by Stuart Moore
“In part,” Shuri replied. “ESMC readings are off the charts. But that isn’t what bothers me.”
He followed her pointing finger to a readout showing a rising red bar.
“Radiation,” he said. “Gamma, if I’m not mistaken.”
She nodded. “I have seen this pattern before.”
T’Challa, too, recognized the arc of the radiation curve. He turned away, shaken. “The World War Hulk incident,” he said. “Two years ago. The planet barely survived that attack.”
“My king.” Okoye stiffened to attention. “Is Wakanda safe? Should I activate the perimeter defenses?”
“If these readings are correct,” Shuri said, “I doubt anywhere on Earth is safe.”
“And I doubt that sealing off our perimeter will prove effective.” T’Challa turned back to the display. “Where is this centered? Is that New York City?”
“I… think so? If not, it’s right next door.” Shuri shook her head, puzzled. “American geography…”
T’Challa paced away, troubled. Under normal circumstances, his priority was clear: protect Wakanda at all costs. The highly advanced nation, hidden in the depths of Africa, needed its king – and ever since his father’s death, T’Challa had borne that burden as best he could.
But if the entire Earth were endangered, that complicated things. T’Challa was also an Avenger, and in that capacity he had fought world-threatening menaces before. Sometimes that required him to leave Wakanda, for the greater good of humanity. In either case, the Avengers might have information he could use.
“Calls are coming in, my king,” Okoye said, holding her phone away from her ear. “The United Nations, S.H.I.E.L.D. Something called Starcore Station as well.”
“Ignore them,” he said. “Please contact Captain America.”
She nodded and called up a menu on the phone. T’Challa studied the big monitor, frowned, and changed his mind.
“Belay that,” he said. “Get me another number instead.”
“Location?”
He reached down to the table and spread two black-gloved fingers apart. The map of New York zoomed out, labels appearing on the various neighborhoods. Shuri gave him a curious glance.
“Greenwich Village,” he said.
Chapter 47
Captain America landed in a crouch, his every instinct on high alert. The jarring impact still echoed in his bones, the memory of once-solid earth flinging him up into the air. He took in the state of the pavement first: smashed, torn up, ravaged. A long crack ran under the Guardians’ parked ship, tilting it at a dangerous angle.
War Machine groaned, pulling himself upright. Groot wrapped protective branches around Quill and Rocket, who’d taken a nasty bump on his head. Natasha was already up and perched on the ship’s wing, studying the emerald monster that had caused this chaos.
The Hulk. The World-Breaker. He stood in the night before an abandoned convenience store, glowing with power like a newly born star. He growled softly, eyes filled with a dull but familiar rage.
Rhodey frowned at the Hulk. “The World-Breaker,” he said. “I remember. But he seems different this time… less…”
Natasha leaped off the ship’s wing. “Focused?”
“What is this World-Breaker jazz, anyway?” Quill asked. “Sounds like an excuse to sell action figures.”
“It’s the most dangerous version of the Hulk,” Cap explained. “When he first appeared, his adopted world, Sakaar, had just been destroyed. The World-Breaker drew strength from the rage and grief of that event.”
Quill furrowed his brow. “So he’s still the Hulk… still Bruce Banger…”
“Banner,” Natasha growled. “Ban-ner.”
“…but he’s powered by the death of whole planets?”
“I am Groot.”
“Yeah.” Rocket eyed the Hulk nervously. “He says whatever destroyed Praeterus had plenty of rage to spare.”
“That rage comes from Parker Robbins’s master.” Natasha shook her head. “And it’s inside Bruce now.”
“He does seem angry,” Rhodey observed.
“Anger’s pretty much on-brand for the Hulk,” Cap said. “Any version.”
He scanned the area, searching for other enemies, and spotted the Hood in a far corner of the shopping center. Robbins stood in front of the pizza parlor, holding up the skull-device. Iron Man and Doctor Voodoo stood with him, laying their hands upon the device – which had gone dark, apparently drained of power.
