Chapter One: After the Missile

Maisie tipped her head back and felt the cool breeze brush against her cheeks. Lights flashed across the blue sky and she could hear the faint crack of magic on magic. White lights against red, a burst of green effulged by yellow; the Chitauri and the Asgardians were fighting again, somewhere beyond Earth's hemisphere. They were always fighting. At least once every few months, the sky would be filled with flashing lights and the humans would watch with vague hope as the Asgardians fought with swords and magic. But every time, the humans were faced with disappointment as the lights faded and the Asgardians were forced to retreat.

Maisie tore her eyes away.

The road from the Boston Colony to New York City was long and broken. The line of humans stumbled on the uneven ground. A white cord, sizzling with electricity, bound the twenty or so humans together, wrist to wrist. They'd been walking for hours, their feet red and sore with blisters. Maisie was near the end of the line with a tall, black-haired woman behind her and a short, bearded man in front. They were all worn and tired with shadows under their eyes and waxen skin clinging to their bones. Their story was nothing new. After six years of slavery, all humans had the same, defeated look to them. Any strength they might have once possessed had been drained from them, one torturous day at a time.

The first two hours of the journey from the Boston Colony to New York City had been on the back of a leviathan, one of the smaller ones. Travelling had been much easier on the cyborg beast that twisted and turned like a fat worm as it moved; however, the leviathans refused to get too near to New York City, so the humans were forced to travel the last few miles on foot, egged onward by the Chitauri officers and their tasers.

The landscape was brittle and dry. The grass had long ago turned brown and the road was cracked and splitting. If Maisie looked far enough ahead, she could see the faint outline of the remains of New York City.

A sharp growl pierced Maisie's ears, and she turned to face the warped, metallic face of a Chitauri officer.

She had never been able to get over the initial shock of the Chitauri faces. They were some sort of half-living, half-cyborg beings. Puffy, pink skin surrounded their eyes, but silver-metallic bands covered the rest of their heads and bodies—Maisie had given up trying to find out exactly what the bands were. The Chitauri came from a different world, a different place, they'd come without warning—or perhaps there had been warning and the public had been given no notice—and taken Earth from humankind.

Maisie had watched the news broadcasts on that dreadful day six years ago. She'd been in English class, listening to the teacher drone on about Othello, when the news of the Invasion came. The teacher had stopped lecturing and instead turned on the projector so that her students could watch the Chitauri descend from the sky and tear apart New York City.

Maisie still remembered, with perfect clarity, the cheers of her classmates when they saw the Avengers arrive. Captain America, dressed in red, white, and blue, the symbol of patriotism. Iron Man, his metal armor impenetrable as he fired weapons at the enemy. Thor, the god-like being from Asgard who wielded a mythical hammer. The Hulk, a green beast of pure muscle and strength. Hawkeye, the man who could hit any target with an arrow. Black Widow, a woman whose fighting talents were unmatched.

They were Earth's heroes. They were meant to protect humanity from threats like the Chitauri, from threats like Loki Laufeyson. And perhaps the Avengers would have succeeded in the end, but the moment the American government thought that the Avengers had lost, the nuclear missile had been unleashed.

Maisie remembered watching as the gray cloud appeared over New York City. She remembered the pale horror on her classmates faces. One girl's father had been on a business trip in New York and two or three kids had family there. Maisie remembered the smoke clearing and seeing that New York City, the mighty New York City, had become nothing more than rubble and chemicals.

And the Chitauri had continued to descend from the sky.

The missile may have killed the Chitauri and leviathans that had already invaded New York City, but the government had failed to realize that the army was near infinite. More Chitauri and more leviathans came. They spread across the state of New York like a disease. In all directions across the globe, led by Loki Laufeyson, the Chitauri had come and conquered.

A wry smile spread across Maisie's face as she walked.

