Adrian Toomes was directing his coworkers as they cleared the wreckage from the Battle of New York.
The Chitauri warships had come crashing down without a fuss, but ordinary people had paid the price. Their homes were gone, and they had nowhere to seek redress.
Chitauri technology was tougher than this world's technology, making it especially difficult to clear away.
Adrian was a gambler. Spotting an opportunity, he had approached the city government and signed a contract.
He had mortgaged his house, bought trucks, hired workers, and begun taking on the cleanup.
But he had never imagined that, just as he and his crew were working their hearts out to build a better tomorrow with their own hands, someone would come along and throw cold water on their efforts.
"Attention, everyone!"
A middle-aged, white-haired woman walked into Adrian's work site with a group of people in white hard hats.
They came in aggressively, and one look told him they were trouble.
"Under Administrative Order 396B, all post-battle cleanup operations now fall under our jurisdiction." The white-haired woman looked at Adrian. "Thank you for your service. We'll take it from here."
Adrian looked baffled. "Who are you?"
"Professionals," she replied.
He was genuinely stunned. He had signed a contract with the city government, and now someone had simply waltzed in and told him he was out of a job?
"Listen, I signed a contract with the city to clear this wreckage, so..."
Before he could finish, the white-haired woman said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Toomes, but we're taking over all cleanup operations."
With a single sentence, she killed Adrian's livelihood, then continued, "Please hand over every alien object you've collected, or we'll take legal action against you."
"Ma'am, I should..."
The woman had no interest in listening to Adrian. Having made her