MIDTOWN MANHATTAN – SIXTH AVENUE (SECRET SHIELD BASE)
As the sun set, painting the skyline in hues of orange and crimson, Thor sensed a familiar surge—a ripple in the air, like the approach of a storm. He turned to Hill, Natasha, and Clint, who had returned with coffee and sandwiches, their casual chatter cutting short. "My father is approaching," Thor said, his voice grave.
Hill's eyes widened. "Odin? Here? How—"
Before she could finish, a flash of golden light erupted, illuminating the room like a sunrise. Odin materialized, standing tall at 6'9", his armored form radiating ancient power. His single eye gleamed with wisdom and authority, his white beard flowing over golden plate, Gungnir—his spear—in hand. The air hummed with his presence, a divine weight that pressed down like an unseen ocean, making the agents shift uneasily.
Hill and the others stared, shock rippling through them. "That's… Odin?" Clint whispered, his sandwich forgotten as he looked up at the massive figure standing right in front of him. Just being before such a being made Clint feel like an ant that could be crushed by the sheer pressure that suddenly fell on him.
Natasha's hand hovered near her weapon, instinctive caution warring with awe. *This feeling—it's like I'm standing before an ocean,* she thought, her eyes never leaving the towering figure in front of her.
Selvig, from his cell, pressed against the glass, staring at the towering figure who had just appeared.
Odin's gaze swept the room, lingering on the artifacts. A flicker flashed in his single eye as he observed the two encased objects closely. "My son," he said, his voice a deep resonance that echoed in their bones. "The Tesseract and scepter—they cannot remain on Midgard."
Thor bowed his head slightly. "Father, your arrival is timely. Loki has fled, but the Midgardians propose we safeguard these relics on Asgard."
Odin nodded, his expression unreadable. "Wise. But there is more—I sense another here on Midgard with the blood of the Aesir. A child of my line, bearing Asgard's mark."
Thor's expression shifted. "Ben Tennyson… he possesses the ability of a changeling, transforming into creatures with unique abilities of their own. Creatures I have never seen throughout my many travels."
Hill then stepped forward, her voice steady despite the awe. "Odin, if I may—your presence here… it's an honor. But if Loki returns, we need to know: will you give justice to the lives he's taken?"
Odin's eye fixed on her, a faint smile touching his lips. "Mortals have grown bold. However, I cannot allow his actions to go unpunished. Prepare yourselves, for he will test you again."
The room fell silent, Odin's words hanging in the air like a prophecy, as the All-Father's gaze turned toward the horizon—where Ben, still as Wildmutt, raced across the city, unaware of the divine eyes upon him.
...
Odin watched Ben closely, trying to peer through his origins and the source of his unique abilities. However, strangely, Odin couldn't see past a certain point in Ben's life. This wasn't too shocking, as there were certain artifacts and beings that made it impossible for even him to deduce. However, at the very least, he now knew where Tennyson's power came from, which was quite interesting.
Odin then focused on the Omnitrix embedded on Wildmutt's chest, trying to figure out its secrets. However, Odin found it hard to understand the exact mechanism of how it functioned. But, based on what he could see, the device seemed to be a piece of high-level technology, with no divine or mystical enchantments. *I wonder how it compares to the others I've encountered.*
Odin mused to himself. He'd come across various pieces of artifacts and technological tools throughout his lifetime, mainly during the times he fought the Celestials. Some of which could even be confused for magical artifacts.
Hill and the others just kept staring at each other, wondering what to do now. However, just as they were at a loss, Odin finally spoke up once again after looking out into the distance without saying a word, as if he was studying something interesting.
"Thor, your mother is on her way. Prepare to welcome her; once she arrives, I shall immediately return to Asgard," Odin said, before turning Gungnir toward the containers holding Loki's scepter and the Tesseract. He fired a golden beam of light toward the crates. Surprising everyone, however, instead of the expected explosion from the collision, a golden dome appeared instead.
"I have other matters to attend to," Odin said to his son before disappearing in front of everyone's eyes just as he had appeared. Hill, Natasha, and Clint, as well as the other agents in the room, all had different expressions on their faces at this—whether it was the sudden appearance of Odin or the pressure they all felt in his presence.
"Deputy Director Hill, we urgently require your presence in the lab," At this moment, Hill's comms interrupted her train of thought swirling in her mind. "Be right there," she replied simply before nodding to the others in the room and leaving.
