The subway smelled like metal, sweat, and fried food from the cart upstairs. Brendon wasn't there, of course — but his shadow was.
Two teens huddled over a cracked phone screen, grinning. The video showed a crystalline figure ripping the door off a stolen van, the green glow of the Omnitrix flare briefly visible before the camera shook.
"Dude, that's sick. He just pulled those guys out like dolls."
"Yeah, but watch his face. It's not even human. You think he's, like, a mutant?"
"Mutant, alien, robot… don't care. He's cooler than half the Avengers."
The conversation spread like wildfire through the city. In diners, construction sites, lecture halls. Morpher wasn't just a curiosity anymore; he was a cultural event.
T-shirts with stylized green watch symbols sold on street corners. Bootleg action figures popped up in Chinatown. A busker even sang a corny song about "Morpher the Shapeshifter," drawing tourists into clapping along.
But while the people buzzed with excitement, others weren't so thrilled.
In a quiet office overlooking the Triskelion, Maria Hill flipped through surveillance photos. Grainy, low-res, but consistent: a blur of green light, shifting bodies, powers too varied to categorize.
"This doesn't match anything we've cataloged," she said flatly.
Nick Fury leaned forward, his one eye sharp as a blade. "Doesn't mean it's not cataloged somewhere. Could be off-books. Could be alien tech. Could be something the Avengers should know about before it gets out of hand."
"Should I send a recon team?"
Fury didn't answer immediately. He stared at the image of Morpher lifting a collapsed beam off trapped workers — saving them with a speed and strength reminiscent of both Thor and Banner, yet distinct.
"Not yet," Fury said at last. "Let's watch. If he's clean, maybe he's worth recruiting. If he's not…" His voice dropped into steel. "We'll deal with him before anyone else tries to."
Meanwhile, across the city, Hammer's mercenaries tested their exosuits in a grimy warehouse. The machines were clunky, fueled by unstable cores, but their firepower was undeniable.
"Tomorrow," their handler barked. "We don't kill civilians. But the target? The Morpher? Hammer wants him broken. Bring me his tech, or bring me his corpse."