"Can't you think of some normal password?" Thor said with a frown, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and resignation. The whole "Point Break" thing was ridiculous, even if it had worked.
Tony's face lit up with a mischievous grin. He leaned back in his seat, clearly delighted by his own programming choices. "Well! That suits you very well!" His tone was unapologetically smug, as if he'd just won a particularly satisfying argument.
"Banner..." Wanda's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. She sighed, the sound heavy with lingering guilt.
Captain America noticed immediately when Wanda lowered her head, her shoulders curving inward. He knew exactly what she was thinking—he could read the guilt written plainly across her face. Without hesitation, he reached over and patted her shoulder gently, his touch both comforting and grounding.
"This isn't your fault! What happen in that screen will not happen here!" His voice was firm, brooking no argument. Steve's tone carried the authority of someone who'd lived through his own share of guilt and knew how destructive it could be.
Wanda nodded slightly, accepting his words even if she didn't entirely believe them. Her eyes lifted and she glanced across the room at Tony, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.
Tony caught her look and immediately held up both hands defensively. "Oh! Don't look at me like that! I'm not working on Ultron now!" His voice carried a hint of exasperation mixed with understanding. "Once I upgrade Jarvis properly, he can become a brand new version—a better 'Ultron' without all the genocidal tendencies! No problem at all. Completely safe."
Wanda hummed softly, the sound noncommittal and still carrying a thread of skepticism. "I hope so!" Her words were sincere but cautious.
Banner scratched his head awkwardly, his fingers ruffling through his dark curls. He was acutely aware of Wanda's vigilance toward anything resembling Ultron, and he couldn't blame her. But they would never make the same mistake again—he was certain of that. They'd learned their lesson the hard way.
Tony had completely abandoned his original plan to create Ultron as a standalone AI. Instead, he'd pivoted to upgrading Jarvis directly, with all the safeguards and protocols they should have implemented from the beginning. The project was supported by their extensive research on the Mind Stone, incorporating what they'd learned without repeating past disasters.
And now they had made great breakthroughs. The progress was genuinely exciting, even if it came with the shadow of past failures.
Rocket was also very interested in this development, though being Rocket, the part he was most interested in revolved entirely around weapons. He'd made it abundantly clear that he thought the firepower of Tony's drones and the Iron Legion was pathetically inadequate and should be significantly strengthened. In his professional opinion, they were shooting glorified pea-shooters when they should be wielding proper ordnance.
Tony had been surprisingly receptive to the critique. "Just play freely! I'll give you whatever resources you want! Access to my workshop, my materials, my fabrication equipment—all yours! As long as you can solve the problem of not being able to penetrate enemy defenses when we're fighting threats like the Dark Elves!" His tone made it clear he'd been frustrated by that limitation himself.
Rocket was immensely satisfied with this arrangement. His eyes had practically glowed with enthusiasm as he declared he would create an extremely powerful weapons system capable of blowing Thanos's entire fleet out of the stars. The prospect of unlimited access to Stark technology and resources had him practically vibrating with excitement.
Gamora, however, thought things wouldn't be that simple. She'd been around Thanos far longer than Nebula cared to remember in detail, and she knew very well how terrifying the Mad Titan truly was. His physical body was extraordinarily resilient—no match for ordinary weapons, no matter how powerful Rocket claimed they would be. They would need something more, something beyond conventional firepower.
[On the screen, inside the damaged Quinjet, the effect of seeing and hearing Black Widow was profound and immediate. Under the stimulation of Natasha's recorded voice, under the weight of those memories and emotions, Hulk began to shake his head violently in pain. His massive hands came up to clutch at his temples. The internal struggle was visible in every line of his body. He even couldn't help punching himself several times, his fists connecting with his own face in an attempt to suppress what was happening, to regain control, to stay as Hulk.]
[The conflict intensified. Hulk started stumbling around in the confined spaceship interior, his movements erratic and uncoordinated. He yelled—wordless sounds of pain and confusion and resistance that echoed through the Quinjet's metal walls. His voice cracked with distress.]