Elsewhere, Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, New York City. Odin suddenly appeared in front of a three-story, Victorian-era brownstone townhouse with a Mansard roof and distinct French Baroque architecture, with a circular window at the top. Odin looked up at the building, no longer in his armor but dressed in a black tux with a white shirt, no longer radiating an intimidating aura. And now standing at a respectable 6 foot 2 and holding a cane in his hand. Odin knocked once, the sound echoing with intent. The door opened, revealing the Ancient One, her bald head and serene demeanor unchanged, her robes flowing like liquid starlight.
"Odin," she greeted, her voice calm but warm, gesturing to a low table set with tea. "It's been centuries, old friend."
SECRET SHIELD BASE – UNDERGROUND LAB, MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
Hill strode into the sterile lab, her boots echoing on the polished floor, the air heavy with the hum of machinery and the faint, metallic tang of Chitauri ichor. Under harsh fluorescent lights, Bruce Banner and his team of SHIELD scientists worked with focused intensity around examination tables, where dissected Chitauri corpses lay under shimmering containment fields. Their chitinous shells were cracked open, revealing biomechanical organs that pulsed faintly, even in death. Dr. Reyes, the lead scientist, adjusted a microscope, while Dr. Patel input data into a console, graphs spiking erratically. The third scientist, a nervous young man named Carter, fidgeted with a vial of blue fluid, stealing glances at Bruce as if expecting the Hulk to emerge.
Hill's tablet glowed with incoming reports, but her attention fixed on Bruce. "Banner, what's the situation?"
Bruce looked up from an electron microscope, his glasses reflecting the screen's data. "It's bad, Hill. These Chitauri aren't just soldiers—they're walking bioweapons. We found viral particles embedded in their neural tissue, a hybrid of organic and synthetic. It's not airborne, thank God, but it's designed to infect hosts through contact, weakening them over days—maybe organ failure, maybe worse. Adaptive, too—it might evolve to target our biology."
Hill's brow furrowed. "Will the quarantine be enough?"
"For now," Bruce said, gesturing to a centrifuge spinning samples. "Hazmat teams are sealing corpses across the city, but if any live samples are mishandled, this could spread through rescue zones. We need a counteragent—fast."
Reyes chimed in, his voice steady but strained. "The virus seems tied to their hive mind tech—when the mothership went down, it went dormant. But any live samples could reactivate under the right conditions."
Hill nodded, her mind racing. "I'm calling Fury. Keep working—prioritize that counteragent." She tapped her earpiece, stepping into a quieter corner of the lab. "Director, it's Hill. Banner's team found a Chitauri virus—contact-based, adaptive, could be catastrophic. We need more brainpower on this. Tennyson and Stark are on search and rescue—should I pull them?"
Fury's voice crackled through, gruff and decisive. "Do it. We can't risk a viral epidemic—Tennyson's abilities might give us an edge on the biotech angle. Stark's got the best tech outside SHIELD. Get them to the base, now. And keep those corpses locked down. Increase contamination protocols on the city until we get an antidote."
"Understood," Hill replied, cutting the call. She turned back to Bruce. "Fury wants Ben and Tony here. Update me every hour."
Bruce nodded, already back at the microscope. "We'll do what we can."
MIDTOWN MANHATTAN – RESCUE EFFORTS
Ben, still transformed as Wildmutt, swung ape-like across a collapsed scaffold on Park Avenue, his prehensile front paws gripping twisted metal as he propelled his orange-furred, 6'4" frame forward. His head tilted, gill-like nostrils flaring to catch scents of sweat and blood beneath the rubble. His whisker-like spines quivered, sensing vibrations of trapped survivors. With a powerful leap, he landed on all fours, his sharp claws rending concrete to unearth a pinned civilian, his strong bite force dragging debris aside.
"Got another one!" a firefighter shouted, rushing in as Ben growled softly, his enhanced durability shrugging off falling shards. The city, under strict quarantine, buzzed with national guard patrols and hazmat teams sealing Chitauri corpses into biohazard containers, their fluids hissing on the pavement.
Steve Rogers heaved a steel beam off a trapped teenager, his shield propped nearby, his super-soldier strength steady under the strain. "Stay calm—you're safe," he assured, helping the boy to a stretcher as hazmat-suited medics checked for contamination. A national guard sergeant nodded.
Steve's eyes scanned the cordoned-off streets, his focus unbroken despite the weight of Loki's escape.
