When they didn't get back up again, the fury burning in Henry's body slowly dissipated.
His eyes returned to their usual deep calm.
He glanced at his own hands, then at the two huge figures lying in the pit not far away, their life or death uncertain. He curled his lips.
"Seriously, these two guys are just way too fragile," he muttered.
"I thought I could play around for a while longer. Turns out, that wasn't even a warm-up."
From the sky, Tony descended slowly beside him. He lifted his helmet, staring at Henry with a complicated expression.
"You…"
He opened his mouth, as though wanting to say something, but in the end all his thoughts condensed into a single complaint.
"Henry, I've got to say—you're just an unreasonable monster!"
"Am I though? You can tear apart the Mark III with your bare hands now." Henry shrugged.
"And at least I'm not flying around in a red-and-gold tin can that looks like scrambled eggs and tomatoes."
"I told you, it's art! Art! Do you understand?!"
"Yeah, yeah. Performance art."
The two of them started bickering again, as if the battle that nearly leveled half the city had been nothing more than a boring video game.
Up in the helicopter, General Ross stared blankly at the two massive craters below, his brain completely crashing.
On the other side, Coulson had finally snapped out of his own shock.
Looking at the brothers casually trading jabs amid the ruins, his professional smile returned. Straightening his slightly rumpled suit, he walked over.
"Gentlemen, it looks like the situation has been resolved," he said lightly.
Henry turned his head and gave him a look that said: Are you kidding me?
"Oh, Agent Coulson, you're such a clever little guy. We just wrecked half of Manhattan, and you call this 'resolved'?"
He pointed toward the Stark Tower in the distance. Its lower floors were blown open with a gaping hole, the structure looking utterly miserable.
"See that building? My globally limited-edition sports car is now a pile of scrap metal. So how are you planning to compensate me? Let me remind you—the repair costs, emotional damages, and structural reconstruction fees… I've done some rough calculations. I'll give you the friendship price of two billion dollars. Cash or check?"
Coulson's mouth twitched ever so slightly, but he kept smiling.
Two billion? Why doesn't he just rob a bank?
He was pretty sure S.H.I.E.L.D.'s entire annual budget didn't even reach that.
Hell, he'd never even seen Fury give out bonuses. As a senior agent, his paycheck was lower than a guy flipping burgers—utterly absurd.
"Mr. Stark, of course we'll take responsibility for compensation. But before that, I need to formally introduce ourselves. For efficiency, our department has recently been renamed," Coulson explained smoothly.
"We're now called S.H.I.E.L.D."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.? Sounds like either an insurance company or some cheap security firm." Henry wasn't surprised; a name change was inevitable sooner or later.
He tossed out the jab, then strode toward the two unconscious giants.
"Forget it. I won't waste breath with you broke folks. I'll just take these two big guys back for research. Consider it a down payment. Remember to wire the rest into my account."
Under everyone's stunned gazes, Henry effortlessly grabbed the unconscious Banner and Blonsky—now reverted to human form—like they were two chickens.
"Let's go, Tony," he called.
"Back home. Time to throw a party!"
With that, he lifted into the air, hauling his "trophies" skyward.
"Hey! Wait for me!" Tony shouted, scrambling to follow.
Two streaks of light—one black, one gold-and-red—shot into the distance toward Tony's Malibu villa, carrying along two unconscious men.
Behind them remained nothing but a ravaged battlefield and a group of unlucky agents wondering how the hell they were going to write this report.
Coulson: …
Broke folks?
Well, he really was broke.
He stared at the streaks of light until they vanished into the horizon, then slowly withdrew his gaze.
His mind, trained to handle any emergency, felt like an overloaded computer about to crash.
"Sir?" a nervous young agent crept up beside him, voice trembling.
"What do we do now?"
Coulson blinked back to reality.
He glanced at the devastated battlefield and the two enormous humanoid craters. With a helpless shrug, he replied:
"What else? Clean up the mess and write a report long enough to pass for an essay. What do you think—should we chase after them and ask if they want dessert after dinner?"
Then his tone sharpened as he switched to his commanding voice.
"Seal the site immediately! All units move out! Medical team, check the wounded. Tech team, collect samples. Logistics, contact the best cleaning company in New York—they're going to have a busy night."
The agents scrambled into action.
Meanwhile, the late-arriving NYPD officers looked at the disaster-movie scene before them and could only cluelessly throw up police tape.
Coulson rubbed his throbbing temples, headed for his car, and patched into Nick Fury's line.
"Sir, it's me."
"I saw, Coulson." Fury's deep voice rumbled in his ear.
"I watched the whole thing. Tell me what you think."
"My thoughts?" Coulson gave a bitter laugh.
"My thoughts are… we may need to redefine the term 'threat level.' And what do I do now? They just carried off Dr. Banner and that Blonsky guy—like they were picking up two heads of cabbage from the supermarket."
The line was silent for a long moment. Fury was clearly digesting the sight of what had just happened.
"Leave them be," Fury finally said, his voice heavy with fatigue.
"Banner and Blonsky in their hands is better than in Ross's. At least they won't cut them into pieces. What we need to focus on is how to explain tonight to the World Security Council—the tea-sipping bureaucrats in their offices."
"Yes, sir." Coulson nodded.
"But… there's one more thing."
"What?"
Coulson glanced at the gaping hole in Stark Tower. "Henry Stark is demanding two billion dollars in compensation—for his tower, his car, and his emotional damages."
"…"
The line went silent again.
If Coulson could see Fury right now, he'd have noticed the veins bulging across the famously unflappable director's bald head.
"Motherfucker!!!"
A roar of pent-up curses exploded in Coulson's ear, nearly deafening him.
"Why doesn't he just rob us?! Two billion?! Does he think S.H.I.E.L.D. is a bank?! Our entire year's black budget doesn't even hit one billion! This is extortion—blatant extortion!"
"So what should we do?" Coulson asked carefully.
"Not pay?"
"…"
Another long silence.
Fury thought back to being tossed like trash out of the Stark villa by the Mark III days ago. Then the memory of Henry manhandling Hulk and Abomination like insects replayed in his mind.
At last, Fury ground out a few words between clenched teeth.
"I'll apply to the Security Council."
"Any other questions, Coulson?" Fury's tone was volcanic.
"No, sir."
"Then get back here and write your report!"
The line went dead.
Coulson let out a long sigh of relief.
Glancing at the wreckage outside his car window, he shrugged.
"Looks like the Director's losing sleep tonight."
...
You guys are fast lmao, thank you for the support, here's the bonus
Next goal is 120 stones for bonus. Thanks for reading 🙏
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