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New York City
Several Days After Vegas
With thirty million dollars in clean, untraceable accounts, Marcus founded the Reed Group.
Tony had insisted on investing an additional ten million, despite Marcus not asking. "Consider it venture capital," Tony had said. "I'm betting on you."
Marcus hadn't refused, but he'd structured it as an equity exchange with Stark Industries rather than a simple investment. The partnership gave him access to Stark's supply chains, legal teams, and business infrastructure—conveniences worth far more than cash.
Stark Industries, even after closing its weapons division, was still worth hundreds of billions. Tony alone was worth nearly that much. Ten million was pocket change to him, but to Marcus, it was validation and support.
With the funding secured, Marcus hired through headhunting firms, assembling a team of financial analysts, traders, and investment specialists. The Reed Group's financial division opened within a week.
Marcus knew he couldn't compete in technology yet. Real innovation—the kind that changed the world—required massive R&D budgets, manufacturing capabilities, infrastructure. His forty million would evaporate in months trying to develop cutting-edge products.
So he started where he had an edge: the financial markets. With his enhanced intelligence and knowledge of future trends, he could multiply his capital quickly.
His plans stretched years ahead. He knew which industries would explode: smartphones, social media, streaming services, electric vehicles. In 2008, he was perfectly positioned to invest in companies that would define the next decade. Apple before the iPhone dominated. Facebook before it went public. Tesla before it revolutionized transportation.
The Reed Group would eventually span multiple industries—technology, entertainment, biotech, energy. But first, he needed capital. Real capital. The kind that turned ideas into empires.
Three Months Later
Broadway, Manhattan
11:47 PM
Marcus guided his Audi R8 through the late-night traffic, mentally reviewing the day's trades. The Reed Group's financial division had turned forty million into two hundred million in three months. Conservative by his standards, but sustainable and legal.
The car in front of him suddenly slammed its brakes. Then the one beside it swerved onto the sidewalk. Marcus heard screaming before he saw the cause.
A massive figure—easily eight feet tall, muscles twisted into grotesque proportions—was rampaging through the street ahead. Its skin was a sickly yellow-brown, like old mustard. Bone protrusions jutted from its spine and elbows. Each step cracked the asphalt.
The Abomination.
Marcus recognized it immediately from his knowledge of the Marvel timeline. Emil Blonsky, transformed by a combination of super-soldier serum and gamma radiation. The Hulk's dark mirror.
The creature grabbed a taxi, lifted it overhead, and hurled it into a storefront. Glass exploded. People ran screaming in every direction, abandoning vehicles, trampling each other in their panic.
Police sirens wailed. Three NYPD cruisers screeched to a halt, officers emerging with weapons drawn. They opened fire immediately, dozens of rounds sparking off the Abomination's hide without leaving a mark.
The creature laughed—a sound like grinding concrete—and backhanded the nearest cruiser. It flipped three times before crushing a fire hydrant, water geysering into the air.
Military Humvees roared onto the scene, soldiers in full combat gear deploying with assault rifles. They formed a firing line, unleashing hundreds of rounds. The Abomination walked through the gunfire like it was rain.
"Bring up the heavy weapons!" someone shouted.
A soldier with an AT4 rocket launcher took aim and fired. The explosion engulfed the Abomination in flames and smoke. For a moment, there was hope.
Then the creature emerged from the smoke, completely unharmed, looking more annoyed than injured.
"WEAK!" it roared, charging the military line.
Above, Marcus heard helicopters. He extended his telekinetic senses upward, feeling the occupants of the nearest chopper. Three people stood at the open door: an older military officer with steel-gray hair, a young woman with brown hair, and a thin man who looked like he might vomit.
Their conversation carried to Marcus through his enhanced perception:
"General, let me go down there," the thin man said, his voice strained but determined. "I can stop him."
The general—Ross, Marcus realized—remained silent, jaw clenched.
"Bruce, no!" The woman—Betty Ross—grabbed the man's arm. "You can't possibly handle this!"
"It's not about handling it," Bruce Banner replied. "It's about doing what I can. That thing down there—it's my fault. My blood made it possible."
"You just took the inhibitor! You might not be able to transform anymore!"
"Or it might have just weakened the Hulk temporarily." Bruce moved toward the door. "Either way, I have to try."
"Bruce, please—"
He kissed her, desperate and final. "I love you, Betty."
Then Bruce Banner threw himself out of the helicopter.
Marcus watched him fall—three hundred feet, arms spread, no parachute, no plan except hope that the monster inside him would save them both.
Two hundred feet.
One hundred.
Fifty.
At the last possible second, Bruce's body convulsed. Green erupted across his skin. Muscles exploded outward. His scream became a roar.
The Hulk slammed into Broadway with the force of a meteor.
The impact crater was six feet deep. Car alarms shrieked for blocks. Windows shattered in buildings three stories up.
A massive green hand emerged from the hole, grabbing the crater's edge. The Hulk pulled himself up—eight feet of compressed rage and power. Unlike the Abomination's grotesque form, the Hulk had an almost noble savagery. Proportioned like a Greek god, if Greek gods were green and really, really angry.
The Abomination stopped mid-rampage, focusing on the new arrival.
"HULK!" it roared, forgetting everything else.
The Hulk's response was primal: "RAAAHHH!"
They charged each other.
The collision was like two freight trains meeting head-on. The shockwave knocked over anyone still standing within fifty feet. The Abomination's greater mass and peak strength won the initial exchange, sending Hulk flying backward.
The Hulk crashed down thirty feet from Marcus's car, cratering the asphalt. He shook his head, disoriented. The inhibitor serum Banner had taken was clearly affecting him—his strength wasn't at its usual level.
As Hulk pushed himself up, his eyes found Marcus sitting calmly in his Audi, watching the battle like it was a drive-in movie.
The Hulk paused, head tilting. Everyone else had fled in terror. This human just sat there, unafraid. More than that—through the beast's primitive instincts, Hulk sensed something. Danger. Real danger. This small human radiated threat like the Abomination never could.
Marcus rolled down his window and smiled.
"Hulk, hello!"
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