Chapter 64

Arc 5 - Ch 17: The Hulk

Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.

Location: Culver University, Willowdale, Virginia

The sun cast a warm, golden light across the Culver University campus. It was the kind of scene that seemed to belong on a postcard or orientation flyer; with grand historic buildings bathed in the soft glow of the fading day. The air was filled with the gentle buzz of conversation and laughter, as students made their way along the tree-lined paths and across the manicured lawns.

Among the students, Natasha Romanoff blended in seamlessly. She had once again taken on the identity of Natalie Rushman, this time as a senior biology major. Her fiery red hair had been dyed toned down to a subtle auburn. She hid her eyes behind a pair of chic sunglasses and wore a simple yet stylish outfit; a fitted blazer over a soft, cream-colored blouse, paired with dark jeans and comfortable shoes. To the casual observer, she was just another student making her way across campus. But beneath the facade of the unassuming college senior, Natasha's mind was sharp and focused, attuned to the slightest hint of danger or the face she sought. Every detail of her surroundings, every passing conversation, and fleeting glance, was cataloged and assessed with a tactical precision born of years of training and experience.

The students around her were immersed in their own worlds. They chattered about how the summer semester was going and the latest campus gossip, their laughter and groans mingling with the distant sounds of traffic and birdsong.

Natalie's presence barely registered in their minds as she slipped past, just another face in the crowd. Her journey took her past the bustling student center, its large, glass-walled atrium filled with the chatter of voices and the clink of cutlery. She passed the quiet, ivy-covered library and the lively quad where groups of students lounged on the grass, their books and laptops spread out before them. Her destination was one of the university's research buildings, a nondescript structure tucked away at the edge of the campus. To most, it was just another academic facility where graduate students and faculty poured over data and conducted experiments. But Natasha knew that inside, groundbreaking and potentially dangerous research was being conducted; the kind of work that could change the world... for better or ill.

As she neared the building, Natasha's pace slowed, her observation becoming more focused and intentional. But everything seemed normal.

Inside, the halls were quiet. The soft hum of the ventilation system was the only sound. She passed labs and offices, nodding politely at the few lingering students and staff members. Her cover story was she was here to collect some research papers for a professor.

But Natalie's true objective was infinitely more dangerous.

Suddenly, a crash from outside shattered the calm. Natasha's instincts, honed by years of espionage and combat, kicked in immediately. She rushed to the nearest window, scanning the unfolding scene with a sharp, assessing gaze.

Through the glass, she saw a man sprinting across the open field of the campus, his movements frantic and desperate. He was being pursued, not by campus security or local law enforcement, but by soldiers in full tactical gear. Humvees rumbled onto the scene, their engines growling as they surrounded the field.

Natasha wasted no time. She turned away from the window and dashed down the hallway, her mind already working through the possible scenarios. She needed a better vantage point.

As Natasha reached the stairwell, she began to ascend, taking the steps two at a time as she aimed for the upper floors of the building. From there, she would have a clearer view of the field and the surrounding area, and a better chance to assess the situation and determine her next move. Every second counted, and her mind was already racing ahead.

As she reached the top floor, Natasha could hear the distant sounds of orders being shouted and the hum of vehicle engines. She approached a window that overlooked the field, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene below.

The man was still running. The troops' weapons trained on him but their fingers held carefully away from the triggers. It was clear that they wanted to take him alive, but for what purpose?

From her elevated position, Natasha could see the armed forces were trying to corral the man and cut off his escape routes. It was a well-executed maneuver, but the man proved to be a more elusive target than they had anticipated. Her sharp eyes suddenly widened in recognition.

The man being pursued was Bruce Banner. As she suspected, the military's target was the same as her own.

Banner, in a moment of desperate improvisation, veered towards the university's library. A slight shake of Natasha's head betrayed her thoughts. The library's limited exits and sprawling, labyrinthine interior, was a poor choice. It was a trap of Banner's own making, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the soldiers caught up to him.

Minutes ticked by, then as expected, Banner reappeared, this time in the breezeway between two of the university's buildings.

The military's methodical pursuit allowed them to anticipate his path and cut him off. Troops poured into position, blocking the doors on both sides of the breezeway, effectively trapping Banner in the suspended hallway. It was a tactical move, expertly executed, and Natasha couldn't help but admire the soldiers' efficiency. The situation escalated rapidly as the troops fired gas canisters through the glass of the breezeway. Thick, noxious smoke quickly filled the enclosed space, obscuring Natasha's view and making it difficult to see what was happening inside. She watched as Banner, in a futile attempt to protect himself, peeled off his shirt and covered his face. His movements grew increasingly frantic and erratic as the gas began to take effect.

Then, a sudden commotion drew Natasha's attention. A woman broke away from the line of soldiers and desperately ran for the breezeway. She managed to elbow one of the troops in the face, sending him reeling backward, but her attempt to reach Banner was short-lived. A second soldier grabbed her and pulled her back. Banner pressed up against the glass of the breezeway and watched the scene unfold with a look of abject horror on his face. The sight of the woman being apprehended seemed to trigger something deep within him, a visceral reaction that Natasha could see even from her distant vantage point.

And then, in a moment that seemed to stretch out into eternity, Banner was engulfed by the gas, his figure disappearing from view as the thick, choking smoke filled the breezeway. Natasha held her breath as she waited for the smoke to clear, for some sign of what had happened to the man she had been sent to observe.

For a brief, eerie moment, a heavy silence descended upon the scene, the tension palpable even to Natasha, who remained a silent observer from her vantage point high above.

Suddenly, the stillness was shattered as Banner's hand reappeared, smacking against the glass of the breezeway with such tremendous force that the surface cracked in a spiderweb pattern, the lines of fracture spreading outward like the threads of a twisted tapestry. His hand was undergoing a horrifying transformation, the muscles bulging and rippling beneath the skin as it grew larger and more powerful with each passing second. Before Natasha's disbelieving eyes, Banner's silhouette began to shift and morph, and his body expanded. The once small, unassuming man was rapidly becoming something else entirely, a monstrous, muscle-bound figure that dwarfed any man Natasha had ever encountered.

The Hulk, for that was the only name that could describe the creature that now stood in Banner's place, let out a roar of pure, unbridled rage. With a display of raw, terrifying power, he slammed his massive hands against the breezeway, shattering glass, metal, and concrete, as if they were nothing more than flimsy paper.

Debris rained down on the ground below, a deadly hail of jagged shards and twisted metal that sent the soldiers scattering for cover. One unlucky individual, too slow to react, was clipped by a falling piece of rubble, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Natasha realized, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that the man was likely dead, his life snuffed out in an instant by the Hulk's uncontrolled fury. The gravity of the situation hit her like a punch to the gut. Banner was no longer just a potential threat, but a force of nature, a cataclysmic event given humanoid form. The chaos he could unleash, the destruction he could wreak, was unparalleled, and she knew with a cold certainty that the military's attempts to contain him would be futile and dangerous.

Retrieving her phone from her pocket, her fingers danced across the screen, dialing Director Fury's number even as her eyes remained locked on the unfolding pandemonium below. As the phone rang, Natasha watched the Hulk burst out of the shattered remains of the breezeway with a powerful leap.

