AN: Chapter still got too big, decided to split it again. Hard to believe the last chapter, this chapter, and the next chapter all started off as one write up.
The story's moving along more slowly than I anticipated, but I'm enjoying the process. Let me know what you guys think. As usual, I really appreciate the reviews left by folks. Even the ones who took the time to tell me they hated my writing lol I hope everyone's doing ok.
Bruce cursed under his breath as he turned down another corridor. He had just stepped out to use the bathroom, he hadn't expected to need a map and compass for such a basic task. After following some ridiculous directions given by a nearby guard, he finally managed to locate a different bathroom halfway across the Helicarrier. Finding his way back had been equally tedious. The labyrinth-like structure of the beehive corridors of the airship was designed to confuse enemy infiltrators. Too bad it did the same thing to those who worked on board as well.
The physicist huffed a sigh of relief as he turns down another cookie-cutter hallway to find the familiar sight of the lab he had been given. He paused briefly at the doorway, noting that the two guards stationed outside were no longer present.
Odd.
He entered the lab and, to his surprise, almost ran into another person already present. The unknown man was staring intently at the multiple monitors that were set up in the center of the room. Bruce had set the screens to crossreference the results of the spectrum scanners he had requested from the laboratories Nick Fury had threatened or bribed into helping. They had already crossed off about three-quarters of the planet after two hours of active scanning, but that still left plenty of locations the Tesseract could be hiding at.
"Ah, hello there," Bruce greeted uneasily as he edged around his unexpected visitor, trying to catch a glimpse of the intruder's face. "Is there something I can help you with? I was told that I wouldn't be disturbed."
The man had messy locks of sandy blonde hair that fell almost to his shoulders, the strands on his scalp gave off the impression that he had never heard of a comb before. The lines that cut a shadow down his otherwise handsome features were a common trait shared by obsessive researchers who forgot the need for sleep, and he certainly dressed like one. His bottle-green eyes had a lazy sharpness about them, contrary to the story told by the unkempt labcoat he wore.
"Ah, sorry about that, Dr. Banner," the mysterious man replied with a hand rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I was told to check in on your progress by the Director, but the guards said you had gone to the bathroom, so I started taking a look at your results so far. I must say, the scanning grid you devised is quite ingenious for something thrown together in less than three hours!"
Banner felt his pulse quicken when he made eye contact with the strange man, the quick triple beat of his heart a signature trigger for when the Hulk was restless. It was a sign he had come to recognize as his instincts trying to warn him that he was in a dangerous situation.
Something was very wrong.
"I'm sorry," the trespasser said when he saw that the other man remained frozen. "I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? I'm Dr. Urahara, although please just call me Kisuke. I'm the Deputy Chief of the Science Department aboard the Helicarrier."
Bruce looked at the man, trying to find what it was that was setting him off, but his eyes were continually drawn to the cane in the man's hand. The harder he looked, the more he was convinced that the walking aide was something else entirely. There was one thing that could be hidden in such a long thin object.
"Is that a sword?" the physicist blurted out.
Kisuke's eyes widened. "Huh, you can see it? That's surprising."
Banner blinked at the strange response, and in the brief millisecond he had closed his eyes, Kisuke had vanished from sight. Whirling around, the physicist found himself staring down cross-eyed at an odd-looking rubber duck thrust into his face by the supposed researcher.
The rubber duck made a comical quacking sound, a cloud of gas rushing out of its beak in unison with the noise. Caught completely off guard, Bruce inhaled without thinking. His eyes immediately rolled up, his consciousness fading, half-formed cry for help dying on his lips as he went limp.
Kisuke caught the other man by the armpits as he collapsed, snickering to himself as he dragged the surprisingly muscular scientist over to a chair and propping him up on it. Rearranging his limbs into more natural positions, the Shinigami infiltrator gave the outside window another glance to make sure no one else had witnessed the incident.
"That never gets old, the old sleeping gas gag gets them every time," he muttered with a chuckle as he turned back to take a look at the scanner.
He had meant what he had said earlier. Given the limitations of the equipment available to the physicist, the scanning algorithm he had designed was nothing short of remarkable. Even Kisuke probably couldn't have come up with anything better in that short of a time.
But what Kisuke did have access to was much more sophisticated equipment than what the mortals had. The scanning algorithm could be easily copied over and save him some time reinventing the wheel. He'd pass it along to Nemu and get the Seireitei system fired up on tracking down this Tesseract object SHIELD was so hot on getting their hands on.
The soft squeak of the wheeled chair behind him alerted him to movement. The Shinigami turned to look in surprise at the very much awake Dr. Banner, who had his hand raised up in the air as if examining something he had never seen before.
Kisuke approached the other man, cautiously. The sleeping gas he used whenever he needed to put a mortal out of commission wasn't just some ordinary mixture someone could shake off. It was designed to put someone down for the better part of an hour if the counteragent wasn't introduced into their body.
It also erased roughly half an hour worth of memory, a handy little side effect that saved him from having to implant too many false memories. The individual may not know better, but the people around them might suspect something was wrong if tales got too tall.
Anyone who could shake off the effect of his little induced sleeping concoction was most definitely not a normal individual. Even someone with high reiatsu wasn't immune as it was purely physiological and had nothing to do with spiritual energy.
"How odd," said Banner as he continued to examine his hand, voice several octaves deeper than before. "This is the first time I've been allowed to be released fully, yet I find myself in this curious form."
The man turned to glower at Kisuke, and the Shinigami was startled to see the intense green glow in his irises. That had definitely not been happening a few seconds ago. What was going on with Dr. Banner?
"What exactly did you do to my host?"
Kisuke leaned casually on his sheathed sword cane, rubbing his chin with his free hand as he studied the physicist. Where to begin? He loved scientific mysteries, and this man before him was definitely a novelty that required some examination.
"Well, that depends," the Shinigami replied nonchalantly. "What do you mean by your host?"