Tony’s gauntlets glowed, and a halo of eldritch energy rose from Voodoo’s fingers. Cap frowned. What were they doing? Were they charging that skull-thing up again, using the power of that unseen Master? The entity that had engineered the destruction of Praeterus, and now threatened the Earth as well?
The Hulk growled again, lifting his head to glare at the assembled heroes. Cap could feel their eyes on him – Natasha, Rhodey, and the Guardians too, all waiting for him to decide on a course of action. He made a snap decision: the Hood could wait. The Hulk, the immediate threat, must be dealt with first.
Cap gritted his teeth, hissed in a breath, and turned to face the monster. “Bruce!”
The Hulk’s eyes narrowed. He lowered the axe and peered at Cap. His lips turned down into a suspicious frown.
“Bruce Banner,” Cap said. “You in there, man?”
Then those green lips twisted into a snarl. The Hulk took a single step toward Cap, shaking the ground. He whipped his head up, staring at the street and the housing project beyond.
“Uh-oh,” Rhodey said.
The Hulk turned away and spat on the ground. Then he stomped off, moving steadily toward the far end of the mall, where two trucks were parked in front of an abandoned grocery store. With each huge footfall, the tar cracked and the ground shook.
“Uh, what’s he doin’?” Rocket asked.
“He’s heading for the street. Trying to get around us.” Cap raised his shield and moved to intercept. “We’ve got to stop him – contain him here. The devastation he could cause, in this state, is…”
Natasha fell in next to Cap, wrist-stingers crackling. Rocket followed, staying – Cap noticed – just a bit further back. Quill and Rhodey took to the air, with Groot backing them all up.
Natasha stepped in front of the group. “Easy, big guy,” she said, holding up a hand to the Hulk. “You’re one of us, remember?”
The Hulk stared down at her. He seemed even larger than before – nine feet tall, at least. Waves of green energy sizzled off him.
“Where did that axe come from?” Rocket asked.
“In this form,” Cap explained, “the Hulk can grow armaments directly out of his own bones.”
“That’s just gross,” Quill muttered.
Hulk growled at Natasha, then straightened up. He lurched to the side, and Cap moved to block him. The others followed.
“Bruce,” Cap said, “this doesn’t have to turn into a fight. You know these guys backing us up – War Machine and Star-Lord? They’ve got a lot of firepower between them.”
“That’s right, baby.” Quill bobbed in the air, spinning his element gun on his finger. “Star-Lord and War Machine!”
“He said ‘War Machine and Star-Lord’,” Rhodey observed.
“We’ll let the agents sort it out.”
The Hulk’s brow furrowed. He took another step, toward the Oscorp Chemical truck parked in front of the store. Once again, the heroes blocked his path.
With a roar, the Hulk pivoted on his heels, raised the World-Breaker axe, and brought it down on the tank of the chemical truck. The tank exploded, sending a gout of flame shooting skyward. Thick smoke poured up, dark and toxic.
The Hulk turned, crouched down, and let out a hideous scream. The green aura blasted out from him in waves, and again Captain America felt himself lifted up and swept through the
air. He reached out and grabbed hold of a lamppost.
The Hulk raised his axe to the heavens and roared again. Quill and Rhodey flailed in the air, blown by the savage winds. The chemical truck burned, filling the air with a foul, charred stench.
“That truck,” Cap gasped. “It’s deadly. It could poison the whole area. You, Guardians – can you get rid of it? With your spaceship?”
Quill grimaced, watching the truck burn. “Maybe.”
“I am Groot,” Groot said hesitantly.
“Yeah,” Rocket said, touching Groot’s nearest branch. “Groot – he can’t get near it. The toxic chemicals would kill him.”
“Then it’s up to you two. Groot, you’re with us.”
Quill shrugged, swung down, and snatched up Rocket off the ground. “You think we can do this?”
“I dunno,” Rocket replied. “Ship’s still a mess. I ain’t had time to fix the… what’s your name for it?”
“The LET’S GET IT ON circuit?”
“We are so doomed,” the raccoonoid muttered. Then they were gone, flying through the dark toward their ship.
