by Greg Cox
This isn’t good, Cyclops concluded, coolly assessing his ongoing duel with the indefatigable Avenger. From a tactical standpoint, their respective abilities complemented each other much too well. Captain America employed his ubiquitous shield with as much skill and precision as Cyclops had learned to direct his unique eyebeams. No surprise there, he acknowledged. We could be at this all day, before one of us makes a crucial error.
Risking a peek at the sky, he saw lightning bolts colliding with repulsor rays amidst dark, tempestuous clouds. Meanwhile, the Beast remained out for the count beneath that fallen tree. And where had the Vision disappeared to anyway? Why wasn’t the android Avenger coming to the aid of his comrades? Had something happened to him?
The habitual scowl below his visor deepened. This entire melee with the Avengers was taking too long, costing them far too much valuable time. Cyclops made a mental note to add holographic Avengers to the Danger Room, so they’d be better prepared for such a clash in the future, but that wasn’t going to do them any good here and now. He had to do something—anything!—to break the stalemate.
Right after he blocked the beam ricocheting back toward his head …
* * *
A rusty metal man took potshots at a self-styled goddess way up high in the sky. On a big rock in the middle of the river, a red-eyed geek of a mutant played catch-the-bouncing-stun-beam with a true blue national mascot. The furry blue guy was down and out and that miserable robot was resting in a couple of pieces at the bottom of the Falls. Standing upon the brink of the biggest waterfall in sight, knee-deep in the impatient torrent, the irascible Hulk found himself without anyone to fight.
Sure, there were always those armies lined up on either shore, but they hardly counted. The Hulk sneered at the tanks and soldiers with contempt; he could wallop the American troops, and the Canadians, too, without working up a sweat. And he’d do it, too, if he had to, but right now he was a lot more interested in the grudge match that had broken out between the X-Men and the Avengers. Not that he was rooting for either team; from where he was standing, they deserved each other. They were both a bunch of yappy, self-righteous pains-in-the-butt, always try to rope him into one of their do-gooder crusades. To heck with all of them! A plague on both their houses, as that overeducated wimp Banner might say.
He was mightily tempted, in fact, to just let them fight it out among themselves, but where was the fun in that? His knuckles itched to crack some super hero skulls. That dust-up with the robot had wrapped up too soon, and Ol’ Shellhead had found another target for his wimpy repulsor rays. The Hulk felt his adrenaline flowing, feeding his perpetual pugnacity. Where did these costumed clowns get the nerve to cut him out of the action? Just thinking about it made him mad, and the madder he got…
“Hey, X-Vengers!” he bellowed, pounding his fists against his lime-green chest like a bellicose gorilla and raising a racket that could be heard over the Falls themselves. “Save a little stompin’ for me!”
He crouched in the river, tearing out the knees of his tattered purple jeans, then used his impossibly over-muscled legs to break every single Olympic jumping record. He left the Falls far below him and catapulted into the clouds, forcibly inserting himself into the pitched battle between Iron Man and Storm. Repulsor rays tapped feebly against his ribcage while thunderbolts tickled the base of his spine.
“You call this firepower?” the Hulk called mockingly, his upward trajectory finally reaching its peak within spitting distance of both the mutant and the mechanic, who reacted to his abrupt arrival with expressions of utter surprise. Both of them looked like they’d seen better days; Storm’s exposed flesh was nicked and scraped in places, while Iron Man had picked up a couple of nasty dents in his once snazzy chassis. These were the best the super hero world had to offer? Hah! The Hulk glanced down for just a second; the armed forces down below looked like toy soldiers from this height. Then he sneered at the airborne Avenger and X-Man, treating them to equal helpings of his colossal disdain. “Try a load of this on for size!”
As he had on the island, the Hulk clapped his gargantuan hands together with unfathomable force. The resulting shock wave momentarily cleared the brooding storm clouds, permitting a shaft of sunlight to shine through, and sent both Storm and Iron Man tumbling head over heels away from each other. The Hulk chortled boisterously at the sight of the two flying heroes twirling helplessly through the skies they’d thought they owned.
“Just call me Hurricane Bruce!” he hollered.