The other man lowered his hand into his lap but made no motion to rise. "Bruce Banner owns this bag of flesh. I am, but an unexpected consequence of his experiment, a child of an accident set off by destiny, trapped in the depths of this man's feeble form. He only ever calls upon me when he faces a danger he is too weak to deal with himself."
The name Banner had rung a bell in Kisuke's head when he had first heard it, but he had been unable to place his finger on where. The shimmering green eyes and odd tone of voice finally clicked in his head.
"Ah, so it was that Dr. Banner SHIELD recruited, eh?" he asked, face brightening with interest as he connected the dots. "I presume I am speaking to the being they call the Hulk then?"
The possessed man shrugged. "You presume correctly. However, the Hulk is simply a title given to me by those who cannot grasp my existence."
"Oh?" Kisuke asked with keen interest. "And what should I call you then?"
The other man frowned. "No one has ever asked. I know not my name. Something comes to mind when I think about it, yet the words fade away, like words whispered in the distance. I cannot speak that which I know not. I cannot hear words unformed."
Kisuke rubbed his chin again. Very interesting.
The Hulk was born of an accident during a gamma radiation experiment. By all accounts, Bruce Banner should have been dead a hundred times over given the lethal dose of radiation his body had taken. Instead, not only had he survived, he had ended up with an ability to transform into a neigh unstoppable goliath when he lost control of his emotions.
There had been various reports made by Second Division scouts sent to find out exactly what had happened to create the giant green rampaging monster. Once they had determined it was not a spiritual matter, it had been ruled outside the jurisdiction of the Shinigami. The report had piqued his attention but Kisuke had been too busy running other experiments to personally delve into it any further.
Now he kind of regretted the decision to pass on satisfying his curiosity. Sitting there right in front of him was the alter ego that had been the source of all that trouble a few years ago. That many people unexpectedly dying had a way of drawing the attention of the Shinigami, but nothing had been done about it. No further observations made on the unique circumstances of Bruce Banner other than to make copies of some of the notes human observers had made.
From past incidents, the only time the Hulk had awakened saw the man transformed into a massive ogre-like behemoth. The Hulk by all accounts was as close to immortal as any living thing could get, possessing near-impenetrable skin and impressive regeneration. It displayed unnatural strength for a creature of its size and low mean cunning despite its vocabulary being restricted to a handful of screamed words and phrases. Scouts had only ever been able to observe the maddened creature at a distance, no one had ever reported the beast to be this lucid.
Yet the articulate creature sitting before him was not some out of control feral beast consumed with rage, in fact, it's inquisitiveness had an almost childlike attitude to it. Could this accidental creation of science have some spiritual component to it after all? It's lack of knowledge to its own name sounded similar to a Shinigami who had not yet earned their Zanpakuto's trust.
Was it possible for a sword spirit to not know it's own name? No one had ever thought to ask, it was always the Shinigami who had to earn the right to speak their sword's name. It was simply assumed that a Zanpakuto was brought into existence with that knowledge.
Urahara reached out with his senses but could find nothing out of the ordinary about the other man. His reiatsu remained that of an average human despite his reported ability to transform. Kisuke would have to see about being present the next time the rage monster was loose so he could do some field observation.
"Are you a Zanpakuto?" he asked bluntly, just to see what sort of reaction the Hulk would give.
The alter ego of Bruce Banner shook his head slowly. "I know not what you speak. What makes you think I am this Zanpakuto?"
Before the Captain of theTwelfth Division could elaborate, a soft giggle filled the air. He looked sideways at the beautiful young woman that had manifested next to him. Benihime appeared as she always had dressed up elegantly in a flowery kimono of dull yellow patterned with red flowers that splotched across the silky surface like colorful blood splatters. Dark hair was done up in an elaborate manner filled with silk bows, gems, and floral facsimiles that one would expect of a lady of the high court.
Her delicate features were painted like a classical Geisha one would find amongst royalty, poisonous smile matching the sinfully depraved look in her narrowed eyes. She carried with her in the crook of her arms the sheathed blade that was a mirror copy of her physical form, her free hand clutching at a set of needles the length of her fingers that were dull and rusted with blood.
"Hello, Princess," Kisuke greeted his mischievous sword spirit carefully.
He never knew what mood she was in when she decided to turn up like this, it could range from playful to vengeful depending on the circumstances, but never dull. Hundreds of years partnered together hadn't made her anymore predictable to the Shinigami, whom she called master.
The woman ignored him, gliding gracefully over to the seated doctor, almost floating in her elegant saunter, kimono hiding the motion of her feet.
"He would mean me, dearie," she whispered, her voice like spoiled honey, sweet yet sickening. "Although I can say with just one look at you that we are not quite the same, are we?"
She leaned down to peer deeply into the glowing green eyes of Banner, leveling her bountiful bosom in his face. "No, Kisuke and I share a symbiotic relationship. You, you, and Banner are more parasitic, are you not? Although who is the parasite, I wonder? You or the man you call your host?"
The creature others had named Hulk scowled. "It is he who is the parasite. He would take from me my power, call himself my master while in truth, I am the greater. Fate may have made him king, but one day I will rule, and it will be Banner who lays dormant and crushed beneath my heel as he is now."
Benihime frowned. "You will achieve more by joining together your strength than if you were to try to repress one another."
The Hulk scowled. "What need have I for that weakling? All he does is whine about his misery and hide from the world that hunts him like a dog."
The Crimson Princess circled the seated man, frowning at his contempt, a contentious relationship indeed. Reaching out a hand, she soothingly caressed the man's hair as a mother would an unruly child.
"Let us see shall we?" she hummed impishly, her eyes gleaming with power as she called upon her reiatsu.
Scene Break
Ichigo came slowly out of his meditative state, not showing any discomfort despite the blistering heat beating down on him from the overhead sun. He had been seated in the lotus position for several hours, testing the boundaries of his powers that he had let decay over the years. While not of the level he had been back during his active days as a Shinigami Representative, it certainly could be worse.
