The bridge of the Helicarrier was a cathedral of glass and steel. Wide panes revealed the sky stretched in every direction, while banks of consoles thrummed with activity. Agents moved in perfect rhythm, voices clipped, hands steady as they guided one of the most advanced vessels on the planet through the open air.
Steve thought he had seen it all. He thought that after what he had experienced, he wouldn't be easily surprised. Yet clearly, this was beyond anything he had expected. More so when he realized that this massive flying behemoth was invisible.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few folded notes, pulled ten quid from the stack, and wordlessly handed it to Fury.
Steve wasn't above admitting when he lost a bet.
Though he didn't stay to look at Fury's smug face, he instead went to inspect this marvel of engineering.
After walking around a bit, he found himself back with the others just in time to hear Fury and Banner, or mostly Banner, talk about things he didn't understand one bit. Honestly, it didn't even sound English.
Then again, he had never been the most educated of people, and from the file, Banner seemed to indeed be one of the very best. If anyone could use technology to help, it would likely be him, well, him and Stark.
But he wasn't here, and Steve didn't think he would show up.
…
Once more, he found himself standing next to Agent Coulson.
"I mean, if it's not too much trouble."
"No, no, it's fine." Steve tried to reassure him, but he really felt pretty awkward, having never been one for fame.
"It's a vintage set," Coulson said, trying his best, and failing to break the awkward atmosphere.
Steve gave the agent a polite smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Trading cards," he repeated. "Never thought I'd be one of those."
Coulson straightened, almost defensive in his enthusiasm. "Not just cards. Yours are mint condition. Uncirculated."
Steve didn't quite know how to respond to that. He turned slightly away, pretending to study the consoles again. For a man who had fought Hydra, who had seen friends die, who had gone under the ice thinking it was the end—being reduced to glossy images felt… strange.
Mercifully, Natasha cut in before the silence grew unbearable. "They're running facial recognition now," she said, her tone sharp, businesslike. "Every camera, every feed. If the Cube's wielder shows his face again, we'll know."
Steve nodded. That, at least, was something he could understand. Track the enemy. Find him. Stop him. Simple.
"Shouldn't be too difficult, his face is pretty easy to spot in a crowd, being all alien and whatnot." Came the voice of Johnny as he entered together with Susan Storm.
Johnny strode across the deck like he owned it, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even here, surrounded by seasoned SHIELD operatives and the most advanced tech on Earth, he looked like a man itching for a fight—or at least a good laugh.
"Johnny," Natasha said flatly, her tone betraying nothing.
"What?" he asked, feigning innocence as his eyes flicked to the holo-display of Reed's face. "Guy looks like he walked off the set of a bad sci-fi flick. SHIELD's tech should pick him out faster than Coulson finds a Captain America card on eBay."
Sue sighed, stepping in behind him with her arms folded. Where Johnny carried himself like fire waiting to flare, she was cool restraint. Her eyes scanned the room—Steve, Natasha, Coulson, Banner—assessing them all with quiet calculation. "Ignore him. He's just mad he had to stay grounded for the ride here."
"Grounded," Johnny muttered. "Like I'm some rookie. You've got a flying battleship up here, but God forbid you let the guy who flies help out."
Steve studied the pair. He'd read their files, of course—both survivors of the Baxter Incident, both changed by forces no soldier of his era could have imagined. He respected the discipline in Sue's bearing, even if Johnny reminded him too much of the cocky young recruits who used to strut around camp before their first firefight.
"We got a hit. One hundred percent match." One of the agents called out, drawing everyone's attention to the main display.
"What did I say? That ugly face couldn't hide for long!" Johnny said with a smirk in his voice.
"It's not the alien intruder, it's Mr Ben Grimm," The agent corrected as he pulled up the match on the display.
"Well… What did I tell you? You could pick that mug out of a lineup a mile away. Rock-face doesn't blend."
Sue's look could have frozen magma. "Johnny."
"Sorry," he said as he went quiet.
"Location?" Coulson asked as he stepped forward.
"Stuttgart, Germany. 28 Koenigstrasse, he's not exactly hiding."
"Captain," Fury spoke. "You're up."
Steve took a deep breath and nodded once.
"We are going as well," Sue said, "If Ben is there, we need to save him; he might know where Reed is."
"Yeah, he might be ugly, but Ben is one of us." Johnny echoed."
"Then get ready," Fury didn't argue with them.
-----
The gala at 28 Koenigstrasse had been an elegant affair until the doors shattered inward.
Marble cracked, chandeliers swayed, and the crowd's laughter died in a single instant as a figure filled the entrance. Not a man, not anymore — a mountain of orange stone and muscle wrapped in torn remnants of clothing. Ben Grimm.
Given the identity of some of the guests, they knew who he was, and knew he worked for America, yet that didn't stop the panic when he started swinging those massive stone hands of his around.
The brave or foolish guards who had stepped forward were the first to fall, their bodies sliding across the floor, leaving a dark red stain behind, leaving no doubt about the deadly force behind those fists.
The music cut with a shriek of violin strings as guests stumbled back, their heels scraping against polished floors. Ben didn't bark orders. He didn't demand kneeling. He simply roared — a guttural, bestial sound that shook the glassware and rattled the gilded walls.
Panic erupted. People scattered, tripping over each other in tuxedos and gowns as Grimm barreled forward, tables splintering under his fists, chairs exploding into fragments. A man in his path was swatted aside, hurled against the wall like a rag doll.
Security rushed in, guns drawn, voices shouting in German. They may as well have been children waving sticks. Ben tore through them without pause, their weapons clattering uselessly to the marble as his stony fists sent them flying.
