Earth-3945756948405. New York City never forgot its scars. Neither did Adam Brashear.
Twenty Five years as Blue Marvel weighed heavier than the negative zone energy humming beneath his skin. He’d watched the modern age of heroes ignite twenty-Seven years ago, then burn people away one by one. Names echoed every night. Friends. Allies. Ghosts.
Baron Helmut Zemo’s shadow now stretched across the city, funneling high-tech weapons to militias hungry for takeover. Tonight, that shadow bled.
Blue Marvel hit the docks like a falling star. Containers burst. Zemo’s soldiers scattered. Captain America moved beside him, shield ringing with tired resolve. Daredevil stalked the darkness, fists finding heartbeats. Hawkeye covered the skyline, his prosthetic arm whirring, arrows rewriting physics.
Miles Morales swung in late, eyes sharp but haunted. Adam caught him mid-fight, steadying him the way Peter once had. “You’re not alone,” Adam said, meaning it more than ever.
From a distant command room, Nick Fury Jr. watched the feeds. “End it,” he ordered.
Zemo escaped, as always. The city stood, barely. Adam floated above Manhattan at dawn, battered, alive, still carrying the dead with him.
Heroes didn’t retire. They endured.
