The SHIELD research facility in upstate New York was having what could charitably be described as a difficult week, and what would more accurately be described as a complete and utter disaster of such magnitude that multiple personnel had submitted resignation letters and one senior scientist had been found in a supply closet muttering about "impossible energy signatures" and "physics doesn't work that way."
Director Nick Fury stood in the observation room overlooking Laboratory Seven, watching through reinforced glass as yet another attempt to reverse-engineer the unknown entity's technology resulted in a small explosion and the activation of the facility's fire suppression systems. The research team scattered, lab coats flapping, while automated systems contained the damage and began the cleanup protocols that had become depressingly routine over the past three weeks.
"That's the fourteenth failure," Agent Maria Hill reported from beside him, her tablet displaying a running tally of incidents that Fury found personally offensive. "We've gone through three complete sets of equipment, hospitalized two researchers with radiation burns from unknown energy types, and Dr. Chen has requested a transfer to the Antarctica monitoring station because, and I quote, 'at least the penguins make sense.'"
Fury did not respond immediately. He was too busy contemplating the various ways this situation had spiraled beyond acceptable parameters since the entity designated "Sylux" had first appeared in Manhattan and subsequently vanished before his agents could establish meaningful contact.
The energy readings from the fight at the Vargas compound had been the most comprehensive data they had managed to collect on the entity's capabilities, and that data had proven to be both invaluable and maddening. The weapon—the one that had been used to incapacitate Vargas's guards and, apparently, kill Vargas himself—operated on principles that their best scientists couldn't even properly categorize, let alone replicate.
"The energy drain effect," Dr. Morrison had explained during a briefing that had left Fury with more questions than answers, "doesn't correspond to any known form of energy transfer. It's not electrical, not thermal, not kinetic. It's more like... it's draining something fundamental. Life force, if you want to get metaphysical about it, though I hate using that terminology because it's not scientific."
"Then what is it?" Fury had demanded.
"I don't know. None of us know. The closest analogue we can find is some theoretical work on bio-electrical fields, but even that doesn't fully explain what we're seeing. Whatever technology this entity is using, it's not from Earth. It might not even be from this reality."
Not from this reality. Fury had filed that phrase away for future consideration, because the implications were significant and the Avengers Initiative had already established that threats could come from anywhere, including other dimensions and the spaces between worlds.
"Sir," Hill said, pulling him back to the present, "we've also received the analysis on the armor material recovered from the Vargas site."
"And?"
"It's not any metal or alloy in our databases. The molecular structure is... wrong, according to our materials scientists. The atoms are arranged in patterns that shouldn't be stable, but somehow they are. Dr. Patel theorized that it might be held together by some kind of energy field rather than conventional atomic bonds."
"Can we replicate it?"
"No. Every attempt to synthesize similar materials has resulted in immediate molecular breakdown. Whatever process created this substance, we can't reproduce it with current technology."
Fury turned away from the window, where the research team was regrouping for their fifteenth attempt at understanding technology that seemed determined to remain incomprehensible. "What about tracking? We know this thing operates in the New York area. We should be able to predict its movements."
"That's the problem, sir. It doesn't have predictable movements. It appears, completes whatever objective it's pursuing, and vanishes. No transportation we can detect, no base of operations we can identify, no pattern we can exploit. The only consistent factor is—"
"Spider-Woman."
"Yes, sir. She's been observed at multiple scenes where the entity has operated. We're not sure if she's working with it, tracking it, or simply showing up coincidentally, but the correlation is too strong to ignore."
Fury considered this. Spider-Woman—Spider-Gwen, as some reports identified her—was a relatively new player in the superhuman community, operating primarily in New York with a methodology that suggested heroic intent but limited experience. If she had established some kind of relationship with the entity, she might be the key to making contact.
"Bring her in," he said. "Politely. I want to have a conversation."
"And if she refuses?"
"Then we have a different kind of conversation. But start with polite."
The conversation, as it turned out, would have to wait.
Three hours later, a situation developed in downtown Manhattan that required immediate attention from anyone with the capability to provide it, and the entity designated Sylux was suddenly the least of Fury's concerns.
The Hulk was loose in the city.
Sylux became aware of the situation through his ship's monitoring systems, which had been passively tracking major incidents across the planet since his arrival. The alert that drew his attention was categorized as a Class Seven threat—the highest level his systems recognized—and the accompanying data painted a picture of escalating destruction that was already beyond the capability of conventional forces to address.
