Ten full days had passed since the entire incident with the Hulk.
Far from the watchful eyes of the world's media, on the outskirts of Delhi—in a section of the city most people actively avoided—a sleek black sedan rolled to a quiet, deliberate stop.
The surrounding area was essentially a graveyard of crumbling buildings and long-abandoned industrial factories. Broken windows with jagged glass still clinging to frames. Peeling paint revealing layers of decay beneath. Rusted gates hanging at odd angles.
It was exactly the kind of place ordinary people passed by without a second glance, automatically assuming it had absolutely nothing of value left to offer.
Just urban decay.
Nothing to see here.
The car door opened with a soft, precise click.
A middle-aged man stepped out smoothly, his shoes crunching on loose gravel.
He wore a plain, unremarkable coat—nothing designer, nothing flashy. His entire appearance was utterly forgettable, deliberately so. No visible insignia. No obvious signs of authority or rank. Just another face in the crowd.
Yet his eyes told a completely different story.
They were sharp. Alert. Constantly scanning.
The kind of eyes that missed nothing.
He approached an old office building whose exterior walls were visibly flaking, chunks of concrete missing here and there. The iron gate in front was stained deep red-brown with years of accumulated rust.
The perfect disguise for what lay beneath.
Raising his hand calmly, he knocked three times on the heavy door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door creaked open slowly, hinges protesting.
A large, burly man stood just behind it, his expression initially full of suspicion and wariness—exactly as it should be for any proper security checkpoint.
But then recognition visibly struck.
His entire posture straightened instantly, years of military discipline kicking in. The suspicion vanished completely, replaced by genuine respect .
"Sir," the man said immediately, bowing slightly at the waist. "We've been waiting for your arrival. Please, allow me to guide you inside."
The middle-aged man simply nodded once, a small gesture of acknowledgment, and stepped through the doorway.
The contrast between outside and inside was absolutely immediate.
While the upper floors of the building remained completely bare and lifeless—dusty, abandoned, exactly what you'd expect from the exterior—a narrow stairway led steadily downward into the earth.
Into a completely different world.
The underground base practically buzzed with controlled, organized chaos.
Men and women in crisp, professional suits moved briskly through wide, polished corridors. Their shoes clicked rhythmically on spotless tile floors. Screens of various sizes lined nearly every wall, constantly streaming live satellite data, heavily encrypted communication feeds, detailed holographic maps, and real-time intelligence reports from across multiple continents.
This was absolutely no ruin.
This was a state-of-the-art command center—deliberately hidden beneath a perfect layer of decay and neglect.
They passed through the main operational floor, where dozens of analysts worked at individual stations, and finally stopped before a particularly massive reinforced door.
The kind that could probably survive a direct missile strike.
It slid open smoothly with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a spacious conference chamber beyond.
Inside, the room was already fully occupied.
Government leaders.
Senior defense advisors.
Military strategists.
Influential figures gathered from all across India, all seated around one large circular table that dominated the center of the room.
As the middle-aged man entered calmly, several heads turned in his direction.
But notably—and this was important—no one asked who he was.
No introductions were necessary.
Everyone here already knew exactly who everyone else was.
He walked confidently to the single empty seat remaining and sat down with practiced ease.
"Sorry I'm a bit late," he said casually, his tone almost apologetic. "You know how absolutely terrible Delhi traffic can be, especially during rush hour."
A low chuckle came from somewhere across the table.
"What happened to your personal helicopter?" someone asked, genuine amusement in their voice. "Thought you important types didn't have to deal with traffic anymore."
"What about it?" the man replied, looking genuinely puzzled by the question. "You know it's not actually allowed to fly over this particular zone anymore, right? New air traffic restrictions went into effect last month. Security concerns."
"Young people these days…" the other man muttered with a smirk, shaking his head slowly in mock disappointment.
Before the light banter could continue any further, a calm yet distinctly commanding female voice suddenly cut through the room's atmosphere like a knife.
"Now that everyone is finally present," she said clearly, "let's begin the briefing."
The room fell completely silent instantly.
Every conversation stopped mid-sentence.
All attention shifted forward.
Mira stood beside the large digital board mounted on the wall, a wireless controller held loosely in one hand. Her posture was perfectly straight, her expression carefully composed and professional—
—but if you looked closely enough, the faint darkness beneath her eyes betrayed obvious exhaustion.