"You have fallen far."
The admonishment from his sword spirit was not surprising, Zangetsu had never been a teacher to hand out any praise even when it was well deserved. Only the shadow of a smile ever showed his approval at anything Ichigo had done during their training sessions together. Usually followed by an epic ass-kicking to show how far left he still had to go.
"Time makes fools of the best of us," Ichigo responded, getting up and dusting his jeans off. "The seals I've put up have settled, we'll be able to cut loose without worrying about anyone coming to investigate."
The arrangement of the 39 seals he had been taught was typically used by the nobility of Seireitei. The multiple wards would absorb and dissipate even the most powerful of reiatsu auras so that none could sense it. The perfect method for those who wished to train their Bankai in secret.
Yoruichi had taught him the secret technique so that he could practice with his freakishly high reiatsu levels without bothering other people. Besides hiding his enormous reiatsu signature in the real world away from prying eyes, it also prevented his fluctuating reiatsu from affecting those around him.
No more accidental awakening of spiritual powers in others after too much exposure to Ichigo's enormous reiatsu reserves.
Zangetsu dipped his head in acknowledgment, reaching a hand to the heavens. A rain of swords fell from the sky, the desert landscape littered by hundreds of conjured weapons of all shapes and sizes. The arena of blades stretched almost beyond where the eyes could see, exotic steel of every imaginable form gleaming a dark luster that promised mayhem.
"This again?" Ichigo asked with a raised eyebrow. "I already know what your Bankai form looks like old man."
Zangetsu vanished from sight, all the warning Ichigo received.
The double-edged blade that hissed through the empty space where his head had been was a dodge born of pure instinct. Ichigo grunted in pain and almost coughed up his last meal from the brutal follow-up kick that sent his body skidding across the arid desert terrain.
Even bouncing like a ragdoll, rusty warrior instincts kicked in. Ichigo snatched up a random blade as he rolled past, halting his momentum with a neat twist of his body. The immediate guard he put up with the unfamiliar sword allowed him to barely parry the incoming flurry of blows. Everything about the weapon felt wrong to him. The weight, the balance, the placement of the edge, curved at the end with teeth along the opposite side.
This was not his Zanpakuto.
Despite holding the blade in a two-hand grip, Ichigo found his sword being pushed back by Zangetsu, who was still only swinging his blade single-handed. The bizarre sword in his hand began to chip away at the edge, unable to hold up against the mighty blows being rained down on it.
"Did you know Ichigo, when a sword spirit sleeps, we dream?" asked Zangetsu conversationally.
The bedraggled man continued pressing his advantage, his single arm moving like a windmill, blurred blade making a sound reminiscent of a buzzsaw. Sparks flew as the two swords clashed, an intricately choreographed dance with unplanned movements.
Ichigo's body moved on autopilot, eyes tracking each small movement his opponent made, each twitch of muscle telegraphing where the blade was headed next. He timed his own strikes to flow in between those little moments where Zangetsu allowed an opening. His sword spirit deflected every strike the doctor managed to slip through.
"Do you know what I dreamed of?"
The human abandoned his crumbling blade before it could shatter in his hands, instead wordlessly sending a cascade of fireballs from his hand at Zangetsu to ward him off. The other man dodged nimbly between the miniature blooms of flame, swatting aside one that got too close, buying Ichigo time to snatch up a pair of identical blades. The twin blades were joined by a length of chain at the end of both handles, the spiked links connecting the two short swords almost touching the floor.
Another peculiar weapon that didn't feel right.
"I dreamt of growing stronger," Zangetsu said solemnly, resting his blade point on the ground. "And while my dreams manifested in the growth of my strength, you have weakened Ichigo. I am disappointed."
The ex-Shinigami took the momentary lull to wipe away the trickle of blood from a cut on his brow, scowling when the blood continued to flow. "Well, that's why we're doing this one on one training, right?"
Zangetsu smirked. "I don't recall agreeing to a one on one training."
Startled by his words, Ichigo did not have time to react to the hand that grabbed the back of his head and viciously slammed him face-first into the ground.
He felt his nose break with an audible crunch, tasting blood in his mouth from where he bit his tongue. The orange-haired doctor tried to wriggle out from the hold his attacker had him in, but the weight that had settled on his shoulder blades felt like a mountain. Ichigo only barely managed to turn his head enough to look over his shoulder. The vice-like grip on his head turned into a playful tousle of his hair.
Ichigo bit back a curse as he was greeted by the gleeful grin of his identical counterpart clad in all white. The familiar soulless black eyes stared down hatefully at him, a perverted parody of his glowering features. His dark half looked as crazed as ever.
"Did ya miss me, king?" Hichigo drawled mockingly.
The short wicked-looking curved blade in his pale hand plunged straight for Ichigo's widening eyes before he could respond.
Scene Break
It was a broken world, the carcass of a civilization that had, at last, marched itself off the cliff. The many broken-down spires that rose high into the sky were dark, devoid of any light one might expect to find, windows long shattered. Steel and concrete were tainted with rust and decay, overshadowed by the toxic clouds that spat rumbling lightning overhead.
On the broken paved streets where men may have once walked now lay the husks of vehicles long abandoned. Rusty frames stretched out for miles, doors left hanging open and loose from when the vanished occupants of this world had fled. Ash dusted the landscape, falling gently from the sickened skies, covering everything in a thin layer of snow laced with poison.
This was a world without hope, a world that had finally left sanity and reason behind. A world unfit for the living. A world none had lived to see.
Yet in this dead spiritual world, echoed the footsteps of the living.
Benihime's beautiful kimono remained untouched by the falling ash, her steps taken with care to avoid any remains in the world. Trailing behind her, Kisuke waved the fan he kept on his person as he eyed the desolate environment around them.