“All right,” Cap said. “Everybody else, on the Hulk–”
“Steve,” Natasha said, pointing off in the distance. “What about them?”
Over by the pizza parlor, the Hood held up the skull-device, which glowed with renewed power. Robbins started back toward the Avengers, with Iron Man and Doctor Voodoo following right behind.
The ground shook again as the Hulk stomped in rage. He stood with fists clenched, a dark silhouette against the smoke rising from the burning truck.
“I think it’s gonna take everything we’ve got to bring Green Giant down,” Rhodey said.
“There’s no choice,” Cap said. “The Hood is still a threat; we’ll have to split our forces.”
“Maybe not,” Natasha said.
She gestured toward the road. Squinting, Cap saw Kir-ra, the blue Kree woman, sprinting toward them, her electric power-rod crackling in the night. And alongside her, emerald legs pumping, was… Gamora?
Kir-ra skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding a human-sized crack in the pavement. Her face bore a small scar and several bruises. “Are you going to zap me with that stick again?” Cap asked.
“You going to hit me with that?” She gestured at his shield.
“Fair enough.” Cap glanced towards the Hood. “Look, I can tell you’re a fighter. But the Hood is our responsibility.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “He’s mine.”
“You can’t take on three powered beings alone,” Natasha said.
“She’s not alone,” Gamora said.
The two women stood together, their faces flickering in the light of the burning truck. Kir-ra held her power-rod high; Gamora’s hand rested lightly on her holstered sword. The Guardian’s face and arms were blistered with fresh burns, but the determination in her eyes was undeniable.
Natasha eyed them suspiciously. “You two BFFs now?”
Kir-ra glanced at the green woman. “We’ve, uh…”
“We’ve come to an understanding,” Gamora said.
The ground trembled. The Hulk let out another roar and started their way.
“No more time,” Cap said. “Groot, Tasha, Rhodey, we’re on Hulk duty. Gamora, if you get in trouble, yell for help.”
“From you?” Gamora gestured at his injured arm. Then, before he could take offense, she said, “Come on,” and led Kir-ra away, across the parking lot.
Rhodey hovered in the air, watching the Hulk approach. He flexed his exposed hand, where the machine gun had been; then he powered up his weapons. His remaining arm-cannon glowed hot.
“This is gonna hurt,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
Cap raised his shield. Once again, he remembered the attack of the Red Skull, the reek of oil in the Pittsburgh refinery. The pain of bones cracking under the assault.
The Hulk opened his mouth wide and roared.
“Yeah,” Cap said. “It’s gonna hurt a lot.”
Chapter 48
Rocket stared at the truck. It had been reduced to a seared chassis, but the fire showed no sign of going out. Blue flames formed a halo around the cracked-open chemical tank, rising up into a column of thick black smoke.
“Hey,” Quill called. “Little help here?”
Rocket turned to see him stumbling down the gangplank from the Guardians’ ship. A long, thick metal chain hung around his shoulder, weighing him down.
“Just a sec, buddy,” Rocket smirked. “I mean, Captain.”
Across the parking lot, Captain America’s team had engaged the Hulk. A thick green fist punched somebody down into the tar – Rocket couldn’t make out who it was.
He met Quill at the end of the gangplank and took hold of one link of the chain. “You’re not liftin’ very much,” Quill grumbled.
“Hey, I weigh like sixty pounds! Why are these chains wet?”
“That’s from when Drax used ’em to drag the ship out of the river.” Quill sniffed. “They smell like Long Island.”
As they approached the truck, the stench became almost unbearable. Rocket turned to Quill, shrugged, and together they tossed the chain over the flaming vehicle. The links sizzled, the waters of Long Island Sound evaporating with a quick hiss.
“That was pathetic,” Quill said. “You’ve got no arm at all.”
“Yeah? Well, you got no brains.”
“Oh, great comeback.”
“I know, it was weak.” He reeled a little. “This smoke is makin’ me dizzy.”
The fire surged. “What now?” Quill asked, shrinking back from the heat. “How are we gonna tie the chains onto the thing? We can’t just stick our hands in there.”