Dr. Bruce Banner had been in New York for reasons that the available intelligence didn't specify, and something had triggered a transformation that had caught everyone—including, apparently, Banner himself—off guard. The Hulk was currently rampaging through a commercial district, pursued by military assets that were accomplishing nothing beyond providing additional targets for the creature's rage.
Sylux observed the situation from orbit, watching through satellite feeds and sensor data as the destruction spread. His tactical assessment protocols were running calculations on potential intervention strategies, but the numbers were not encouraging. The Hulk represented a threat level that exceeded anything he had previously engaged, a being of seemingly unlimited strength and durability that had historically only been stopped through either calm negotiation or overwhelming force that even the entity itself couldn't withstand.
He did not have the capability for calm negotiation. He did not speak.
Overwhelming force, then.
He was in the process of calculating optimal engagement parameters when Spider-Gwen's voice crackled through a communication channel that he hadn't realized she had access to.
"Sylux! Sylux, are you seeing this? The Hulk is downtown and the Avengers are like twenty minutes out and the military is just making him angrier. Someone needs to do something!"
He looked at the communication panel, noting that she had apparently managed to hack into his ship's systems enough to establish a direct line. This should have been impossible—his technology was generations beyond anything Earth possessed—but he was learning that "impossible" was a relative term in this universe.
"I know you can hear me. Your weird silent thing doesn't work over radio because I can't see you brood at me. Are you going to help or not?"
He considered the question. The Hulk was not his responsibility. He had no contract on Bruce Banner, no obligation to intervene in situations that didn't directly affect his operations. Engaging with a threat of this magnitude was likely to result in significant damage to himself, reveal capabilities he had been keeping in reserve, and draw attention from parties he would prefer to avoid.
On the other hand, people were dying.
The satellite feeds showed civilians trapped in the destruction zone, emergency services unable to approach, military forces being systematically dismantled by a creature that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. Every minute he spent deliberating was a minute in which the death toll climbed higher.
His previous self—Marcus from Ohio, who had lived a life characterized by passivity and avoidance—would have found reasons not to act. Too dangerous, too public, too likely to result in consequences he couldn't control.
Sylux was not his previous self.
He initiated descent protocols and dropped toward the planet.
The Delano 7 screamed through the atmosphere at velocities that would have atomized conventional aircraft, its advanced systems managing heat and friction and the various other forces that made atmospheric entry so challenging for less sophisticated vessels. Sylux monitored the situation as he descended, updating his tactical picture and refining his approach strategy.
The Hulk was currently engaged with a tank column that had been deployed to contain him—a futile effort, as the creature was using the tanks themselves as weapons against their operators. His rampage was carving a path of destruction through the commercial district, leaving collapsed buildings and burning vehicles in his wake.
Sylux calculated an intercept trajectory and adjusted his approach.
He made planetfall three blocks ahead of the Hulk's current trajectory, the Delano 7 touching down in a plaza that had been evacuated by fleeing civilians. The ship's stealth systems engaged immediately upon landing, rendering it effectively invisible to observation, and Sylux disembarked to await his target.
He didn't have to wait long.
The Hulk came around a corner like a force of nature, which was essentially what he was—a manifestation of primal rage given physical form, muscles bulging with power that seemed to increase even as Sylux watched. The creature's eyes locked onto the new figure standing in his path, and his expression shifted from mindless fury to something that might have been curiosity.
"PUNY METAL MAN," the Hulk rumbled, his voice a bass thunder that Sylux felt in his chest even through his armor. "GET OUT OF HULK'S WAY."
Sylux did not move.
The Hulk's expression shifted again, curiosity becoming irritation becoming the precursor to violence. "HULK SAID MOVE."
No response. No movement. Just the silent, implacable presence of something that was not intimidated.
The Hulk charged.
Sylux had calculated that he would be unable to match the Hulk's raw physical power—the creature's strength had no apparent upper limit, scaling with his emotional state in ways that defied conventional physics. Direct confrontation was therefore inadvisable. Instead, he would need to use his advantages: speed, technology, and the element of surprise that came from capabilities the Hulk had never encountered.
He activated his movement systems and simply wasn't where the Hulk expected him to be.
The creature's fist pulverized the pavement where Sylux had been standing, creating a crater that would have been fatal for anything caught within it. But Sylux was already behind him, already moving, already preparing his counterattack.