Fury's voice, calm yet tinged with an undercurrent of concern, crackled through the phone's speaker. "Romanoff, talk to me. What's the situation?"

Natasha's tone remained steady despite the extraordinary scene playing out before her. She wasted no time in delivering her report. "Sir, it's Banner. He's transformed. The Hulk is loose on Culver University's campus."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line as if Fury was taking a moment to process the gravity of her words. "What's the status on the ground?" he asked, his voice tight with barely contained urgency.

Her eyes never leaving the Hulk's rampaging form, responded with cool, clinical detachment. "The military's engaged him. They're firing everything they have, but it's not enough. It's barely slowing him down."

As if to punctuate her words, a hail of gunfire erupted from the soldiers' weapons, the bullets pinging harmlessly off the Hulk's impenetrable green skin like raindrops on a roof. The creature roared in irritation, his rage seemed to grow with each futile attempt to bring him down.

"Do not let Ross take Banner. Not dead, not alive. We can't risk it."

"Understood, sir. I'll do what I can." Potential strategies and contingencies passed through Natasha's thoughts. But what could she possibly do?

Even as they spoke, the situation on the ground was escalating, the military's desperate attempts to subdue the Hulk only served to fuel his fury. A Humvee stormed towards the rampaging giant, its mounted .50-caliber machine gun spitting out a stream of bullets that would have torn a lesser being to shreds.

With a speed that belied his enormous size, Hulk charged towards the vehicle, his shoulder slamming into its armored side with the force of a runaway train causing the Humvee to topple over like a child's toy.

Fury voiced, "Be careful, Romanoff. The Hulk is unpredictable. I know it's a big ask, but we need Banner. Alive."

Natasha replied, "I know." Her gaze never wavered from the scene of destruction unfolding below, even as she ended the call.

Seemingly impervious to the military's increasingly desperate attempts to bring him down, Hulk continued his rampage across the campus grounds. Another Humvee charged towards the green behemoth, intent on ramming him head-on in a last-ditch effort.

But it was a mere annoyance to the Hulk's unstoppable might. With a casual stomp of his foot, he brought the vehicle to a bone-jarring halt, its front end crumpling like tin foil beneath the immense pressure. Then, with a display of strength, the Hulk lifted the Humvee above his head as easily as a child might lift a toy, hurling it with a roar of fury towards a nearby artist's sculpture of twisted metal and sharp angles. The impact was devastating, the Humvee slammed into the sculpture with a deafening crash that sent shards of metal and debris flying in all directions. But the Hulk wasn't finished. With a series of earth-shaking blows, he slammed the ruined vehicle against the sculpture repeatedly.

As if that wasn't enough, the Hulk then reached into the wreckage of the Humvee. His massive hand closed around the engine block and with a toss, he hurled the chunk of machinery towards another approaching vehicle. The improvised projectile struck with the force of a small meteor. The targeted Humvee was sent flying backward, its armored frame crumpling like paper as it slammed into yet another vehicle behind it. The resulting explosion was a ball of fire and smoke that consumed both Humvees in a hellish inferno of twisted metal and burning fuel.

Watching the destruction scene play out before her, Natasha couldn't help but be reminded of Tyson's harrowing tale. His story of single-handedly fighting off an army of soldiers during an invasion of his school. Unbeknownst to Tyson, Natasha's clearance level had allowed her to acquire a copy of the footage from the Weapon Plus program. Watching his one-man stand against the invaders had been remarkable. But as she watched the Hulk tear through the military's defenses like they were made of tissue paper, Natasha couldn't help but draw a contrast between Tyson's controlled, purposeful use of his powers and the Hulk's mindless, unrestrained destruction. Where Tyson had fought with a clear goal in mind, the Hulk seemed driven only by blind, all-consuming rage. It was a force of nature that cared nothing for the lives it destroyed in its wake.

Natasha was left grappling with the philosophical implications of powers. Tyson, for all his incredible abilities, had wielded his strength with a sense of responsibility, a knowledge of the weight that came with the gift of power. But the Hulk... the Hulk was a different beast entirely, a creature of pure, primal fury that knew nothing of consequences or moral considerations. As Natasha watched him rampage across the campus, leaving a trail of destruction and death in his wake, she couldn't help but wonder…

Which was worse?

The man who committed atrocities with full knowledge of his actions, who bore the weight of his choices on his soul? Or the being who destroyed without thought or care, who existed only in the moment of rage and fury, unaware of the lives he shattered in his path?

It was a question without an easy answer. But for now, she had a job to do, and a mission to complete.

The once tranquil campus transformed into a war zone. Amidst the swirling dust and debris, a lone soldier bravely advanced towards the Hulk, drawing Natasha's attention. The soldier stood out, his purposeful movements contrasted the activity surrounding him. The soldier was armed with a grenade launcher. He raised the launcher and began firing directly at the Hulk, the grenades arcing through the air and exploding against the creature's green skin in bursts of flame and smoke.

The Hulk, enraged by the assault, responded with a display of primal cunning. His massive hands tore into the wreckage of a destroyed Humvee, ripping away the reinforced doors and using them into makeshift shields. The impromptu defenses were crude but effective, allowing the Hulk to weather the barrage of grenades as he continued his relentless advance. Undeterred, the soldier closed the distance between himself and the Hulk with a fearlessness that bordered reckless. As he neared the towering figure, the soldier made a bold, almost suicidal move. With a powerful leap, he used one of the Hulk's makeshift shields as a springboard, vaulting over the massive green form. Landing atop the decorative sculpture, he drew a pistol from his belt and fired at the Hulk's head from near-point-blank range. But the bullets sparked off the creature's impenetrable skin like fireworks.

Natasha watched the unfolding confrontation with narrowed eyes, her trained gaze taking in every detail of the soldier's movements. As the Hulk swung one of his makeshift shields in a retaliatory strike, the soldier reacted with acrobatic prowess that left her momentarily stunned. With a graceful somersault, the soldier launched himself over the Hulk's massive arm, twisting in midair to continue firing his pistol even as he evaded the crushing blow. Each action flowed seamlessly into the next with a grace that spoke of superhuman agility.

As the Hulk unleashed a furious barrage of attacks, swinging his metal slabs with a force that could have leveled buildings, the soldier danced around the blows with ease that seemed almost choreographed. He ducked and rolled, each evasion executed with a split-second precision that left no room for error. The soldier narrowly avoided each of the Hulk's powerful strikes, his speed and agility keeping him just out of reach of the behemoth's grasp.

Natasha couldn't help but be impressed by the soldier's extraordinary abilities. His combat skills were exceptional, surpassing those of the most highly trained operatives she had encountered. Who was this mysterious figure, and what secret training or enhancements had granted him such incredible abilities?

Suddenly, the soldier displayed another feat that pushed the boundaries of human capability. With the Hulk hot on his heels, the soldier took off at a sprint, his speed far surpassing that of any normal person. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he raced across the open field, leaving the Hulk behind momentarily with his unexpected burst of speed.

But the Hulk quickly recovered. With a bellow, the green giant lowered his head and charged after the fleeing soldier, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed.