"My, my, this sure is a messed up mindscape you've brought us into princess," he said with a low whistle. "Dr. Banner must have some serious psychological issues to have his inner sanctum be this screwed up."
The sword spirit hummed noncommittedly as she led them towards where she sensed the power of the one she sought. "That there is a world to visit at all is most curious, suggesting that there must be some spiritual component to this man's problems."
Indeed it was a known fact that spiritually weak individuals did not have a fully developed inner world. If one were to forcibly enter the spiritual sanctum of a regular individual or spirit, they would find themselves in a blank space devoid of anything. It was hypothesized that the inner sanctum of Shinigami was actually developed by their Zanpakto sword spirits. Knowing what they did now about the inner mindscapes of any spiritually sensitive beings, that theory had been debunked, and consensus had yet to be reached on a new concept.
No one knew for sure how or what circumstances triggered the change from the blank space into something that existed. For those that studied the issue, there was agreement that an individual's spirit world was a realm in itself. Some hypothesized that it was not dissimilar from the quantum realm, a plane of existence so far removed from ordinary sensibilities that space and time were irrelevant.
Anyone who has meditated in their inner sanctum could attest to that, hours even days spent internally had no correlation to the time passed in the material realm. Most times, it was less, on rare occasions, it was more. Each private inner sanctum was one such realm, naturally accessible by its creator with enough awareness and reachable by others with enough skill.
"You always drag me to the most terrifying places," Kisuke complained as he poked the rusty remains of a vehicle, watching as the carcass of the car crumble to dust at the contact.
Benihime glared at her master reproachfully, keeping her eyes on him until he put his hands sheepishly back in his pockets.
"Can't bring you anywhere," she muttered.
The pair continued to travel in silence broken only by the musical tune Kisuke cheerily hummed beneath his breath. The sound was out of place in this barren world, the intrusion seemingly sacrilege, but that did not stop the Shinigami.
At last, they came to the place where they had sensed the only being left in this broken world, and an odd sight was beheld. Amongst all the decay and death of a broken civilization lay a small flourishing garden. A plot of land had somehow been reclaimed by life in this lifeless world. Grass and shrubbery struggled to grow in the weak soil, creeping out between broken concrete to show the dry nutrient-deprived earth below. It was quite jarring to see green life after walking so long amongst washed-out colors of muted gray and toxic brown, almost painful to the eyes.
A single weeping willow of unnatural size towered over the surrounding vegetation, offering a dim white light from the many green strands that hung down like icicles from its countless branches. Part of its jutting trunk had been carved out to form a massive seat, a wooden throne of thorns befit a king in this fragmented landscape.
In the prickly throne sat a massive green creature with the mocking proportions of a man, herculean musculature dwarfing the tiny sleeping form of Dr. Banner that lay at his feet. If it felt any discomfort sitting in the carved seat that dug cruel spikes into its hide, the brute gave no outward signs.
"So another enters this cursed and forgotten world," rumbled the green giant as it observed them carefully. "I would treat you as my guests, but there is little welcome for me to offer visitors. What is it that you seek here, outsiders?"
"Understanding," Benihime said with a serene smile.
"An exit," Urahara answered meekly at the same time.
The two long time partners glanced at each other, simultaneously scowling at the other.
"Ignore him."
"Ignore her."
The green ogre waived a massive paw at the world around them, ignoring their byplay. "What is there to understand? I was born into a broken world, and I seek to escape it. An exit, as you say. Would you not do the same in my place?"
Jabbing a massive finger down at the sleeping form at his feet, the Hulk frowned. "This man is the owner of this cursed world, the gatekeeper through which I can find salvation. He is the king here, a right he never earned, yet I am forced to bow at this weakling's feet. Killing him would destroy this world and me along with it. But I will not be trapped here forever. One day I will leave, and the key to that path is to become king myself."
"Soul Self Annihilation," murmured Kisuke in surprise.
It was a rare phenomenon, but not unheard of. Plenty of Shinigami did not get along with their sword spirits, only reluctantly working together. An angry Zanpakto could refuse to show itself should a relationship fail. A handful of cases saw sword spirits actively try to usurp their owners. Should either Shinigami or sword spirit succeed in striking the other down, death was the only outcome for both.
"It is not our place to rule," counseled Benihime softly. "Only to lend our strength and aide to the one we are bound."
"I never asked to be bound," growled the behemoth indignantly. "I never agreed to serve."
"The goal you seek will only end in death," warned the female sword spirit. "Perhaps it is unfair for you to be in this situation, but often our destiny is chosen for us. We can only walk the path as best we can."
"No," snapped the Hulk, standing up, towering over them, face contorted with terrible wrath. "I cannot accept that. I would bow my head to one who has earned the right to rule me, but this weakling cannot even face his subjects, leaving us to tear this world apart, looking for the right to usurp his unearned throne."
"Subjects?" asked Urahara in surprise. "As in plural? There are others in here with you?"
The giant humanoid stared down at his visitors with scrunched brow, scowl lessening as he eyed their startled features with some confusion.
"Aye. I am the emperor beneath the emperor, the one who stands above the others, the slave king. So I sit here in this sanctum in all my helpless glory, protecting this weakling from the others. They do not understand that his death would mean the end for us all."
As if summoned by the topic of conversation, a faraway howl echoed, the feral sound full of rage and hate.
"Yet another comes to challenge me for this false throne," growled the Hulk, annoyance evidence on its face. "Some days, I'm tempted to let them have it. Let them sit and gaze at salvation, too far to reach."
Benihime and Kisuke turned to look off from where the sound came. A distant rumble was heard, the hollow groaning of concrete bending and steel kneeling. One of the far-flung towers listing in the winds tilted, slowly falling through the atmosphere, disintegrating as gravity dragged it towards the ground.
