(Bonus chapter for MUKAI)
Up close, faint blue pinpoints were visible across the Hulk's green skin. That was the full extent of the damage.
From a raw energy standpoint, the Tesseract outclassed the Hulk—no question. But a living power source versus the tiny fraction of energy extracted and stored sixty years ago? The gap in quantity was staggering, even if the quality was comparable. The Hulk felt the hit. He leaped—a single bound that carried him nearly a thousand meters into the air. He seized a helicopter by its door and shook it like a toy, then used his own weight to drag the aircraft straight down to the ground. One explosion. Five soldiers, gone.
"Sir, A2 squad has been wiped out." Inside the Pentagon, an officer reported to the Secretary.
"Deploy the tanks. Alert the Navy—get the electromagnetic railguns ready. And contact S.H.I.E.L.D. and Colonel Stryker—"
The Secretary was under enormous pressure. He was already calculating that throwing Ross to the wolves might not be enough—if this kept escalating, the Defense Secretary himself would be holding the bag.
The old emotion suppressors were rushed back into production—ten more units assembled in short order. Unfortunately, the Hulk had adapted. The moment he spotted anything with flashing colored lights, he turned away, then either hammered the device into the ground or destroyed it with a shockwave.
The military was running out of options, but they couldn't simply let him escape. They gritted their teeth and kept pushing the pursuit, calling for reinforcements from every available channel.
Daisy had already gone home to sleep when Nick Fury's call pulled her back out. Emergency summons, middle of the night, and most S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives were off-base. When she walked into the command room, it was just her, Nick Fury, and the Black Widow.
"Watch this. Footage from five minutes ago." Fury handed her a tablet. Daisy scrolled through it quickly.
All raw security camera feeds—no editing, no post-processing, sent directly as-is. The situation was clearly critical enough that the Pentagon was tapping out.
Daisy let out a long breath. Honestly, she hadn't expected the Hulk to lose control this completely. The sedative should have held.
"I don't know what's going on either. And to be upfront—I cannot fight him. Not directly." She put that on the table immediately. Throwing herself at the Hulk head-on was not happening.
"Do you think Professor Xavier could contain him?" Fury had favors with Charles and would call one in if it came to it—but he genuinely wasn't sure it would work, and he wanted Daisy's read.
"I'd say probably not. Telepathically controlling a creature that transforms the moment it gets emotionally provoked? That's a tough ask even for the Professor." She had zero confidence in that approach. A Hulk in full-rage mode had resistance across the board—telepathy included.
"Then what do you suggest?" Fury had, against his better judgment, developed a respect for her left-field solutions.
This time Daisy actually had to think.
Who had stopped the Hulk before? The list existed, but it wasn't convenient—Silver Surfer, Captain Universe, Thor—all completely out of reach.
She needed something cheap, accessible, and low-risk.
And then she thought of something.
Something with a direct connection to S.H.I.E.L.D., in fact. Long-term Hulk pursuit had produced all kinds of unconventional institutional knowledge. And in a Incredible Hulk comics special, S.H.I.E.L.D. had actually developed the ultimate biological anti-Hulk weapon.
It was a large crate of newborn puppies.
The Hulk, it turned out, adored soft, fluffy, dopey little animals. In their presence, his nervous system unwound—and with it, the transformation.
Of course, the critical thing was not to provoke him during the process. The puppies had to do the work.
Daisy walked them through her plan. She didn't frame it as actually something S.H.I.E.L.D. had once done—she delivered it as a careful analysis drawn from psychology and behavioral science. The core thesis: the more physically powerful a person, the more profoundly tender they tend to be underneath.
Nick Fury blinked. His one good eye went somewhere distant.
Natasha Romanoff—the Black Widow, who had maintained perfect composure through firefights and assassination attempts—looked at Daisy like she was looking at an alien.
"You're… sure this works?" Fury genuinely had to ask if he'd misunderstood.
Daisy confirmed. In her assessment, it was an eighty-to-ninety percent probability. And even if it failed, they'd only lose a few puppies—and the great S.H.I.E.L.D. could certainly afford to compensate for a few dogs.
Fury was nothing if not decisive. He chose to trust Daisy's judgment.
The three of them arrived at a pet store a short distance from headquarters. Procedure was efficient: FBI credentials, a quick "these animals have been commandeered for federal use, any complaints to the main office," and the owner had no recourse.
Daisy selected by aesthetic. Halfway through, Black Widow joined the curation process. Together they settled on seven: two Cocker Spaniels, three short-legged Corgis, and two Alaskan Malamutes—the breed that always looks deeply serious and always turns out to be deeply stupid.
Seven puppies in one large wire crate. The ultimate anti-Hulk weapon was complete.
That left the question: who carries it?
Fury was obviously not going to. He could walk into a crisis holding a few fierce dogs and still project authority—but a cage full of puppies? These things were barely a year old. He wore a black leather coat, an eyepatch, and a permanent aura of menace. The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. does not carry a puppy basket. He'd rather the Hulk laughed himself to death.
He cleared his throat. "Since this whole idea came from you, Daisy, it would make sense for you to—"
Daisy was already shaking her head. Future director. She could carry a lion and people would call it regal. A basket of puppies was beneath the brand. Hard no.
Her head moved back and forth at high speed. "If the plan fails, I need to be combat-ready as a last resort. I can't be holding a cage."
That was technically reasonable. Fury sighed and looked to his left.
"Natasha?"
The Black Widow's expression shifted slightly. She waved a hand. "I'm flying the aircraft… You should probably just carry it yourself."
Three people. Three refusals. Nobody was touching the cage.
This could not continue. Washington was getting rearranged while they debated puppy-carrying logistics.
"Fine. I'll call Coulson." Whatever the plan's odds of success, none of this was consistent with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s brand of iron-fisted intimidation. Fury could at least keep that internal by involving someone he trusted completely.
"Yes, yes—Coulson is perfect for this." Black Widow nodded vigorously. Leadership at its finest, Director.
Daisy added her support: "I've heard Coulson can communicate with the penguins in Antarctica. Clearly the man has a gift."
Three votes in favor. Unanimous. By the time they boarded a jet to pick Coulson up in New York, it had become a group consensus.
In the end, Coulson proved himself more of a hero than any of them. He had none of their calculations, none of their concern for appearances. When he heard that the Pentagon was in dire straits, he took the assignment without hesitation.
He accepted the wire crate with the solemn bearing of a soldier receiving a critical objective. To anyone watching from a distance—not knowing what was inside—the way he carried it suggested the contents might be explosive.