"It would be great if someone could come out and subdue them both," Coulson said, watching destruction spread in every direction. He sighed into the comms to Nick Fury.
Fury sounded tired on the other end. "I know." He rubbed his forehead. "Why is it I can't recruit one decent super yet? We're stuck relying on agents to watch from the sidelines."
As if on cue, two faint cracks of displaced air split the sky. No one noticed them at first—until the action below demanded it.
Behind a ruined façade, a blonde woman in a white miniskirt crouched behind a broken pillar, trembling. She'd been trapped by rubble and had no time to flee.
Abomination—Emil Blonsky—grabbed a mangled car and hurled it like a missile at the Hulk. Hulk batted the wreck away, but the flaming shell arced toward the helpless woman.
"Get out!" people shouted.
At that exact moment two red energy beams cut down from the sky and struck the flaming car mid-flight. It detonated into a fireball that dissolved before it could reach the woman.
A massive concrete slab, knocked loose by the monsters' collision, came whistling down.
A golden-red figure fell through the smoke and slammed a palm into the slab. He held it steady. The ground under his boots cracked from the force, but he didn't budge.
"Bang!" The impact sent a pressure wave that rattled windows for blocks. The golden-red man tossed the slab aside and opened his visor with a grin.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Iron Man has arrived. Looks like I missed a very lively demolition party."
Tony Stark, in all his showy, smirking glory, flashed a wink at the stunned woman. "Don't be afraid. You're safe."
She stared, speechless. Tony didn't wait for thanks. He scanned the battlefield, scowled, and threw a dig at the two behemoths.
"You two, could you at least care about the city's appearance? You've turned this block into a garbage dump. Are you making me do all the hero work?"
"Henry! You bastard! What are you waiting for?" he shouted into the empty sky. "Come down and give me some competition!"
A disdainful voice answered from above. "I'm on my way. You and I have different aesthetics—technology versus art. Patience."
A black streak slammed into the fight—Henry, accelerating like a comet. He didn't bother with a theatrical landing; he cut across Abomination's trajectory and landed a devastating uppercut as the creature prepared a killing blow.
The Abomination flew like a missile, struck a heavy truck, and dented it into scrap. The street fell silent for a beat.
"Tsk. Pathetic," Henry said, hovering above the wreckage and looking down at the smoking pile. "Honestly, military-grade junk needs quality control."
Hulk, stunned by the sudden removal of his opponent, turned to face Henry. Henry couldn't resist a jab.
"And you," he said, pointing at Hulk, "green doesn't suit you. All mass, no lines. Zero aesthetics. Very disappointing."
Hulk didn't parse the critique. He only parsed provocation. He roared and charged like a green tank. A fist the size of a dumpster whistled toward Henry.
Henry didn't dodge. He barely moved—then snapped his leg into a whip kick that struck Hulk's waist. Hulk tumbled, rolled across the pavement, and skidded to a stop.
The crowd breathed as one.
Henry dropped into a classic superhero pose—one knee, fist on the ground—and punched the pavement. The shockwave snapped out in a visible ring. Several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and General Ross's troops, who had just clambered up, were blown off their feet and tumbled, helmets and earpieces flying.
Henry rose and shrugged, grinning like a man apologizing for a minor inconvenience. "Sorry. Power issues. Happens."
Then he called up at Ross's helicopter. "Hey, Ross! Your Hulkbuster budget really needs work. Those barricades? Cute. Cookie could chew through them."
In the chopper, Ross's jaw tightened. He wanted to fire but stopped himself. Publicly confronting Stark risked a political and procurement firestorm. "Repeat—no attacking the Stark brothers," he barked, clenching the radio.
Henry floated over to where Coulson was dusting himself off. "Agent Coulson, long time. Your hairline looks like it moved back a fraction. Consider a transplant—20% discount."
Coulson smoothed his rumpled suit and offered a small, wry smile. "Welcome back, Mr. Henry. Good to see you."