Just as it seemed that the soldier might not be fast enough to stay ahead of the Hulk's pursuit, two more Humvees roared onto the scene, each vehicle equipped with strange contraptions resembling satellite dishes mounted on its roof. The soldier neared the point where the two Humvees had taken up position. He launched into the air with a leap that defied gravity. But at the apex of his jump, the Humvees' mounted devices sprang to life. A pair of focused, high-intensity sonic beams erupted from the dish-like structures; invisible energy cut through the air with a piercing, almost unbearable shriek.

The effect on the soldier was immediate and devastating. Caught in the crossfire of the twin sonic blasts, his body was violently thrown off course, his trajectory was altered by the force of the energy slamming into him. He hit the ground hard, clutching at his head, his face contorted in a mask of agony. The Hulk, too, was not spared the effects of the sonic assault. As the powerful waves of energy washed over his massive form, he dropped his makeshift shields, the metal slabs clattering to the ground as he fell to his knees, his hands pressed against his ears in a futile attempt to block out the excruciating sound. The sonic cannons, it seemed, had found a weakness in the Hulk's otherwise impenetrable defenses, subduing him in a way that physical force alone could not.

Through the disorienting pain of the sonic attack, the Hulk's gaze found the woman from earlier, the one who had attempted to reach the breezeway during the initial confrontation. Her arms were pinned behind her back as she struggled against the soldiers restraining her. Despite his suffering, the Hulk's attention was drawn to her, a flicker of recognition sparking in his rage-filled eyes.

With a thunderous roar, the Hulk rose, his massive form towering over the battlefield. He reclaimed his makeshift shields. However, as he lifted the impromptu defenses, the Hulk realized the futility of the shields against the sonic cannons. He hurled one of the metal slabs with incredible force, his muscles rippling beneath his green skin as he put every ounce of his strength behind the throw. The makeshift projectile hurtled through the air, spinning end over end before slamming into one of the Humvees with a catastrophic impact. The vehicle erupted in a fiery explosion, the blast wave rippling outward and engulfing the surrounding area in flames and debris. The Hulk leaped towards the second Humvee, his massive form arcing like a green meteor. He crashed down upon the sonic generator with the force of a falling mountain, his immense weight crushing both the device and the vehicle beneath him, abruptly ending the sonic assault that had brought him to his knees mere moments before.

As the dust and debris settled around the Hulk's towering form, the same soldier who had previously engaged him in combat approached armed with an assault rifle scavenged from a fallen comrade. The soldier opened fire in staccato bursts. But the Hulk blocked the bullets with his remaining shield, the metal sparking and ringing with each impact. Then, in a move that caught everyone off guard, the soldier walked up to the Hulk with confident steps, as though approaching a familiar acquaintance. The soldier's lips moved, forming words that Natasha was too far away to hear.

Whatever the soldier's intention, the Hulk's response was swift and brutal. With a powerful front kick, he sent the soldier hurtling through the air like a rag doll, his body twisting and tumbling as he flew. The man's trajectory ended abruptly as he collided with a nearby tree, his form crumpling upon impact.

This act of aggression by the Hulk seemed to be the breaking point for the military personnel, who began to retreat in a chaotic, disorganized fashion. Soldiers scrambled for cover, abandoning their positions and equipment as they fled from the unstoppable force of nature that had so thoroughly decimated their ranks.

The woman, previously restrained by the soldiers, broke free. Her captors were too preoccupied with their survival to hold her. She approached the Hulk as if he were the only thing that mattered.

As Natasha watched the unfolding scene with bated breath, her ears picked up another sound; the distinct whirring of helicopter blades. Her eyes snapped upward, scanning the sky until she spotted the source. The helicopter swept into view, and its Gatling guns, mounted on either side of the fuselage, immediately opened fire, unleashing a barrage of high-caliber bullets.

In a surprising display of protectiveness, the Hulk positioned his massive frame between the woman and the incoming hail of bullets. His green skin, tough as armor, absorbed the impacts. But the Hulk was not content to weather the assault. He retaliated with a show of force that left even Natasha stunned. With a roar of defiance, he hurled his remaining makeshift shield at the helicopter, the metal slab spun through the air like a gigantic discus. The impact was devastating. The helicopter was knocked from the sky, plummeting towards the ground. It crashed to the earth in a fiery explosion, the blast wave washing over the Hulk and the woman like a tidal surge of heat and debris. For a moment, the two figures were lost from view, engulfed in the roiling flames and billowing smoke that rose from the wreckage.

As if in response to the tumultuous events, the heavens opened up, releasing a torrential downpour. The rain fell in sheets, the droplets hissing and sizzling as they struck the smoldering remains of the crashed helicopter.

A remarkable sight emerged through the dissipating smoke and the curtain of falling rain. The Hulk stood amidst the wreckage unharmed by the flames and the debris. His massive form was silhouetted against the flickering light of the dying fires. And there, cradled in his arms like a precious treasure, was the woman. Her face pressed against his chest as he held her close, shielding her from the destruction that surrounded them. For a moment, the Hulk showed a flicker of tenderness, giving a glimpse of the humanity that still lurked beneath the surface of his rage and fury. But the moment was fleeting, and as quickly as it had appeared, the Hulk's softness vanished, replaced once more by the animalistic instincts that drove him. With the woman still held securely in his arms, the Hulk crouched down. And then leaped. His massive form hurtled skyward in a display of incredible power. The monstrous bound carried him and his companion far from the battle. The two figures rapidly dwindled into the distance as they soared through the rain-soaked air.

With a few more mighty leaps, each one covering an impossible distance, the Hulk disappeared from view.

Natasha Romanoff took in the devastated landscape. With a few taps on her phone, she connected to Director Fury's secure line. The call clicked through without delay.

"Romanoff. Report."

"Banner's gone, sir." Natasha kept her tone crisp and professional, the words clipped. "He evaded capture and fled the area with an unknown civilian."

A beat of silence stretched between them before Fury's asked, "And Ross's troops?"

"That's where it gets interesting. Ross has a soldier in his ranks with abilities far beyond the norm. I'm talking super-soldier strength, agility, combat skills. The whole package."

"You're telling me Ross has his own Captain America knockoff?" Fury's skepticism was palpable, but Natasha could hear the undercurrent of interest beneath his gruff exterior.

"That's what it looked like, sir. This soldier engaged the Hulk directly and held his own in ways no ordinary human could. He's been enhanced somehow."

A heavy silence settled over the line as Fury digested the information. Finally, he spoke, his words measured and grave. "Ross playing with super-soldier enhancements is a wildfire waiting to happen. Keep your eyes on this, Romanoff. I want to know everything about this soldier; who he is, how he fits into Ross's plans."

"Understood." Natasha's gaze hardened, her mind already spinning with strategies. "The soldier was injured in the fight. I'll gather whatever intel I can."

— Rogue Replacement —

Date: Saturday, June 4, 2011.

Location: Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York

Tyson swept through his suite when he awoke.

Amora had left.

The lavish rooms seemed strangely empty, the only lingering trace of her was a faint, exotic scent that hung in the air like a half-remembered dream. As he moved through the space, his eyes were drawn to the dining table, where a single object stood out on the wood surface.

