Template:Featured Articles/40-2015
 Following up on a tip to SWORD, Clinton Barton and his partner encounter the Asgardian, New York's latest costumed crime fighter.
"One, we're not cops. We're agents of SWORD. Two, I haven't drawn a gun and Hendrickson over here's putting his away. Three, I'm getting a crick in my neck. You should come down where I can actually talk to you face to hood. You can obviously get away if you need to - blue flashes of light sort of gave you away there." Clint wiggled his fingers at the figure on the rooftop. There was silence for a brief moment, then three lights appeared in the alley. The first dim atop the building, as the figure vanished, the second much brighter as he appeared back in the alley in front of them, and the third, as Hendrickson's gun vanished from his hand, reappearing in the cloaked figure's. He tossed it aside with a sniff. "Not fast enough. Okay so talk." "Well, like I said, my name's Clint," he repeated. "I actually know an Asgardian. So is what you're doing magic or something else?" "What do you mean, 'Know an Asgardian,'" the figure asked, dodging the question with one of his own. "Thor," Clint said. "Know him. Periodically go drinking with him. He's pretty cool. Has a biker vibe going most of the time." "Okaaaay, then" the figure said. "Well, this has been fun. Let's do it again sometime. I'll call you. Really. Don't call me, I'll call you." "Hey," Clint said, smile dropping away. "I can see what you're doing. I even admire it to an extent. But you're drawing attention to yourself. That's dangerous." "Yeah, well," the man replied. "If some of us who can play as legends don't stand up for the...mice...they get mauled. And they don't deserve that. So screw danger." |