Tony hovered above Broadway, his suit's HUD scanning for structural weaknesses. He fired precise repulsor bursts to stabilize a teetering wall, guiding rescuers to trapped survivors. "Ground floor, eight civilians—move!" he directed, his arc reactor a beacon in the dusk. A hazmat team leader saluted.
Hill's voice crackled through the comms, "Tennyson, Stark—orders from Fury. Report to the base immediately. Lab needs you."
Tony, hovering in the air, replied quickly, "On our way." Ben, reverting to his human form in a flash of green light—his Omnitrix still charged for another ten minutes—jogged toward a SHIELD transport. Tony descended, his suit clanking. "Let's move—sounds like Banner's got a problem."
### **BLEECKER STREET – SANCTUM SANCTORUM**
They sat in the Sanctum's library, shelves lined with tomes that hummed with arcane power. Odin held a large glass of beer in his hand, his single eye studying her. "You've changed, Ancient One. The dark arts have left their mark."
The Ancient One's lips curved faintly. "A side effect of necessity. I don't mind leaving Midgard in your care if need be. I've peered into futures to protect this realm, as you entrusted me to do when you deemed me worthy. But I've grown weary, Odin. I seek a successor—someone with the talent to wield this power."
Odin scoffed, setting his cup down. "You rely heavily on the Time Stone, old friend. The future is ever-shifting, a tapestry of choices. I, too, sought to avert prophecy—Ragnarök's shadow looms over Asgard as a sure certainty. In trying to prevent it, I wove its threads tighter. Trust in your strength, not a relic's visions."
The Ancient One didn't disagree, her eyes glinting with understanding. She shifted the topic. "You're here for Ben Tennyson. His sudden appearance on Midgard, his ability to take an Asgardian form—it intrigues you."
Odin's expression grew solemn. "We've faced shapeshifters, but none who could replicate the power of an Aesir exactly, merely mimicking certain points but our powers' true essence remains untainted. Let alone my bloodline. My sight pierced his past, yet it stops at a point—he appeared on Midgard as if from nowhere. His device is technology beyond even the Celestials' artifacts I've encountered in the past."
The Ancient One's eyes sparkled with amusement. "His arrival is strange, yes, but a boon. A protector with such power could shield this realm. Tell me, All-Father, how will you treat this boy?"
Odin's gaze hardened. "I would let him be—his path is his own. But Frigga…" He paused, his voice softening. But he didn't continue, remaining silent. The Ancient One also didn't press.
Nodding, her expression thoughtful. "Then let us guide him, as we once guided this world together—against Dormammu, against threats unseen. His power is a gift, but his heart will decide its use."
Odin's eye gleamed. "Agreed. But first, we must discuss the two more Infinity Gems on Midgard—four if we include all the Nine Realms."
Ancient One took a sip of her tea, nodding her head, expression becoming serious. "True, I have foreseen this, but using the Time Gem, any intervention on my end leads to the arrival of the world's and universe's destruction."
Odin's brow furrowed, but he wasn't quick to rebut his old friend's words, carefully considering all options. Having so many Infinity Gems so close together was a recipe for disaster.
"I'm more inclined to keeping the Space Gem in Asgard's vaults—the ability to transport armies anywhere across the known universe is frightening. As for the Mind Gem, I'll need Frigga to find somewhere outside the Nine Realms to hide it," Odin said after careful consideration.
"A good decision, however, I can't help but worry that you seek to go on another war campaign," she questioned, with a cheeky smirk.
Odin just snorted at the assumption, however, given his own history, didn't retort and took a big gulp of his beer.
BACK WITH BEN AND TONY
SECRET SHIELD BASE – UNDERGROUND BUNKER, MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
Ben and Tony hurried through the labyrinthine corridors of the temporary SHIELD base, their footsteps echoing off the reinforced concrete walls like distant thunder. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting stark shadows that danced with every stride. Flanked by a squad of armed SHIELD agents—rifles slung low, faces etched with the day's exhaustion—the two heroes moved with purpose, the air thick with the sterile scent of recycled oxygen and faint traces of Chitauri ichor from decontamination protocols. The streets above were a grim mosaic of quarantine zones, Chitauri corpses littering the pavement like fallen sentinels, their lifeless husks sealed by hazmat teams to prevent any unseen horrors from spilling into the city's veins.
Ben, still fully suited up, flexed his fractured right arm experimentally, the swelling a dull throb under his makeshift sling. His tactical suit was caked in dust and blood, a patchwork of the battle's scars. Tony, out of his armor, walked with his hands in his pockets, his arc reactor glowing steadily through his long-sleeved shirt like a captured star.
