"General Ross. What a rare and unexpected guest."
Five hours after the symbiote frenzy finally ended, General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross—the primary military backer of the "U.S.Avangers" and head of the Pentagon's superhuman response initiatives—arrived at a heavily fortified, subterranean concrete bunker.
He stood before a massive wall of reinforced, Hulk-proof glass, glaring at the special prisoner confined within.
The man sitting on the sterile cot was shockingly emaciated, dressed in heavy shackles. His skin was a sickly, pale green. But his most striking feature was his head, which was grotesquely enlarged and mutated, towering upward in a massive, pulsing cranium.
"Samuel Sterns," General Ross said coldly, his hands clasped behind his back. "Give me a single good reason why I shouldn't transfer you to The Raft immediately, especially considering the sheer amount of hatred you've harbored against this country."
Samuel let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. He actually preferred his new moniker: The Leader.
The Leader stood up slowly, a twisted smile stretching across his green face. He gestured to the small television monitor bolted to the corner of his cell. The news networks were currently broadcasting non-stop coverage of the Avengers saving the world yet again, while explicitly noting that the military-sponsored U.S.Avangers had been almost completely wiped out or compromised.
"Let's be frank with one another, General Ross," The Leader purred, pressing his oversized face against the thick glass. "You aren't sending me to The Raft. Because you need monsters."
Ross didn't flinch.
"Think about it," The Leader whispered, his eyes gleaming with malicious intellect. "You spent your entire career trying to forge the ultimate super-soldier, and instead, you created a monster. How long have you been hunting him now? Almost ten years?"
The Leader paced the length of his cell. "From the very beginning, you despised the nerdy, fragile scientist who won your daughter's heart. You hated Bruce Banner long before the gamma bomb. You hated him because he foolishly ran into a live blast zone to save some idiot teenager who drove a motorcycle onto your testing grounds. And in a flash of radiation, one of America's brightest minds became your worst nightmare."
"You pursued him across the globe because you were terrified," The Leader continued, pointing a long, green finger at the General. "You were afraid that untamed power would harm your family, your daughter, your country. You utilized the full, staggering might of the United States to crush him, only to discover, to your absolute horror, that you couldn't. Your fear morphed into terror. And your terror morphed into a sick obsession."
A dry, rattling laugh escaped The Leader's throat. General Ross remained perfectly silent, his jaw clenched tight.
"Hunting the Hulk, silencing your own fears, proving to the world that you could destroy the beast... that has been your life's singular goal, Thaddeus," The Leader taunted. "But then, the aliens invaded. Twice. And the green monster you hunted became a hero. The world trusts him. He is a symbol of the nation. Billionaires, super-soldiers, and literal gods call him a friend. You can never hunt him again, General."
The Leader leaned in close to the glass. "And your precious daughter might just fall right back into that monster's arms."
Ross stared indifferently at the mutated genius. "You talk too much."
"Perhaps," The Leader chuckled. "But I saw the morning news. Your 'U.S.Avangers' were completely decimated out there. They failed spectacularly. You rely on a few pitiful, heavily monitored assets who lack the fighting spirit, let alone the raw strength, to defend this nation. Most importantly, General... this is an era of gods and monsters. And America currently has no monsters of its own."
The Leader smiled, showing his teeth. "You need monsters. And I can create them. I can forge the next Emil Blonsky—strong, resilient, and utterly loyal, without losing his mind. I can give you your very own monster, General." The Leader tilted his head. "Or... perhaps you wish to become the next monster yourself?"
"Enough," Ross interrupted, his voice like grinding gravel. "I am only here to inform you that your place of confinement is changing. You are being transferred to The Cube, a maximum-security black site deep in the Mojave Desert specifically designed for gamma-mutates like you. You will be perfectly safe there."
"If the Hulk ever visits, he'll be safe too, won't he?" The Leader grinned.
Ross ignored the provocation, turning on his heel and marching out of the containment block.
