Z. BRAND.

“It wasn’t a lifestyle choice. Or a choice at all really. But you make enough headlines and the cameras don’t stop flashing.” 

“i’m sorry i just –– i still don’t understand what you’re asking of us. we’re not hitmen.”

“If you’re talking about an iota, then yes. You do look like you’re planning on making this interaction as short as possible. I think what you meant to use was a synonym for long.”

❝ you must have a death wish if you’ve come to see me. what’s the special occasion? ❞

“—does any of this gotta do with me? if not, i don’t care. i ain’t listenin’.”

“ohhkay, that’s enough of that.”

“It’s called a disguise.” Carol smiles, pulling her hood further up over her head. “Keeps the paps off my ass.” 

A man falls from the sky.

Honestly, weirder things have happened, but the point remains that a man falls from the sky — and that man is Peter Quill. Missing for some time, presumed dead by his teammates, friends, and loved ones, and now here. In the flesh.

Smashed onto the ground, face flarking first, and his whole body aching, like he’s been run over by his own krutacking ship or something. He’s taken good care of it, hasn’t he? And this is the flarking thanks he gets?

Frowning, grimacing, Peter balls both hands into fists around his element guns and pulls himself up. It’s a slow process, more painful than anything he’s feeling anywhere in his body, actually — and after what seems like an eternity, he manages it. (Not that he’s the best judge of time; things in his head are really fuzzy right now. There’s this image in his mind’s eye of some guy in a white beard and a robe, asking him the same question: Do you feel the basis for your life is wrong?….)

Anyway. He’s got more important things to focus on. Blinking at his surroundings, he mutters to the guns, “Charge?”

Only to get the most unhelpful cool, automated reply in history: “Unknown. Parameter error.”

He pulls the trigger on one of them then — only to test it, just to make a rock or something. No big deal.

But he isn’t bargaining for it to make a whole tree sprout out in front of him.

“What the flark?”

Look into an unidentified object. That was her job. It seemed simple enough, but things were never simple when it came to S.W.O.R.D. Normally, the responsibility would fall on a subordinate. Abigail, who had been in a close proximity, ended up drawing the short end of the stick. As a result, clouds of dirt billowed around black boots as she made her way closer to the site of contact. 

“I usually get a warmer welcome than that whenever I enter a room.” Not that he was looking for a standing ovation, but the energy from this woman was definitely just off. The world may have been potentially ending but they weren’t quite at that point yet.

“sure, of course. but, if you don’t mind me asking before you begin, why are you here?”

Daisy wasn’t necessarily eager to be the one having to interact with Commander Brand. She’d much rather be speaking to Monica Rambeau, but she wasn’t. She was here, in this stuffy conference room being forced to do her job. “Look, I’m not trying to step on any toes here, Commander.” It felt weird even saying that, given that this woman was not even from Daisy’s reality, let alone S.H.I.E.L.D.. “But things are only going to get worse from here. And we’re gonna have to work together, whether we really want to or not.”

“Look, lady, I don’t really care if you’re impressed or not.” The last thing Marc wanted was to be working for Khonshu again. But he was, and nothing could change that. And he really didn’t care about some green-haired Commander’s opinion on the whole thing. He’d dealt with her type before, and he didn’t like it anymore now than he did when he spoke with Bushman. But he was supposed to be making rounds, gathering some more information on the Incursions. Offering his assistance. 

Well she’s not g’nna want to speak with us if you’re so bloody mean about it, Marc.

Steven’s voice echoed in his head, but Marc used all of his willpower to shove it away as he continued. “You don’t want my help, fine. Point me in the direction of someone who does.”

“I never said I was anti-alien,” Clint shrugged at the green haired woman in front of him, doubling down on his statement. “Just anti-tech that isn’t from Earth. I’ve been involved with enough alien tech to know that it’s usually bad news.”

“If this is about the multiverse, I’m aware. And working on it.” It was definitely a work in progress. More than that.

“what does it take to impress you, commander?”

“ – what makes you think anythin’ you say to me matters.”