[His body began losing stability in a way that was almost frightening to witness. His massive form would shrink suddenly, muscles deflating, then surge back to full Hulk size a moment later. The transformation was caught in a terrible loop—shrinking and growing, human and Hulk, Bruce and the Other Guy fighting for dominance. Green skin would fade to human tones, then flood back with color. His size fluctuated wildly, clothing stretching and tearing with each change.]
[Thor watched the screen with growing concern etched across his features. He observed Hulk struggling in such obvious pain, and he understood what was happening. He knew Banner was fighting his way back to the surface, reclaiming control after two years of absence.]
[Hulk's voice rose to a desperate shout, filled with genuine fear: "No! No! No Banner! No!!!" The words came out raw and panicked. For the first time, Hulk sounded truly frightened—not of an enemy or a threat, but of losing himself, of disappearing back into the recesses of their shared mind.]
[His body kept twitching violently, muscles spasming beneath green skin. The transformation continued its terrible cycle—changing back and forth between massive and human-sized, between monstrous and mortal. His features would shift from Hulk's heavy brow and broad jaw to Banner's more delicate bone structure, then back again.]
[But no matter how hard Hulk tried to resist, no matter how much he fought against it, he couldn't stop Banner from wanting to wake up. Not after seeing Natasha. Not after hearing her voice. That connection was too powerful, too fundamental. Banner's consciousness surged forward with irresistible force, driven by love and longing and the desperate need to know if she was safe.]
[In his final moments of resistance, Hulk angrily destroyed whatever remained intact inside the fighter plane. His fists pounded against walls, leaving dents. He grabbed at equipment and tore it loose. It was a last desperate act of defiance, of trying to assert his existence. Finally, exhausted and defeated, he fell heavily to the ground. The impact shook the entire Quinjet. His body convulsed one last time, then gradually began shrinking. The green color drained away like water, replaced by human skin tones. Muscles deflated. His massive frame compacted. Within moments, where the Hulk had been, there was only Dr. Bruce Banner—naked, disoriented, and confused, lying in a tangle of oversized purple pants on the cold metal floor.]
[Thor approached cautiously, concern written clearly on his face. "Oh! Oh my god!" His voice carried genuine worry.]
["Banner! Hey! Hey! Are you okay? Banner?" Thor moved closer, reaching out tentatively.]
[Thor walked over carefully and reached down. The moment his palm made contact with Banner's bare shoulder, the scientist was startled violently. His entire body jerked away from the touch, his eyes flying open wide with panic and confusion. He didn't know where he was, who was touching him, what was happening.]
[Thor immediately pulled his hand back and spoke in the most soothing tone he could manage, trying to employ the calming technique he'd seen Natasha use. His voice became softer, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. "The sun is setting! The sun is setting! That's right, just like that. Take a deep breath! Nice and slow. I won't hurt you! You're safe. The sun is setting!" He kept repeating the phrase, hoping the familiar lullaby would help ground Banner.]
[After several tense seconds, Banner's vision finally cleared enough to recognize the figure hovering over him. "Thor!" His voice was hoarse, confused. He reached up to cover his forehead with one hand, as if trying to hold his skull together. Everything felt wrong, disjointed.]
[His eyes focused on Thor's appearance, and even through his disorientation, something seemed off. "What's wrong with your hair?" The question came out almost accusatory. Thor's usually long, flowing locks were gone, replaced by a much shorter cut.]
[Thor's expression soured at the reminder. "Some old bastard cut my hair!" His tone made it clear this was still a sore subject. "Literally. While I was restrained. Very traumatic experience."]
[Banner's mind was racing, trying to piece together where he was and what had happened. Questions tumbled out: "Where are we? Oh! How's Natasha?" The second question came with more urgency, more emotion. Her name carried weight.]
[Thor hesitated, his face showing discomfort. "Uh... Natasha... she's fine!" It wasn't technically a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. He had no idea where Natasha actually was at this moment.
Banner continued, his voice rising with increasing panic: "How's Sokovia?"
Thor looked at him blankly. "What?"
"That city! Sokovia!" Banner's hands gestured frantically, as if he could pull the answers from the air. "Did we save it? What happened? Is everyone okay?"
Thor took a deep breath and tried to catch Banner's attention. "Banner! Listen to me! You need to—"
But Banner wasn't listening yet, too caught up in his own questions, his own fears. "Sokovia! Ultron! The people—"
"That was two years ago!" Thor finally managed to interject forcefully, speaking over Banner's spiral.
