Jennifer hadn't slept since the dream. Not really. The fragment of Dormammu's soul thrummed inside her like a second heartbeat, dark and steady.
She could feel it now—coiled in her core, feeding her clarity sharper than any drug or meditation. Time no longer pressed against her skin; it flowed around her like water around stone.
She tilted her head back, staring at the faint stars fighting through light pollution, and let her mind drift. The vodka bottle from last night still sat empty on the bar cart downstairs. She hadn't needed another. The fragment sustained her better than alcohol ever could.
And then, unbidden, a memory surfaced, not hers, exactly, but clear as if she'd lived it.
The Incredible Hulk.
She sat up straighter.
In her old life, she had watched the 2008 film in a multiplex in Chennai, popcorn forgotten in her lap, eyes wide as Bruce Banner tore through Harlem in a rage that shook the screen.
The military helicopters, General Ross barking orders, Emil Blonsky injecting himself with the serum, becoming Abomination. The final battle—Hulk versus monster, concrete shattering, cars flipping, raw power colliding in the streets.
She had loved it. The sheer, brutal spectacle. The way Hulk roared and Abomination answered with guttural fury. The way the city became their arena.
And she had missed it.
Completely.
Jennifer's jaw tightened. She stood, pacing the terrace, bare feet silent on the cool stone. The timeline had moved past it. Late August, early September 2008. The Harlem battle had already happened—weeks ago, maybe months.
Bruce Banner was gone again, vanished after the fight. Abomination was in custody or buried under military red tape. General Ross was probably still fuming in some Pentagon office. And she had been too busy building her empire, fighting street crime, dealing with demons, to notice.
Anger flared in her chest, hot and sudden.
She had watched Tony become Iron Man. She had stolen from the wreckage of Obadiah Stane's defeat. She had flown over New York in black armor, mistaken for a copycat. But the Hulk—the raw, unstoppable force of nature against another monster, she had missed it.
Unacceptable.
She stopped pacing. Looked down at her hands. The fragment inside her pulsed once, acknowledging her intent.
"I can go back," she whispered.
The words felt like truth the moment they left her lips.
She closed her eyes and reached inward, not with thought, but with will. The Dormammu fragment responded instantly, uncoiling like smoke.
She felt it spread through her veins, her nerves, her very essence. Time, which had once been an unbreakable river, now parted for her like mist.
She focused on the memory—not hers, but vivid. Harlem. The rain-slicked streets. The military cordon. Bruce Banner cornered, heart rate spiking, gamma rage building. The moment just before transformation, when Abomination was already rampaging, tearing through concrete and steel.
She spoke no incantation. No ritual circle. No blood. Just intent.
The world around her folded.
Reality bent—not violently, but smoothly, like paper creasing along an invisible line. The terrace, the city lights, the distant sirens—all of it blurred into streaks of color and sound. Then silence. Absolute.
When the blur resolved, Jennifer stood on a rooftop in Harlem.
Rain fell in heavy sheets. Thunder cracked overhead. Below, chaos.
She was invisible to the world—untethered, a ghost in the timeline. The fragment protected her from detection; Dormammu's essence shielded her from causality's notice. She could watch. She could not be seen.
And she watched.
General Ross's helicopters circled like vultures. Ground troops in tactical gear advanced cautiously, rifles raised. In the street below, Emil Blonsky—already mutated, skin gray-green, spines protruding—roared and smashed a SWAT van into a storefront. Glass exploded. Screams echoed.
Then the transformation began.
Bruce Banner stood in the middle of the ruined street, soaked, chest heaving. His eyes glowed green. His skin rippled. Muscles swelled. Bones cracked and reformed. The roar that tore from his throat was primal, unstoppable.
Hulk emerged.
Seven feet of green fury. Muscles like coiled steel cables. Eyes burning with rage.
Abomination turned. His own roar answered, deeper, more guttural, less human.
The battle began.
Jennifer leaned against the rooftop ledge, rain passing through her untouched. She watched, transfixed.
Hulk charged first—massive fists swinging. Abomination met him head-on. Their collision shook the street; asphalt cracked in radiating lines.
Hulk grabbed Abomination by the throat, lifted him, slammed him through a brick wall. Debris rained down. Abomination twisted free, tail whipping, spines slashing. Hulk roared again, bloodlust pure.
They tore into each other with savage abandon.
Hulk's punches cracked Abomination's ribs; Abomination's claws raked Hulk's chest, drawing green blood. They crashed through a parking garage—cars crumpling like tin cans. Hulk lifted a Humvee, swung it like a club. Abomination caught it mid-swing, tore it in half, hurled the pieces back.
The fight spilled onto the bridge.
Hulk leaped—impossibly high—landing on Abomination's back. He drove fists into the monster's skull again and again.
Abomination staggered, reached back, grabbed Hulk by the arm, flipped him over the railing into the river below.
Hulk surfaced instantly, roaring. He climbed the bridge support like it was a ladder, muscles bulging. Abomination waited at the top, grinning with jagged teeth.
They met again—fists blurring, impacts like thunderclaps. Hulk caught Abomination's arm, twisted until bone snapped.
Abomination howled, retaliated with a headbutt that cracked Hulk's brow ridge. Green blood mixed with rain.
Jennifer's breath caught. She had seen fights before—her own kills, Tony vs. Stane—but this was different. This was elemental. Two forces of nature colliding, no mercy, no strategy, just raw power.
Hulk gained the upper hand. He lifted Abomination overhead—muscles straining, veins bulging—and hurled him into a concrete pillar. The pillar shattered. Abomination crashed to the ground, dazed.
Hulk landed beside him. Grabbed him by the throat. Raised him high.
Then—calmly, deliberately—Hulk slammed Abomination face-first into the pavement. Again. Again. The street cratered. Abomination's struggles weakened. Finally, Hulk dropped him—unconscious, broken, but alive.
The helicopters descended. Military rushed in. Hulk stood over his fallen foe, chest heaving, rain washing the blood from his skin.
Then he looked up, at the sky, at the circling choppers, and roared one final time.
A roar of triumph. Of exhaustion. Of sorrow.
Jennifer watched until the end—until Banner re-emerged, shrinking, collapsing in the mud, soldiers swarming, Ross barking orders. Until Banner was cuffed and dragged away.
The scene faded.
Time snapped back.
Jennifer opened her eyes on her rooftop terrace.
Rain no longer fell. The city lights were steady. The night was warm again.
She exhaled slowly.
The anger was gone.
She had seen it. Lived it, in a way. The epic battle she had missed—now hers to remember forever.
She walked back inside, barefoot, dripping from the phantom rain that had never touched her real body.
The fragment of Dormammu pulsed once, satisfied, perhaps amused.
Jennifer smiled.
She had traveled back in time. Watched without interfering. And returned untouched.
The possibilities unfolded before her like an infinite map.