They reached the end of the corridor, where Hill waited, arms crossed, her expression a mask of controlled urgency. The agents peeled off, leaving the three in a tense huddle under the harsh light.
"What's the problem?" Ben asked, his voice low but edged with mental fatigue. The Omnitrix always reset him to peak condition in human form, so physical exhaustion wasn't an issue—he could run marathons without breaking a sweat—but the day's endless crises were grinding down his resolve.
Hill's eyes flicked between them, her voice clipped and efficient. "Well, besides Thor's dad making a surprise visit, Banner's team found a Chitauri virus—contact-based, adaptive, embedded in their corpses. It's not airborne, which is a small mercy, but it spreads through fluids or tissue contact. Dormant for now, but if it wakes up, it could weaken human cells over days—think gradual organ failure, immune collapse, the works."
Ben and Tony stopped mid-stride at Hill's words. "Wait—Odin is here?" Ben asked, surprise flashing across his face, a creeping unease stirring in his chest.
"He was—disappeared just as suddenly as he arrived," Hill said, turning to lead them down a side passage. "But that's not the priority now. The virus is a hybrid nightmare: part organic, like a flu virus that hijacks cells, part synthetic, like a computer program that rewrites itself to dodge defenses. Quarantine's holding—for now. But we need every brain we can get. Tennyson, your Omnitrix has alien biotech; it could scan for weaknesses we can't see. Stark, your tech can model a counteragent. Lab's this way—move."
"Right, like we can be sure it hasn't already started," Tony interjected, his tone dry but his eyes betraying real concern. "Those hazmat teams are wading through alien soup out there—Chitauri husks leaking fluids all over the place, rodents and birds scavenging. One wrong contact, and it's in the ecosystem."
"That's why we need to act fast before things get out of control," Ben replied, shaking off the shock of Odin's visit. He knew time was their worst enemy here; back on his Earth, he'd seen outbreaks turn cities into ghost towns in days. "And that's why you called us?"
"Exactly," Hill said, swiping her tablet to pull up schematics as they walked. "Quarantine's holding—for now. But we need every brain we can get."
"Like today wasn't long enough," Tony muttered, glancing at Ben with a rare gravity in his tone. "Let's crack this before New York turns into a petri dish."
Ben nodded, falling in step as Hill led them through a reinforced door. The bunker's hum grew louder, the air cooler and sharper with the tang of chemicals and alien decay. The lab door hissed open, revealing Bruce hunched over a microscope, graphs flickering on screens like erratic heartbeats. Chitauri samples—cracked exoskeletons, viscous fluids in sealed vials—lined the tables under shimmering containment fields, a macabre gallery of the battle's remnants. Three SHIELD scientists worked alongside him: Dr. Reyes, the lead, peering at a centrifuge; Dr. Patel, typing furiously at a console; and Dr. Carter, a young biologist, handling a pipette with careful precision, his hands steady despite the faint tremor of nerves.
Bruce looked up, his glasses slipping slightly. "You're here. Good—we're drowning in data. The virus is a nightmare: a synthetic-organic hybrid, embedded in their neural tissue. Think of it like a computer virus crossed with the flu—it's not airborne, thank God, but it spreads through contact with their fluids or tissues. Right now, it's dormant because their hive mind link is broken, but if it mutates or reactivates, it could weaken human cells over days—organ failure, immune shutdown, the works. Adaptive, too; it might evolve to target us specifically."
Ben leaned in, raising his Omnitrix over a sample vial. A green light pulsed from the device, scanning the fluid with a soft hum. "Let me see what this picks up." Tony synced his smartphone to the lab's network, activating a holographic interface that projected 3D models of the virus particles—spiky, biomechanical orbs twisting like living code.
"JARVIS, cross-reference with known xeno-pathogens," Tony ordered. "If it's adaptive, let's model it against all relevant data bases."
"Olivia, any progress?" Ben asked, his AI's voice chiming through the Omnitrix speaker. "Still analyzing, boss," Olivia replied crisply. "But wouldn't your Cerebrocrustacean transformation be much faster?"
"Cerebrocrustacean?" Bruce looked up from his notes, curiosity cutting through his fatigue. "Is that the crab-like form you took on the Helicarrier last time?"
"Yeah, I call him Brainstorm," Ben said with a nod. "And to answer your question, what's the point of having an AI built by a walking supercomputer if I don't let her shine? You're not getting lazy on me, are you, Olivia?"
"Uh-huh," Olivia quipped.
