It was a hot, dusty May evening in 2012; New York's streets bore war's scars—shattered glass glinted in the fading sun, smoke hung in the air, Chitauri wreckage littered Manhattan's corners. The Avengers and I—an oddball vendor—had saved the world together. The Avengers' finale unfolded here: Tony Stark had flown a nuke through the Chitauri portal, the sky's blue rift snapped shut, and the alien army collapsed, their tech link severed, motionless. Before Stark Tower, on cracked concrete, Loki lay bound; his green cape dust-stained, face etched with defeat's sting and fury. Thor gripped the Tesseract—the Space Stone—tightly in his right hand, his left hauling his brother up, ready for Asgard. I stood amid rubble, a simit in hand—the only intact food scavenged from the chaos—coated in sweat and grime, yet oddly at peace. "What a day," I thought, taking a bite—New York's sky cleared to blue, sirens giving way to cheers and distant ambulances.
A Ding! chimed; the system screen flashed:
"Battle of New York Quest Completed - Reward: +250 CST (from Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Thor, Clint Barton, Nick Fury)."
My eyes widened, "Whoa," I laughed, "full roster point shower—working with this crew's something else!" My CST counter soared; Avengers' rewards were, as always, generous—the system paid this insane day in spades. My phone buzzed; I pulled it out, screen blazing—social media had exploded. #Avengers topped global trends, but right below, another caught my eye:
#VendorLegend.
I cracked up; someone posted, "Alien invasion? Bring 'em, we'll kick their nuts!" Comments flooded: "Tested and proven! Don't try at home!" "Loki couldn't handle that gift!" "This guy needs to join the Avengers!" Folks were buzzing about my infamous kick—hilarious and humbling, a vendor gone viral in war-torn New York.
Before Stark Tower, Loki, grounded, spotted me; his green eyes flared, lips trembling—his godly pride crushed by a vendor's rotary kick, a wound to scar him for a millennium. I strolled over, simit in hand, grinning, "Like my gift, pal?" I said, tone teasing but friendly, "Think twice before messing with Earth again. Or I'll send another. Got it?" Loki gritted his teeth, "You wretched mortal…" he muttered, voice quaking with pain and loss, eyes down—wishing the ground would swallow him. Thor, beside me, leaned on Mjölnir, roaring with laughter so hard he nearly toppled. "Brother!" he gasped, tears streaming, "A Midgardian bested you! Asgard'll sing this for centuries!" Loki glared at Thor, but had no fight left—this wasn't just physical defeat; the God of Mischief, outwitted by a mortal, bore a mental blow.
The Avengers gathered around; Tony shed his armor, red-gold pieces clanking down, "King, you're the Avengers' weirdest unofficial recruit," he said, slapping my shoulder, that sly grin wide. "Super Vendor—you've earned it, and then some!" "Oh, stop, sir, too kind!" I said, scratching my head, smiling—joy surged, but I kept humble; I was still Queens' vendor Ali. Steve slung his shield over his back, "Ali, you're a true hero," he said, blue eyes warm with sincerity—this echoed his rare post-battle gratitude; Cap's heartfelt thanks warmed my heart. Natasha brushed dust off her black gear, "Started with food, ended with kicks," she said, a faint smile—Black Widow's praise felt like a badge of our bond. Clint, stowing arrows, "After that Loki stunt, you're unforgettable," he said, laughing—post-mind control, seeing Loki humbled was cathartic. Bruce, adjusting his glasses calmly, "Your sherbet, your guts… I owe you," he said, voice steady—Hulk's curse haunted him, but our moments forged friendship. Thor bellowed, "Midgard's greatest warrior!" hammer raised, thunder blending with his laugh, "We'll feast in your honor in Asgard, friend!"
Crowds swelled in the streets; beyond police barriers, survivors filmed with phones, chanting, "Avengers! Avengers!"—but some shouted, "Vendor!" A kid on his mom's shoulders yelled, "He kicked Loki!" His mom laughed, "Yeah, sweetie, he's a hero!" Tony turned, "Look, King, you're stealing our thunder," he teased, gulping water to clear dust. "Fair," I said, biting simit, "but I'm still slicing lahmacun, don't get it twisted!" The team roared with laughter; war's exhaustion melted into a moment's joy—under Stark Tower's shadow, amid debris, normalcy peeked through. Nick Fury stepped off the Helicarrier, black coat swaying, scanning us with one eye, "Good work," he said, voice stern but approving—a rare nod. He eyed me, "That sherbet, that kick… You're history," he said, rubbing his chin. "Thanks, Mr. Fury," I grinned, "sponsorship still on?" Fury chuckled—first I'd seen—"We'll talk, Ali," he said, joining S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.
Thor grabbed Loki's arm; Tesseract clutched in his right hand, he yanked his brother up, "Come, brother, time for Asgard's judgment," he said, voice stern yet tinged with sibling jabs. Loki glanced up, shooting me one last furious look—eyes still teary, but too broken to speak; his shame and defeat raw. Thor winked, "Midgardian friend, we'll meet again!" He raised Mjölnir—thunder cracked, light flared, and they vanished. Loki faced chains in Asgard, Odin's court awaiting—but my kick was etched in his legend forever. The Avengers dispersed; Tony, "Time to rest, pop champagne," he said, gathering armor scraps—off to Pepper. Steve, "Great job, everyone," he said, shield on shoulder, eyes on the horizon—Cap's quiet reflection post-war. Natasha and Clint headed to S.H.I.E.L.D. briefs; Natasha turned, "I'll swing by your cart," she said, smiling. Bruce murmured, "Maybe some tea," stepping softly—no Hulk in sight.
I stood in the rubble, simit in hand—a vendor who'd saved the world, still Ali. Locals stared, some waved; a tourist asked, "Who's he?" Another answered, "Guy who floored Loki!" "Lahmacun to god-toppling," I thought, chuckling, gazing skyward—amid war's scars, I'd been part of victory. "What a day," I said, finishing the simit, wiping hands on my pants—MCU's heart, unlikely hero, I'd lived my wildest day. Time to head back to Queens, my cart—but this story, clearly, wasn't done.