They withdrew before sunrise. The city woke to another day, unaware how close it had come to chaos.
James felt that familiar ache — knowledge heavy enough to be a weapon — and the stillness that always followed restraint.
The comm was silent. His tablet blinked once with a new directive from S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ.
He read it through the fading rain, expression unreadable, and prepared to move.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The phrase "Opportunity is reserved for those who are prepared" was a saying that James fully agreed with.
He'd said it to Coulson once, and the man had just smiled and replied, "That sounds like something Fury would write on a personnel file." Maybe it was. But for James, it was life.
As he watched Dr. Bruce Banner returned home through the lenses of his binoculars, the street lights of Rocinha shimmered under a haze of smog and damp heat. The rooftops smelled of metal and rain. The humidity sat heavy enough to make the air feel moist.
James exhaled quietly and put away the binoculars. Banner's movements were predictable—routine and harmless. He'd been in Brazil for months hiding from the world, trying to manage the monster that the U.S. military had turned into their obsession.
[Subject Bruce Banner—biometric scan consistent. Elevated cortisol with low adrenaline. The calm phase will not last,] Cortana murmured.
"I know," James said softly. "Fate doesn't let men like him be in peace for long.'"
He folded his field gear into the duffel, eyes still fixed on the clinic window below. The light dimmed, the silhouette of Banner's thin frame moving around inside.
Then he sat back on the low parapet, tapped the tablet beside him, and began to type. The screen reflected faint blue on his jawline. A purchase list—long, specific, impossible to gather locally. Some parts were obscure industrial gear, others were scientific instruments that would raise questions in customs. He saved it, encrypted it, and sent it to Evelyn Salt.
Evelyn, back in New York, received the message minutes later. She blinked at the list, brows furrowing. High-density radiation shielding plates, lithium tri-hydride cells, and a cryo-stabilized medical pod?
"What on earth are you building now?" she whispered.
It wasn't a list meant for a game developer or a CEO. It was for someone preparing for an event that no ordinary man should experience.
She looked at the clock. Time difference aside, James would expect it done within the week. That wasn't enough time for conventional logistics. She picked up her phone, called an old contact in Langley, and said the one phrase that opened doors: "For S.H.I.E.L.D., urgent channel."
Within hours, the procurement request was flagged for CIA assistance.
Seven days later, the freight cleared Brazilian customs disguised as environmental research equipment.
A few terminals away, another arrival went unnoticed: a man with brown skin, brown eyes, and a forgettable face. He walked with the lazy confidence of someone used to being invisible. His passport read Peter Halvorsen, but Hydra's network knew him as nothing more than a disposable asset.
He texted one word on an encrypted phone: "Arrived."
The reply came seconds later: "Initiate local disruption. No direct contact."
A simple order—hire troublemakers to stir chaos at a certain address, make noise, then disappear. Hydra didn't need precision here. Just interference.
The man smiled to himself. In a city this large, with half its population running on desperation, paying for trouble was easier than buying coffee.
He checked into a small hotel, did a lazy disguise—cheap sunglasses, baseball cap, and local clothes—and took a taxi toward the address.
James wasn't in the safehouse when it happened. He was already at the airport, collecting the containers Evelyn had pushed through half a dozen international fronts.
His plan was simple: prepare equipment that could survive the Hulk's energy output long enough to contain, redirect, or distract him. The Umbra Sentinel suit was capable—but the Hulk was a living singularity of rage.
[Incoming coded transmission—surveillance team reports movement. Five locals approach Banner's residence. No police identifiers. An improvised group of possible street gangs.]
James froze mid-stride. "Put me through to the ground team."
[Channel open.]
A voice came sharp over comms: "Captain Gibson, we've got multiple heat signatures near Banner's building. No aggression yet."
"Maintain distance," James ordered. "Record their faces. If they engage, pull back. Do not interfere. I'll handle it."
[Warning: energy buildup detected inside the structure.]
"Already?" He sprinted toward the car, duffel slung over one shoulder.
The drive back into the city was brutal. Narrow streets, gridlocked taxis, vendors still crowding intersections even past midnight.
[Cortana: Alternate route suggested—Rua Santa Teresa. Minimal traffic.]
He swerved into the side lane, engine growling low. When he found a quiet stretch of asphalt, he cut the lights and slid the vehicle into a small alley behind a mechanic's shop.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's suit up."
The Nocturne armor materialized around him—plates unfolding from his storage space with soft mechanical clicks until the black matte exoshell sealed against his frame. The helmet slid down with a hiss.
Inside the HUD, the world came alive in overlays—heat maps, EM pulses, and trajectory lines.
[Umbra Sentinel Mk II online. Nexus Arms system on standby.]
James checked the calibration. "Engage Dreadfire loadout. Target acquisition priority: non-civilian casualties."
[Confirmed. Stealth field ready.]
The thrusters ignited with a roar muffled by the armor's dampeners. Golden flame spilled from palms and boots as he rose into the humid night sky.
From this altitude, Rocinha, Rio de Janeiro looked like circuit lights—thousands of lights flickering against the mountain's dark side. He banked hard toward the sound of chaos.
Below was full of screaming.
He spotted them first—the five hired thugs bolting through the narrow street, eyes wide with terror.
Then came the roar.
It rolled through the slums like thunder, rattling windows, setting off car alarms. A shape tore through the wall of the clinic—green, massive, and raging with fury.
The Hulk.
"Damn it," James muttered. "Hydra, you absolute idiots."
He boosted higher, cutting a sharp line above the roofs. "Cortana, record everything. Send Banner's coordinates to Fury and Coulson."
[Transmission encrypted and sent. Suggest immediate crowd evacuation radius of five hundred meters.]
"Too late for that."
He aimed his left arm. The nexus system powered up into Dreadfire—a soft, rising hum that built into a resonant whine.
Boom.
columns of golden energy slammed down from the sky, striking the Hulk square in the chest. The impact cratered the ground, throwing dust and debris into a swirling cloud.
When it cleared, the Hulk lay half-buried, dazed but not down.
The fleeing thugs vanished into the northern streets.
[Targets fleeing. Recording facial data for follow-up extraction.]
"Do it. And prepare the Deadzone for long-range suppression."
The Hulk's head turned upward, eyes glowing with primal fury. The sound he made wasn't human—it was raw rage made noise.
He flew a little further as he looked at Hulk, who had climbed out of the rubble and was preparing to run. "Want to jump? Then let me see how far you can jump!"
Pulling back, James didn't attack right away. Instead, he let the Hulk show the full extent of its jumping power, drawing the creature out of the city's core.
The Hulk charged, muscles coiling as it built speed—then leapt, body stretching midair to stabilize its balance.
Cortana's calculations flashed in James's display: [Trajectory clear. First jump will fall short.]
That gave him a window. If the Hulk wasn't angry enough to push his limits, this was it.
James aimed his wrist weapon and fired a shot—Deadzone a compact, high-power shot that left no smoke or light trail.
The Hulk, suspended midair with nowhere to evade, crossed his forearms to shield his face. The round struck with a deep, concussive crack. The impact broke his forward momentum, twisting his body off-balance as gravity reclaimed him.
James didn't fire blindly. He knew they weren't far enough from the city yet. If the Hulk crashed onto the nearby rooftops, the structures wouldn't hold—one impact like that could take the entire floor down.