Loki's dagger.

The weapon that had been plunged into his eye socket during their brutal confrontation on the Rainbow Bridge. He'd paid the cost for the blade with his near-death experience that had marked his journey through the realm of the gods.

Tyson breathed a sigh of relief, taking solace in the victories he had secured in Asgard. While he'd lost the fight with Loki; Tyson had lifted Mjolnir and with Amora's help, had learned more about his power. However, allowing Odin to remain in the Odinsleep, undisturbed, gave him the greatest sense of accomplishment.

Tyson had a theory that explained Odin's weakened state and eventual death during Ragnarok. He suspected the Allfather's steady decline began when he postponed the Odinsleep to oversee Thor's coronation. Shortly afterward, when rescuing them from Jotunheim Odin seemed drained, only to fall into slumber soon after. Then came the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge, forcing Odin to awaken prematurely. Later, in what will be Tyson's future, he'd conjure dark magic to send Thor to Earth during the events of the Avengers. During the Dark Elves' attack, Frigga's death would drain Odin's will to continue, leading to him moving on to Valhalla and freeing Hela.

It was an imperfect theory, Tyson admitted, yet it was his best explanation for Odin's death. By saving Thor, and allowing the Allfather to fully recuperate now, Tyson hoped to prolong his life and forestall Ragnarok. Doing so could also delay Thanos from acquiring the Space Stone in the wake of Asgard's destruction.

Tyson headed into the office and opened the desk drawer. He retrieved the backup cellphone he'd had the foresight to purchase, complete with a duplicate SIM card. As he powered on the device, a thought struck him. He should get backups of everything. His mind wandered to his motorcycle. How many times had he found himself sprinting across the city on foot, having left his motorcycle somewhere unretrievable and forced to rely on his speed? Not that it truly mattered, since he was as fast as the vehicle in the city streets and didn't tire, but still...

The phone chirped to life in his hand, drawing his attention back to the present. Tyson's fingers danced across the screen, pulling up the list of missed calls.

The names flashed across the screen like a roll call of the people who mattered most to him. Natasha, Felicia, Jubilee.

He'd get to those in a moment. Tyson quickly composed a text message to Wilson Fisk.

'Fisk, let's meet for lunch at House of M. Important matters to discuss.'

After sending the message, Tyson ordered a lavish lunch spread for delivery, selecting a variety of dishes from succulent cuts of prime rib to delicate, flaky pastries, catering to Fisk's preferences for fine dining. The order was placed with one of the most exclusive caterers in lower Manhattan.

With the meeting set and the lunch arranged, Tyson settled in to wait for Fisk's response. He knew that the man known as the Kingpin was a force to be reckoned with, a figure of immense power and influence in the shadowy underworld of New York City. But Tyson also knew that he held sway over the man. Months earlier, Tyson had wrestled Felicia from under Fisk's thumb, and since then, Tyson had been using the man as a hidden backer and subtly manipulating the Kingpin's plans. The crimelord was essentially working for Tyson, though, in Fisk's eyes, they held a mutually beneficial alliance.

Next, Tyson decided to call Natasha, his fingers dialing her number as he exited the Four Seasons and stepped into the streets. The familiar sights and sounds of New York washed over him like a comforting balm, a reminder of the life he was returning to. As he walked towards House of M, the phone pressed to his ear, Tyson felt a flicker of anticipation stirring in his chest.

The phone rang once, twice, three times before Natasha's voice finally came through the speaker, a mixture of surprise and relief coloring her tone. "Tyson? Is that you? Fury told me you'd left the planet yesterday. I didn't even know that was possible."

A warmth spread through his chest at the sound of her voice. "Yeah, it's me," he replied, his tone tinged with amusement. "I'm back on Earth now. Sorry for not filling you in earlier. But I did warn you that it was aliens."

Natasha's relief was palpable, even through the tinny phone speaker. "I'm just glad you're back and safe, you goof," she said sincerely, "I was worried when Fury told me. Norse gods... I thought it was a joke when he briefed me."

"It's real," he confirmed, his mind flashing back to the incredible sights and sounds of the realm eternal. "I imagine I'll have to explain what I experienced in detail. But what's been happening here? Did I miss anything good?"

Natasha sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of recent events. "It's been chaotic," she admitted, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "There was an incident at Culver University. The military got involved, and it turned into quite the situation."

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

A flicker of concern passed over Tyson's face at her serious tone. "Are you okay?" he asked, a note of worry entering his voice.

"Things escalated quickly," Natasha replied evenly, "We're still monitoring the situation closely. It's all over the news." She paused before adding in the same measured tone, "I'm fine."

"Are you really fine? Or is this the kind of 'I'm fine' I'd get if I asked my girlfriend if she was okay, and she said she was, but she actually wasn't?"

Tyson heard the uptick of amusement in her voice as she replied, "I'm not your girlfriend. So when I say I'm fine, I mean it."

"I'm glad," he said, the words carrying sincerity.

Natasha's tone shifted again, taking on a more businesslike air as she continued. "After everything that's happened in Puente Antiguo and at Culver University, Fury's calling an agency-wide meeting. With you back now, you might need to debrief them about... Well, where you went, I guess."

Tyson knew that his experiences in the realm of the gods would be of great interest to SHIELD.

"I can provide some insight into what happened on Asgard, and I'm curious to hear more about the Culver University situation."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Where are you right now?" she asked.

"I'm back in New York, heading to House of M," Tyson replied, his gaze sweeping over the familiar contours of the city streets as he walked.

"Good. I'll be in touch soon," Natasha said.

Tyson could hear the slight flirtatious edge in her voice. But beneath that playful tone, there was a genuine sense of relief.

"Thanks, Nat," he said with a familiarity that felt natural and intimate. "It's good to be back. I'll see you soon."

"Take care," Natasha replied, her voice softening with a hint of affection. "And try not to leave the planet without at least a text next time."

Tyson couldn't help but chuckle at her gentle jibe. "Text next time. Got it," he promised.

— Rogue Replacement —

Wilson Fisk arrived right on time, the seams of his custom-tailored suit straining to contain the mass of muscle packed beneath the fine fabric. The executive meeting room had been meticulously prepared under Felicia's expert direction, not a detail overlooked. A lavish spread lay waiting, a veritable feast showcasing both luxury and attention to detail.

As Fisk settled his imposing bulk into his seat at the table, he was joined by a finance manager whose name eluded Tyson's recollection. Pleasantries bounced between them as everyone got situated, the gentle clink of silverware on fine china underscoring the idle chatter before the real conversation began. As the meal progressed unhurriedly, the discussion gradually shifted to weightier matters of business and strategy. Sensing the moment was ripe, Tyson smoothly took the lead, guiding the talk where it needed to go.

"Let's start with our financial status," he said, turning his gaze towards Felicia. "How did we fare with the Oscorp and Hammer stock movements?"

Felicia responded, "Your market predictions were remarkably accurate," she said, her words carrying a note of genuine respect. "The put options we purchased against Oscorp and Hammer stocks paid off significantly. Thanks to your foresight, Mirage Enterprises, House of M's parent business has increased in wealth from around 350 million dollars to its current value of 910 million dollars."

