Last were a few extremely blurry schematic images—pulled from underground engineering blueprints? Thermal imaging scans?—showing large-scale structural collapse in the deep tunnels of the Brooklyn subway.
Every time the playback ended, the entire conference room fell into a deathly silence.
"...So," the man seated at the head of the table finally spoke. His hair was combed back without a single strand out of place, his eyes sharp as a hawk's, his general's uniform perfectly pressed. Every word sounded as if it had been dipped in ice water. "The center of our city was turned into a crater big enough to serve as an open-air stadium by a single... target individual stomping his foot. Our landmark building, the symbol of our technological pinnacle, together with the national-strategic laboratory inside it and several thousand blocks' worth of real estate, was wiped out.
"Then, a few minutes later, in Brooklyn, he apparently—through one sneeze and one 'dodge' or 'accidental collision'—left the most elite members of Thanos's Black Order with one dead—Corvus Glaive buried—one crippled—Cull Obsidian in critical condition—and one on the run—Proxima Midnight. At the same time, we lost the key item that could once again draw Thanos's legion, or something even worse, down on us—the Mind Scepter.
"And right now... he has found himself a 'spot under the bridge' in some abandoned, sunken tunnel under Brooklyn... and fallen asleep?"
Dead silence. Even the sound of someone swallowing could be heard clearly.
"Y-yes, General Ross."
The man who answered was wearing a suit and thick glasses. He was the technical director of a newly founded agency, the Supernatural Phenomena Containment (SPC). He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"All of our monitoring methods—whether it's life-energy detectors, thermal imaging, spatial fluctuation recorders, or even brain-wave amplification systems designed for mutants—have all failed! We cannot understand the source or operating principles of his power! He is like... a gigantic loophole in the laws of physics! A walking natural disaster in human form! What's most terrifying is..."
The technical director's voice trembled with a hint of fear.
"According to the scattered reports sent back by our field agents—reassigned from what's left of S.H.I.E.L.D.—the target individual seems completely unaware of the... disaster-level consequences he has caused! He might only care about where he sleeps tonight and what he's having for breakfast tomorrow!"
General Ross's knuckles went white from how tightly he was clenching his fists. His gaze swept over the crater on the screen, over the collapse diagrams, then past them to every single face around the conference table—each one written full of fear and helplessness.
"A loophole in the rules? A walking natural disaster? Completely unaware?"
Ross's voice suddenly rose, carrying a fury that had been suppressed to the extreme.
"This is the final assessment report you're handing me? That we have a time bomb we cannot observe, cannot understand, cannot restrain, who might at any moment stomp his foot or sneeze and blow up several city blocks?! And what is our response plan?! Wait for him to wake up?!"
You could have heard a pin drop in the conference room.
"General Ross," an elderly man finally spoke with caution. His hair was gray, and he was dressed in an Ivy-League-professor style suit. He was a former strategic adviser to the Department of Homeland Security. "Based on the information we currently have, a direct confrontation would be absolutely suicidal. His existence already lies completely beyond all of our current political, military, and ethical frameworks. Perhaps... we should attempt contact?"
"Contact?"
Another general let out a derisive snort.
"How do we 'contact' him? Send someone over with breakfast coupons and a bridge-hole real-estate development proposal?
'Good morning, sir. Given that your stomping might cause total urban paralysis, we'd like you to sign this community impact assessment report before you stomp'?
Don't be ridiculous!"
(End of Chapter)
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