In the photo, Lock looked sunny and handsome, as if he'd just noticed something amusing. He turned slightly sideways, showing white teeth in an easy grin, eyes bright as though they were fixed on some private joke.
When the elite team members saw the photo, their first thought was unanimous—
The commander's kidding us, right?!
That smile, that look… too dazzling, too clean. No ordinary person could ever reproduce it.
If Lock himself were present, he would've recognized it instantly. It was "Yida's Smile."
In his previous life, Lock had been constantly bombarded with those infamous gum commercials.
"Hey, your Yida fell."
"No, it's your Yida."
And every time, the screen would cut to that same sunny grin, straight out of a dream—or a nightmare.
Coupled with the legendary performance of Zhang Wei, the "God of Toilet Wars," the smile had imprinted itself deep into Lock's psyche.
Even after crossing into another universe, those advertisements remained in his memory. He had no idea when exactly he'd smiled like that here, nor when S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had managed to capture it.
"ROAR! ROAR!!"
The Hulk tore through the ramshackle house like it was paper, smashing beams and brick alike. When the debris no longer blocked his sight, he turned his great head—
—and froze.
The massive green body staggered back. The beastly rage that usually burned like wildfire in his eyes flickered, then guttered out. What replaced it was… fear.
A dozen smiling faces of Lock stared back at him from every direction.
To Hulk, it was no less than a nightmare.
And this—this was Fury's secret weapon: Apocalypse Photos.
Absurd, yes. But behind the absurdity lay shockingly precise psychological calculations.
For years, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s trackers had studied Hulk. His violence was undeniable—but deep down, his nature was gentle, unwilling to kill. His uncontrolled gamma surges induced hallucinations, a thousandfold distortion of ordinary emotions.
That was why Banner once confessed to Betty Ross: "It feels like a hallucinogen, multiplied by a thousand."
If someone attacked or fled, Hulk would chase by instinct. If no one ran, he often didn't know what to do. But who in their right mind could remain calm in the face of that towering green monster?
Psychologists compared his psyche to that of a five- or six-year-old: tantrums when unchecked, docile when dominated.
Even the mighty Hulk had once been beaten down by Thanos, left with a trauma so deep he refused to emerge again—even when Thanos wasn't present.
And in New York, Lock himself had pummeled Hulk until the beast's teeth littered the streets. It was fear born in blood.
But it wasn't only fear. Lock had also saved Betty. Some instinct deep inside Hulk recognized him as both enemy and… protector.
"Hhh… f-friend… no fight… can't fight…"
Gamma-fed hallucinations blurred reality for Hulk. Surrounded by a dozen Locks, each smiling that awful Yida grin, he had no courage to attack.
The Ninth Elite Team, at first skeptical, suddenly realized—it was working. It was actually working.
Their heavy breaths filled the broken house. Men who had once hunted Hulk now stood in disbelief, alive only because they wore a photo taped to their armor.
The towering green figure shrank in on itself, crouching like a scolded child. His massive shoulders hunched, and in his wide eyes lurked confusion—What did I do wrong? Why this nightmare?
One soldier twitched, raising his rifle. The subtle scrape of metal was enough—
"ROARRR!!"
The beast exploded again, and the air shook.
"Stand down!" Natasha barked, stepping in front of the soldier. "No guns! Nobody moves!"
She raised her hands, voice steady. "The sun's getting real low, big guy. Time to rest."
"Boom. Boom."
The Hulk's colossal steps shook the earth as he leaned down, looming over Natasha. His shadow engulfed her.
Huge green fingers reached forward, brushing against her torso, prodding curiously. "You… not friend… not the same…"
Every nerve in Natasha's body screamed to run, but she held her ground. She couldn't falter. If she showed weakness, Hulk's childlike instinct to bully the weak would take over.
Slowly, she drew a recorder from her belt and pressed play.
Lock's voice filled the broken house.
"…Come to me when you change back to Banner."
"If you don't, what will your girlfriend do?"
The words were from New York—faint at the time, but recovered and sharpened by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s engineers until they were clear.
"Hh… hohh…"
The sound struck Hulk like a hammer. The memory of that night—of Lock's overwhelming dominance—flooded back.
He spun, desperate to escape. But everywhere, the smiling faces of Lock blocked his way.
Change back to Banner… change back to Banner…
The words repeated, echoing in his skull.
At last, the great beast's strength drained. The roar collapsed into a hoarse breath. Bones shifted, muscles shrank, and the green bled away.
Bruce Banner slumped onto the floor.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a dozen smiling Lock faces staring back at him.
"Ahh—! Good God!"
His heart nearly failed from fright. If he hadn't just transformed, he might have triggered another one on the spot.
A soldier threw a blanket over him.
Natasha stepped forward calmly. "We convinced Hulk. He'll come with us."
Banner, dazed, had no choice. Without Hulk, he was weaker than any soldier here.
As they led him out, he glanced back at the wreckage, trying to piece it together. He remembered transforming. He remembered nothing else. And yet—no one was injured. Relief flickered across his tired features.
Banner never remembered what Hulk did. Their minds never connected. On Sakaar, the Hulk had lived for years alongside Valkyrie, but Banner had awoken with no memory of her at all—only a vague sense of familiarity.
On the helicopter.
The Ninth Unit couldn't stop staring at the photo, passing it back and forth.
"I swear, there's something divine about this smile."
"He's Oriental."
"So what? Can't Orientals be gods?"
"That's not the point. In the West, we don't believe in him. How does it work if we don't believe?"
"You're overthinking. Look at the smile. Who among us could smile like that?"
"…True. It's unreal."
The hulking soldiers bared their teeth in awkward imitation, but none of them could capture the effortless brightness. Something vital was missing—maybe the tilt of the head, maybe some unseen aura.
At last, one muttered, awestruck: "This smile's… extraordinary. It's magic."
"Should we ask the boss who he is?"
A bet was made. Da Zhuang lost again and trudged toward Natasha.
"Uh… boss, may I ask… who's the guy in this photo?"
Natasha couldn't help a private smile. She didn't expect her man's picture to be that effective. Pride warmed her voice as she answered simply:
"He's my man."
A collective gasp filled the cabin.
The world's deadliest woman had a man. And the way she said it, soft, almost girlish…
Respect deepened. Awe doubled. And the photo in their hands became sacred.
"If even Hulk can't resist him… maybe we should practice that smile. Imagine the girls we could charm."
"Yeah… if I'd learned this earlier, maybe I'd have a girlfriend by now…"
By the time they landed, the Ninth Unit was infamous as the strangest squad S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever seen—twelve giant soldiers grinning like fools at everyone, especially every woman who crossed their path.
Natasha had barely finished securing Banner when new intel came in.
Loki had been found.
Or rather—Loki had allowed himself to be found.
---
A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
Support: patreon.com/Narrator_San