The room fell silent for a moment. Wilson Fisk leaned back in his chair. "Rather well done," he commented, "Your knack for predicting market trends has proven quite lucrative. It's impressive, to say the least." Tyson inclined his head in acknowledgment. "So, what brings us here today?" Fisk inquired, his tone shifting to one of practiced nonchalance. "I appreciate the lunch, but I suspect there's more on the agenda."

Tyson leaned forward slightly, his elbows coming to rest on the polished surface of the table. "I'm looking to diversify," he said, "Specifically, into the technology sector. I've brought on board a pair of exceptional scientists. Their expertise is unparalleled, and I intend to utilize their skills to their fullest potential."

Fisk listened intently, his fingers tapping lightly on the table in a rhythmic pattern that seemed to match the cadence of his thoughts. After a moment of contemplation, he responded, "That's a bold move, especially considering the current landscape," he said, "But you should be aware, even with the shakeups in the tech sector and your substantial wealth, competing against giants like Stark, Hammer, or Oscorp won't be a walk in the park. They have deep resources, a solid market presence, and years of technological advancement under their belts. You're up against formidable opponents."

Tyson acknowledged Fisk's insights, "That's precisely why I invited you here, Fisk," he said, his tone conveying respect. "Your business acumen is invaluable. I'm considering acquiring an existing company, or at least a significant ownership stake. Companies like Trask or Essex Corp come to mind."

Fisk leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he considered Tyson's words. He looked to the finance manager who filled in the gap in Fisk's knowledge. "Essex Corp is very active in biotechnology. They have several high-valued pharmaceutical products. Acquiring a stake there, even with your capital, is out of reach." He paused for a moment. "But Trask? That's an interesting choice. They had a strong start in the seventies, particularly with military contracts. However, the company's reputation took a nosedive after its founder was jailed for espionage. They've been struggling ever since."

Fisk worked through the potential risks and rewards of such an acquisition but he remained skeptical. "You could potentially acquire a stake in Trask, or even the company in its entirety, given their current state. But the real question is, would it be worth the investment? Their past sounds troubled, and their future does not seem bright."

He knew the acquisition of Trask presented both an opportunity and a risk.

"Could I acquire Trask outright?" he asked, "What would that entail?"

The finance manager's words carried the weight of years of experience in the business world. "Acquiring the company is a possibility, but it's a complex process," he began, his voice steady and informative. "First, you'd need to negotiate with the current shareholders. Given their struggles, they might be open to a buyout, but it won't be straightforward." He paused to emphasize his point. "You'll also have to deal with the legal and financial baggage from their past issues. Due diligence is key here. You'll need a solid team to comb through their contracts, patents, pending litigations, and their financial health."

The man's explanation painted a picture of a challenging venture. "Once you've assessed the risks and have a clear understanding of what you're taking on, you'll need to make an offer, one that convinces the shareholders that selling is in their best interest." He added, "Lastly, consider the integration process. If you acquire Trask, aligning it with your vision and turning it around will require significant effort, resources, and strategic leadership."

Tyson listened attentively, processing the wealth of information that Fisk's assistant had provided. The complexity of an outright acquisition was daunting, but his mind was already working through the possibilities.

Considering Fisk's insights and the challenges of taking on Trask in its entirety, Tyson proposed a strategy that leveraged Fisk's expertise and resources in a way that could benefit them both. "I'm not a businessman. What if I acquire Trask and outsource its management to you, Fisk?" he asked, "Would that be feasible?"

Fisk regarded Tyson with a long, appraising look as he weighed the proposal. "Outsourcing the management of Trask to me... It's an interesting proposition," he began, his deep baritone voice resonating through the room. "But it's not a decision to be made lightly. Managing a company like Trask would require a significant commitment, both in terms of time and resources."

He leaned forward, his massive frame filling the space as he made eye contact with Tyson. "It's not just about steering the company back to profitability; it's about overhauling its entire operational structure. My involvement would have to be hands-on, especially in the initial stages. We're talking about a complete transformation, from its corporate culture to its market strategy."

"Also, consider the public perception," he continued, his voice taking on a note of caution. "My association with Trask would bring a certain level of scrutiny and speculation, given my reputation and background. We'd need a solid plan to handle the PR aspect of this transition, to control the narrative."

Tyson, upon hearing Fisk's explanation about the challenges and implications of managing Trask, acknowledged, "That seems less than ideal," he admitted, his brow furrowing as he considered the potential complications involved. But Tyson was already working on an alternative approach. "Could you supply the necessary personnel to assist in the acquisition of Trask, similar to how you assisted Felicia?" he asked.

"Yes, I can provide the expertise and the team you'll need for this acquisition," Fisk said. "I can put together a team to help navigate the complexities of the deal, from due diligence to negotiations and finalizing the acquisition."

The consultant accompanying Fisk, who'd been rapidly scrolling through information on his cellphone while they spoke, chose that moment to chime in with a crucial piece of financial advice. "From what I can find of Trask Industries, I'd estimate their physical assets to be valued around 60 million dollars, their patents, somewhere around 40 million, and their brand around 15 million. I'd assume the company has accumulated debt over the decades of inactivity and likely some liabilities as well, say 25 million. You're looking at around 90 to 115 million to acquire the company plus the acquisition team," he said, "It's a significant investment, one that should not be undertaken lightly."

Tyson absorbed this information with a slow nod, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. He ran the numbers in his head, weighing the costs against the potential benefits. Trask Industries was the company behind the infamous Sentinel program; the robots designed to hunt and eliminate mutants. It was less than Tyson had expected to pay for the company and its assets; only around a tenth of his total wealth. If that was the cost to gain control of Trask Industries and prevent the dystopian 'Days of Future Past' outcome, then he would gladly pay.

Additionally, acquiring Trask would give Tyson access to their Sentinels and mutation inhibitor technology. With ownership of the company, he could redirect their research toward more ethical goals, using the robots and inhibitors to help mutants rather than hunt them. Ninety million was a small price to pay to protect the future of mutant-kind.

"I understand the costs involved, and I'm prepared to proceed," Tyson said at last.

With that, the meeting drew to a close, the details of the plan finalized, and the wheels set in motion for the acquisition of Trask Industries. Fisk and his consultant took their leave.

Tyson had just set in motion a chain of events that could change the timeline for the better.

But for now, there was work to be done, and they wasted no time getting started. They pored over the details of the plan, mapping out the steps that would need to be taken once Fisk's administrative staff was transferred over to assist with the acquisition.

— Rogue Replacement —

The afternoon sun sank lower in the sky when Tyson and Felicia finally allowed themselves a moment of rest. They made their way to the relative peace of the VIP lounge. Felicia stepped behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, splashing a few fingers' worths into a pair of crystal tumblers. She handed one glass to Tyson. They raised their glasses and clinked them together without a word.

As they each savored the smooth burn of the alcohol, Tyson let out a contented sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing. Their respite was short-lived, however, interrupted by an unexpected arrival. Natasha strode into the lounge.

"Ms. Rushman, it's good to see you again," Felicia purred, her voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. The words were a pointed reminder of Natasha's previous undercover role as their gym teacher. It was a jab, expertly delivered with a smile.