Though miles away, the concussive force of the collapse of the immense structure hit them like a kick to the chest, the accompanying noise deafening. For a brief moment, the three beings stood in silence over the sleeping form of Bruce Banner before the howl came again.
"Something stirs them," grumbled the Hulk uneasily. "They come not of their own will. Something else has entered this cursed place and compels the others to come to stir trouble. "
"Another being like us?" Benihime asked, hand drifting to caress the hilt of the sword she carried. "Perhaps we can help you."
The green giant appeared to ponder the offer for a brief moment before shaking his head slowly. "No, cursed though this place may be, we the children of an accident are still nonetheless all a part of Banner. We will solve this as we always have, with our fists, the strongest sitting on the throne, and influencing our host."
"So what happens to him when you go off to presumably put these other beings in their place?" Kisuke asked curiously, toeing Banner's unmoving form.
"Banner only ever appears here when he loses consciousness," the Hulk answers with a shrug. "Never willingly. We cannot seem to touch him when he slumbers here, I know not why. But that does not stop the others from coming to try. Perhaps there is some way, but I will not let them find out."
Stomping past them, the beast crouched down, taking a moment to look over its shoulder at them. "You should leave. This will get ugly, and I don't know what may happen should one of the others decide to try to kill you. You found your way in here, I'm sure you can find your way out."
The monstrosity leaped into the air, massive form soaring off into the distance before falling to the earth again in a mighty crash. A few more leaps and the green spec had vanished from sight.
"So, what do you think?" Kisuke asked his sword spirit as the Hulk left to vanquish whatever other terrible beasts that called this forgotten place home.
"Most unusual. I have never heard of someone having multiple spiritual guardians in their world. I would have thought it impossible to have more than one before Ichigo," murmured Benihime. "Is it possible to have a spiritual form of schizophrenia?"
Kisuke considered her suggestion for a moment, head cocked to one side in thought. Mental illness was not unheard of amongst the Shinigami. Most of the mentally ill had their spiritual powers sealed and forcibly imprisoned for the rest of their existence, so little was known in how their mindscapes manifested themselves. The late Captain Mayuri was one of the few that had ever been allowed to walk free despite having been detained for his sociopathic tendencies. No one had known much about the rather private man, his sword spirit had never given any indication it was even capable of speech.
Reaching down, Benihime tried to touch the sleeping man but found her hand repelled by an unseen force. Cocking her head to one side, the woman reached out with her spiritual senses but still registered nothing. It was if Banner did not exist at all despite laying there before her eyes.
The sounds of battle carried to their ears, the distant roars of two struggling beasts coupled with the booming sounds of things being smashed. More buildings swayed and began the long descent to the ground.
"Time to go, I think," Kisuke said, reaching a hand down gallantly to help his sword spirit stand from her crouch. "Too many unknown rules in this place, I'd rather not have to fight in someone else's domain."
Scene Break
Bruce Banner jerked awake, startled by his sudden return to consciousness. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock to see that about ten minutes had passed since he returned from his trip to the bathroom.
"Damn," he murmured as he stood up to stretch out his aching back. "I must be more tired than I thought."
Glancing at the updating results on screen, he scowled when he still did not find the answer he had been hoping for. He'd have to double-check his calculations for the scanning algorithm he had sent out. With almost ninety percent of the world covered and still no answer, it may be time to go back to the drawing board.
The clomp of heavy boots carried faintly through the doorway of his lab. Bruce looked up past the datapad he was holding in time to see the contingent of armed troops marching a bound man past his door.
The detainee was dressed rather outlandishly as if he had just stepped off the set of Lord of the Rings. A few inches taller than the hard-faced military men who surrounded him, the prisoner turned to stare directly at Bruce as he was marched past, smiling knowingly at him. The amused grin turned sinister before he vanished around the corner, the small tip of his head, making Bruce's flesh crawl.
A headache had been building for the past few hours pulsed with urgency, a brand burning deep inside his skull. Staring at screens for long periods had a tendency to bring on migraines, but that brief little encounter with Loki seemed to have set off a bomb in his head.
"Shit," he murmured. "Get yourself together, Banner."
He needed to find some painkillers and fast. They couldn't have him out of commission right now with Loki finally on board.
Scene Break
The pneumonic hiss of the doorway slamming shut sealed Loki in the room he had been escorted to. Rubbing his wrists at where the false adamantium manacles had bound his hands, the Asgardian fought the urge to wince at the chafed skin. He knew the smallest signs of weakness would be pounced upon and exploited by his captors. Playing the part of the helpless prisoner to these mortals would be tough enough without unnecessarily giving them more openings to prod him with.
Loki took a look around the cell they had placed him in. It was quite large for something meant to hold a prisoner, a circular room of glass and steel that was perhaps twenty paces at the diameter. Glaring lights flashed down from above and below, leaving few shadows for a prisoner to hide in. Given how much space was afforded to transparent floor-length panes, he felt more like an animal caged in a zoo rather than a deadly prisoner.
As far as prison standards went, this was actually reasonably civilized. Years of adventuring across the nine realms with Thor in their misspent youth had turned Loki into somewhat of a connoisseur of prison cells. One of his favorite ploys was to play the role of the captured prisoner, infiltrating from below. Thor being the meathead that he was preferred crashing through the front door, hardly surprising given his brother's tendency to lean towards one of two actions, attack or revel.
But some situations required a more delicate touch, and even Thor recognized when bursting in Mjolnir swinging wasn't the ideal solution. Loki always shined brightest when subtlety was needed.
They had left him unbound and not a single sign of torture instruments to even hint at the threat of physical interrogation. It looks like SHIELD preferred a physiological game then. His eyes raked the prison cell, noting the positions of the cameras and preparing himself to put on his best performance yet.
"In case it's unclear," said the dark-skinned Director of SHIELD as he stalked up purposefully to the control panel in front of the cell. "You try to escape. You so much as scratch that glass."
