Earth, post-war, lay in ruins.
Though no new symbiote legions descended, those that had arrived were more than enough to overwhelm its people.
Despite global unity in slaughtering symbiotes, Earth's vastness and complex terrain allowed countless symbiotes, regaining sentience after Knull's defeat, to scatter and hide.
Animals, and even unlucky humans, forcibly possessed and controlled by symbiotes, vanished, lurking in unknown corners of the planet.
The frenzied purge of symbiotes would persist for some time.
Fortunately, the immense Xenomorph legion was on the task, scouring every inch of Earth to root them out.
The war's undisputed victor was, as ever, Adam. The countless symbiotes would become his spoils, vastly bolstering his combat capabilities.
Even without using them as hosts to spawn symbiote-Xenomorph hybrids, merely equipping them as gear could instantly grant the frailest Courier Xenomorphs the ability to survive in cosmic vacuum.
Across the world, people captured symbiotes for experiments.
Pity was absent. Facing alien invaders in such numbers, they unleashed brutal, inhumane methods without restraint.
"These damn things suddenly gained self-awareness, showing anger and fear. Fine. But, Adam above, they're begging for mercy? I can't believe my eyes. At the war's start, they were rabid, like mindless machines!" Dr. Clive exclaimed.
"The real issue isn't even the symbiotes, Dr. Clive. As S.H.I.E.L.D.'s chief biologist, did you hear yourself? You don't believe in God, you invoke Adam? Have you joined that bizarre Xenomorph cult? You don't actually buy that muscle-bound preacher's nonsense, do you?" His assistant snapped.
"What else, rookie? Don't tell me you haven't heard Fury's dead. Soon, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s existence is in question. Look at the world, who'd you align with? Don't say the Mutants." Clive retorted.
Dr. Clive, scarred and intimidating, shrugged nonchalantly, his body emitting faint metallic clinks. Beneath his lab coat, much of him was replaced with cybernetic organs.
During the extraction of symbiotes from the frozen Grendel, Loki had stormed the base, wreaking havoc and striking Clive.
His fellow scientists perished; Clive, barely alive, was saved by S.H.I.E.L.D.
But gratitude? Laughable. Agents dealt in business, not sentiment. Only fools talked feelings over profit with spies.
Clive remotely operated his lab, watching symbiotes writhe in agony behind thick glass, broadcasting pleas for mercy.
He scolded his novice assistant, "Listen, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s done. Fury didn't, as some claim, refuse to abandon the Helicarrier, fighting to his last breath, firing weapons at symbiotes. I don't buy that a spymaster like him ended his life so illogically."
Not that agents must be deceitful or craven. A good agent maximizes outcomes in danger, embracing death only if it yields immense gain.
Agents weren't soldiers, distinct professions.
Now, rumors claimed Fury refused to flee, dying heroically, taking symbiotes with his ship?
Absurd. Clive could laugh. Given a choice, Fury would've jumped ship, plotting a comeback.
Fury's death proved one thing: he had no choice but to die.
"Of course, I suspected the Director's death was fishy. Likely Adam's doing. Many of us think so, S.H.I.E.L.D. and Adam's feud runs deep, irreconcilable." Said Grant Ward, outwardly a rookie agent but secretly Hydra, feigning shock.
He wanted to ask his Hydra superiors: Clive was Hydra too, right? How else could he defect so brazenly, claiming moral high ground?
Ward felt like a fake Hydra agent.
But he conceded Clive was right. If Adam killed Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D. was next.
"These symbiotes…" Ward's eyes flickered, studying Clive's focused back.
A device controlling symbiotes via electronic signals, commanding their vast numbers, could be a game-changer for world domination. But facing a monster like Adam dimmed Ward's hopes.
Even the symbiote army at its peak crumbled before Adam. What was the point of Hydra gathering these defeated remnants?
Did Hydra have a future? Could cutting off one head truly spawn two? More likely, Adam would use their bodies to breed Xenomorphs.
Ward felt lost. What could they use against Adam? The Cosmic Cube, as some Hydra operatives whispered?
"I don't care who sent you to my side, just don't get in my way. If you're plotting something dangerous, leave me out. Even pooling all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources, we can't touch that man." Dr. Clive said without turning.
"What about the Cosmic Cube? You know about it, right? It massively boosted Cap's strength. We could use it to create an army of Captain Americas, each paired with a powerful symbiote…" Ward suggested.