For all his troubles, Loki, in the end, got nothing. A month after the victory over Earth had been confirmed, the Chitauri leader had betrayed Loki. The god-like Loki, who the Invasion survivors had learned to fear and hate in equal measure, was reduced to nothing but an outcast, driven from his place in Asgard and driven from his place on Earth.

Maisie couldn't help but feel a sense of justice. Not that it made her position any better.

The Chitauri officer at head of the slave line tugged on the cord. Maisie felt a surge of electricity run through her wrists and the rest of her body. She twitched, but, through gritted teeth, managed to suppress the scream of pain. The man in front of Maisie let out a low, long whimper while the woman scoffed in outrage. Maisie's wrists burned, but she continued to walk, keeping her eyes fixed on the outline of New York City.

She never seen the city before except on television. After the missile had been dropped and it was made clear that the Chitauri were not to be stopped, the teacher had allowed her students to go home. Maisie and her older sister, Jo, had driven home as soon as possible and watched the last clip of the news broadcast on their television. The demolition of New York City and the Avengers—the ones that had survived, standing amongst the rubble. The god-like Thor, supporting injuries that dyed his body red, looked at the destruction and wept. While the Hulk held the unconscious Black Widow in a giant, green hand and trembled. That was it. That was all that had survived.

"Remember," called out the Overseer. "You are looking for a blue light. A power source that was lost in the nuclear explosion. Remember, whoever finds this power source will receive a place in the Helio."

Maisie glanced at the Overseer and felt a wave of disgust. Everything from his thin lips to his green eyes gave Maisie shivers of dislike. The Overseer, and others like him, had decided to make the best of the Invasion. He had learned the language of the Chitauri and worked as a communicator between the rulers and the slaves. As a reward for his work, the Overseer was given a place in the Helio, the wealthy section of the Boston Colony—where people were fed, pampered, and acted as though they liked the Chitauri.

Maisie shifted and felt the cord rub against her wrists. She twitched, recalling the pain of the electrical shock.

She heard a gasp from the woman behind her and Maisie lifted her gaze. They were drawing into full view of New York City and, for the first time, Maisie saw, with her own eyes, the ruin of a once great city.

There were no more buildings. Huge pieces of cement and metal, pieces of what was once a skyscraper, were sprawled about, cast on top of one another. What had once been huge a monument was now nothing more than a pile of rubble. Streets were no more. Houses no more. Cars no more. New York City had become a graveyard of chemicals, cement, rusted metal, and broken glass. Ruin. A wasteland.

"We have to go in there?" asked some idiot at the front of the line.

The Overseer nodded to one of the Chitauri, and the officer grabbed the cord again. Maisie was ready for the electric shock this time.

"You were brought here to find the power source," said the Overseer.

The slaves remained silent, knowing that any question would cause them to receive another electric shock. They all stared at the Overseer, waiting for him to explain. New York City was still filled with dangerous chemicals. When the other expeditions had returned, some of the people had become sick, their skin red and burning from exposure. And yet, the Chitauri insisted on sending an expedition of slaves into the chemical wasteland once a month to find this power source.

"Remember," said the Overseer. "There is no escape."

Maisie watched with hollowed eyes as the Chitauri officers started to free the humans from the cord that bound them.

Oh yes, she thought, we remember.

Natasha Romanoff moved through the cave hallways as though she owned them. She looked straight ahead as she passed by the members of Shield. They were all watching her, of course, but she didn't spare them a glance. She had learned long ago that to make eye contact with them was to encourage the whispers. Natasha had taught herself to ignore what people said about her. She had failed humanity no less than anyone else. She hadn't see them in New York City on that fateful day.

At the end of the hallway, Natasha took a right. The metal door with chipped red paint was closed and locked, but Natasha had a key. She slid her card through the pad and waited. The light flared red. Natasha suppressed a groan before running the access card through again. This time the light was green and Natasha pushed the door open with her shoulder.

