"Mr. Bench, I have isolated the exact mechanism Spider-Man utilized to defeat you."
Arnim Zola's metallic, synthesized voice echoed through the damp concrete of the underground Hydra bunker. His face—projected in harsh green monochrome across the massive screen embedded in the torso of his robotic body—twisted into a grotesque imitation of a smile.
"He introduced a highly volatile, high-energy catalyst into the water you actively controlled. Combined with his own bio-electric output, the particles diffused rapidly, triggering localized electrolysis. A brilliantly brutal application of basic chemistry. I wonder if the boy engineered it himself, or if a superior intellect guided his hand."
Standing in the center of the laboratory, Hydro-Man quietly exhaled.
Relief washed over Bench's liquid form. Zola was just dissecting the combat footage. The Nazi supercomputer hadn't discovered his secret rooftop rendezvous with Spider-Man. His defection to S.H.I.E.L.D. was still secure.
Bench shifted his weight, forcing a confident smirk. "Right. Good to know. So, what's the countermeasure, Dr. Zola?"
"The solution is remarkably simple," Zola chirped, the mechanical servos in his neck whirring as his camera-eye tilted down. "You simply avoid using water. Since water is the prerequisite for explosive electrolysis, removing it from the equation removes the vulnerability."
Bench frowned. The water circling his ankles slowed its rotation. "If I don't use water, what exactly am I supposed to use?"
"The answer is that you are no longer required, Mr. Bench," Zola said, the synthetic cheerfulness dropping from his voice like a stone. "Did you honestly believe your pathetic little negotiation went unnoticed? Hydra monitors ambient humidity fluctuations in a three-mile radius around Spider-Man. Do you really think we couldn't detect a localized, sentient column of condensation communicating with him on a Venetian rooftop?"
Bench froze.
"Your every move belongs to Hydra, Mr. Bench."
"Wait! I can explain!" Bench yelled, his watery form vibrating with sudden, chaotic panic. Zola didn't interrupt. He just stared. Bench's mind raced, desperately searching for a lifeline. "It's a double-cross! Spider-Man, S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers—they all completely bought it! They think I'm defecting! This is our chance, Zola! We can feed them bad intel, walk them right into a trap, and take out the whole team!"
Bench's voice cracked. He stopped talking.
Zola was watching him with cold, clinical mockery. He looked at Bench the way a scientist looks at a lab rat scrambling blindly through a maze. Bench didn't possess a biological heart anymore, but he felt an icy, phantom terror grip his chest. He tried to swallow, but his throat was completely dry.
"Mr. Bench, I am entirely satisfied with the brief service you provided us, and I find the termination of our contract highly regrettable," Zola said. His screen flickered, displaying a pixelated frown. "Under different circumstances, you might have secured a lucrative position in Hydra's grand blueprint for this world. Alas, you lack vision."
Zola's robotic chassis took a heavy, grinding step forward. "Hydra is infinitely larger than you comprehend. We have looked through the multiverse itself. We have seen the future, and Hydra prevails. We will crush the heroes, execute our enemies, and partition this globe."
Zola let out a harsh, static sigh. "There is no room in that future for a traitor."
A blinding, violent green flame erupted from the floor grates.
It wasn't standard fire. It was pure, highly concentrated magical energy. Bench didn't even have time to scream. The curse ignited his spiritual essence, tearing through his liquid body with ravenous hunger. Within three seconds, the "indestructible" Hydro-Man was entirely vaporized. There wasn't even a trace of steam left behind.
In the corner of the laboratory, Flint Marko watched in absolute silence.
Sandman didn't move a single grain of dirt. He had kept his mouth shut about Bench's defection plan, refusing to participate. Watching the green fire consume his former partner, Marko felt a crushing wave of relief. He had made the right call.
Zola's heavy chassis rotated. The camera lens zoomed in on the shadows.
"Mr. Flint Marko," Zola hummed. "Or should I refer to you by your birth name, Mr. William Baker?"
Marko's jaw tightened. He stepped into the light, his massive fists clenched at his sides.
"Hydra is exceedingly generous to its friends, Mr. Baker," Zola said smoothly. "But we are absolute toward our enemies. Mr. Bench chose poorly. So, I pose the question to you: are you an enemy, or a friend?"
Marko swallowed hard. The granular sand around his boots shifted nervously. "What do you need me to do?"
"You are deploying to London," Zola ordered. "If Spider-Man somehow survives our operation in Budapest... you will bury him."
Halfway across the continent, Peter sat in the corner of a secured hotel room. He had finished his rooftop performance, slipping back through the window without tripping the hallway patrols. Nick Fury sat in the armchair opposite him.
Fury didn't speak immediately. He sat in silence, aggressively rotating the colored rows of a Rubik's Cube. Click. Click. Click.
"So," Peter said, pulling his mask off. "How does this end?"
"There are three distinct tactical scenarios," Fury rumbled, not looking up from the puzzle in his hands. "Scenario One: Hydra's surveillance net is garbage, and they didn't catch Hydro-Man talking to you. In that case, we reel him and Sandman in. We throw them in a deep hole. They become living, breathing evidence that Hydra is operating a biological weapons program on European soil."
"Why do we need them for that?" Peter asked. "We literally just caught the Winter Soldier."
"The Winter Soldier is a ghost," Fury corrected, snapping a red row into place. "On paper, he's a highly classified, cybernetically enhanced Soviet asset. He doesn't prove Hydra exists; he just proves the Cold War got messy. Hydra's entire foundational doctrine is plausible deniability. They wear different uniforms and shout 'we aren't Hydra.' A walking water-monster built in an underground lab is undeniable physical proof."
Fury rotated the cube again. "Scenario Two: Hydra caught the conversation and they're using Bench as bait. They think they can counter-ambush us during the hand-off. I welcome this scenario, because S.H.I.E.L.D. never intended to honor Bench's ridiculous plea deal anyway. We just show up with heavy artillery and bag the lot of them."
Peter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And Scenario Three?"
"Scenario Three," Fury said, finally looking up, his single eye locking onto Peter. "Hydra detects the breach, realizes the asset is compromised, and instantly vaporizes him."
Peter's stomach dropped. "They cut off the tail to save the body."
"Exactly," Fury nodded grimly. "If they cut contact, it means Hydra isn't just surviving on bureaucratic inertia. It means they possess a centralized, high-level command structure that is entirely willing to execute its own multi-million-dollar assets the second they become a liability. It means we're dealing with leadership on par with the Red Skull."
The silence in the room stretched out.
Peter glanced at his burner phone resting on the desk. He had told Hydro-Man to wait for a follow-up signal to arrange the extraction. The phone remained completely dead.
Nick Fury set the Rubik's Cube on the table. It was perfectly solved.
"He's not calling back," Fury stated.
The worst-case scenario was reality. The Elementals were burning. The board was cleared. The final stage was officially set for Budapest.