The Star Team's Airbus tore through the stratosphere, flying at full throttle toward the icy reaches of the Arctic glaciers.
But Dante's head wasn't on the mission at all.
Because the current situation was way too hostile for him.
Three women. Three separate sofas.
Hela was unbothered, still casually flipping through Dante's phone like she owned it. Thanks to the Airbus's onboard Wi-Fi, she didn't even have to worry about losing signal.
But Ada and Harley? They shared a glance, then simultaneously locked their eyes on Hela.
The vibe was... antagonistic cooperation? That weird paradox where two apex predators pretend to play nice while sharpening knives behind their backs.
At first, Coulson had been coldly enjoying the free drama from the sidelines.
But Loki, sharp as ever, sensed the air thickening with estrogenic murder intent and physically dragged Coulson out of the lounge.
Dante, watching them make their tactical retreat, felt strangely emotional.
Honestly, if the Battle of New York had happened in this universe, there's no way he'd be seeing something this ridiculous: the killer and the victim walking arm-in-arm like brunch buddies.
But he didn't have the mental bandwidth to roast Loki and Coulson internally right now.
Because Harley Quinn had just straddled him on the couch, full face-to-face, full contact, zero warning.
"My Pudding~ I didn't know you were such a heartbreaker," Harley said, her eyes dancing with mischief and menace. "You made me wanna put a bullet in Mister J's head... Shouldn't I return the favor? You seduced me first…"
"Cough, cough—Harley, come on now! What do you mean seduced? That was professional-grade psychological breakdown therapy!"
Dante tried to clarify, but Harley lunged forward and bit down on his neck—hard.
Didn't hurt, thanks to his current enhanced durability. More like a weird ticklish tingle. If anything, it felt... vaguely suggestive?
"Still denying it! You scumbag! You don't say no, you don't commit, you don't take responsibility!"
Dante's protest felt weak even to himself. Because, yeah... in hindsight... he had been kinda Aquaman-ing his way through things lately.
Ada snorted coldly from the other sofa, her femme fatale aura practically turning the cabin's air into smoke.
Dante turned to her instinctively and sighed.
Since they were headed for the North Pole, he had to be fully suited up. Which meant Ada's usual show-stopping cheongsams, leather pants, short skirts, and signature black-and-white stockings were all sadly benched in the wardrobe.
A crime against visual culture, honestly.
But Ada Wong wasn't just anyone.
She could see straight through Dante's thoughts—and this Aquaman-tier rookie wasn't hard to read.
"A few days ago, I bought a pair of patent leather boots," she said casually.
Then she grabbed Harley, pulled her off, and yanked Dante up by the arm.
"If you like them, I can wear them for you when we get back. But for now? Go find Coulson and Loki. Men's tea party."
With that, Ada and Harley tag-teamed Dante out of the lounge.
If Dante really wanted to resist, the two of them couldn't have made him budge an inch.
But—
Why would he?!
Escaping was an absolute godsend.
"Oh, how impressive—you actually made it out alive," Loki deadpanned, smirking at Dante's half-dead expression.
But Dante was long past being phased by that level of snark. He flipped Loki as a greeting and dropped down onto the seat next to Coulson, immediately getting to the real talk.
"Director Fury sending you on this dig mission with me wasn't just a random decision, was it?"
Dante poured out three glasses of the bright green carbonated drink Harley had dubbed "Fel Energy."
Even if he was a mess in other areas, Dante stuck to the "no alcohol during missions" rule like a professional.
"Let me guess—Level Seven Agent, definitely not here to earn brownie points. You're not looking to join Star Team either." Dante clinked glasses with Coulson. "So it must be this: Director Fury wants you to build another special team. Handle the low-priority supernatural cases. Team core's gotta be Captain America, right? Fury's golden boy?"
"Your strategic sense is sharper than his. You're the best candidate for the next Director." Coulson said with a smile.
"Cough, cough, cough—ease up, man! Say stuff like that, and I might actually get shy."
"Fine, no more praise. Straight to the point, then. A few years back, I died. Heart stopped for over a minute. Got saved by the doctors over at the Federal Bureau." Coulson's smile lingered, but his hand subconsciously drifted to his chest.
He didn't say much more.
But Dante could feel it.
That trauma—the moment your heart stops and your soul hovers over the line between life and death—it never really leaves.
"I wasn't originally supposed to do this. But your Star Team? You're all turning into mini-gods. Can't use a cannon to swat a fly forever. So we set up a special emergency team. Low-spec Star Team, basically."
Coulson wasn't holding anything back. Total transparency. The polar opposite of Fury's default paranoid silence.
From him, Dante got the full download:
After Fury handed Coulson the authority to build his own team, he'd already finalized most of it.
Unlike Star Team, which was primarily a combat unit, this Special Emergency Team was full-spectrum—combat, science, tech, infiltration, contingency planning. Everything.
Dante had originally assumed it'd just be the cast of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. again. But Coulson's version?
Was on another level—multiverse-style.
Let's start with the familiar:
Grant Ward. Level Six Agent. Combat stats just shy of Natasha Romanoff. Secretly HYDRA. Infiltrated Coulson's team to uncover how Coulson resurrected from the dead. Reporting to John Garrett, who's already on death's door.
Skye. Provisional Agent. Hacking genius. Can fry hundreds of millions in FBI tech with a laptop that looks like it came out of a pawn shop. Real name: Daisy Johnson. Unawakened Quake.
Of course, Coulson only knew the first half of their bios.
Then you had Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons—the Science Babies. Still intact. Still brilliant.
But then came the kicker.
The one that made Dante's long-dormant egg twitch with anxiety.
Federal Bureau of Investigation, Level Two Agent. Forensics expert.
Barry Allen.
(To be continued.)