After the Invasion, Shield had been forced to make due. They salvaged what technology they could and, after the initial defenses fell, went underground—literally. Natasha had spent the last six years living in a bunker with two other women. The only times Natasha had been to the surface was to carry out missions for Shield. Other than that, she wandered the caves, worked out at the gym, avoided the gossiping members of Shield as much as possible, and, of course, visited Bruce.

Behind the red-chipped door was Bruce Banner's cell—a large container made of metal and a special type of reinforced glass—so Bruce could look at the world, but not touch it.

To be fair to Shield, Bruce had been uncontrollable for a while. Natasha and Bruce had returned to SHIELD (the name was in all capitals back then, much more formal looking in Natasha's opinion) after the missile and watched the rapid decline of humanity. Nick Fury had tried to get them off their asses—to do something about the Chitauri, but both Natasha and Bruce were too ashamed and too frustrated to move. They could not rid themselves of the faces they had left behind—Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton. Only Thor had survived as well, but he had been forced to return to Asgard after the injuries he had suffered.

Bruce and Natasha had faced the destruction of humanity alone.

And then, the news of Elizabeth Ross's death came.

Natasha suspected that Fury hadn't intended to tell Bruce about his ex-girlfriend's death, but the question had been asked and Fury no longer had the heart not to answer. Bruce hadn't been able to contain his emotions and the monster came out. The monster had come out frequently enough that, five years ago, Fury had been forced to put Bruce in a cage, seal him off from the rest of the surviving human race. Bruce hadn't put up much of a fight. He accepted his fate without question and now he remained in the cage—reading books, doing research, and chatting with his visitors (AKA Natasha, because who else would visit the Hulk?).

"You haven't slept, have you?" asked Natasha as she lowered herself into the metal chair facing Bruce's cage.

She could see him through the glass, lying on his back and staring up at the metal ceiling. He rolled his head to the side and smiled at her, though the smile did not reach his eyes. Natasha didn't think he had truly smiled in six years. Then again, neither had she.

"I was thinking," said Bruce.

"You're always thinking," said Natasha. "What else is new?"

"Not a lot of new happens in here," said Bruce. He moved to an upright position. "Have you been keeping busy?"

"Not recently," said Natasha. "I've been going to the gym more—if you can count that."

"No missions?"

"No. Things have been quiet," said Natasha.

"The Chitauri have sent out no new expeditions to New York City?"

Natasha shook her head. "It's about time though. As soon as we get word, I'll bring out a squad and we'll see what we can scrounge up."

Bruce tapped his fingers against his knee. "They're going to find it one day."

"Not if we find it first," said Natasha roughly.

"You've looked," said Bruce. "You've looked and you've looked."

"I know," said Natasha. "We were out there every day, looking through the rubble in those stuffy suits." She let out a dry laugh. "Not that they helped much. Clare's face still burned from prolonged exposure."

Bruce got to his feet and walked over to the minifridge on the far side of his cage. He pulled out a bottle of water and took a swing from it before placing it back on the shelf.

"You still change in the middle of the night," said Natasha. "I thought you said the dreams went away."

Bruce glanced at her. "The doctor told you then."

"Yes."

"I didn't want you to worry about me."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you," said Natasha. "I know what you've been through."

"Do you?" Bruce's voice was taut.

"Not all of it," said Natasha. "I'm not you. But we're both Avengers here, Bruce. We're the last two."

"Thor."

"Isn't here," said Natasha. "Even if he failed with us, he was able to leave. He's in Asgard now, where they won't look at him and blame him for losing their home."

"He still fights," said Bruce.

"Yes," said Natasha. "But that's all."

"Sometimes," said Bruce, moving to sit back down on the bed. "That's what we need."

"Do you want to fight?" asked Natasha. She crossed her legs and leaned back in the metal chair, watching him. Bruce seemed to have gotten smaller over the years. His cheeks were gaunt and the clothes that he'd been given when first arriving were too big around the shoulders and hips. He looked like a defeated man as he sat on his cot with his head bowed forward ever so slightly.