The Shock Coil hummed to life.
He hadn't used it at full power since Vargas. He hadn't needed to—most targets were sufficiently affected by partial activation that escalation was unnecessary. But the Hulk was not most targets, and partial measures would likely accomplish nothing beyond making the creature angrier.
The beam connected with the Hulk's back, and Sylux felt the weapon begin to draw.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. The Hulk roared—not in rage this time, but in something that sounded remarkably like pain—and whirled to face his attacker. His movements were slower than they had been, less coordinated, as if some fundamental energy was being stripped away faster than his metabolism could replace it.
Sylux maintained the beam.
"WHAT... WHAT IS METAL MAN DOING? HULK FEELS... WEAK..."
The Shock Coil continued to drain. Energy flowed into Sylux's systems at a rate that exceeded anything he had previously experienced, his armor's capacitors filling with power that felt almost alive with the primal force it had been drawn from. His HUD displayed readings that climbed beyond any previous benchmarks, then beyond the display's ability to accurately represent them.
The Hulk fell to his knees.
"HULK... HULK IS STRONGEST..."
The transformation began to reverse. The massive green form shrank, muscles deflating, skin shifting from emerald to a more human tone. The rage that had powered the creature's rampage was being drained along with its physical energy, and without that rage, there was nothing to sustain the Hulk's manifestation.
When Sylux finally deactivated the Shock Coil, Bruce Banner was lying on the pavement where the Hulk had been, unconscious but alive, his chest rising and falling with the shallow breaths of complete exhaustion.
The silence that followed was profound.
Sylux stood over Banner's body, processing what had just happened. He had fought the Hulk. He had won. Not through superior strength—he didn't have superior strength, not compared to that—but through a weapon that could apparently drain the very essence of what made the Hulk the Hulk.
His energy reserves were at levels he hadn't known were possible. The power he had absorbed from Banner felt different from normal energy, more potent, more alive. His systems were still integrating it, finding ways to utilize the excess, and he could feel his armor's capabilities expanding in real time as the gamma-infused energy was processed and applied.
He should probably have felt something about this. Satisfaction at his victory. Concern about the implications. Something.
He felt nothing. Just the same cold efficiency that characterized all his operations now.
Spider-Gwen arrived approximately forty-five seconds after the fight concluded, swinging in from a nearby building and landing next to him with an expression that suggested she was having difficulty processing what she had just witnessed.
"Did you... did you just beat the Hulk? By yourself? In like two minutes?"
Sylux looked at her, then back at Banner's unconscious form.
"That's not possible. That's literally not possible. The Hulk is one of the most powerful beings on the planet. He's fought Thor. He's fought entire armies. And you just... what even was that weapon?"
She was doing the thigh thing again. He noted it with the same clinical detachment he noted everything else and filed it away as another data point in the ongoing mystery of her physiological responses to his attention.
The sound of approaching aircraft drew both their attention skyward. A quinjet was descending toward their position, bearing the distinctive markings of SHIELD, and Sylux's tactical assessment immediately began calculating extraction options.
"That's the cavalry," Spider-Gwen said. "Probably here to thank you for stopping the rampage. Or arrest you. With SHIELD it could go either way."
Sylux considered leaving. It would be easy—his ship was nearby, invisible, ready for immediate departure. He could be in orbit before the quinjet even finished landing.
But he was tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of operating from the shadows when the results of his actions were becoming impossible to conceal. Eventually he would need to establish some kind of relationship with the powers that controlled this world, and this seemed as good an opportunity as any.
He stayed.
The quinjet landed, and a team of agents emerged with the practiced efficiency of professionals who had done this many times before. At their head was a woman with red hair and a catsuit that looked like it had been designed for maximum mobility and intimidation in equal measure—Black Widow, his databases identified her, one of SHIELD's top operatives and a founding member of the Avengers Initiative.
She approached with a confidence that suggested she was either unaware of or unconcerned by the fact that he had just single-handedly defeated a being that most military forces couldn't even slow down.
"You're Sylux," she said. It wasn't a question.
He nodded once.
"Director Fury wants to have a conversation with you. In person. About your operations, your capabilities, and your intentions on this planet." Her eyes flicked to Spider-Gwen, and something in her expression shifted—a hardening, a cooling, something that his emotional processing couldn't quite categorize. "You can bring your... associate... if you want."