Natasha's expression remained neutral as she replied, "Ms. Hardy."

Felicia's lips curved up as she sauntered closer, her hips swaying with feline grace. "No need to be so formal, teach," she teased, her eyes trailing appreciatively over Natasha's figure. "Especially when you look so good in that tight suit."

The Black Widow's emerald eyes narrowed, but then relaxed, with a smirk she shot back, her voice low and loaded with meaning. "I hear you look good in a catsuit yourself,"

The air in the room suddenly grew thick with tension. Felicia's easy confidence faltered, her body going rigid as the implications of Natasha's words sank in. She hadn't realized that Natasha knew about her secret identity as the Black Cat. Though she should have.

Tyson, lounging at the bar, had been watching the exchange with growing interest. He noticed the shift in Felicia's demeanor, the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly at her sides. With a casual air, he raised his glass of scotch and drawled, "Don't worry, Felicia. If she comes after you, I'll pay back whatever it was you stole."

Natasha's attention snapped to Tyson, her eyebrow arching in amusement. "You can't pay off what she stole with money that we allowed you to steal," she fired back.

Tyson's easy grin never faltered as he held up his glass in a mocking salute. "Not sure what you're talking about," he said, "All my money has been legitimately earned through the gold trade, running a successful theater and art gallery, and through the whims of the stock market."

Natasha rolled her eyes, the gesture somehow both elegant and exasperated. She took a seat at the bar, her posture a study of controlled relaxation.

Felicia, recovering her composure, glided behind the bar. As her nimble fingers selected a bottle of wine, Natasha's keen eyes followed her movements. Felicia poured a generous measure of deep red wine into a crystal glass, sliding it across the polished surface of the bar.

"Your favorite, I believe," Felicia said, her tone softer now, almost conciliatory.

Natasha's fingers closed around the stem of the glass, raising it slightly. "You've done your homework," she acknowledged with approval in her voice.

"I always do my research before a... job," Felicia replied, the double meaning clear in her words. "But this time it was easy since Tyson buys so much of the stuff. It seems that he's trying to keep you happy."

Natasha raised her glass in a small toast, the gesture both a challenge and a truce. "To professional courtesy," she said, her voice tinged with irony.

Felicia's lips curled into a genuine smile as she clinked her own glass against Natasha's. "And to the thrill of the job," she added, her eyes glinting with mischief.

As they sipped their wine, the tension in the room slowly dissipated. Tyson watched from his seat, fascinated by the interplay between these two formidable women. Without a visible movement, he summoned his powers. Copies of himself materialized behind both Natasha and Felicia, their arms draping over the women's shoulders.

Natasha's body tensed but relaxed as her rational mind recognized the illusion. Felicia merely arched an eyebrow.

"Not sure what that was," Tyson said, his voice a mixture of amusement and genuine curiosity, "but you both just became friends, right?"

Natasha turned her head slightly, green eyes flickering over the illusory arms encircling her shoulders. "'Friend' is such a... fluid concept."

Felicia chuckled, a low, throaty sound. She leaned back against the illusionary Tyson. "I'm starting to recognize a pattern. When there are two women in the room and things get tense, you create illusions for each of us. Seems that it's becoming your go-to move."

"But, Natalie's right, darling," she said, "We're more like... frenemies with benefits."

Natasha's eyebrow quirked upward in genuine amusement. "Benefits, Felicia? I don't recall agreeing to any... benefits."

"You haven't cuffed me yet, which is a benefit in one way," Felicia replied, "But the night is young, and I'm very persuasive."

Tyson's eyes widened. "Wait, are you two actually...?"

"Actually what, Tyson?" Natasha asked, her tone innocent but her eyes dancing with mirth. "Surely you're not implying anything... untoward?"

Felicia laughed, the sound light and musical. "Oh, come now, Natasha. We shouldn't tease the poor boy too much. After all, he did bring us together."

"True," Natasha conceded, raising her wine glass in a mock toast.

Tyson's brow furrowed, his usual confidence faltering in the face of their banter. "So, are you...?"

"Are we what, darling?" Felicia asked, her voice a sultry purr. "What are we even Tyson? Friends? Lovers? Partners in crime?"

Natasha snorted delicately. "Partners in crime... so cliche."

"Ah, but the law is such a boring constraint," Felicia countered, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Don't tell me you've never... bent the rules a little?"

Tyson's head swiveled between the two women, his illusions dissipating as he lost focus. "I... I'm not sure I'm following anymore. Are we talking about us, or you?" he asked pointing between himself and Felicia, then Felicia and Natasha.

Natasha turned to him, her expression softening fractionally. "You're so lost. It's probably for the best that you don't think about it too hard, Tyson. Some things are better left... ambiguous."

Felicia nodded sagely, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Plausible deniability is a girl's best friend. Well, that and diamonds."

"I thought cats preferred fish," Natasha quipped, her lips twitching.

"This cat has refined tastes," Felicia retorted, tossing her platinum-blonde hair over her shoulder.

Tyson slumped back in his seat, thoroughly confused. "So, you're not enemies or you're not friends?"

"Did we say that?" Natasha asked, her voice deceptively mild.

Felicia laughed, the sound rich and full of secrets. "Oh, Tyson. Labels are so restrictive, don't you think? Natasha and I... we have an understanding."

"An understanding," Natasha echoed, her tone dry but not disagreeing. "That's one way to put it."

Tyson ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "You two are impossible, you know that?"

"We 'professionally discreet'," Felicia corrected with a wink.

Tyson threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, keep your secrets."

Natasha shook her head. "Felicia, stop baiting him. Tyson, relax. Whatever is or isn't between us doesn't change anything for you."

"Unless, of course, you'd like it to," Felicia added with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.

Tyson's jaw dropped, his mind clearly short-circuiting at the implications. Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice as she said, "Now look what you've done, Felicia. I think you broke him."

Felicia shrugged, unrepentant. "What can I say? I have that effect on people."

"What are you even doing here Nat? I didn't know you were coming back to town," Tyson remarked.

"There's been a change in plans," she said, her voice crisp and businesslike. "The agency-wide meeting was postponed because you have information on Asgard. I came here as your SHIELD handler."

There was a moment of silence as Tyson digested this information, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. But before he could respond, Natasha pressed on, her eyes glinting with a hint of excitement.

"I'm here to recruit you for a mission if you're interested," she said, her words hanging in the air like a tantalizing promise. "Given your unique abilities, your involvement could be invaluable."

Tyson leaned forward, enthused by the prospect of a new challenge. "What kind of mission are we talking about?" he asked.

Tyson studied Natasha's face, her playful demeanor vanishing as her expression turned serious and focused.

"Observation and intelligence gathering," she said, her tone all business now.

"Who's the target?" Tyson asked, intrigued.

"A scientist named Bruce Banner."

Tyson's mind raced, connecting the dots. Bruce Banner - it had to relate to the events at Culver University that Natasha had mentioned earlier. Flashes from The Incredible Hulk movie sprang to the forefront of his recollection. Though the film had been poorly received and he hadn't watched it in years before arriving in this world, the highlights remained seared into his memory. Particularly, the monstrous Abomination and the battle that had raged through city streets.