"No," said Bruce. "I'm done."

"But the other guy," said Natasha. "He's not."

"No," said Bruce. "But that's what this cage is for."

Thor Odinson tried not to throw his hammer in frustration. The last time he'd done so had caused severe damage to the Bifrost, and Heimdall had not been pleased. The golden dome filled with light and Sif arrived, her face twisted with anger.

"We cannot find a crack in their defenses!" cried Sif, sheathing her weapon and moving to stand beside Thor. "Again and again we have battled them and again and again they have repelled us. I do not recall the Chitauri from legend being so organized!"

There was a flash of light during Sif's speech as the Warriors Three arrived.

"The Chitauri are under new management," said Hogun. "Thanos has them disciplined."

"Where are the others?" asked Volstagg, glancing around the golden dome with walls of circles and clocks.

"They have gone ahead," said Heimdall. "Some were injured severely."

"I don't enjoy fighting Chitauri," said Fandral, running his fingers through his yellow hair. "They have no sense of subtlety."

"That is a good thing," said Sif. "It makes it easier to deceive them."

"If only it was that easy to deceive them," said Hogun. "We would have been driven back over a hundred times already."

As he listened to his friends argue, Thor tried to settle the burning rage in his stomach. Six human years had passed since he had lost Earth to the Chitauri and not a dent had been made in the Chitauri's defenses. The battles he had fought and lost were numerous—and what did they have to show for it? Nothing. Injured and dead Asgardians. Rebellions across the other seven realms. Earth still in the hands of the Chitauri.

Thor gritted his teeth and started the long walk down the bridge back towards Asgard. His friends followed him, continuing their debate. Thor listened for a moment and found that they were voicing his own doubts and fears.

"How much longer will the other Asgardians support this fight?" asked Hogun. "We have lost so many and gained nothing. Will they not, at some point, say that we must let Earth go?"

"We cannot just let them go," said Volstagg. "They are part of the Nine Realms."

"But they have turned against us," said Sif.

"The humans have not," said Volstagg. "The humans are enslaved by the Chitauri. Are we to abandon the humans?"

Thor cringed at the thought of enslavement. Jane Foster's face flashed in Thor's mind and even though he tried to suppress the image, he could not forget her sweet face with determined eyes and a disarming smile. The thought of Jane being enslaved to the Chitauri sent shivers of fear down Thorin's spine and fueled the rage in his chest. He wanted to turn around and demand that Heimdall send him back to Earth. Let him fight the Chitauri without ceasing until they surrendered Jane to him and left Earth in peace.

Thor gripped his hammer, Mjolnir, and wished that things were that easy. They weren't. The Chitauri had worked hard to claim Earth with the help of Loki, and now that they possessed it, they refused to relinquish it.

The thought of Loki made Thor's throat tighten. Merely his brother's name caused a wave of conflicting emotions in Thor. His brother, he beloved brother, whom he had grown up with. His brother who had betrayed not only Thor but all of Asgard. His brother who had led the Chitauri to Earth only to be cast from his throne by Thanos within a month.

"You cannot take every defeat so hard," said Fandral, patting Thor on the back. "They are difficult and exhausting, yes, but we must continue forward with your head held high."

"Forgive me," said Thor. "Every defeat is another battle we must fight. It is hard to remain in good cheer."

"We do not expect you to remain in good cheer," said Fandral. "But remember that you cannot dig yourself into a hole. Always look forward, Thor. Forward to the day when we will free the human race."

Thor glanced around and realized that they were all watching him—Fandral, Sif, Volstagg, Hogun—waiting for him to respond. They walked along the Bifrost, the water rushing beneath them with a wild roar and the golden city of Asgard rising above them in the distance.

"Thank you, my friends," said Thor. "You know what I need to hear."

Even though he said this, Thor's grip on the handle of Mjolnir did not lighten in the slightest.