She probably hadn't slept properly in days.
"After thoroughly interrogating the captured assassin…" she began, her voice steady and measured.
What followed over the next twenty minutes was an incredibly dense, detailed briefing.
Coded operational names.
Strategic threat assessments.
Analysis of intelligence leaks.
Potential international implications.
Geopolitical ramifications.
The entire room listened attentively without a single interruption, taking mental notes, processing implications.
"…so in the end," Mira continued, pulling up a final set of data on the screen behind her, "because of the restraint shown that day—and because the Hulk did not cause unnecessary destruction—we have not yet completed a full injury and casualty assessment."
She paused deliberately, letting that sink in.
"But based on preliminary reports from our people on the ground, the final numbers will likely be minimal. Surprisingly minimal, actually. There is even a genuine possibility—though we're still confirming—that the total death toll might actually be zero."
A brief, heavy silence followed that statement.
"Highly unlikely," someone muttered from the far end of the table, skepticism clear in their tone. "Zero deaths in that kind of incident? Hard to believe."
Another voice cut in smoothly. "So ultimately, what we're actually looking at here is just damaged streets and broken buildings. Property damage only. Nothing more serious than that."
Several heads around the table nodded in agreement.
The middle-aged man who'd arrived late leaned back slightly in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he processed the implications.
"The incident already gained significant worldwide media attention," he said calmly, speaking slowly and deliberately. "If we come out now and publicly announce that only buildings were damaged, with no casualties… it'll end as a complete cold fart. The entire thing will just fizzle out."
He paused.
"The U.S. government won't care at all. They'll toss us some spare change as token compensation and walk away like nothing happened."
"Exactly right," another voice added from across the table. "They'll lowball us completely."
"That's precisely why," Mira said firmly, her expression hardening just slightly, "I've already taken the liberty of completely blocking all outgoing media transmissions from the affected region. Total information blackout. Nothing gets out unless we approve it first."
She looked around the table slowly, making eye contact with several key figures.
"The real question we need to decide right now is this: do we tell the complete truth about what happened? Or do we… strategically mix in some exaggeration?"
The room went completely silent.
People exchanged glances.
Unspoken communication passed between them.
Then—
"No," someone said firmly, their voice cutting through the quiet. "We absolutely exaggerate. No question."
"With this kind of incident," another voice followed immediately, "we can leverage it to push for a heavily one-sided deal with the U.S. government. Make them pay properly."
"Agreed completely," a third voice chimed in confidently. "And honestly, it won't even be that difficult to pull off. We already caught the actual instigator red-handed. We have him in custody."
"True, but we can't produce hard, concrete evidence that directly ties him to the U.S. government," someone cautioned carefully. "Not court-worthy evidence, anyway."
"But we don't actually need to," another person replied smoothly, almost dismissively. "We just need a name. Any plausible name. Plant the seed. Let international pressure do the rest."
"Excellent point," the middle-aged man said, nodding in approval. "Oh—and I heard through back channels that China seems to be planning almost exactly the same approach with their portion of the incident. We should probably coordinate with them. Present a united front."
"That would increase diplomatic pressure significantly," Mira agreed, making a note on her tablet. "I'll reach out to my contacts in Beijing."
Another brief pause settled over the room.
"Oh, wait," someone suddenly added, as if just remembering. "One more thing we need to discuss. What about that unknown superhuman individual who actually appeared and stopped the Hulk?"
The room stirred slightly.
Multiple people sat up straighter.
"Do we know anything concrete about him yet?" someone asked. "Identity? Nationality? Affiliation?"
Mira shook her head slowly, and for the first time her confident expression faltered just slightly.
"No. Unfortunately not. We are actively investigating through every available channel, but…"
She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable admitting this.
"But honestly, if I'm being completely realistic… it's genuinely hard to say if we'll ever find anything substantial at all. He appeared from nowhere, left no trace, and vanished through what witnesses described as some kind of portal. We have nothing."
The room fell silent once more.
Before you snap out of existence, at least leave a few Power Stones and a review, from your truly, (ಠ_ಠ)🫰.
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Guys, is there a problem if I add the other worlds too, like 10 or 15 chapters, or do you just want to see only Marvel?