Hell's Kitchen - Cap/Cap
[Hell's Kitchen is Steve's home. It and Brooklyn. And when the fiery banner of a ship burning through the atmosphere flags in the sky, leading him that way, he steels himself, sucking mild evening air through his teeth. It tastes like fire. Thor's summoned storm falls with a quiet fury and the rubble of Manhattan smolders, but the smell of burning lingers acrid and sharp.
The shield takes out two creatures—beings that look like they were made in the dark by unskilled fingers and dry clay, body parts haphazardly accrued and assembled, and Steve hisses through the comm as he ducks, knees bent, palm to pavement, under the swing of a sword. He keeps on.
He's going down West 44th. He takes a gun—a strange, compact pistol—from the holster cinched around a crumpled alien form. Shield up, gun firing lasers in bright blue, he moves, trying to make it to the ship's landing point. But, it's then, as he skirts the red brick of an old bakery, that another one of the hulking monstrosities extends its landing legs and crashes into the street, carving up the asphalt.
The main deck cargo door ratchets open and spews out a torrent of monsters. Steve shifts his shield and starts backpedaling, running ass-first down the street, eyes casting left and right for an advantage. God save him.]