Natasha gazed at Tyson expectantly in the lingering silence, awaiting his response. She wanted his answer.

"I'm guessing this mission has to do with the aftermath of that campus incident you mentioned?" he said.

Natasha gave a slight nod, her piercing eyes never wavering from his. "An enhanced, like you. But worse. Stronger, more dangerous... deadly. We need to gather intel on his activities, whereabouts, and condition. Discreetly."

Recognizing the importance of the mission, he didn't hesitate. "I'm in," he said.

He turned to Felicia, who had been watching the exchange with concern. "We'll catch up in a few days," he assured.

Felicia's brow furrowed with concern as she regarded Tyson carefully. "Are you sure this is the right decision?" she asked, a note of apprehension in her voice.

"I'm pretty good at discreet," Tyson replied confidently.

Felicia gave him a pointed look. "You fought a giant lizard on a bridge during rush hour," she reminded him.

Tyson grasped for a justification. "That was one time," he argued weakly.

Natasha interjected dryly, "Actually, you also fought the Green Goblin on a bridge too."

"That wasn't during rush hour..." Tyson's voice trailed off lamely.

Felicia fixed him with an intense gaze, her apprehension evident. "If this guy is so deadly, why do you need to go? Isn't there someone else?"

Tyson met her gaze steadily. "Yesterday, I fought a god," he stated matter-of-factly.

Felicia's eyes widened in surprise. "A god?" she asked incredulously.

"Which god?" Natasha questioned.

"Loki, the god of mischief," Tyson answered casually, as if battling Norse deities was an everyday occurrence.

"Did you win?" Felicia asked eagerly.

"I could have," Tyson claimed confidently.

Natasha gave him an incredulous look. "That's a no," she deadpanned.

Tyson shrugged, neither confirming nor denying Natasha's assertion. His nonchalant response made it clear he had not bested the Asgardian trickster god, but he didn't seem particularly bothered by that fact.

"I've gotten into more superpowered fights than anyone else around here," he stated matter-of-factly. "That's why I earn the big bucks." He turned on his heel and started walking away, calling casually over his shoulder as he went, "Come on, this is what you paid me 350 million for. Time to earn my salary. Everything will be fine, Felicia. Let's get moving, Nat."

Felicia watched Tyson's retreating figure, worry creasing her brow. She turned to Natasha and mouthed silently, "Keep him safe?" Natasha gave Felicia's hand a reassuring squeeze in response.

With that, Tyson and Natasha made their way to Tyson's motorcycle.

Natasha climbed onto the back of the bike, her arms wrapping securely around Tyson's waist as he kick-started the engine. The motorcycle roared to life as they pulled away from the curb and merged into the flow of traffic. They headed east, the wind whipping past them as they sped along the FDR Drive. To their left, the towering skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed. To their right, the East River stretched out, its waters choppy and dark beneath the overcast sky.

They journeyed northward. Murry Hill, Midtown, the Upper East Side - each neighborhood flew by, the buildings and streets blending together into a seamless whole. As they approached 135th Street in Harlem, Tyson veered westward, guiding the motorcycle onto St. Nicholas Avenue with a turn of the handlebars. The streetscape had changed, the towering high-rises giving way to a more residential area, with brownstones and apartment buildings lining the sidewalks.

It was here, amidst the relative calm of the neighborhood, that the presence of the military Humvees became increasingly noticeable. The heavy vehicles, bristling with soldiers and weaponry, stood out like sore thumbs against the backdrop of everyday life.

Natasha directed Tyson to park the motorcycle on the sidewalk adjacent to St. Nicholas Avenue Park, one of the many small parks that dotted Manhattan, breaking up the urban landscape. She'd chosen this spot intentionally. It was close enough to Greyburn College to allow for quick access, but far enough away to avoid drawing undue attention.

As they dismounted the bike, Tyson took a moment to survey their surroundings. The park stretched out before them, a narrow strip of land that ran parallel to the street. It was a barrier of sorts, a buffer between the college and the rest of the city. Two sets of stairs led up into the park itself, another descended into the depths of the 135th Street subway station. Natasha, following his gaze, nodded towards the park stairs.

"We'll have a better vantage point from up there," she said, "We need to get a sense of what's happening at the college."

Together they climbed the stairs. The park was small, no more than a block wide, but it afforded them a measure of cover and concealment as they made their way to the top of the hill.

Tyson asked Natasha, "So what was all that between you and Felicia earlier?"

Natasha's green eyes met his gaze steadily. "You know that SHIELD was observing you the whole time that I was at Midtown High, and even before that," she responded. Tyson nodded in acknowledgment. Natasha continued, her voice crisp and matter-of-fact, "We knew you were going after a crimelord with another independent. It didn't take us long to figure out what was happening with Felicia Hardy, particularly since you openly asked her out on a date right in front of me during class, then spilled the details during our sparring session." She paused, assessing his reaction before going on. "Director Fury deemed you a higher priority target than either Felicia or Wilson Fisk, and decided to stay out of your way and not interfere with your operations, so long as things didn't look like they were turning bad."

Tyson considered her words, his expression thoughtful. After a moment, he said, "That's cool and all. I was more talking about the sexual tension."

Natasha snorted in amusement at Tyson's comment. "You're such a boy," she said.

Tyson was undeterred. "That's not an answer," he responded, still fishing for details.

Natasha shrugged, unwilling to indulge his juvenile curiosity. "It was just a bit of fun," she said vaguely.

"You probably don't realize how much I coordinate with Felicia," Natasha continued. "She's become your secondary contact for SHIELD. When I need to know something, she's a better source than you are since you don't manage... well, anything."

It was true. Tyson had little involvement in the day-to-day operations of House of M. He preferred to focus on the big picture, leaving the details to others.

"Felicia and I likely spend more time together than you do with either of us," Natasha pointed out.

Tyson waved off her comment, unconcerned. "Business isn't my thing..." he started to say. He stopped walking as her words sank in. "You spend lots of time together?" he asked.

Tyson stared at her as she continued walking, "Are you fucking with me?" he asked.

Natasha kept walking, neither confirming nor denying his suspicion.

As Tyson and Natasha reached the summit, they were greeted by the fading light of sunset, the sky above them painted in a breathtaking array of oranges, pinks, and purples. The sun sank slowly towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape and combined with the trees, obscured the view of the college campus below. The elevation of the hill, which seemed to offer a vantage from a distance, fell short compared to the buildings of Greyburn College, which stood on even higher ground.

Tyson and Natasha's eyes strained against the setting sun to survey the scene at the college before them. The military vehicles stationed on the campus stood out among the architecture of the college buildings. However, their current position didn't offer the clarity needed to effectively observe the campus. The trees and the shadows conspired to obscure their view, leaving them with a frustratingly incomplete picture of the situation on the ground.

They faced a strategic choice. Either they could circle to the north side of the campus, seeking a better vantage point from which to observe, or they could traverse directly through the campus grounds, relying on stealth and speed to avoid detection. Both options carried risks, and Natasha weighed them carefully in her mind. Heading north would take precious minutes. And there was always the chance they could be exposed to peripheral threats. On the other hand, walking right into the heart of a potentially hostile environment was a gamble. The campus was crawling with military personnel, each armed and on high alert. A single misstep, a single moment of carelessness, could blow their cover and put the entire mission in jeopardy.

