A few days earlier, before Arthur was thrown into another world…
Arlington, Virginia.
The clock marked late afternoon when a soft knock echoed through the wide, silent room of the Strategic Operations Department. The air always felt heavy there—thick with cigar smoke, stacked papers, and military maps.
The door opened discreetly.
A secretary walked in with firm steps, though her demeanor betrayed a hint of nervousness. Interrupting General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross was never easy… especially when he was focused — or smoking — as he was now.
"General Ross, I believe you'll want to see this," she said, handing him a freshly printed dossier.
Ross didn't answer right away. He took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling a dense cloud of smoke that snaked through the air before dissolving. Frowning, he grabbed the document and began flipping through it.
But a single sentence was enough to shatter the tired expression of the veteran soldier.
"It's a possible case of gamma radiation contamination. In Milwaukee, a citizen drank a bottle of soda — apparently stronger than he expected," the secretary explained.
Ross froze. The cigar nearly slipped from his fingers.
"What?" His voice came out low, like a deep growl—disbelief mixed with sudden hope.
It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside him. In an instant, he stood from his chair with the vigor of a young officer, eyes blazing like embers rekindled after years on the verge of dying out.
There was fervor. Emotion. And hunger.
Good God… it had been so long since he had heard anything that truly mattered.
He slapped the document onto the table.
"Where was that soda bottled?"
The secretary swallowed hard before answering. "Porto Verde, Brazil."
"Send our men to search for that man at the soda factory. Tell them to keep a low profile. If he suspects anything… he runs. Always."
"Yes, sir!" she said quickly, already turning to leave.
When the door closed, silence returned.
Ross's once stern gaze now burned with something almost feverish.
His mind slipped into memories — mistakes, grudges, and ambitions buried in blood and fire.
At the beginning… everything had been simple. Duty. Honor. Responsibility.
Capturing the Hulk had been a mission to protect the country, the world, his daughter. It was the duty of a soldier who had served for decades.
But then…
Betty.
His sweet, stubborn, brilliant Betty.
Every plea she made on behalf of Bruce Banner broke his heart and inflamed his pride. She confronted him, begged him, argued with him, gripping his hand with tears in her eyes — asking him to spare the man who turned into the most dangerous creature on Earth.
And that was when duty and emotion began to blur.
Duty became a wound.
Honor became restrained fury.
The mission became… obsession.
Ross clenched his fist, feeling the weight of years of pursuit.
As a father, it was impossible to accept it.
To imagine his daughter marrying someone who could, at any moment, lose control and crush everything around him?
Absurd. Repulsive. A real threat.
And deep down, he knew:
It wasn't just prejudice.
It was fear.
Genuine fear.
Fear of losing the only family he had left.
The thought ate at him.
The idea of losing Betty poisoned him.
Every attempt to capture the Hulk.
Every failure.
Every time the monster escaped with Banner still inside…
All of it eroded whatever noble purpose remained.
Ross's passion twisted into dark embers, fed by resentment, wounded pride, and an ambition that loomed behind him like a shadow.
Capturing the Hulk was no longer about justice.
Nor about protecting Betty.
Much less about saving the world.
Now…
It was about power.
The absolute power Banner carried.
The power Ross wanted to understand, control… perhaps possess.
And above all…
His last chance to prove to the world — and to himself — that no monster stood above a Ross.
---xXx---
Present Day…
S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier
The constant rumble of the Helicarrier's turbines vibrated through the metallic walls of the command room, matching the tense atmosphere. Agents filled the space, silent and attentive to the man in the black coat standing before them.
Seeing that everyone had arrived, Fury shifted his gaze to Hill.
"Now that we're all here… let's begin."
Maria Hill stepped forward, posture rigid, expression severe.
"Thirty minutes ago, a large-scale battle occurred in the National Forest Park. We managed to obtain video footage from the scene. Please watch."
The lights dimmed as the screen flickered to life.
The footage was shaky, grainy — clearly recorded from afar with a phone that deserved retirement. But the quality didn't matter. Three seconds were enough for everyone to understand the gravity of the situation.
In the video, an officer's desperate voice roared:
"Team A, fire! OPEN FIRE!"
"Where are the .50 caliber rifles?! I want them FIRING NOW!"
The heavy machine guns unleashed hell.
A storm of bullets tore through the clearing, splintering trees, ripping soil, destroying everything — except him.
The green giant advanced through the hail of gunfire, each bullet bouncing off him like rain hitting steel. Not even high-caliber rounds made a dent.
The scene escalated violently.
The Hulk roared with rage. He ripped an armored vehicle from the ground as easily as lifting an empty cardboard box and hurled it into another.
Then he charged and slammed into a second vehicle, crushing the hood, lifting it like a toy and using it as a makeshift weapon.
The video showed the moment two sonic cannons fired simultaneously, distorting the air around them.
The Hulk only roared, planted his feet, resisted… and destroyed both machines faster than the operators could react.
Explosions. Screams. Smoke. Trees uprooted. Armored cars crushed like soda cans.
The footage cut abruptly.
No one moved.
Faces pale.
Expressions grim.
S.H.I.E.L.D. existed to handle the unknown.
But this…
This was beyond anything they had ever faced.
