That was the truth of it.
Ben Parker genuinely didn't care how this universe's political situation resolved itself.
If Steve Rogers and his Hydra regime wanted to rule the world, that was honestly none of Ben's concern. No one could credibly argue that the world superheroes had originally inhabited was objectively better than what existed now.
Even if the people of this universe were dissatisfied with their government, rebellion was their responsibility, not his.
The reason Ben was targeting Hydra Steve had nothing to do with moral philosophy or political ideology.
It was because Steve had promised to evacuate Earth peacefully, then secretly mobilized military forces for a counterattack on Ben's home universe.
Simple cause and effect.
"Isn't it your own choice whether someone becomes an enemy or friend?" Ben's tone was conversational, almost bored.
The impostor Steve—the Hydra version—found himself speechless.
He couldn't construct a logical counter-argument, so he fell back on emotional rhetoric instead.
"No one would agree to abandon their home!" His voice rose with frustrated passion. "You expect us to wander the universe like homeless strays? Like refugees without dignity or purpose?"
"Stop being such a hypocrite, Ben Parker!"
The accusation echoed across the White House lawn.
"You're nothing but a self-proclaimed hero who seizes other people's homes while deceiving your own conscience! Pretending to be a savior when you're just another conqueror!"
Hydra Steve's cursing grew more heated, his composure finally cracking under the weight of his collapsing plans.
"Are you trying to make me feel guilty?" Ben countered, one eyebrow raised. His heart remained completely unmoved—he even felt a slight urge to yawn. "You're trying to attack my conscience?"
He shook his head with something approaching pity.
"You have far too high expectations for my moral standards, Steve Rogers."
"I told you from the very beginning—the choice is yours. The power to decide your fate belongs to you and your people. Now that you've made your choice, what else is there to discuss?"
Ben's expression remained neutral, almost clinical.
"As for conscience? That kind of abstract concept can't save anyone. It's just a comfortable delusion people use to avoid making hard decisions."
Hydra Steve fell silent for a long moment, his jaw working as he processed the words.
"...You're right," he finally admitted, the words seemingly torn from him.
A strange realization dawned in his eyes. Ben Parker and himself were actually more similar than he'd wanted to acknowledge.
"If we weren't enemies," Steve said slowly, "we might have a great deal in common."
But Ben shook his head firmly. "At least I wouldn't send troops to carpet-bomb civilians."
That simple statement hung in the air between them.
"That's the fundamental difference between us. I don't pretend to be a saint, Steve. My moral standards are admittedly flexible. But I certainly wouldn't sit at the same table as Hydra."
His eyes hardened.
"Not even your version of it."
The impostor Steve fell silent again, this truth cutting deeper than any previous argument.
In that moment, he finally understood that regardless of his justifications or reasoning, no one would genuinely agree with his methods. Yet the objective fact remained—he had made this world safer and more orderly by every measurable metric.
Crime was down. Mortality was down. Economic productivity was up.
But none of that mattered to these people.
"It seems further conversation is wasted breath," Steve said, his voice turning cold and final.
"Perfect. I'll simply eliminate you all."
His posture straightened, power radiating from his golden armor.
"Ben Parker, I know exactly where your confidence comes from. Those antimatter annihilation weapons capable of destroying planets are indeed formidable. You did destroy an Earth in another universe right under my nose."
He raised the Cosmic Cube high, its light blazing like a captured sun.
"But here? You can accomplish nothing!"
"Because the laws of the universe itself are in my hands!"
"I AM TRUTH!"
Steve snapped his fingers with theatrical arrogance, the gesture deliberately mimicking Thanos. His expression and manner reminded Ben uncomfortably of his own confrontation with the Mad Titan.
"I think the word 'reality' sounds more appropriate," Ben said dryly, crossing his arms. "But points for dramatic flair, I suppose."
He began offering commentary as if critiquing a stage performance.
Steve's expression froze.
How are you still alive?
In that single instant, Steve's enhanced mind raced through possibilities at superhuman speed. His thoughts leaped from the Big Bang to the evolution of primates, desperately searching for an explanation.
He racked his brain but couldn't comprehend why the Cosmic Cube wasn't working.
How?
Do these artifacts come in male and female versions too?
Natasha couldn't contain herself any longer. "Is it possible," she said with exaggerated patience, "that the Cube you're holding is fake?"
"Fake?" Steve sneered, his confidence reasserting itself.
"I personally oversaw the retrieval of every single fragment. My operatives gathered them piece by piece from across the globe."
His tone turned condescending.
"Do you honestly believe I wouldn't recognize whether it's genuine?"
"Then why doesn't it work?" Natasha shot back.
