Jubilee snapped as she spun around, obviously hopeful that she might have missed an exit. "Now we're definitely gonna die!"

"Yeah well you're the one who wanted to get into NYU!" Jean replied as she heard the sounds of the Aliens trying to break past the ruined debris of the plane blocking their entrance.

"Sorry for having-" she snipped, only to be cut off by the wings of the plane being blown clean off, and four bloodthirsty aliens charging in. Four, which was less than before. Not that Jean or Jubilee had much time to notice, as they ducked for the nearest cover they could find. The latter only paused long enough to let loose a blinding flash, disorienting them briefly. As both women huddled behind the relic from war, the four aliens spread out, speaking in a strange language as they searched for them. And though the room was large, it wouldn't take the Aliens long to find them, Jean knew that. All the two of them could really do was wait for the inevitable, really.

At least that was what she thought, until a man literally dropped down from the ceiling, crushing one Alien with his sheer mass. One quick glance at the disk strapped to his forearm, and another to the wall caused Jean's mouth to drop agape. It took her a second to fully recover from the shock. And in that second, their saviour smashed the obviously replica shield into the 'abdomen' of one Alien, while simultaneously shooting the other two with extreme precision.

"You two alright?" Steve Rogers, the all-American hero Captain America, asked with an exasperated look in his eye. He certainly didn't resemble the man whose picture was plastered on the walls around them. Not based on his attire, at least. But Jean could see past it, and saw the unmistakeable rugged jawline and fierce courage within. A simple swell of calmness filled her as she started to realize that there was some hope, at least. Their situation was still dire, but not totally catastrophic. "Are you alright?" the Captain repeated, causing Jean to nod her head, still somewhat at a loss for words. Until she saw one of the Aliens rising behind him.

"Get down!" she shouted, grabbing him telepathically and yanking him out of the way, as Jubilee tossed another improvised grenade at the slimy creature, which now appeared to be more humanoid for some reason. Shrapnel peppered the area as the Captain re-oriented himself and fired a bullet right into the 'head' of the Alien, who was still disoriented from the blast.

"Thanks for that," Steve said with a slight heavy pant. He was more surprised and grateful than anything. He knew full well about the existence of 'so-called' mutants, thanks to his extensive research into the twenty-first century. Most of what he had seen and read depicted vicious, nightmarish monsters. But he saw two normal looking people who had just gone out of their way to help him. There are definitely worse examples of Americans, he thought with a shake of his head, especially when you look at the Government, he thought with a slight pang. "We've got to get out of here. Co-ordinate a proper response with local police and military."

"Us?" Jubilee stammered with a raised eyebrow. "No way am I gonna-!"

"We have to!" The Super-Soldier roared fiercely as he gestured to the nearest exit. "Listen here, missy! There are people out there, scared shitless! Men and women and children!"

"But-"

"No," he snarled as he sized her up. "You think you can't do anything, right? That you're just one person?"

"Yeah but-"

"Well I got news for you, girl," he snipped as he stood a hand's breadth away from them both, breathing heavily. "So. Was. I." he said heavily, pausing to let those words sink in. "I was a fragile kid who just wanted to serve my country. Well guess what?" he asked rhetorically, as he stared at both the women before him. "Now it's your turn. Get out there and do everything you can to get people to safety. You don't have to fight. But you can clear a path for emergency vehicles, correct?"

"Yes sir," Jean nodded, as she looked at your young companion, who nodded in agreement before making her way towards the exit. Jean cleared away the debris with a swipe of her hand, allowing the three of them to sprint out of the building with ease, and back out onto the street.

And for the first time, all three of them got a decent idea of what it was really like outside. Building were on fire. Ambulances were screaming in all directions. Someone or something had overturned a police cruiser, which was now on fire with its windows smashed in. It was fairly obvious to all three of them that that had been caused by a series of nearby looters, who were going on a rampage through local shops, stealing anything they could carry that wasn't tied down. "Unbelievable….." Steve whispered under his breath. He had seen some things in his life. Horrible things. Auschwitz. D. Day. Pearl Harbour. And while those clearly outshone what he was seeing in terms of depravity, he was still shocked by the lack of humanity and common sense.