Too bad Wolverine’s still AWOL, he grumbled silently. Where in blazes is that scrappy little Canuck, anyway?
Gravity belatedly called the Hulk back to earth, and he accelerated downward at roughly ten meters per seconds squared, arcing through the sky toward the wooded island where Captain America and Cyclops fought on behalf of their respective teams. Rebounding crimson beams formed a glowing cat’s cradle between them. His emerald eyes alight with barbaric glee, the Hulk waited impatiently to touch down between the unsuspecting combatants.
Boy, were they in for a rude surprise!
* * *
A tremor shook the island. At first, Captain America thought that an earthquake had hit Niagara. Then he saw the colossal green figure at the center of a newly-formed crater at the tip of the small isle.
I should have guessed where that quake came from, he chided himself. Who needed earthquakes when the Hulk was around? The ill-tempered behemoth was a walking disaster area.
Cap stepped backwards, giving the Hulk a wide berth while he waited to see what the Hulk would do next. So did Cyclops, who reined in his eyebeams, taken aback by this earth-shaking new development. The Hulk’s cataclysmic arrival reminded Cap of a joke that had been old even when a young Steve Rogers had been growing up in Brooklyn during the Great Depression:
Where do you seat an eight-hundred-pound gorilla?
Anywhere he wants.
Like that hypothetical gorilla, the Hulk presented a vastly intimidating appearance. Contemplating Hulk’s bestial visage, Cap found it hard to remember that he and the other Avengers had come to the Hulk in search of advice and information. There seemed to be nothing inside that grotesque green frame but unending hostility and paranoia.
If the Hulk is the best lead we have, then Wanda may have to rescue herself.
“Hulk!” he shouted, unwilling to give up while there was the slimmest chance for success. Perhaps, against all odds, the Hulk could be made to see reason. “We just want to ask you some questions. It may be a matter of life or death!”
Either the Hulk couldn’t hear him or didn’t care. Climbing out of the crater, he stomped toward Cyclops and Cap, his enormous fists swinging at his side. His bare feet left deep footprints in the muddy soil; the immense tracks made it look like Goat Island had hosted Bigfoot. The Hulk’s baleful gaze swung back and forth between the two smaller heroes, his misshapen head turning slowly atop a neck that looked thicker than any tree trunk on the isle.
“Eeny-meeny-meiny-moe,” he rumbled, louder than the Falls or Storm’s deafening thunder, reaching the last syllable at the same time that his malignant gaze settled on Cyclops. “You lose, Cyke,” he announced, then lunged at the mutant leader.
Cyclops fought back with his eyebeams, which shot from his visor before the Hulk took one step toward him. The beams barely slowed the Hulk, who waded through the coruscating red energy like it was nothing more than a stiff breeze. A backhanded slap sent Cyclops flying through the air, his crimson eyebeams trailing behind him like the tail of a comet. Looking on, Cap feared that Cyclops would be flung off the small island entirely, ending up in the raging river, but instead he smashed into the side of a tree with considerable force. His eyebeams shut off abruptly as his body crumpled onto the ground.
Is he out cold? Cap wondered. The sudden cessation of the crimson beams suggested that the X-Man couldn’t keep his eyes open.
But the Hulk wasn’t through with Cyclops yet. He stalked toward the downed mutant, smacking one of hi
s huge fists into the palm of his other hand. From the look of him. Cap doubted that the Hulk intended to administer first aid to his vanquished foe; the Hulk’s idea of CPR probably involved pounding the victim’s ribs to powder, and then smashing what was left.
Not if I have anything to say about it, Cap resolved. It did not strike him as at all odd, or even ironic, to go to the aid of a man he had just fought to a standstill. No matter what the X-Man’s motives were, however misguided they might be, nobody deserved to be beaten while they were down.
And the sooner the Hulk learned that, the better.
“Leave that man alone!” Cap yelled. He hurled his shield with all his strength and it flew like a discus at the back of the Hulk’s head, bouncing off his thick skull. Cap reached out with a gloved hand and the shield slid back into his grip, a move that felt as natural to him as breathing. After fifty years of hard-fought combat, during which he had consistently refused to carry a gun, the shield had become more than just a tool; it was a part of him.