Banner stopped mid-sentence. His mouth hung open. He stared at Thor as if the words hadn't quite processed yet. "What did you say?" His voice had dropped to barely a whisper, shock evident in every syllable.]
[Thor opened his mouth, closed it again, then made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Well..." He didn't know how to explain the situation to Banner gently. How did you tell someone they'd lost two years of their life? That they'd been trapped as the Hulk for that entire time? There was no easy way to deliver that news.]
[Fortunately, Banner was an intelligent man. His brilliant mind, even in its current confused state, quickly began putting pieces together. The fighter plane, the location, Thor's presence, the gap in his memories—it all pointed to one terrible conclusion.]
["I've been the Hulk for the past two years?" His voice cracked on the question. The implications were staggering. Two years. Two years of his life, just... gone. Two years where he hadn't existed, where only the Hulk had been present. The horror of it showed plainly on his face.]
[Thor nodded slowly, his expression sympathetic. "I'm afraid so!" His voice was gentle, understanding the magnitude of what Banner was processing.]
[Banner looked down at himself, really seeing his surroundings for the first time. He was wearing some kind of beaded necklace or charm. His fingers found the strange ornament and he pulled it off over his head, examining it with bewilderment. It was clearly something Hulk had acquired during his time here. The realization that Hulk had been living an entire life, making choices, existing without Banner's awareness—it was deeply unsettling.]
["Damn it! What the hell happened?" Banner's voice rose with frustration and fear. He spotted Hulk's familiar purple towel nearby and grabbed it, wrapping it around his waist for some semblance of modesty. He stood on unsteady legs and began walking toward the cockpit area, needing to do something, to find answers, to understand where he was and how he'd gotten here.]
[Thor turned to follow him, his expression concerned. "Banner! There's something you need to know!" His tone suggested this conversation was going to get even more complicated.]
[Banner reached the pilot's area and located the control panel. Without thinking, he pressed his palm against the fingerprint scanner, the motion automatic from years of using similar technology.]
[The system processed his print, then announced in that same pleasant automated female voice: "Voice activation required."]
[Banner leaned closer to the microphone and said simply: "Banner."]
[The response came immediately, warm and welcoming: "Welcome! The most powerful Avenger!"]
["Uh! What?!" Thor, who had been walking up behind him, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits after hearing the system's welcome message. His mouth fell open in offended disbelief. "The most powerful Avenger?! But it rejected me when I said that! BANNER is the strongest Avenger?!" His voice rose with indignation.]
[Banner was too focused on getting information to pay attention to Thor's wounded pride. He ignored the outburst completely and commanded the system: "Display flight log!"]
[The holographic system responded instantly, popping up a three-dimensional playback showing the Quinjet's recorded journey. The image displayed Hulk's massive green form lying face-down inside the plane during what appeared to be atmospheric entry or high-speed flight. The gamma giant was clearly struggling against intense forces, his body pressed flat by acceleration, nearly blown backward by the incredible air currents. For a brief moment as the playback continued, the holographic image of Hulk's head overlapped perfectly with Banner's current position, creating an eerie double-image effect—past and present, Hulk and Banner, occupying the same space.]
[The flight data scrolled past—trajectory, speed, duration. Banner's eyes tracked the information rapidly, his scientific mind processing the numbers even as his emotional state struggled with their implications.]
[After reading through the records carefully, after seeing the flight path and calculating the distances involved, Banner realized something was very wrong. He turned to face Thor, his expression caught between confusion and growing alarm. "Thor! Where are we? Where did the Quinjet take us?"
Thor shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in examining the cockpit ceiling. "Yeah! About that! So, funny story—"]
[Before Thor could finish his explanation—or more accurately, before he could figure out how to begin explaining—a new voice rang out across Sakaar. It was amplified, projected through the countless screens and speakers that dotted the Rune Tower and surrounding structures. The voice was distinctive, carrying an affected theatrical quality that somehow managed to sound both cheerful and threatening simultaneously.]