"And hand them to Adam to breed Captain America Xenomorphs? Brilliant plan." Clive scoffed, looking up. "Adam's already mass-producing Xenomorphs akin to enhanced Caps, tied to vampires somehow, though I can't yet figure out where he's sourcing the hosts. Don't forget, you're limited to Earth's resources against Adam, but he's spread his Xenomorphs across countless worlds, drawing power from them."
Even if someone used the Cosmic Cube to wipe out Earth's Xenomorphs, could they scour Jotunheim, Asgard, or distant planets to eradicate them all?
Impossible. That's why Clive had fully surrendered to fate.
"I'm going to chat with that famous muscle preacher, Burbank, was it? He's a fighter. Maybe I'll score a Xenomorph egg to parasitize." Clive said, his interest in the pleading symbiotes long gone.
Given the chance to study Xenomorphs, who'd waste time on symbiotes? He had no choice.
Ward's confusion mirrored the world's. People celebrated the war's victory, buoyed by joy, but the powerful soon shook off euphoria, helplessly eyeing the ubiquitous Xenomorphs.
They roamed in packs, as integral to human society as air, omnipresent.
Where humans dwelt, Xenomorphs appeared. In desolate wastelands, they lurked too.
Anyone with sense knew humanity's future was coexistence with Xenomorphs, regardless of their wishes. It hinged on the mind of their master, theoretically human, Adam.
Most ordinary people accepted this, some even fanatically embracing the new era.
What was wrong with coexisting with Xenomorphs? Did they slaughter passing civilians? Did they ravenously seize humans for parasitism and chestbursting?
No such case existed.
A civilian rashly petting a stray cat or dog risked scratches or bites. Avoid provoking Xenomorphs, and they posed no threat.
Moreover, Xenomorphs were advanced intelligent beings, fundamentally unlike animals. Judging the global Xenomorph horde with the same lens as pets was a grave error.
In areas with Xenomorphs, safety soared. Crime was quashed instantly.
Bullying? Robbery? Smuggling? Human trafficking?
Normally hard to eradicate, these issues were trivial for Xenomorphs. They didn't need to address root causes, just use their vast numbers, omnipresent, to swiftly kill those tied to the sources, halting crime in its tracks.
Crucially, Xenomorphs could perform these tasks for decades, centuries, without boredom, executing orders with unrelenting efficiency until crime was eradicated, ushering humanity into an unprecedented future.
Many realized this. Sociologists debated fiercely on TV.
Everyone knew their arguments were futile, Adam's will decided all.
Unless Earth was destroyed, this future was inevitable.
"A bunch of nobodies bickering over the world's fate, as if they have a say. Absurd." Mr. Blue said, rarely appearing publicly, surprising many in Adam's camp. Some newcomers, seeing him for the first time, were curious about Adam's legendary chief scientist.
"Just looking at his big head, I feel wisdom radiating. It's surreal." Flash Thompson muttered, nervously scanning the room. By rank, he shouldn't be here.
A mere mortal, he'd joined Adam via Preacher Burbank, gaining a Xenomorph and stepping into the extraordinary.
Flash spotted familiar faces, like the martial arts master who joined alongside him.
"Based on your performance in this war, I'll grant rewards. I value fairness, don't worry I'll overlook your efforts. In my ranks, there's no room for deception or stealing credit." Adam said, his words measured and convincing.
He bestowed a symbiote on Flash Thompson, who blinked in confusion.
Flash stared at the visibly lively symbiote.
"This one's special, called Venom. It's not standout in strength compared to others, even a bit weak, but its potential's high. When I repelled Knull in space, this guy served as his tongue." Adam encouraged.
Had Spider-Man lived, Adam would've given Venom to him. But with this universe's Spider-Man killed by the Inheritors, Adam settled for Flash, crafting Agent Venom to satisfy a twisted whim.
For now, Venom wasn't worth Adam's high regard. Perhaps when it could parasitize Celestials, he'd keep it close.
"Can we get to business? I assume everyone here is key to our group, though I'm not yet sure what talents some of you bring." Mr. Blue said briskly. "Soon, all Xenomorphs will undergo a massive evolution, impacting everyone."
Adam regarded him calmly. "So, you've built the Xenomorph gene bank?"
"The first-generation gene bank is complete. It would've taken another week or two, but these symbiotes, adaptable to any genome, accelerated my research." Mr. Blue replied. "With this, we can selectively breed distinct Xenomorph Queens to produce offspring with varied super-genes."
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