Hands in the pockets of his gray jacket, the weathered man wandered the streets of the Chicago Colony. He did not meet the eyes of the people passing by, but stared off somewhere above the rooftops of the apartment buildings as if he might find some answers in the sky. He didn't seem to notice when a young man bumped into his shoulder and apologized. Rather than respond, he continued walking down the crowded street as though nothing had happened—he pretended not to feel the lightness in his pants pocket where his wallet had been seconds prior.

Tony Stark had mastered the art of not drawing attention to himself. It'd been a hard lesson for him to learn. Back when he'd been Iron Man, Tony had demanded attention wherever he went, and now…now Tony kept his head turned and pretended that the rest of the world did not exist. That way the rest of the world could forget that he existed too.

The Chicago Colony was not as brutal as the Boston Colony. According to his neighbor's gossip, the Boston Colony Overseers enjoyed the brutality of the Chitauri. The Overseers would actually invent tales of treachery in order to watch the Chitauri punish the human slaves. The Chicago Colony was not so harsh. Punishments were administered to those who did not do their work and those who tried to escape, but none of the Overseers were outright cruel. They did their jobs for money and comfort—not for pleasure. There was violence in the streets, of course—robberies, muggings, rape, murder—but what else did the Overseers expect? The slaves needed food and there wasn't enough to go around.

Tony took a right at the street corner and pushed open the wooden door of his apartment building. The Chitauri officer at the desk watched Tony through squinted eyes as it inserted the needle into Tony's hand and drew a drop of blood. The Chitauri released a high-pitched sound of approval—verifying that Tony did, indeed, live in this apartment building—and Tony headed towards the stairs.

As his free day came to a close, Tony had to prepare for working in the fields the next day. He wanted to get a good meal in and a good night's rest before he spent eighteen hours generating food for the Colony. Two days ago, one of the men in Tony's schedule had decided to skip work because he was ill. The Chitauri had dragged the man from his bed and let one of their keels, half-dog half-cyborg, eat him alive. The man's screams had filled the streets for a good hour before he had the decency to die.

Tony reached the fourth floor of the building and exited the stairwell. None of the apartment buildings in the Chicago Colony were five-star quality. In fact, calling the apartment buildings any star quality was an exaggeration. Only the Helio houses were worthy of a couple stars—but the peeling wallpaper, moldy shower ceilings, clogged drains, stale-smelling sheet, and damp carpets were enough to turn any once-billionaire away. Unfortunately, Tony didn't have much of a choice. It was either the apartments or the streets—some nights Tony wondered if the streets might be more comfortable.

"Anthony, is that you?"

Tony turned to see his tall, ginger-haired neighbor, Heather, leaving her apartment. She beamed at Tony, showing all of her teeth.

"How are you this afternoon?" asked Heather.

"Wonderful," said Tony, stepping past her to the apartment door labeled 406: Anthony Serkin.

"Glad to hear it," said Heather. "Today was you free day, correct?"

"Yes," said Tony. "Now another nine days of hard labor."

"Cheer up," said Heather. "At least you have a free day. My next three free days have been taken away because my Overseers didn't think I was working hard enough."

Tony felt sorry for his neighbor, but he didn't see the need to swap stories of slave-labor with her. If she thought three missed free days were dreadful, he hated to think what her reactions to his stories would be—his stories back from the days before he had learned to avoid attention. Back when every Overseer despised him and every keel gnashed its teeth as Tony walked by. Oh yes, Tony had plenty of stories to tell.

He opened his apartment door, and with a quick farewell to Heather and something that resembled a smile, Tony stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind him. He stood alone in the small bedroom/living room/kitchen/laundry room and released a long breath. No matter how many times he had come home from a free day and been faced with the tiny, cramped apartment, Tony hadn't gotten used to it. He had grown accustomed to the expanse of his mansion, and even after six years, the one-room one-bathroom apartment was not enough.