He never expected the shield to hurt the Hulk—a cruise missile couldn’t do that—but he did hope to get the brute’s attention, distracting him from Cyclops’s fallen form. After that… well, Cap figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Taking on an outraged Hulk was just a chance he’d have to take; after all, he hadn’t gotten through World War II by playing it safe.
Bouncing the metal disk off the Hulk’s cranium had the desired result. The Hulk looked back over his shoulder, glowering at Captain America, who pointed an accusing finger at the monstrous green giant.
“I always knew you were a savage, Hulk, but I never thought you were a bully. If you’re so eager to smash someone, why don’t you try someone who can fight back.” Looking past the Hulk, Cap saw Cyclops stirring upon the mucky ground. Since he couldn’t let the Hulk harm Cyclops before the X-Man had a chance to recover, Cap decided to throw his shield once more for good measure. The weapon sped through the air, on course to hit the Hulk right between the eyes.
Moving with surprising speed, however, the Hulk spun around and caught the shield with both hands, his awesome strength easily overcoming the projectile’s momentum.
“Hah!” he chortled maliciously. “Lose your little toy, didya?” He held up the brightly-colored shield, inspecting it, then twirled it atop a salamisized forefinger. “This antique belongs in the Smithsonian. Too bad it will never get there—in one piece, that is!”
The historic shield looked alarmingly small in the Hulk’s ample hands. He grabbed the rim on both sides, clearly intending to bend the metal shield in two.
“Say good-bye to your Yankee Doodle Dandy,” he taunted Captain America, who looked on silently, betraying not a sign of anxiety except for the narrowing of his eyes. Cap held his breath, crossing his arms atop his chest as he watched the Hulk test his matchless brawn against the ancient shield.
You may be surprised, he thought confidently.
As Cap expected, bending the shield, let alone breaking it, proved more difficult than the Hulk must have anticipated. Muscles that could easily tear apart an armored truck strained against the lightweight metal disk. Distended veins and tendons protruded beneath taut green skin. A painful grimace contorted the Hulk’s face as he exerted ever more of his renowned super-strength, his face darkening to a deeper shade of green, with no discernible results.
Irresistible force that he was, the Hulk had finally met a genuinely immovable object. As far as Cap knew, no power on earth (or elsewhere) could damage his shield, which was composed of a unique experimental alloy whose exact composition had been lost for decades. S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried for years to duplicate the one-of-a-kind shield, but their best scientists had never succeeded at the task. Neither had Hydra, Zodiac, or any other terrorist group with access to too many brilliant minds and too much advanced equipment. Like the legendary Super-Soldier Formula that had first endowed Captain America with his extraordinary vigor and agility, the secret of his shield had disappeared into the hazy recesses of history. But the shield’s phenomenal durability remained, as the Hulk was now finding out.
Huffing breathlessly, the tip of an emerald tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth, the Hulk slammed the shield down onto his knee, trying strenuously to break it over his leg. Overlapping layers of muscles rippled along his arms and across his shoulders as he hunched over the indestructible shield, refusing to accept defeat.
“This is impossible!” he snarled. “There’s nothing I can’t smash. Nothing!”
That’s what the Axis powers thought, too, Captain America recalled, but American ingenuity and perseverance proved them wrong. If there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was something that tyrants and bullies almost never seemed to understand: that there was more to life than raw, naked power. Maybe the Hulk will figure that out… someday.
At the moment, the Hulk was just growing madder, and stronger, by the minute, but still the shield would not yield. Radioactive perspiration drenched his verdant flesh, and his mighty arms quivered with the unimaginable strain, yet the circular shield kept its shape. His huge knuckles turned greenish white where they pressed against the edge of the shield, until, releasing an enormous gasp, the Hulk abandoned his struggle, the shield looking just as pristine and undamaged as it had been when he first snatched it out of the air.
“Get this miserable thing out of my sight!” he bellowed, his chest heaving, and cast the invincible shield into the sky. Cap’s heart fell as he watched his trusty weapon fly out of reach, becoming nothing more than a faint red-white-and-blue speck against the dark gray storm clouds.