Fury tapped in a passcode on the keyboard flipped a lever and pressed down harshly on a red button hidden behind a protective sheet of plexiglass.
The floor beneath the prison split open, showing a clear path down to the nothingness of the inky black sky. The shriek of wind from the fast movement of the high altitude mobile airbase sounded like a banshee to Loki. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine as the noise reminded him of the unnatural undead women he had dealt with in the past.
Magic was his first love, the mystical arts allowing him to twist and bend the material world around him. But you simply didn't mess with the souls of the dead. He had had that drilled into him at a young age by Frigga. Leave that delicate practice to the few who could, she'd advised him. Loki had heeded his mother after some exploration on the subject had frightened him into staying in his lane. Too many unknowns with the dead.
"30,000 feet, straight down in a steel trap," his captor warned, face carved from granite. "You get how that works?"
Fury let Loki stew for a bit over the yawning maw before pressing the button again to close the shutter below the cell.
"Ant," he said, pointing at Loki.
"Boot." A sarcastic two-handed gesture at the control panel, followed by a small ironic bow at the waist.
Despite the threat to his life, Loki smiled appreciatively at having his own words thrown back in his face. His enemy may be mortal, but it seemed he had some sense for wordplay, one of Loki's favorite pastimes. It was a hobby that was sadly wasted on the many meatheads of Argard; his wit often met with blank expressions. How refreshing to face a foe who could quip back even if Loki was going to crush him beneath his heel.
The frost giant chuckled, take a few steps back from the front of his cell. "It's an impressive cage."
His amusement morphed into a cunning grin. "Not built, I think, for me."
"Built for something a lot stronger than you," Fury replied sternly, his one eye narrowing.
"Oh, I've heard," Loki replied with a chuckle. "Agent Barton is most forthcoming with what he believes to be critical intelligence in my campaign to take over your world. A good man to have on your side."
The God of Mischief turned to look at the camera where he knew others were no doubt listening in. "No, this gilded cage was built for a mindless beast who pretends that he's still a man. How desperate are you, that you call upon such lost creatures to defend you?"
The seed of doubt and discord had to be sown gently. Too heavy of a hand, and the enemy would realize and resist the subtle psychological influence. But just enough force would often create a crack in the enemies unified front, a fissure of their own making that they would be unable to fix. A weakness for Loki to exploit.
He lived for those moments when his carefully laid plans came together, damn the consequences after.
The Director stomped up to stare into Loki's eyes, barely contained anger evident on his stormy expression. "How desperate am I? You threaten my world with war. You steal a force you can't hope to control. You talk about peace and kill cause it's fun. You made me very desperate. You might not be glad you did."
The eye patch covering the mortal's left eye reminded Loki all too much of another single-eyed man who often lectured him. Swallowing the bitter sadness, the Asgardian bared his teeth in an unsettling sneer.
"Ooh, it burns you to come so close," mocked Loki, leaning close so that they were almost nose to nose, the glass the only thing separating them. "To have the Tesseract, to have power, unlimited power. And for what? A warm light for all mankind to share? And then to be reminded what real power is."
Foolish mortals had no idea what higher power bore down on this pitiful little mudball of a planet. Loki pitied the creatures that had incurred the attention of the Mad Titan, nothing good ever came from having that one settle his gaze on your world. What he planned to do was mercy in comparison.
Fury scoffed, turning away from Loki.
"Well, you let me know if Real Power wants a magazine or something," he called acerbically over his shoulder as he left.
Loki let him have the last word, knowing all was going according to plan. Turning, he looked directly at the camera again, wondering if his brother was watching. He raised his hand, waving mockingly up at the device.
All according to plan.
Scene Break
Steve Rogers studied the provoking smile of their trapped enemy through the screen, storing away the urge to punch the man's face in for later use. That petulant little grin on Loki's face set his teeth grinding, it was the smile of a man who wanted to laugh as he watched the world burn. The super soldier had put down plenty of men like that during the war, men who thrived on chaos and the suffering of others.
He would put this one down too, he just had to figure out how.
"He really grows on you, doesn't he?" joked Banner, trying to lighten the serious atmosphere permeating the room.
The screen cut off as Agent Hill switched off the feed to the cell. Around the conference table, the other members of the group turned away, attention drawn to various things to distract them from the unsettling feeling caused by the God of Mischief's mere presence.
Thor looked to be deep in thought, rubbing his large rough knuckles, occasionally cracking them absentmindedly. He had lost the cape and most of his armor sometime after boarding the Helicarrier. Imposing muscular arms now bare to the air, he hadn't moved since he entered the conference room, standing still as a statue, eyes averted to the floor.
"Loki's going to drag this out," grumbled Steve wearily, pushing his seat back away from the table. "Thor, what's his play?"
The question directed at the only other Asgardian on Earth seemed to finally shake the man from his trance. He turned to face the room, frown marring his rugged features.
"He has an army of Chitauri," Thor informed grimly. "They're not of Asgard or any world known. He means to lead them against your people."
The God of Thunder allowed his hands to hang limply by his side, the motion an oddly helpless display on such a big man. "They will win him the Earth, in return for what I suspect is the Tesseract."
"You're telling me he has an army," Steve said, shooting an incredulous look at Natasha opposite of him, arms leaning on the table. "From outer space?"
The spy didn't seem surprised by Thor's claim. But then, in the short time he had known her, had Natasha ever seemed surprised by anything? Although she had undoubtedly startled him on more than one occasion.
Steve wanted to ask exactly what the woman had done to him and the others at the clearing, but he held his tongue. He doubted she would willingly give him a straight answer. Their trust wasn't at that level yet, he'd just have to make sure to pay a little more attention to her on their next outing together.
"So that's what he's building another portal for," guessed Banner, punching a balled fist into his palm. "That's why he needs Erik Selvig!"
"Selvig?" asked Thor, recognition lighting in his eyes.