Ben's sight locked onto a single target, and he moved straight towards that one fleeing man, pushing anyone out of his way, or those really unlucky, he would trample under his rocky feet.
The man Ben hunted was pale and sweating, trying his best to push through the fleeing crowd and get away from the mad monster behind, yet many people were far too slow at getting out, and Ben reached him.
Ben's massive hand closed around the man's arm, the crack of bone sharp enough to cut through the din of chaos. The terrified scientist screamed, his glasses flying as Ben yanked him back like a doll plucked from a crowd. Guests scattered around them, no one daring to help.
Ben dragged the man across the marble, his claws gouging shallow furrows in the floor. At the center of the room, he dropped him heavily and reached down to the small, black case he had carried in. The locks clicked open with a cold precision that did not belong to him.
Inside, nestled in foam, was the device: a scanner of alien design, its blue lens already glowing with the Tesseract's reflected fire.
The scientist begged, words spilling in German between sobs. Ben didn't understand. He didn't need to. The command driving him was simple, pure: obtain the eye.
He forced the man's head against the machine. The lens whirred, a spear of cold light slicing across the terrified eye. The scream that followed was raw, tearing through the air like the cry of prey caught under a predator's teeth. The scanner pulsed, imprinting the pattern.
When the beam cut out, the man collapsed in a whimpering heap, clutching his face. Ben tossed him aside with no more care than a broken chair.
At the same moment, hundreds of kilometers away, Clint Barton moved silently through the corridors of a fortified research vault. The transmission from the gala fed directly into his device; the stolen retinal code flickered green across his screen. The vault's lock disengaged with a hiss. Iridium, packed and shielded in protective cases, was now his to take.
Back in Stuttgart, Ben rose to his full, terrible height. His rocky fists tightened, his jagged features twisting into something between a roar and a snarl. Panic rolled through the room like a living wave — guests scrambling, heels snapping, jewels scattering across polished marble.
For Maw's plan, it was perfect. The world's eyes would see only the monster wreaking havoc at a gala. No one would think to ask what had been stolen, or why.
------
The sound of jets ripped across the night sky, a roar louder than the panicked screams below. The gala hall's shattered doors buckled further as SHIELD's strike team stormed in — black uniforms, rifles up, fanning out with practiced precision. But before they could even get into position, Ben Grimm tore through them like they were made of paper.
He ripped a marble column free and swung it like a club, scattering soldiers against the gilded walls. Rifles clattered uselessly across the polished floor, and chandeliers rained down glass and fire.
At the heart of the chaos, Steve Rogers moved. Shield up, his voice rang out above the panic:
"Grimm! That's enough!"
Ben's only answer was a roar that shook the rafters. He charged, each footstep cracking marble, and when his fist met Steve's shield the impact thundered like cannon fire. Steve braced, boots skidding across the floor as he absorbed the blow.
Sue Storm swept in at his flank, her hands raised. A shimmering wall of force blossomed between them and Ben's follow-up swing, absorbing the shock like a pane of invisible steel. The barrier trembled but held.
"Ben!" she shouted, her voice raw with desperation. "It's me! Sue! You don't want to do this!"
For a split second his rocky brow furrowed, something almost human flickering behind the blank blue glow of his eyes — but then it was gone. He bellowed and smashed his fists against her shield, each strike sending tremors through her arms.
"Johnny!" she snapped. "Now would be a good time!"
"On it, sis!" Johnny rocketed in through a shattered window, a streak of flame cutting across the ballroom. He hovered overhead, fire trailing from his fists.
Ben hurled a banquet table at him in response. Johnny sliced through it with a burning arc, molten fragments raining down like meteors.
Steve saw the opening. He slammed his shield into Ben's knee, forcing the giant to stumble. Sue collapsed another barrier around his arm, locking him in place just long enough.
"Hold him!" Johnny yelled. "This won't be easy!"
Steve planted his shoulder against Ben's other arm, straining with every ounce of strength. Sue clenched her fists, her field constricting tighter around the struggling titan. Ben roared, veins of light crawling across his rocky skin as he fought against them both.
Then Johnny dove. He didn't strike Ben directly — instead, he unleashed a hollow sphere of flame around his stony head. It wasn't easy to keep the flame going and make sure it didn't burn Ben; instead, it burned the oxygen around the stony giant.
Ben was strong, and his rocky body was almost impossible to hurt, so to take him down was no easy feat. In a rare moment of brilliance, Johnny figured out a much easier way to knock him out. Even The Thing needed to breathe.
The rocky titan thrashed, gasped, staggered — then faltered. His blows slowed, his roar broke into a guttural rasp. And finally, with a sound like boulders grinding together, he collapsed to one knee… then crashed to the floor.
The marble shook with his fall.
Steve stepped back, chest heaving, while Sue rushed to Ben's side, her barrier fading as she knelt beside the unconscious form of her old friend.
"God," she whispered, brushing her hand against his stone cheek. "What did they do to you?"
Johnny landed, his flames dimming into embers. He crossed his arms, trying to mask the tremor in his voice with bravado. "Told you — Rock-face never blends. But he sure hits like a tank."
Steve lowered his shield, his voice steady. "He's coming with us. Maybe SHIELD can figure out what's controlling him. Maybe we can still save him."
The room was chaos — overturned tables, shattered chandeliers, guests huddled in terror — but for the first time since the attack began, the storm had passed. SHIELD agents moved quickly, clamping restraints onto Ben's arms with mechanical locks built for Hulk-level threats.
Sue never left his side as they dragged him out.
(End of chapter)
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