He collapsed on the cot, the springs groaning under his weight.

Another day gone by quietly. Nothing to worry about and nothing to fear. Iron Man had died in the nuclear explosion along with Captain America and Hawkeye.

It was more than dangerous to navigate through the ruins of New York City. Every piece of rubble threatened to come down on Maisie Wilcox if she took a single wrong step. But that wasn't the worst of it. As she moved deeper and deeper into New York City, Maisie wished she'd been given a suit or a gas mask or something to protect her from the chemicals. She couldn't see them or feel them, but she knew that the chemicals were there and that knowledge made her skin crawl with fear. She held her breath, hoping that might minimize the amount of toxins to which she was exposed. Of course, Maisie knew the breathing in the chemicals had little to do with it—just her skin was enough. She might end up one of those returners who screamed as her skin burned and blistered. Or, as little hope as she had, she might be one of the returners who was unaffected by the chemicals.

Maisie clambered up the side of a piece of concrete (possibly once the foundation of a building). A dark chasm rested between one piece of concrete and the next. Maisie stared into the black chasm and felt her stomach twist. Who knew what was down there in the dark?

She walked across the slanted piece of foundation and moved to the highest point. She stood on the corner of the concrete and scanned the rubble for any sight of the power source. There was no eerie blue light as far as Maisie could tell.

She could see a couple of the other humans in the distance, searching the rubble as she was. One of them, a large, muscular man, kept looking about nervously and Maisie wondered if he was thinking of running for it. Maisie silently advised him against it. The tracking chips weren't just a rumor.

Satisfied that she couldn't find the power source, Maisie turned around and prepared to climb back down the slab of concrete. She hopped over some broken glass and, losing her footing, grabbed onto a piece of wood to stop herself from falling off the slanted cement platform. However, the piece of wood that she grasped for was not attached to anything.

Her foot hit a piece of debris and Maisie tumbled downwards towards the chasm. She let out a shrill scream, which was broken short as she landed with a crunch.

Maisie's back convulsed with pain, and she rolled over, groaning, to see on what she had landed. Several pieces of wood. Good to know. She tossed a broken piece of wood away from her and, fighting the pain in her back, staggered to her feet. It wasn't a large space that she had fallen into—but it was dark and dank, filled with pieces of rotting wood and crumbling stone. The chasm wasn't actually as deep as Maisie had imagined. If she found something to stand on, she could probably pull herself back up onto the concrete.

She waded through the debris, kicking pieces of wood out of her way as she looked for something larger. So far she had found nothing. It was hard to see far in the darkness and Maisie had to examine every inch of the chasm in case she had missed something in the pitch black. Her search revealed nothing, however, and in her frustration, Maisie kicked a rock.

The rock soared across the chasm, hit a concrete wall and then fell, knocking a board over. Maisie began to turn away when, suddenly, the chasm was filled with light. But not just any light—a blue light.

Maisie's heart stopped.

Impossible. Absolutely impossible. How many people had come to New York City searching for the power source? How many people had returned without ever finding it? There was no way. No way that she would be the one. No way.

Slowly, Maisie made her way across the chasm. The closer she came the more brilliant the blue light. She had to shield her eyes as she stood over it and moved some of the wood pieces out of the way. The light became brighter and started to take form, a brilliant, shimmering, blue cube grasped in a human hand.

Maisie shrieked and leapt backward, grabbing a piece of splintered wood with which to defend herself. She stared at the hand, waiting for it to move, but it remained frozen. It clutched the blue cube and did not twitched in the slightest.

Now that she had time to think, Maisie realized that the hand was connected to an arm and the arm connected to a shoulder. The rest of the body—or whatever the shoulder was connected to—was buried under the rubble.

Maisie inched forward, little by little, still keeping the piece of wood clutched in her hands in case the arm decided to move at any point. Slowly, she kneeled beside the blue light and pulled the pieces of rubble away from the body until she found a torso—a man's torso—connected to the arm and a face. A pale face covered in cuts and bruises. His eyes were closed and his jaw taut, a look of absolute peace on his damaged face.

