"It's not just death," Max said, his voice calm but firm. "It's sacrifice. The Stone demands what you love most."
His words landed like a stone dropped in water—rippling across the room, sinking deep.
Max continued, almost casually, "I tested that once, actually. Turns out… it's a bluff."
A few heads snapped toward him in surprise.
"I tossed a criminal off the cliff," he said with a shrug. "And the Soul Stone appeared."
"Wait—what?" Clint asked, eyes wide. "You have it?"
"Had it," Max corrected. "I put it back. Just wanted to test the so-called 'love' requirement. Turns out, the Stone doesn't care. It just wants a soul. Doesn't matter whose—only that you think it matters."
The group exchanged uneasy glances.
"So what—you're saying we could just grab someone and throw them off?" Bruce asked, his voice low.
Max nodded. "Pretty much. As long as you convince yourself it's meaningful, the Stone responds. It's psychological warfare, not cosmic law."
Clint and Natasha shared a long, unreadable look.
"We'll go," Clint said at last, voice steady. "We've done worse."
Natasha gave a small nod. "Another life on our conscience… won't make much of a difference now."
A tense silence followed. Then Tony muttered, leaning back in his chair, "He killed someone just to test a theory. That's… wow."
Steve's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Bruce finally broke the silence. "Whatever the case… Vormir isn't a place for uncertainty. Whoever goes has to be ready to do what's necessary."
Steve took a breath, trying to shift the weight in the room. "Alright. Let's move on. We've still got five more stones to track down."
Tony stood and turned to the whiteboard, clicking his marker. "Okay. Based on our intel—and a bit of creative time travel—we know when and where each stone existed. If we divide into teams, we can collect them all in one synchronized jump."
He circled three names on the board. "Mind, Space, and Time Stones—New York, 2012. They were all there during the Battle of New York."
Bruce nodded. "I'll handle the Time Stone. I knew the Ancient One—or, well, her past self. I can reason with her."
"You'll need Cap and Tony too," Natasha added. "You were both on the ground during that fight."
Tony shrugged. "Fine by me. As long as Cap doesn't start lecturing me about language again."
Steve didn't flinch. "Let's just get the job done."
Tony smirked faintly. "Classic."
Steve moved on. "The Reality Stone was inside Jane Foster on Asgard, 2013. Thor, you're up."
Thor, still slouched with a beer in hand, blinked. "Asgard? Grand…"
Rhodey stepped in. "I'll go with him. Somebody's gotta make sure he stays focused."
Nebula spoke up next. "The Power Stone. Morag, 2014. That's where Peter Quill picks it up."
"I know the place," she added quietly. "I can handle it."
"I'm coming too," Rocket chimed in. "We'll get it done."
Tony capped the marker. "And last… Vormir. The Soul Stone."
The room fell silent again.
Natasha and Clint stepped forward in unison.
"Let us go," Natasha said softly. "We can handle it."
Steve looked between them, clearly conflicted. Then he gave a single, solemn nod.
Tony looked at the board one last time. "Alright then. These are our teams. Our only shot."
Off to the side, Max stood with his arms crossed, watching it all unfold.
Scott leaned toward him, whispering, "So, uh… what happens if we mess up the timeline?"
Max glanced at him, eyes unreadable. "Then reality shatters like glass. Infinite madness. Total collapse."
Scott blinked. "Cool. Just… wanted to know."
Tony clapped his hands together. "Alright, people—Time Heist. Let's make history."
"Wait," Max said, raising a hand just as the group started moving out.
Everyone paused, turning back to him.
"Why are we calling it a Time Heist, exactly?" Max asked, tilting his head slightly. "This isn't some grand museum robbery. You're not stealing jewels or ancient relics. These are Infinity Stones. You're messing with the spine of existence. Shouldn't we be calling this something more serious?"
The room went oddly silent. Some looked confused. Others… slightly concerned.
Tony arched an eyebrow. "Well, when you put it like that, it kind of kills the vibe."
Max shrugged. "You're jumping across timelines, bending causality, risking paradoxes. Just feels like we're underplaying the whole ripping apart reality to maybe fix it thing."
Bruce looked at him, blinking. "So… what would you call it?"
Max smirked. "I dunno. Something dramatic. 'Chrono Crisis'? 'Quantum Suicide Run'? At least then people would stop smiling every time you say 'Time Heist.'"
Steve sighed and shook his head. "You're really just bored, aren't you?"
Max didn't deny it. "You guys are rewriting physics, playing god, and somehow making it sound like an Ocean's Eleven sequel."
Tony chuckled under his breath. "Well, now I'm definitely calling it Time Heist."
One by one, the team returned—now clad in the sleek, red-and-white Quantum suits Tony had designed. They walked in silence, the air around them heavy with anticipation. Their footsteps echoed through the compound as they approached the Quantum tunnel, the machine already humming with power.
Max stood off to the side, arms crossed as usual, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and detachment.
The platform lit up, and with a burst of light, the team disappeared into the stream of time.
Moments passed.
Then, just as suddenly, the machine sparked again—and they were back.
Dirtier. Tired. A little more bruised. But alive.
The team slowly stepped down from the platform, exchanging quiet nods and glances of relief.
"Was it successful?" Max asked, his voice smooth and unreadable.
Tony nodded, though exhaustion pulled at his features. "So far... yeah. We got them."
Max glanced around the group as they regrouped, his eyes scanning the exhausted faces.
Then he frowned.
"Where's Romanoff?" he asked flatly.
The question hit like a hammer. Everyone stilled. Slowly, eyes turned toward Clint.
He was already falling to his knees.
"She's gone," Clint said hoarsely, head bowed. "She… she sacrificed herself."
A sharp silence followed, too thick to cut. Even Max stayed still.
Bruce's voice cracked through the tension. "Wait—what? Why didn't you use Max's method? The one with the decoy?"
Clint looked up, haunted. "We did," he whispered. "Exactly that."
The others leaned in, listening as he spoke—slow, broken, and devastated.
***
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