As Ross walked down the sterile Pentagon corridors, his secure encrypted phone buzzed. He listened to the brief report in silence, his scowl deepening. He immediately redirected his route, taking an elevator down to the Weapons Expansion Project's primary laboratory.
He was prepared to aggressively interrogate Doctor Otto Octavius as to why a catastrophic symbiote crisis had nearly ended the world using his research.
But when the laboratory doors hissed open, Ross was struck speechless.
According to every medical record in the Pentagon's database, Otto Octavius was a quadriplegic. Yet, the scientist was currently walking freely around the lab. His spine and limbs were seamlessly bonded with a sleek, metallic-looking black symbiote. There were zero signs of physical backlash, immune rejection, or alien possession.
"You triggered an extraterrestrial invasion of Earth, Doctor Octavius," Ross barked, recovering his composure.
"Actually, General, the alien organisms that triggered the invasion were brought to this planet by S.H.I.E.L.D.," Otto defended himself calmly, not even looking up from his datapad. He casually handed Ross a containment vial filled with what should have been a highly volatile, uncontrollable symbiote sample. It sat perfectly inert.
"However, thanks to the chaos, I have successfully completed my initial research into the practical, biological application of Klyntar mass," Otto stated proudly. "The parasite has been stripped of its hive-mind consciousness. It is now a perfect, obedient tool. The problem now is supply. Almost all the feral samples disintegrated into ash when the dark god fell. There might be a few dormant samples remaining in the possession of Manhattan's underground factions."
Ross didn't respond immediately. He stared at the sleek, black bio-armor currently allowing the paralyzed scientist to walk.
If he wanted to synthesize this weapon for the military, he needed to gather as many surviving symbiote fragments as possible from the ruins of New York. To do that, he needed the cooperation of the criminal underworld.
It was time to put a little pressure on Wilson Fisk inside Ryker's Island.
Compared to the dark, conspiratorial maneuvering of General Ross, the Avengers' morning was remarkably straightforward.
The Department of Damage Control (DODC), heavily funded by Tony Stark, was currently swarming Manhattan, scrubbing the streets of alien ash and recovering any viable extraterrestrial technology. Meanwhile, Tony was walking the halls of Avengers Tower, picking the brain of the team's resident deity.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Point Break," Tony said, handing Thor a cup of coffee. "Are you planning to stick around for a while, or are you jetting back to space now that your bridge is fixed?"
"The Bifrost has indeed been repaired, Stark," Thor nodded, taking a sip of the bitter mortal brew. "I must continue to maintain peace across the Nine Realms, as is my duty. But yes, I will primarily remain stationed here on Midgard."
"Good to hear," Tony smiled.
"However, when winter comes, I must return to Asgard," Thor added, his tone turning serious. "Every year, during the darkest days of winter, the All-Father falls into the Odinsleep to replenish his cosmic power. During that time, all the forces in the cosmos that oppose Asgard will attempt to strike. I must stand guard by his side."
"Got it. You get one week of PTO a year. Sounds like rough management," Tony grumbled sarcastically. He paused, looking out the reinforced windows at the recovering city. "So, what's your expert, godly advice regarding the 'Sorcerer Supreme' downtown who just casually turned down an Avengers membership?"
"The Sorcerer Supreme is the shield of Midgard, Stark," Thor explained, his blue eyes grim. "The Avengers are responsible for protecting the Earth from physical threats. Stephen Strange is responsible for protecting it from extra-dimensional gods. Knull was merely one of them."
Thor turned to face the billionaire. "There are other, ancient powers lurking in the dark dimensions. Entities like Dormammu, Chthon, Mephisto, and Cyttorak. If the Sorcerer Supreme were to fall, they would invade this realm in a heartbeat."
Tony stood entirely silent for a long moment, staring at the God of Thunder. He slowly rubbed his temples, a headache already forming.
"Are you kidding me?" Tony finally sighed. "How many of these guys are there?!"
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