Spider-Gwen made a small indignant sound. "Associate? I'm not his associate. We're... I mean, we work together sometimes. Kind of. He doesn't actually acknowledge my existence most of the time, but—"
"We can discuss the nature of your relationship later," Black Widow interrupted, and there was definitely something in her tone now, something that sounded almost like jealousy, though that made no sense at all. Why would a SHIELD operative be jealous of Spider-Gwen's proximity to him? "For now, Director Fury is waiting."
Sylux considered his options. He could refuse, but that would likely result in conflict that would accomplish nothing beyond burning bridges he might eventually need. He could accept and walk into what might be a trap, but his capabilities had proven sufficient to extricate himself from difficult situations before.
He nodded again.
"Good. This way."
Black Widow turned and began walking toward the quinjet. As she passed Spider-Gwen, the two women exchanged a look that Sylux's limited social processing couldn't decode—something complex, something that involved subtext he wasn't equipped to interpret.
"Is she... is she glaring at me?" Spider-Gwen whispered as they followed. "Why is she glaring at me? I didn't do anything."
Sylux had no answer to this question, which was fortunate since he wouldn't have provided one even if he did.
The quinjet's interior was utilitarian and efficient, designed for transport rather than comfort. Sylux settled into a seat that was clearly not designed for someone of his size and armor configuration, and found that he didn't care about the discomfort because his armor's systems made such considerations irrelevant.
Spider-Gwen sat across from him, maintaining a nervous energy that manifested in constant small movements and occasional glances toward Black Widow, who had positioned herself at the front of the passenger compartment with a clear sightline to both of them.
"So," Spider-Gwen said, filling the silence as she always did, "this is new. Usually I'm the one being interrogated by SHIELD, not invited onto fancy jets. Is this what happens when you're useful enough? They start treating you like a person instead of a threat?"
Black Widow's expression didn't change. "Usefulness is certainly a factor."
"Cool. Cool cool cool. Very reassuring."
The flight to the SHIELD facility took approximately twenty minutes, during which Spider-Gwen maintained a running commentary that no one responded to, Black Widow continued watching them with an intensity that felt personal rather than professional, and Sylux sat in complete silence while his systems analyzed everything they could detect about the aircraft and its destination.
The facility itself was impressive—a sprawling complex of buildings and infrastructure that represented significant investment in security and technology. His sensors detected multiple layers of defense: automated weapons, energy shields, surveillance systems, and the distinctive signatures of personnel equipped with advanced equipment.
They would not have been able to hold him if he decided to leave. But he was choosing to stay, at least for now.
Director Fury was waiting in a conference room that had been cleared of all personnel except himself. He was exactly as the files described: tall, dark-skinned, eyepatch lending him an air of menace that was probably entirely intentional. His single visible eye assessed Sylux with the calculating gaze of someone who had spent decades evaluating threats and assets.
"Sylux," he said. "If that's actually your name and not just something you write in the air because you're committed to this whole silent mystery thing."
Sylux didn't respond.
"Yeah, I figured." Fury gestured to a chair that was almost large enough to accommodate his armored form. "Sit down. We have things to discuss."
He sat. Spider-Gwen hovered near the door, apparently uncertain whether she was invited to participate in this meeting or expected to wait outside. Black Widow resolved the ambiguity by positioning herself beside the door in a way that effectively blocked the younger woman from leaving.
"Let me be direct," Fury said, settling into his own chair with the casual authority of someone accustomed to commanding rooms. "You appeared in my city three months ago. Since then, you've eliminated seventeen known criminals, disrupted four major trafficking operations, and just defeated the Hulk in under two minutes. My people have been trying to reverse-engineer even a fraction of your technology and have accomplished nothing beyond several small explosions and one researcher's nervous breakdown."
He leaned forward, eye fixed on Sylux's visor.
"I want to know what you are, where you come from, and what your intentions are. And I want to know why, despite having the power to do essentially whatever you want, you've chosen to spend your time hunting human traffickers instead of conquering small countries or whatever else someone with your capabilities might decide to do."
Sylux considered how to answer these questions without speaking. The holographic projection from his gauntlet might work, but constructing a narrative complex enough to satisfy Fury would require more precision than that method allowed.
Instead, he raised his arm and interfaced with the room's display systems—his armor cutting through SHIELD's security protocols with the same contemptuous ease it had displayed everywhere else—and projected a series of images that told a story he had constructed for exactly this situation.
