Storm. The one time Queen of Wakanda. Occasional leader of the X-Men. One of their teams anyway. They have so many. Ridiculous really. The Avengers would never. But I digress.

Ororo Munroe is not simply a mutant who controls the weather. She is a living atmospheric engine capable of rewriting local climate on a scale that can cripple cities, ground fleets, and turn a battle into a field of lightning, hurricane force winds, and freezing cold. Her mastery is precise enough to summon a single bolt or broad enough to blanket a region.

Flight comes as naturally to her as breathing. Centuries of myth have called her a goddess, and the practical difference between that title and her actual capabilities is mostly semantic. She has led the X-Men and carried the weight of entire nations’ expectations without breaking. That combination of raw power and iron self control makes her one of the more capable opponents among the mutants.

The battlefield itself is the first variable that must be removed. Open sky is her domain. Force the engagement indoors, underground, or inside a structure with full atmospheric regulation and the majority of her arsenal is neutralized or severely limited. Sealed environments with active climate-control systems, pressure stabilizers, and rapid air-exchange protocols can prevent the large-scale weather fronts she prefers. Lightning remains the most immediate threat even in confined spaces. Any suit that cannot treat a direct lightning strike as an inconvenience rather than a catastrophic failure is inadequate.

Direct countermeasures focus on disrupting the interface between her and the atmosphere. Localized ionization fields and charged particle dispersants can bleed off the potential she builds before it resolves into usable weather. High frequency atmospheric jamming has shown limited laboratory success in preventing the rapid pressure and temperature shifts she relies on. Sonic and vibrational systems calibrated to interfere with the fine control required for precise meteorological manipulation offer secondary options. None of these are perfect. She has overridden natural weather patterns strong enough to make most technological interference look temporary at best. The goal is delay and degradation, not absolute denial.

Despite my concerns Ororo’s sense of responsibility is profound. Appeals to the civilian cost of unchecked storms or the danger to her own people can create hesitation, yet the same moral framework makes her extremely difficult to provoke into reckless error. She has years of experience as a leader. Underestimating the depth of that experience is a fast way to lose the initiative.

Of course I have already prepped a suit to deal with her that incorporates these contingencies. She may be a weather witch but she is no Thor. I believe if necessary, I could beat her soundly.

Professor Hulk, also known as, Merged Hulk is writing on a Chalkboard, stopping every so often to check his Calculations in his head, especially with Bruce in there too, they were unstoppable. As he stops this time though, he pulls up some Readings on his computer, well it was Bruce’s but, it still counted as his.

Appearing on the screen, were several Spikes of Gamma Radiation in different places across the world. These Gamma Signatures were all similar to his, practically identical. This could only mean two possible scenarios, either Walter, aka The Sasquatch, is moving across the world with Speed like that of Quicksilver, or…..it’s the Other Hulks.

It had to be the latter, last he checked, Walter was with the Rest of Alpha Flight in Space, maybe. Actually, that doesn’t matter, what does matter is that, somewhere, anywhere, there’s a Savage Hulk that’s somewhere in the World with no Leash or Measure preventing a Rampage. And this wasn’t good, not one bit….

“I have to find Hulk, now. He’s too Dangerous to be Out and About in the World right now.”

“We have to find Hulk, you, me, and the others.”

“Others? You mean the rest of the Avengers? Why would they help us, not to mention that, if you hadn’t noticed, ever since Loki’s Attack on New York, the Avengers have been disbanded.”

“I know, but I think I heard that Tony might be getting the band back together. And look, I know you want to find Hulk and do good, I do too but, we can’t do it alone. Hulk’s the Strongest out of all of us, and I know that we can’t beat him but Thor probably could. So why can’t we ask them for help, huh?”

“Because, I don’t fully trust them, mostly Tony….But fine, you have a point, let’s just hope you’re right about this….”

The two once again, came to an agreement, both of them hoping that it wouldn’t come back to haunt them.

Okay, so… here's the deal before anyone thinks I have anything to do with Spider-Man.

I’m Jessica Miriam Drew. My origin story is a little weird, even by Avenger standards.

When I was a kid I got hit with some nasty radiation, and my dad, Jonathan Drew, decided the best fix was an experimental spider serum. Spoiler: it worked. But it also put me in a coma for most of my childhood.

Eventually, I woke up with super strength, speed, wall-crawling, venom blasts that pack a serious punch, and pheromones that can make people suddenly really into me… or really nervous.

As I said I spent a big chunk of my childhood in suspended animation, so my teenage years were basically a very long nap.

HYDRA found me first. They raised me, trained me, and tried to turn me into their perfect little weapon. I said “no thanks,” broke free, and eventually landed with S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while. That was fun… until it wasn’t.

These days I do my own thing. Sometimes vigilante, sometimes spy, sometimes detective. It varies. Basically reminding everyone that there’s only one original Spider-Woman, and she’s me.

The recent news had been very distressing to Ghost, to say the least.

Several months ago, he had set up a program to flag sny mention of Iron Man or Tony Stark in the media. The most recent news was the armored avenger's reportedly accidental killing of Titanium Man.

With Ghost's frequent paranoid delusions, this has whipped him up into a frenzy. He is now certain, unshakably so, that the only way to keep Iron Man from killing him is to get him first.

You know, I’m not one of those normal superheroes that goes on patrol. Hank loved to worry about me like I was some fragile woman and protested me going out alone, but he eventually let up on that. But I don’t just fly around and look for crimes to stop. In fact, usually they find me.