"Didn't you notice that absolutely nothing has changed since you supposedly obtained complete power?"
Tony covered his faceplate with one hand, his voice muffled. "I cannot believe I got beaten so badly by someone this stupid."
The realization crashed over Hydra Steve like a physical blow.
The sudden appearance of the real Steve Rogers and Ben Parker had distracted him from a critical fact—his previous wish using the Cube had also failed to manifest.
He spun around abruptly.
Vision and Dr. Zola stood behind him. Vision had captured the AI scientist, restraining him with casual ease.
"Sorry, Captain," Vision said, his synthesized voice carrying genuine regret. "I'm an undercover agent for the resistance. The fragment I brought you was a fake."
"Impossible!" The impostor shook his head frantically, denial written across his features.
"Even if your fragment was fake, the others were genuine! There's nothing the Cube cannot change! Even a tiny fragment can alter localized reality!"
His mind raced through the logic.
Having reached this conclusion, Hydra Steve's glare fixed on Ben with burning hatred.
"Ben Parker!"
"This is your doing again, isn't it?!"
"You've only just figured it out?" Ben shook his head with mock disappointment.
He reached into his jacket and withdrew the genuine Cosmic Cube.
From the outside, the two artifacts appeared nearly identical. But the real Cube possessed something fundamentally different.
The moment Ben revealed the genuine article, the core reactor in Hydra Steve's chest armor suddenly shattered like glass, fragments tinkling to the ground.
The golden armor lost its glow, becoming nothing more than ornate but powerless metal.
"All right, I'll leave this situation to you," Ben said, turning toward the assembled heroes.
He had no intention of handing the Cube over to this universe's heroes, nor did he plan to continue interfering in their internal conflicts.
"The antimatter annihilation weapon will activate in one hour. The rest is your problem to solve."
He waved his hand casually. The Cube's power rippled outward, summoning Looma and the other Plumbers to his location in bursts of blue-white light.
Then Ben snapped his fingers.
The sound echoed with finality.
He and his team vanished, leaving only a faint ozone smell where they'd stood.
Without the Cube's reality-warping power, Hydra Steve no longer posed a multiversal threat.
"Leave the rest to me," the real Steve Rogers said, turning to address his fellow Avengers.
"I have a personal score to settle with him. You should all assist with the civilian evacuation."
"Kick his ass hard for me!" Tony called out, already activating his flight systems.
He needed to return to Las Vegas quickly, get his body and ensure everyone made it onto the evacuation vessels.
At that moment, Miles descended from the sky, carrying something precious.
"Captain! You forgot this!"
He tossed the star-spangled shield through the air.
Steve caught it with practiced ease, the weight familiar and comforting in his hands. Having his oldest friend back—his real friend, not the Hydra impostor—filled him with nostalgic warmth.
He felt energy coursing through his body, eager to finally set things right.
"Surrender, Hydra," Steve said quietly.
"You want me to surrender?" The impostor shook himself, his golden armor falling away in pieces.
Without the Cube's power sustaining it, the suit had become nothing but dead weight—a burden rather than an advantage.
He faced his counterpart with absolute resolve burning in his eyes.
"Don't even think about it!"
"I can do this all day!"
Hydra Steve sprinted forward, closing the distance with superhuman speed. His fist arced toward the real Steve's face with devastating force.
Steve raised his shield to block. But the impostor grabbed the shield's edge instead, pushing upward with explosive strength before driving his knee toward Steve's midsection.
The real Steve saw it coming—he'd trained the same way, learned the same techniques. His own knee came up simultaneously.
CRACK!
Their knees collided with bone-jarring force. Both fighters grimaced at the identical impact, pulling back their legs.
Then, like mirror images, they simultaneously raised their opposite legs and kicked each other hard in the abdomen.
Both men flew backward, hitting the ground and rolling.
The shield tumbled away across the grass, forgotten for the moment.
The real Steve leaped up first, closing distance with a gymnastics-perfect side somersault. He transitioned mid-air, bending his body and executing a low aerial spin. His legs descended like a battle-axe toward his opponent's head.
The impostor rolled aside, the axe-kick cratering the ground where he'd been.
They grappled, trading holds and counter-holds with identical precision.
Every attack was met with the perfect defense. Every feint was recognized and countered.
What had started as superhuman combat devolved into an ugly, desperate wrestling match. They tumbled across the lawn, each trying to gain positional advantage.
"They were all taught by the same master," Tony observed over the comms, watching from high above. "Neither one can break through the other's technique!"
Their movements were too synchronized, their training too identical.
This wasn't going to be won through superior skill.
It would come down to will—which Steve Rogers wanted victory more.