Natasha turned to Tyson with a suggestion that leveraged his unique abilities. "Can you cloak us with your illusions?" she asked, "It would allow us to move through the campus without being detected."

"Easily," Tyson confirmed confidently.

With a plan in place, Tyson closed his eyes, his mind reaching out. He subtly weaved a cloak around them that would render them invisible to any onlookers' perceptions. With his illusions shielding them, the duo cautiously proceeded onto the Greyburn College campus.

The center of the campus was a marvel of architectural beauty and tranquility. The classic stonework of the buildings gave them the impression of modern castles. Each one seemed to exude a sense of history and tradition. At the center of campus stood a flagpole, its banner fluttering gently in the breeze.

But the facade of tranquility was just that. A fragile veneer, being shattered at that very moment by the heavy military presence.

As they approached the largest of the college buildings, Tyson heard a sharp intake of breath from Natasha, followed by a low curse. His eyes snapped to the source of her frustration, his body tensing in anticipation of danger.

Emerging from the building's entrance, were soldiers with their weapons at the ready, wheeling out a man on a stretcher. The man's wrists were bound in heavy handcuffs, indicating this was no ordinary medical emergency, no simple case of a student falling ill or injuring themselves.

Natasha's words were filled with a mix of urgency and resignation. "They captured Banner," she said, her eyes never leaving the scene unfolding before them.

Tyson concentrated, his enhanced vision zeroing in on the man's face. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the features of Bruce Banner, the brilliant scientist whose work had inadvertently transformed him into the Hulk.

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Tyson turned to Natasha, his expression serious and focused. "Your mission was to prevent his capture?" he asked.

Natasha's response was tinged with a hint of frustration, her eyes flashing angrily. "A little late for that," she admitted, her jaw clenching tightly.

"It isn't too late," Tyson said, his voice filled with a quiet conviction. "I can get him out. Say the word."

Natasha hesitated weighing the risks and implications of what Tyson was suggesting. But in the end, she knew that it was the best choice. Banner was too important, too valuable to let fall into the wrong hands.

"If you can get him out without harming the soldiers, do it," she ordered.

Tyson nodded, his eyes already scanning the area for the best approach. He sprinted towards the group of soldiers escorting Banner's stretcher.

Before he started running, he was already within range to utilize his illusions on the group, but he waited, choosing the right moment for maximum impact. He watched the soldiers carry the stretcher down the stairs from the building's entrance. As the soldiers reached flat ground, Tyson saw his opportunity and seized it.

He activated his illusion, enveloping the soldiers.

The illusion he employed was delicate, testing his control and precision. Over the weeks of performing shows for thousands of spectators, Tyson's power had grown, straining him less and less to put on a show for such large numbers. But now he didn't need a big flashy show, he needed a small, simple but detailed distraction.

He focused intently, his mind weaving a tapestry of deception around the soldiers that would bend their perceptions to his will.

The soldiers, wheeling Banner's stretcher, approached a point on the ground where there was a small hump. As they reached it, the soldiers, in unison, lifted the stretcher slightly to navigate the obstacle.

Tyson moved quickly, to not miss the window created by his masterpiece of subtlety.

In reality, there was no hump on the path as the soldiers believed. As they raised their hands to navigate the perceived obstacle, they unwittingly released their grip on the actual stretcher, continuing to push only the illusion of it toward the awaiting helicopter. The stretcher, along with Banner, remained behind, unattended. The soldiers, completely under Tyson's illusion, moved forward without it.

The brilliance of Tyson's illusion lay in its intricacy. To an outside observer, the soldiers appeared to be performing a normal and uninterrupted task. But the truth, Banner had been effectively separated from his captors, left in the open where he could be safely extracted without alerting the soldiers to their mistake.

This feat was a showcase of Tyson's mastery over his powers and his ability to manipulate perceptions effectively. The soldiers continued their march towards the waiting helicopter, blissfully oblivious to the fact that their prisoner was no longer in their custody, a sleight of hand orchestrated by Tyson's skillful manipulation.

Seizing the moment he had so carefully engineered, Tyson approached the unguarded Bruce Banner. The sound of his footsteps and his appearance remained hidden behind his illusions.

The only one who could see his approach was Natasha in the distance, and Banner as he approached. "Dr. Banner, I'm Mirage, a local hero, and I'm here to get you away from these soldiers. Please come with me, I'm here to help," he spoke softly to put the scientist at ease. The last thing he needed was Banner hulking out.

Without wasting a moment, Tyson utilized his adamantium claws to slice through Banner's restraints. The heavy material parted as if they were made of paper. The bindings fell away, clattering to the ground soundlessly in a heap of metal and leather and freeing Banner from his immediate confines.

Tyson took in Banner's condition with a critical eye. It was clear the man could barely stand, let alone walk or run. His body trembled with weakness, swaying unsteadily where he stood. Dark circles ringed his eyes and deep lines of exhaustion were etched into his face. Tyson mentally reviewed the events leading up to this moment, trying to recall what had caused his current depleted state. The details escaped him; some nuance of the movie's plot he had not deemed important enough to commit to memory. But Tyson knew this fatigue was only temporary. Soon the cursed scientist would tap into his rage, transforming into the Hulk. Banner hulking out to protect his love from the Abomination was seared into his mind. The titanic brawl had left quite an impression. For now, though, he was vulnerable, barely able to remain upright. Tyson would need to assist him if they were to make their escape. He offered a hand to assist Banner off the stretcher. However, it quickly became apparent that more direct intervention was needed. Tyson hoisted the doctor over his shoulder, taking care not to jostle the injured man any more than necessary. He was light in Tyson's arms. With the doctor securely in his hold, Tyson moved back to where Natasha waited with bated breath.

As they reached Natasha's position, it was Bruce Banner who broke the silence, his voice weak but filled with a sense of urgency. "You're with SHIELD?" he asked, looking at the patch on the side of Natasha's suit. Natasha gave a simple nod. "They have my blood, lots of it. We need to destroy it. It's too dangerous," Banner revealed, his tone laced with palpable concern.

Tyson looked to Natasha for guidance. He was a fighter, but when it came to strategy, tactics, and planning, he would rely on her expertise. It was clear that Banner's blood could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. The consequences of such a scenario were too horrible to contemplate. But what good would it do if they left Banner to be recaptured?

"We need to get him to safety, but we can't let the blood fall into the wrong hands," Natasha concurred, her voice filled with frustration. The mission had just become more complicated, but there was no question of what needed to be done.

"I've got an idea. Banner can lay low at my place. I'll call Felicia and have her meet him there. We get Banner to a taxi, then come back to secure the blood," Tyson suggested.

Natasha's expression tightened, the gears turning behind her eyes as she weighed the merits of Tyson's plan. "No good options, but that'll work with small adjustments," she agreed, "I'll call for a team here and head into the building to secure the blood. You get Banner to the taxi, then join me."

With their course of action decided Tyson wasted no time. He led Banner off the campus making for the stairs that descended into the park below.