Tracking the shield’s rapid ascent, he let his attention momentarily shift away from the frustrated Hulk. A potentially fatal mistake. Before he realized what was happening, a gigantic green hand came rushing at his face.
Careless! the Star-Spangled Avenger castigated himself a heartbeat before the hand hit him like a chartreuse meteor.
His boots lost all contact with the earth as the blow propelled him across the island, leaving him stunned and blurry-eyed. Even after he hit the ground, he kept moving at a bobsled clip, skidding on his back through the mud and the rocks, only his blue chain mail tunic keeping his flesh from being flayed to the bone. Finally, he slowed to a stop, his head still ringing from the blow. His jaw ached and a tooth felt cracked. He tried to focus, but dark spots encroached on his vision, nibbling away at the sky above him. He felt his consciousness slipping away … so that he was barely aware of the two vicious hands that roughly lifted his battered body from the mud and raised it high into the air.
As though from very far away, he heard the endless waters of Niagara crashing over the Falls.
* * *
“GOOD Lord,” Colonel Lopez whispered, peering through his binoculars at the scene upon the island. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Captain America, the very embodiment of the American spirit, was clutched in the grip of the monstrous Hulk, who held the defeated hero high above his head, roaring in triumph. The Star-Spangled Avenger, who had defended liberty for as long as the veteran military man could remember, was stretched lifelessly between the Hulk’s unnaturally enlarged fists. The colonel couldn’t even tell if Cap was still alive.
He has to be! Lopez thought. Captain America can’t be dead. It’s unthinkable!
“Colonel,” Lieutenant Russo said, equally transfixed by the heart-stopping drama unfolding before them. He lowered his own binoculars. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
I’m open to suggestions, the colonel thought. He started to open his mouth to reply, only to see something that stole his voice away.
All hope evaporated as the murderous Hulk, not content to brandish the fallen Avenger like a grotesque trophy, pitched Captain America off the island with the same force that he had hurled massive boulders less than half an hour ago. Lopez stared in utter horror as Captain America tumbled through the air toward the American Falls—and a gruesome death upon the rocks below!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SNIKT!
The sound of Logan’s claws escaping their sheaths was the first indication Rogue had that her stricken teammate might be awaking from the coma her own powers had induced in him.
Thank goodness! she thought. Wolverine had been out cold for at least an hour or two, long enough for the heightened senses and healing abilities she had leeched from him to fade away. She’d been afraid that their faceless tormentor had done something terrible to Logan while he was in a weakened state, deprived of his special recuperative powers.
“Wolvie?” she called out, watching his lifeless face in the mirror. “Are you all right?”
For a long moment, he showed no sign of hearing her. Then his eyes snapped open, blazing with primal fury. Teeth bared, saliva streaming from his lips, he fought savagely against his bonds, with no better results than before. A savage growl sent shivers down Rogue’s spine. His crazed appearance shocked her; even for Wolverine, who usually lived up to his fierce namesake, he looked positively loco, like a wild animal poked and prodded into a rabid frenzy. Rogue had seen hungry ’gators that looked more civilized.
“Logan!” she hollered, hoping to snap him out of it. “Can you hear me?” She tried to make eye contact with him in the mirror, but he didn’t seem to know her. His claws sprang in and out of his clenched fists over and over again, like some sort of involuntary spasm. His fangs snapped at invisible foes. “Talk to me, Logan!”
“Wha—?” Finally, she seemed to get through to him. A hint of sanity returned to his bloodshot brown eyes. He stopped fighting against his restraints. “Rogue … is that you?”
His claws retracted into his hands and stayed there. Rogue breathed a sigh of relief. Logan was coming back to normal; she wasn’t alone anymore. “Ah’m here,” she assured him. “How you doin’, Wolvie? You okay?”
The metal band across his throat kept him from nodding, but he managed to meet her eyes at last. “I think so,” he said slowly, still a trace of a growl in his voice. “Sorry to give you a fright, kid. Nothin’ personal. I was just… someplace else.”