Hill switched the projection to photos, reports, and data.
"Hulk. Real name Bruce Banner. Two years ago, he was accidentally exposed to experimental gamma radiation. This transforms him… into that whenever he feels anger, panic, or pain."
She continued to the next image.
"The angrier he gets, the stronger he becomes. His limits are currently… unknown."
Fury crossed his arms.
"I want your opinions. Don't hold back. How do we capture the Hulk?"
Absolute silence.
Until Coulson muttered:
"…If Captain America were here, this would be a lot easier."
Fury stared at him blankly.
Agents looked at Coulson like he had suggested resurrecting Napoleon.
My man… please.
Hill raised a hand.
"Speak."
"Considering Hulk's resistance to gunfire, heavy ammunition, and sonic waves… is there a chance sedatives or toxins might work?"
Fury shook his head.
"According to Ross, no. None of that works."
Hill narrowed her eyes, thinking.
"Then… what if we neutralize Banner before he transforms? A Barrett sniper shot from eight hundred meters, for example."
"If Banner feels extreme pain, fear, or panic, he transforms instantly. Even if we blew his head off, the Hulk would appear the same moment — regenerating everything seconds later," Fury said.
Silence followed.
Fury rubbed his temple.
Damn it… I'm going to have to ask that man for help…
---xXx---
The metal door slid open with its usual hiss. Fury entered — not angry, nor triumphant.
Just… tired.
Arthur didn't even look at first. He remained seated on the floor of the cell, bouncing a tennis ball with the relaxed rhythm of someone enjoying a spa vacation.
Toc… toc… toc…
Fury cleared his throat.
"I need your help."
Arthur finally looked up with a mischievous smile.
"Well, well… what a delicious irony. First you lock me in a cage… and now you tell me you need my help."
Fury ignored the provocation (or pretended to, which was basically the same). He held up the tablet and played the video.
Arthur lifted his eyebrows, impressed.
"…Damn. The big green guy really went wild this time."
Fury turned off the video.
"Thirty minutes before you fell in Kansas, this happened. We don't know why he transformed." He crossed his arms. "And I need you to go try to capture him."
Arthur scratched his chin.
"Of course you do."
Then he tilted his head, feigning innocence:
"But tell me, Fury… since when did it become fashionable to try capturing the big green guy?"
Fury frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Nicholas Joseph Fury…" Arthur sighed dramatically. "For a spy of your caliber, you let a lot of things slip. Banner doesn't want to hurt anyone. He wants to get rid of the Hulk. He spent years trying to keep his mind stable just to stop the Hulk from coming out."
Fury fell silent, processing the information.
Arthur kept bouncing the ball.
"Trying to capture the Hulk is stupidity. Actually, it's suicide — especially for your agents. But recruiting him?"
Fury blinked, genuinely confused.
"Recruit? The Hulk?"
"Of course." Arthur spread his arms. "Banner was minding his own business not hurting anyone — until something happened to trigger the transformation." He tapped the floor. "Fury, the issue isn't the Hulk. It's Banner. If you win Banner over… naturally you win the Hulk too."
Fury narrowed his eyes.
"And why the hell would I try to recruit a walking weapon of mass destruction?"
Arthur smirked.
"Because giant green muscles with infinite rage and near-absurd regeneration would be extremely useful for your…" he waved vaguely "…super-friends initiative."
Fury snorted.
"It's the Avengers Initiative."
"Yes, yes… much better name."
Arthur mocked.
Fury rolled his eyes so hard it looked like he was searching for patience in his brain.
"But you're right," he admitted. "Recruiting might be smarter than capturing."
Arthur winked.
"Of course it is. Banner just needs someone who doesn't try shooting him every five minutes."
Fury exhaled deeply.
Arthur spun the ball on his finger once again.
You're probably wondering why the hell Arthur hasn't left yet.
And the answer — despite sounding complicated considering everything he can normally do — is surprisingly simple:
He still can't.
Right now, his magical energy is practically at absolute zero — so low it's almost comical.
The supreme wise king of Uruk, master of countless divine treasures… can barely open a Gateway to Babylon without getting a headache and seeing two blurry versions of the portal trembling in the air.
His Koryuga and all his equipment are in there.
For someone as powerful as him, this state is borderline humiliating.
Arthur even tried pretending everything was fine, saying it was just "a slight drop in energy," but when he managed to open a tiny portal and pull out a single golden fork — which fell to the ground with a pathetic clang — the truth became painfully obvious.
He was exhausted.
Completely drained.
And until his magical power recovers enough for him to return to his usual grandiose self, the most sensible — and only — option is simple:
Make the best of his time in that cage and relax.
Ironically, that's something he hadn't done in ages, especially thanks to 2B, A2, and White.
At the moment, Arthur looks more like a king on forced vacation: sitting, staring at the glass wall while bouncing a tennis ball and pretending to philosophize about life… when in reality he's just trying to convince himself it isn't embarrassing to stay locked up here.
But like it or not, until his magic returns to normal, he's stuck.
At least, for the first time in a long while…
He's actually resting.
(End of Chapter)
A/N: I just realized I forgot to mention that Jean met Logan, so treat it as if she found him on the way back. Huge oversight on my part…