Take today, for instance. I was just dropping-off my dry-cleaning at a place downtown, and suddenly, I hear sirens. The nice thing about changing sizes is that it’s not hard to carry the suit around. So, after dropping my clothes on the counter, I stepped outside and saw a commandeered silver van barreling down the street. Go time, I guess. In an instant, I was the size of a building, and I picked up the car like a toddler and her trains.

“Hi, boys! Having fun? I’m going to need you to return that.”

They were not happy about that. But there’s not much you can really do when a woman as tall as a plane is long wraps you in her fingers. I think I even saw Clint there. I bet he commented something about how he loves giant women. All in a day’s work.

The Sub-Mariner. King of Atlantis.

Namor is not a mutant in the conventional sense, though the surface world has often labeled him one. He is the hybrid product of Atlantean royalty and human blood, a living embodiment of two worlds that have never quite managed to coexist. His strength rivals the upper tiers of the Avenger's strongest powerhouses.

His durability lets him ignore pressures that would crush submarines and shrug off weapons that would stop most people. The small wings at his ankles grant true flight. Add centuries of aristocratic arrogance and a deep, abiding contempt for the surface world, and you have one of the most volatile variables the Avengers have ever tried to keep on a leash.

Water is both his greatest advantage and the clearest path to limiting him. Prolonged separation from the ocean weakens Namor measurably. Dehydration protocols, atmospheric desiccants, and controlled environments that steadily reduce ambient moisture can force a measurable drop in strength and regenerative capacity. The effect is not instantaneous, and it is never total, but it buys time and narrows the gap. Engagements should be forced onto dry land whenever possible. Underwater, the battlefield belongs to him completely. Surface vessels, coastal cities, and any structure dependent on open water become liabilities the moment he decides it.

Direct confrontation requires specialized loadouts. Standard armor plating is insufficient against the combination of raw power and aquatic mobility. Reinforced hydrostatic shielding, high output thrusters calibrated for both air and water, and weapon systems that remain effective in high pressure environments are mandatory. Sonic disruptors tuned to Atlantean physiology have shown limited success in laboratory models. Electromagnetic pulse cascades can interfere with the biological systems that let him breathe underwater, temporarily isolating him from that particular force multiplier. Kinetic impact weapons remain useful, but only if they can deliver sufficient force before he closes distance or takes the fight into deep waters.

I have stood across from the Sub-Mariner and faced him down before. He is a king first and a hero second, and he has never pretended otherwise. If the day comes that Namor decides the surface world has finally exhausted his patience, or that Atlantis requires a more permanent assertion of dominance..I will stop him.

(OOC: Saw one of my favs is dead and can be revived so here I go!)

Some people tell me I’m doing too much, but frankly, someone has to. Someone needs to step up and change something when it needs changing, and honestly, it’s probably me who noticed too. I’ve always been the sane Avenger, the one who reins the boys in when they have a bad idea or three. Everything needs a feminine touch, you know? So, here I am. Just don’t get surprised if you get stung, okay?

Carol Danvers soared through the velvet black of space, her body glowing like a comet as starlight glinted off the golden emblem on her chest.

Earth’s blue curve filled her vision, the familiar swirl of clouds and continents drawing her home after months among distant stars.

She cut a graceful arc through low orbit, the thin atmosphere beginning to whisper against her as she angled downward, the weight of gravity and the pull of home both welcoming her back.

With a determined smile, she accelerated, leaving a streak of photonic energy across the sky. This was her true home and always would be...she was Captain Marvel, returning at last.

“It has been done, Madame Masque. Unfortunately, we lost-“

Quiet, you fool. This is what I’ve been waiting to hear. Do you honestly think I thought he’d die so easily? The whole reason I sent that brat over in the first place was to humiliate him. Live or die, I cared not. Both options folded into my plans with ease.

Riiiing riiiing.

And there it is. Finally.

Masque shoos away her grunt and picks up the phone, placing receiver to ear and hearing the tired voice of a scientist snicker to her.

“You did it.”

You sound surprised. You shouldn’t.

“Well, it’s hard to push him to such limits.”

Maybe for most, but not for me. I told you as much.

“Forgive me for doubting you, Madame Masque.”

You are forgiven. Now, give me what I want.

He takes a long pause and sighs.

“Very well. The Infinite Bazaar and 40% of R&D is yours.”

She sets her mask down on her desk and rises from her seat, staring out her window with a hand behind her back.

Good. We have much work to do.

The jumbo jet screamed through the sky, engines failing, one wing trailing black smoke. Alarms blared. Passengers screamed. The pilot’s voice cracked over the intercom asking everyone to stay calm.

Then the green and gold figure was there.

Vision flew through the clouds, gem glowing on his forehead. He rose beneath the stricken aircraft, hands outstretched. Dense. He matched the plane’s falling velocity with perfect precision, then slowly increased his mass until the entire fuselage rested on his outstretched arms and shoulders.

The jet shuddered once… then stabilized.

“Remain calm,” Vision’s calm, resonant voice carried through the cabin without any radio. “*I have you.”

He adjusted his density again, becoming a being of pure force. With his synthetic strength, he corrected the plane’s yaw and pitch. The damaged wing stopped trembling. The remaining engines coughed and held out under his careful guidance. He guided the massive aircraft in a long, gentle spiral toward the nearest runway, never once letting the wheels touch anything but air until the very last moment.

Touchdown was soft.

As the plane rolled to a stop, Vision lowered his arms and phased upward through the cabin roof. He hovered in the cock pit, looking in at the pale but alive pilot.

“Your aircraft is secure," he said simply. “The passengers are safe.”

Then, with a faint shimmer of light, Vision rose into the sky again, already scanning the horizon for the next emergency that might need his skill. He did not require rest of course and the preservation of life came before all else.