"He's an astrophysicist," replied Banner, visibly surprised their visitor had recognized the name. "You know him?"
"He's a friend," said Norse God with a small smile.
The memory of his short time on Earth with the kindly older man and Jane warmed his heart. A part of him felt guilty for not immediately heading out to find the woman he had fallen in love with, but the situation with Loki took priority. He would find Jane later and make his confessions when he was done with his brother. Hopefully, she felt the same way.
The smile vanished when Banner's words registered in his mind.
"You said Loki wanted him? Where is Selvig now?" Thor demanded.
"Loki has him under some kind of spell," replied Natasha grimly, speaking for the first time since they had marched their prisoner off the Quinjet. "He did something to Selvig with his staff. Along with one of ours too."
Steve noted the way her voice dropped off on the last bit. There was a story behind this Agent Barton who had been turned, just who was he to Natasha? But despite his knawing curiosity, now wasn't the time for a heart to heart. They needed actionable intel.
"I want to know why Loki let us take him," grunted Rogers rapping the table with his knuckles. "He's not leading an army from here."
Banner shook his head, pursing his lips. "I don't think we should be focusing on Loki. The guy's brain is a bag full of cats, I could smell crazy on him when they marched him past my lab."
Thor scowled at the insult, turning to glare at the physicist. "Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he's my brother."
"He killed eighty people in two days," snapped Natasha icily.
Thor deflated. It was one thing to suspect the harm his brother may cause, but another to hear it. His love for his sibling could not justify the lives lost, there would be hell to pay for Loki's actions on Earth. Thor would see to it himself.
"He's adopted," he offered weakly.
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose, backing off. Arguing semantics wasn't going to get them anywhere. All the speculation in the world wouldn't do them any good without any solid intel. They had the source trapped here, a direct approach to extracting what they need was the best course of action. Fury may frown on the use of torture, but Natasha had done enough dirty work to know that there were ways to get what was needed.
She may have to call on the more frowned upon skills she had acquired during her early years in the Red Room. It had been a while since she's had to delve into that bloody part of her tool kit, she had stopped at Fury's request when she first began working with SHIELD. Natasha wasn't sure she'd be able to stop if she started again. There had been many instances in SHIELD's employ where that part of her bloodstained past would have proven useful.
The Natasha Romanoff on SHIELD's payroll was a shell of the ruthless operative that the Russians had deployed against all their enemies. SHIELD thought they knew what she was capable of based on the intel they had collected on her, but she had read their files, even the parts only Fury was supposed to be privy to. They had only a faint inkling of her blood-soaked past.
They had never truly met The Black Widow, the woman who had erased her own past by drowning it with the blood of those who knew the truth. The hundreds of ghosts that had haunted her were only a fraction of the lives she had ended.
For Clint, she would risk becoming that woman again. She owed him too much to sit on the sidelines over something silly like morality and ethics.
"I think we need to take a look at what he was after," Banner suggested, bringing the discussion back on track and unwittingly breaking Natasha out of her internal turmoil. "Iridium, what did they need the Iridium for?"
Hearing no response from the others, Natasha pushed herself away from the conference table, determined to bring her argument for the use of force to Fury. Hopefully, he was desperate enough to authorize her actions. If not, well, that wasn't going to stop her from doing what was necessary.
The sound of a voice she had hoped she wouldn't be dealing with again halted her motion, almost eliciting a physical groan out of her.
"It's a stabilizing agent," announced Tony Stark as the eccentric billionaire strode into the conference room with Phil Coulson.
Turning, the wealthy inventor punched the stoic faced agent in the shoulder playfully. "I'll fly you and the wife out there, you guys will have a great time! Keep the love alive."
Phil smiled amicably but did not respond, instead gesturing for Tony to continue into the conference area.
"Means the portal won't collapse on itself like it did on SHIELD," the inventor continued, sauntering through the room like he owned it.
Tony's confident stride paused briefly by Thor, the inventor eyeing the larger man for a moment before patting him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "No hard feelings, Point Break. You've got a mean swing."
Turning from the bewildered Asgardian, he wandered over to the display panel where central control and communications with the rest of the ship took place. The owner of Stark Industries began fiddling around with the controls, opening menus and tapping holographic buttons, testing to see what came up. Earning the ire of Agent Hill, he nimbly dodged out of the way as she came to shoo him away.
Somewhere between messing with the panels and having his hands swatted away from the controls, the wily engineer managed to slip a small pin-sized hacking unit under one the dashboards. The tiny microchip unit had a tight beam connection with Jarvis's servers, allowing the AI to began hacking into SHIELD's system as soon as the connection was made.
Revenge was sweet.
Backing away from the scowling operations manager who looked ready to draw her gun, Tony glanced again at the screens. Bringing one hand up to cover his left eye, he turned between the displays, a genuinely perplexed expression on his face.
"How does Fury even see these?" he asked snidely.
"He turns," deadpanned Natasha.
Tony twisted away from the screen, eyes lighting up as they landed on the redhead. "Sounds exhausting."
He sauntered over to the spy, examining her with calculated appreciation. "Ms. Rushman, we meet again."
A small smile quirked Natasha's lips, genuinely surprised the man remembered the alias she had adopted while working for Pepper Potts. "Did Jarvis look that up for you?"
"I have a perfectly functioning recall thanks; in fact, I think it's probably a bit better than most," the billionaire replied glibly. "So, I suppose I can thank you for the multiple holes in my network that were traced back to SHIELD? I love the false company name, by the way. You guys had all the servers stored under SWORD? That some bean counter's idea of a joke? What does it even stand for?"
Natasha rolled her eyes, not dignifying him with a response. Unlike the others, she had noticed his subtle motion near the comm station, but she wasn't going to say anything about it. If she stopped him here, doubtless, he would find a more destructive method for getting into their network. The last thing they needed was for their systems to go down in an ensuing hacking war when they needed all cylinders firing.