He was dead, Maisie realized. She was trapped in this chasm with the power source and a dead body. How…pleasant.

It was then, in the blue light of the power source, that Maisie got a good look at the man and, more importantly, the symbol on the man's chest. His outfit was skin-tight and blue with a white star on his chest. It took Maisie a moment to recognize the outfit—but when she did, she let out a low groan.

"Captain America," she murmured. "Sorry for defiling your grave."

The man made no move to stop her, so Maisie reached out and pried the power source from the dead hero's fingers. The blue energy buzzed against her skin and burned. Maisie gasped and dropped the power source onto her lap. With the fabric of her jeans between her skin and the power source, Maisie no longer felt the pain. She breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed her fingertips nervously. They still burned a little.

A hand closed around Maisie's wrist.

She screamed and leapt backwards, but the hand pulled her closer. Captain America's blue eyes were wide open and he was staring at her. His lips moved soundlessly, as if to say something, but he could not find the words.

"Let go of me!" Maisie screamed again and tried to wrench her hand away, but Captain America's strength was too great.

The power source fell from Maisie's lap and onto the floor, illuminating the whole chasm.

Captain America released Maisie and reached for the power source. She scurried backwards and watched, open-mouthed, as he picked up the blue light. He cringed in pain as the energy touched his bare skin, and he wrapped a piece of blue fabric around the power source.

They remained complete silence for a minute. Captain America still seemed to be struggling with the concept of speech, while Maisie still trying to recover from the shock of seeing a dead man come back to life. Her entire body was shaking and her heart was racing. She swallowed several times and blinked, trying to make sure that the Captain America in front of her was real and not some chemical-induced illusion.

"Who?" The word came out as a croak, barely a word at all. Captain American tried again. "Who—you?"

"Who am I?" asked Maisie.

The Captain nodded. If possible, he looked even more dead after coming back to life. His pale face, which had seemed peaceful earlier, was etched in shadows and bruises. Dirt and blood streaked his cheeks, nose, forehead, and eyelids. Every movement he made was twitching and uncomfortable, as if he was only just learning how to function again. Maisie was surprised that his build was still in perfect condition—muscular and flawless, even though she doubted a dead man could make it to a gym.

"Who are you?" whispered Maisie.

Captain America pointed to himself. "I asked—first."

Maisie frowned. "What is that?" She pointed to the power source clutched in the Captain's hand.

He shook his head. "You."

She sighed and realized that she wouldn't get anything out of him until she identified herself. "Maisie. Maisie Wilcox."

"Are you—civilian?" asked Captain America.

Maisie frowned, not sure what he meant. "I'm human," she offered.

The Captain shook his head. "Civilian?"

"I'm not an Overseer if that's what you mean," said Maisie. She wondered if coming back from the dead was slightly disorienting for Captain America. "I'm a slave just like everyone else."

The Captain's eyes widened in shock. He shook his head.

It finally occurred to Maisie that Captain America might have been dead all this time. For the past six years. Which meant—Maisie stopped herself mid-thought. That was impossible.

"How long have you been down here?" asked Maisie. "Did you come to find the power source too?"

"The missile," said the Captain. "The missile. Are you safe? Did we survive?"

Maisie's heart stopped. "The last thing you remember is the missile?"

Captain American nodded. "Did you—survive—the nuclear—missile?"

"No." Maisie stared. "I'm here on an expedition from the Boston Colony. The Chitauri brought me here to look for the blue power source." Her throat was dry. "It's been six years since the missile. Everyone thought you were dead." She paused. "Were you dead?"

Her heart ached for him as she watched the news sink in. Surprisingly, Captain America did not scream, fight, or reject reality, as she would have expected a normal person to do. Captain America simply sat down on a piece of rock and said, "Damn. Not again."