["Attention, people of Sakaar! I have bad news for you!" The Grandmaster's voice carried clearly even into the Quinjet. There was a dramatic pause. "My beloved, powerful, utterly magnificent champion has disappeared!" Another pause for effect. "But we mustn't be sad! No, no, no! Instead, take to the streets and celebrate our champion! Celebrate his time here! His incredible victories! His—well, everything about him really!"]
["Who is that?" Banner stared at one of the screens visible through the cockpit window, which now displayed the Grandmaster's distinctive face and elaborate costume. The projection showed the eccentric ruler of Sakaar gesturing dramatically as he spoke.
Thor followed his gaze. "He's the ruler of this place. The Grandmaster. Bit of an oddball. Actually, massive understatement—he's completely insane. But that's where you've actually been living all this time! Up in that tower, in luxury, as his champion gladiator!"]
[Banner's face went through several expressions in rapid succession—disbelief, confusion, horror, and back to disbelief. "Really?" The word came out flat, as if his brain was refusing to process this information.]
["Yeah! A lot of things happened while you were, well, not you!" Thor tried to sound casual about it, but the situation was anything but casual. "You fought in an arena. You had fans. You and I even had a fight! Actually quite a good fight, very dramatic."
Banner was still processing the first part of that statement, so Thor continued with obvious pride, unable to help himself: "No! I won! It was easy!" The corners of his mouth curled up involuntarily when he thought about how he had finally managed to defeat Hulk in single combat. After all their previous encounters where Hulk had dominated, it felt good to have come out on top for once.]
[Banner turned to look at Thor with an expression of pure skepticism. "It doesn't sound real!" His tone suggested he thought Thor might be making the whole thing up, or possibly suffering from head trauma.]
[Thor held up one hand as if swearing an oath. "Well! It's absolutely true! Every word! I have witnesses! Well, they're not here, but they exist!"]
[The Grandmaster's projection continued its announcement, and now his tone shifted to something darker, more accusatory. The theatrical quality remained, but an edge of genuine anger had crept in. "That evil, evil, and decidedly charming Thor stole him! My champion! Just took him! Very rude! We had a contract and everything!"]
[Thor looked at the projection of The Grandmaster with rising irritation and a touch of anxiety. "Evil Thunder God Thor! Did he really just call me evil? Twice? And charming, which—actually that's fair. But we have to leave! Like, immediately! He's essentially put a bounty on our heads!"]
[The Grandmaster's voice took on a more cheerful, businesslike tone: "While we celebrate our lost champion, there's another mission available! If you're willing to accept it..." The implication was clear—he was offering a reward for their capture.]
[Banner stood there, still wrapped in Hulk's towel, trying to absorb everything at once. The information overload was becoming too much. "This is terrible! This... This is really terrible! Thor! I think I'm going to collapse!" His voice was rising toward panic. Two years gone. Trapped on an alien world. Hunted by its ruler. His hands came up to grip his head. "I can't—I don't—how did I even—"]
[Thor immediately sprang into action. He looked around frantically and spotted some discarded clothing on the floor near the back of the Quinjet—clothing that looked suspiciously Earth-made and expensive. He ran back, scooped up the garments, and rushed to Banner, practically shoving them into his hands.
"No! No! No! Don't collapse! You cannot collapse right now!" Thor's voice was firm but encouraging. "You're fine! You're going to be fine! We're going to figure this out! Put these on! Here you go! Quickly!"]
[Banner looked down at the clothes in his hands, his scientific mind noting details even through his panic. "These are Tony's clothes!" The fabric quality, the style, the sizing—definitely Stark's wardrobe.]
["I know! Believe me, I know! Long story! Let's go! Come on!" Thor didn't want to explain how he'd ended up with Tony's spare wardrobe. There were more pressing concerns—like escaping before Sakaar's entire population descended on their location.
Thor grabbed Banner's shoulders and physically turned him, then began pushing him forward toward the exit. The physicist stumbled slightly, still clutching Tony's clothes.
"No! He's not here! Tony's not here! Stay calm! Okay?" Thor kept up a steady stream of reassurance, still using that soothing voice. "The sun is about to set! The sun is about to set..." He continued the lullaby, hoping to keep Banner grounded and prevent him from hulking out again before they could reach safety.]