"Is this really the time to not use all our best tools in the middle of a potential deadly viral outbreak?" Hill's voice crackled through the intercom from outside the lab, her tone sharp.
"What does she know?" Olivia retorted dryly, her analysis continuing uninterrupted.
"I heard that," Hill's voice rang through the intercom again.
"Analysis complete," Olivia announced moments later. "Sending gathered info to Dr. Banner's monitor."
"Sir, I've also completed my own analysis on the sample. Would you like me to send the data to Dr. Banner's monitor?" JARVIS's polished voice rang out, having synced with the lab's systems.
"No need," Tony said, placing his smartphone on the table. The holographic interface expanded, projecting a swirling model of the virus particle—its outer shell a lattice of synthetic proteins, inner core a writhing mass of organic RNA strands. "Let's pool it. JARVIS, overlay Olivia's data—highlight the adaptive markers."
The hologram updated, red highlights pulsing on the virus's surface where it could "learn" from host cells. Bruce leaned in, his team crowding around. "See here?" he said, pointing to a cluster. "The synthetic bits are like code—self-replicating. It latches onto human neurons, rewires them slowly. Not a quick kill, but insidious. Reyes, run the PCR again—confirm the mutation rate."
Dr. Reyes nodded, feeding a fresh sample into the machine. "On it. If it's as fast as the model suggests, we've got hours before quarantine breaches could seed it."
"Right, like I haven't already witnessed a bunch of rodents and birds rolling in Chitauri corpses," Ben retorted, catching everyone's attention.
"So we can assume it's most likely already spread beyond New York City's quarantine zones," Bruce said, his expression becoming grave.
"And we still don't know what can potentially activate this thing, do we?" Tony added, rubbing his hair in irritation. "Nothing is ever simple, is it?"
"Well, that's what happens whenever you introduce a foreign organism into a new environment," Ben stated, not surprised in the least. The only thing that worried him was how quickly this virus could mutate; by the time they came up with a counteragent for it, it might be too late.
Hill was already on a call with Fury, listening to the discussion happening in the lab.
Dr. Patel, her fingers flying over the console, cross-referenced the data. "The RNA core's vulnerable to certain enzymes—something that disrupts the synthetic lattice. But synthesizing it… we'd need a stable base."
Ben tapped his Omnitrix thoughtfully. "Brainstorm's got a brain like a supercomputer—electrokinesis for precise molecular manipulation. He could model the enzyme in real-time."
Tony's eyes lit up with a spark of determination. "JARVIS, let's begin working on a prototype dispersion system."
A shimmer of green light rippled over Ben's form, his body compressing and morphing with practiced ease until Brainstorm stood in his place—a tall, crab-like alien with a cranium, four clawed arms crackling with blue electricity, and a heavy British accent. "It's time to get to work, then," Brainstorm said, his voice resonant and precise.
The lab sprang to life, a symphony of collaboration. Brainstorm's electrokinesis sparked, his brain whirring as he projected neural simulations onto the hologram—enzymes slicing through the virus's lattice like scissors through silk. "The key is targeting the hybrid junction—disrupt the synthetic-organic bond here," he explained, his claws gesturing, electricity arcing to highlight weak points. "It's elegant, really—like a lock with a universal key."
Bruce nodded, his team absorbing the data. "Patel, synthesize a base compound—use the enzyme model to stabilize it. Carter, run toxicity tests on human cells."
Dr. Patel fed the simulation into a synthesizer, vials bubbling as the machine hummed. "Base ready—infusing the enzyme now. If Brainstorm's right, this should neutralize the RNA without harming hosts."
Tony's hologram synced with the output, JARVIS's voice overlaying predictions. "Efficacy at 92% against dormant strains. Adaptive countermeasures modeled—looks solid."
Minutes passed as the entire lab bustled with activity, everyone playing their parts in ensuring that everything proceeded smoothly and without delay.
Reyes monitored the centrifuge, graphs smoothing. "No mutations in the test batch. We've got a viable antidote."
Hill's voice crackled from the intercom. "Status?"
Bruce straightened, a rare spark of hope in his eyes. "We've got it. Prototype antidote—mass production can start in hours. Quarantine holds, but get it distributed to hazmat teams first."
Ben, as Brainstorm, crackled with satisfaction. "One crisis down. Now, about Odin…"
The lab exhaled collectively, the weight lifting slightly as the first vial of shimmering blue antidote gleamed under the lights—a fragile victory against the shadows of the day.