Not the truth. The truth was absurd, unbelievable, and would raise more questions than it answered. He couldn't tell them he had been reincarnated from another universe into the body of a video game character, because that would make him sound insane and would probably result in involuntary commitment to some kind of research facility.
Instead, he told them a simpler story: an alien bounty hunter, stranded on Earth by circumstances he couldn't fully explain, operating within their society because he needed resources and because his professional ethics compelled him to hunt those who deserved hunting. He showed them images of his ship, his weapons, his capabilities—edited to reveal enough to satisfy curiosity without exposing everything.
Fury watched the presentation in silence, his expression unreadable.
When it concluded, he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
"An alien bounty hunter," he said. "With technology we can't understand or replicate. Operating on our planet without authorization. Killing people, sometimes."
Sylux nodded.
"And you expect me to believe that you have no agenda beyond 'hunting bad guys for money.'"
Another nod.
"You're either the universe's most dangerous mercenary or the strangest vigilante I've ever encountered." Fury paused. "Probably both."
He stood, walking to the window that overlooked the facility's grounds.
"I should detain you. Study you. Figure out exactly what you're capable of and whether you represent a threat to this planet." He turned back, eye meeting visor. "But you just saved downtown Manhattan from the Hulk, and my people tell me that the criminals you've eliminated were all genuinely terrible human beings who had escaped justice through conventional means."
"He's not a bad guy," Spider-Gwen said from the doorway, apparently unable to contain herself any longer. "I've been watching him for months. He's never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, and he could have, like, easily. He could have killed me the first time we met if he wanted to. He's just... silent. And kind of scary. But not evil."
Fury looked at her, then at Black Widow, then back at Sylux.
"You have a defender, it seems." His tone suggested he found this mildly amusing. "Fine. Here's what's going to happen: you're going to continue your operations, because I can't stop you and trying would be counterproductive. But you're going to check in. Regularly. You're going to share information about targets who might be relevant to SHIELD's interests. And you're going to be available when I call, because situations like today are going to happen again and having someone who can put down the Hulk might be useful."
Sylux considered the terms. They were reasonable, as far as restrictions went. Checking in would be annoying, but not impossible. Sharing information was trivial. Being available for major threats... that might actually be acceptable, depending on the nature of those threats.
He nodded.
"Good. We have an understanding." Fury returned to his seat. "Now, about your technology. My scientists are very interested in—"
Sylux held up one hand in a gesture that clearly communicated "no."
"You're not going to share?"
A shake of his head.
"Not even the basics?"
Nothing.
Fury sighed. "Worth a shot. Fine. Keep your secrets. Just don't use them against the people I'm trying to protect."
The meeting concluded shortly thereafter, with Fury providing contact information for future check-ins and extracting a promise—communicated through nods and gestures—that Sylux would respond when called upon for significant threats.
As they left the conference room, Spider-Gwen fell into step beside him with the casual familiarity that had characterized their relationship from the beginning.
"So that went well, I think. No one got shot, no one got arrested, and now you're like, officially sanctioned or whatever. Does this mean I can stop pretending I'm not following you around everywhere?"
He looked at her.
She did the thigh thing.
"That's not an answer, but I'm going to interpret it as a yes."
Behind them, Black Widow watched their interaction with an expression that Sylux still couldn't properly categorize. There was something happening there, something he didn't understand, something that his limited emotional processing couldn't decode.
He filed it away as another mystery to be solved later, along with the thigh thing and the question of why humans seemed to behave so irrationally around him.
The quinjet took them back to Manhattan, where his ship was waiting in the plaza he had left it. As he walked toward the invisible vessel, Spider-Gwen's voice followed him.
"Hey, Sylux?"
He paused.
"Thanks. For stopping the Hulk. For not being the bad guy everyone thinks you might be. For... I don't know. Being someone I can follow around without feeling like I'm wasting my time."
He turned his head slightly to look at her.
She was smiling behind her mask—he could tell from the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.
He nodded once, acknowledging her words, and then stepped into his ship and lifted off into the sky.
Below him, Spider-Gwen watched him go.
Above him, the stars waited.
And somewhere in his memory, Marcus from Ohio wondered when his life had become this strange and whether he would ever get used to it.
He suspected the answer was no.
But that was okay. Normal had never really suited him anyway.