Really, they should have been braced for this one to go sideways on them from the start. No mission briefing containing the word artifact has ever led to anything good.
It starts off fairly simple. They're wrapping up a job near Vorbis when they get the regular update message from Earth, and on this particular occasion it comes with a request for them to drop by whenever they next get the chance to help sort through some alien tech recovered from the battlefield that no-one's been able to identify. It's not too far out of their way at that point, so they work a stop into their route and plan to take some downtime while they're there. He's honestly kind of looking forward to it. Earth is one of the better ports they have to take some shore leave on these days, and he's never gonna say no to an excuse to play around with some new tech.
Once they make planetfall, progress is pretty quick. A lot of the stuff isn't actually that exotic, just unusual for a chitauri ship and so unfamiliar to the small army of human techies who've been sorting through the wreckage left behind. There are a couple of real puzzles mixed in with it though, and that's more than enough to keep him interested. The others come and go as he works, some floating by in the background, others sticking around on a more consistent basis. Nebs gets bored fairly quickly and wanders off to find some trouble she can get in on. At one point Stark drops by, presumably also lured by the promise of weird alien tech: they end up spending most of the day arguing about music, and ultimately form a truce based around cornering Rhodey and dragging him out to a bar.
After a few days, he's down to mostly just the genuinely weird shit. Natasha's down working on it as well today, cross referencing the various reports that'd been submitted on the different pieces, as he squints contemplatively at a diagnostic screen hookup up to a large, stubbornly unidentifiable piece of machinery. "It's meant to scan for something," he mutters, breaking the companionable silence, "But I can't work out what." From the layout of the circuitry it looks like both panels are supposed to be activated simultaneously, but from the notes in the report it's clear that the first crew to check it out had already tried just having two people press them at the same time, so there must be more to it than that. He hums thoughtfully, considering the readout on the screen hooked up to it. "Might be able to figure somethin' out from it tryin' the scan, even if it's not gonna activate. Can you hit the other panel...?"
He's expecting an error message. He's hoping to get a brief glimpse of what kind of signal it is the machine's set up to look for, even if it shuts down again the second it doesn't see what it wants to. He's not prepared for it to light up like a fucking supernova the second Natasha touches the other side, and he instinctively tries to jerk his hand away but some force keeps it pressed flat against the panel, and—
—and suddenly there's nothing around them but a strange, clinging mist. Natasha is still there, but the machine and everything else around them is gone. A light catches his eye, and he looks down to find that a deep, faded scar on the outside of his right forearm is...glowing? As he stares at it, the mists part, revealing a hazy tableau of a crowded dive bar; for a moment he thinks the scene is frozen in place, but— no, things are moving, just very slowly. He turns, scanning for any hint as to what the fuck is going on, and finds himself abruptly face to face with...himself.
For a long few seconds, he can only blink, absolutely blindsided. The face looking back at him is younger, caught in the middle of a snarl, but there's no doubting that it's him. He takes a step back, trying to process what's in front of him, and the scene rapidly speeds up to a normal pace, the distant and oddly muffled sounds of a barfight kicking in. The ghostly younger version of him pivots to face a drunk Kree lunging in with a raised knife; unconsciously he touches the glowing scar as he watches his other self throw a defensive arm up, blocking a blow meant for his chest. There's a spray of blood as the blade bites deep, leaving behind a cut that perfectly matches it.
With that, the scene fades, mists enveloping them once more. "What the fuck," he mutters, soft and heartfelt. When he turns around, Natasha is at least still there. And coming from beneath her clothes, once again, there is a glow.
no subject
It starts off fairly simple. They're wrapping up a job near Vorbis when they get the regular update message from Earth, and on this particular occasion it comes with a request for them to drop by whenever they next get the chance to help sort through some alien tech recovered from the battlefield that no-one's been able to identify. It's not too far out of their way at that point, so they work a stop into their route and plan to take some downtime while they're there. He's honestly kind of looking forward to it. Earth is one of the better ports they have to take some shore leave on these days, and he's never gonna say no to an excuse to play around with some new tech.
Once they make planetfall, progress is pretty quick. A lot of the stuff isn't actually that exotic, just unusual for a chitauri ship and so unfamiliar to the small army of human techies who've been sorting through the wreckage left behind. There are a couple of real puzzles mixed in with it though, and that's more than enough to keep him interested. The others come and go as he works, some floating by in the background, others sticking around on a more consistent basis. Nebs gets bored fairly quickly and wanders off to find some trouble she can get in on. At one point Stark drops by, presumably also lured by the promise of weird alien tech: they end up spending most of the day arguing about music, and ultimately form a truce based around cornering Rhodey and dragging him out to a bar.
After a few days, he's down to mostly just the genuinely weird shit. Natasha's down working on it as well today, cross referencing the various reports that'd been submitted on the different pieces, as he squints contemplatively at a diagnostic screen hookup up to a large, stubbornly unidentifiable piece of machinery. "It's meant to scan for something," he mutters, breaking the companionable silence, "But I can't work out what." From the layout of the circuitry it looks like both panels are supposed to be activated simultaneously, but from the notes in the report it's clear that the first crew to check it out had already tried just having two people press them at the same time, so there must be more to it than that. He hums thoughtfully, considering the readout on the screen hooked up to it. "Might be able to figure somethin' out from it tryin' the scan, even if it's not gonna activate. Can you hit the other panel...?"
He's expecting an error message. He's hoping to get a brief glimpse of what kind of signal it is the machine's set up to look for, even if it shuts down again the second it doesn't see what it wants to. He's not prepared for it to light up like a fucking supernova the second Natasha touches the other side, and he instinctively tries to jerk his hand away but some force keeps it pressed flat against the panel, and—
—and suddenly there's nothing around them but a strange, clinging mist. Natasha is still there, but the machine and everything else around them is gone. A light catches his eye, and he looks down to find that a deep, faded scar on the outside of his right forearm is...glowing? As he stares at it, the mists part, revealing a hazy tableau of a crowded dive bar; for a moment he thinks the scene is frozen in place, but— no, things are moving, just very slowly. He turns, scanning for any hint as to what the fuck is going on, and finds himself abruptly face to face with...himself.
For a long few seconds, he can only blink, absolutely blindsided. The face looking back at him is younger, caught in the middle of a snarl, but there's no doubting that it's him. He takes a step back, trying to process what's in front of him, and the scene rapidly speeds up to a normal pace, the distant and oddly muffled sounds of a barfight kicking in. The ghostly younger version of him pivots to face a drunk Kree lunging in with a raised knife; unconsciously he touches the glowing scar as he watches his other self throw a defensive arm up, blocking a blow meant for his chest. There's a spray of blood as the blade bites deep, leaving behind a cut that perfectly matches it.
With that, the scene fades, mists enveloping them once more. "What the fuck," he mutters, soft and heartfelt. When he turns around, Natasha is at least still there. And coming from beneath her clothes, once again, there is a glow.