"So you gonna clue me in on how you locked down my suit, Ms. Secretary Spy?" Tony pressed. "Or maybe one of you fellas managed to weasel it out of her while I was putting on my business suit?"
The second question was directed at Thor and the Captain, both of whom turned curious eyes on the female operative. It was a question that both men wouldn't mind hearing an answer to for different reasons.
"I did not think there were many practitioners left in the mundane world," said Thor with a respectful nod directed at the woman. "A difficult talent to master even for one with a thousand-year lifespan. But for a mortal to bring me down is truly impressive."
"What, you mean like magic?" asked the supersoldier, eyebrows raised.
Steve liked to think he was a relatively open-minded individual. It was hard not to be after seeing some of the things the Nazis were trying to pull off. There were plenty of ops Steve had been a part of that required more black ink than actual text. The really freaky stuff he had managed to stop never made it on paper, too dangerous to acknowledge the existence of.
Captain America had seen enough hints of the supernatural to accept there were some things beyond man's understanding. Romanoff just didn't fit what he had in mind for someone who could use magic. He wasn't sure exactly what they would look like, just not a pretty dame like Natasha.
"Magic," Tony scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "Right. People use that term when they can't explain some phenomena that they experience. Primitive knuckledraggers, but that's just my opinion. Just because you can't explain it doesn't mean there isn't an actual explanation."
"I don't know, man," said Banner with a faraway look in his eyes. "I used to think that too, but I've seen some trippy shit that makes me question that belief."
Natasha smiled coyly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "Do you really want to know?"
"I'm all ears," responded Tony eagerly. "I've had Jarvis run all sorts of diagnostics on the suit and the sensors, but zip, nada, zilch."
Flicking his wrist in a twisting clockwise motion, the inventor brought up a holographic wrist display that indicated some sort of recording device. The projected image over the tip of his radius bone showed a tiny rendition of the redhead as he pointed his hand at her. "I'd love a demo."
"Classified," the spy said bluntly, expression closing off completely. "Turn that off if you don't want me to put a bullet in you, Stark."
"Do I get to choose where that bullet goes?" Tony quipped reflexively, unable to help himself.
The unsympathetic silence spoke for itself. The inventor turned to look for support from the others in the room, only getting an amused look from Thor and hands raised in surrender from Steve and Banner. He didn't even bother looking at the only other female SHIELD Agent in the room to see what sort of expression she was making behind his back.
Seeing Natasha wasn't rising to his baiting, Tony dispersed the hologram with a complicated motion of his fingers and turned his attention back to the problem at hand. "The rest of the raw materials Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. The only major component he still needs is a power source. A high energy density, something to kick start the cube."
"When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?" demanded Hill waspishly.
"Last night," Tony responded without missing a beat. "The packet? Selvig's notes? The Extraction Theory papers? Am I the only one who did the reading?"
"Nerd," Hill mumbled under her breath, arms crossed.
"Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?" Steve asked before they could devolve into further squabbling.
"He's got to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb Barrier," commented Bruce with a shake of his head. "That's not exactly something you can throw together with crap you'd find at a Home Depot."
"Unless Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect," interrupted Tony with a knowing look at the other scientist in the room.
While the others may have missed the gravity of that observation, it certainly wasn't lost on Banner. His frown deepened as he processed the idea, hands fidgeting like they were itching to grab a pen to begin scribbling.
"Well shit, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet. There's at least 450 of those floating around last I checked. He could hit up any one of them!"
"Finally!" exclaimed Tony, reaching a friendly hand out to Banner, who took it. "Someone who speaks English."
"Is that what just happened?" Rogers muttered, trading a lost look with Thor.
"It's good to meet you, Dr. Banner," greeted Tony with genuine admiration in his eyes. "Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster."
Bruce dropped his eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly, not quite sure how to respond. "Thanks?"
"Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube," asserted Fury as he entered the conference room. "I was hoping you might join him."
The two scientists traded a meaningful look and a small nod, an unspoken request to intrude on one's sanctum and silent permission passing between them.
"I'd start with that stick of his," advised Steve pensively. "It may or may not be magical, but it sure works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon. The Nazis were known to delve into the occult, I wouldn't be surprised if there is some connection."
"I don't know about that," responded Fury decisively. "But fair bet it's powered by the cube. And I'd like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal gofers."
"The scepter is magical in nature," insisted Thor with a scowl. "Your science will not find the answers you want. What you need is a practitioner of the Seidr. A sorcerer in your tongue. There must be someone who can help us examine it!"
"Well, we're fresh out of wizards," grunted Fury. "Unless you have one you can dial-up for us?"
Thor shook his head. "The method to bring me to Midgard is a one way trip at the moment. Our usual means of travel to this realm was damaged during my battle with Loki. While I have means to go back, it would take weeks perhaps a month before anyone could return. I am all Asgard can send."
The Director scowled but nodded resolutely. "Well looks like we're going to have to stick with whatever Stark and Banner manage to glean from that thing. Until then, rest up, but be prepared to move out. As soon as we have an inkling as to where we need to go, we're going to hit them with everything we have."
The dismissal was taken for what it was. Banner led Tony out of the room, both men already chatting excitedly at a rapid rate. Thor made a beeline for Phil Coulson, with Steve following Agent Hill, who had gestured for his attention. Natasha shot to her feet as the others began going about their assigned tasks, getting Fury's attention.
"Sir, I'd like to talk to you about alternate methods for extracting the information we need."
"And what are these alternate methods, Agent Romanoff?"
"The kind you asked me to forget."
The man's permanent scowl deepened. "We've talked about this before Romanoff, I won't sign off on it."
"There may be less extreme alternatives," she responded carefully.
There was a pause.
"How much less?"
AN: So Ichigo's trying to get back in the saddle. Natasha is also in her own way, tempted to get back in the saddle. Some dark possibly controversial stuff coming up next chapter, can't wait to get there =D
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