“Don’t have to. They’re smart chains.”
“What?”
“Smart chains!” Rocket gestured at the truck. “They tie themselves. See?”
They peered into the fire. As the flames surged again, the chains began to contract against the cylindrical oil tank. They twitched once, then clamped tight with a sharp click.
“Huh,” Quill said. “Smart chains.”
Rocket took hold of the farthest link and tugged. “Feels solid,” he said. “OK, I’ll just climb on board and tow ’er into orbit–”
“What?” Quill glared down at him. “What do you mean, you’ll tow it? I’m the pilot here.”
“You?” Rocket laughed. “You’re a terrible pilot. Your night vision bites, and you’ll prob’ly die from the fumes before you even get above the–”
“If you say Kármán Line I will murder you where you stand.”
Rocket paused a moment, then raised both hands in surrender. Quill nodded, said “That’s right!” and headed back to the ship. Rocket watched, struggling to keep a straight face, as the Earthman fastened the chain to the ship’s aft hook, climbed inside, and bolted the hatch.
He waited until the engines thrummed to life before he burst out laughing.
“Oh,” he gasped, “‘Oh, please let me tow a toxic chemical mess into orbit!’ Hahaha! ‘Hey, I’m the pilot around here!’ ‘Please, please let me risk my flarking life trying to keep this red-hot mess from spilling radioactive sewage all over New Jersey!”
The ship rumbled, tottered, and lifted off. The chain followed it upward, uncoiling slowly as it rose off the pavement. Rocket eyed the ascent, still smirking, and gave Quill a big wave. “Knock yourself out, sucker.”
When the chain snapped taut, he scrambled away. The truck groaned, flared, and began to tip on its side as the ship pulled it upward. Suddenly things didn’t look too safe down here either.
The sounds of combat reached him from the Hulk-ward side of the parking lot. Something was going on over by the pizza parlor, too. Was the Hood fighting somebody? That looked like… Gamora. Where had she been, anyway?
“Maybe,” Rocket mused aloud, “just perhaps, I could be of more use if I was to find and repair my aero-rig. Yeah. That would allow me to, uh, fly! While assisting the others in taking down a group of super-powered lunatics and a possibly hypnotized Avenger with flarking cannons built into his hands.”
Yes, he thought. Yes, that was both the prudent and the practical course of action, even if it took a little while to accomplish. Especially if it took a while.
He set out across the parking lot, giving the Hood’s posse a wide berth, wincing at the sight of the flaming truck lurching cabin-first into the sky. He kept to the shadows, moving slowly, carefully – in not a very great hurry at all – toward the hardware store where his rig had crashed.
•••
“Earthman!” Gamora cried, drawing her sword. “Your plan is finished, your evil Master doomed to fail–”
The Hood raised the skull-device and fired off a blast of eldritch energy. Gamora cried out in surprise as the bolt struck her in the stomach, propelling her up into the air. Kir-ra watched as the Guardian sailed across the parking lot, past the spot where Captain America and the others were battling the Hulk, and slammed hard into the side of a garbage truck.
The Hood shook his head, dazed, and studied the skull. It was dark, burned out, its circuitry fused and smoking. He tossed it to the pavement, where it shattered with a crack.
“Magic!” he said. “Powerful stuff.”
Kir-ra drew her power-rod, hoping Gamora was still alive. The Guardian had appealed to her back in the apartment, making a strong case for them to work together. You and I, Gamora had said, we both know what it’s like to lose everything.
So they’d agreed to an alliance – and already, with one blow, the Hood had removed Gamora from the equation. Now, shaking his head, he turned to Kir-ra. “I told you not to follow me.”
She glanced past him at Stark – who stood upright, stiff and unreadable in the Iron Man armor. The other man, Doctor Voodoo, just stared straight ahead, his face twitching.
That left the Hood. He had powers of his own, she knew, even without the skull-device. But he seemed exhausted, used up, his hands dark with burns from the power he’d absorbed. The wound on his cheek dripped red in the harsh lamplight.
