S.H.I.E.L.D. Had dispatched a sizable contingent, though few were combat personnel. Most were technical specialists brought in to operate complex arrays of equipment, record every micro-second of the unfolding event with absolute precision, and relay the telemetry back to headquarters for expert analysis. Consequently, the military units were forced to set up their artillery positions on the sidelines. Fortunately for everyone involved, the surrounding residential zone had been cleared in advance-otherwise, an army of outraged citizens would have already taken to the streets to protest the destruction of their private property.
Inside, Li Yunlongs cottage remained eerily tranquil, entirely indifferent to the frantic preparations outside. High-powered floodlights bathed the perimeter, illuminating the night until the area was as bright as noon. Multiple cameras positioned at every conceivable angle ensured that whatever was about to happen would be captured in crisp, unyielding detail. Unbothered by civilian interference, the soldiers went about setting up their battery at a relaxed pace. A few even had time to banter with the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents. «All this fuss for a little place like that?» one soldier sneered, leaning against a vehicle. «Keep your eyes peeled, boys. Give us two minutes, and we'll flatten the whole damn thing.»
Black Widow paid no mind to the boasting grunts. Her focus was fixed entirely on Colonel Stryker. So far, the colonel hadn't attempted any underhanded maneuvers-a pleasant surprise, though a welcome one. Completing the mission according to protocol was infinitely preferable to dealing with unexpected complications.
The military moved with practiced efficiency. Although the surrounding houses posed a slight tactical inconvenience, the engineers quickly adapted their setup. Compared to a real battlefield, this was a cakewalk; actual enemies didn't politely stand by while you arranged your heavy artillery. Once anchored, the militarys high-yield ordnance was designed to unleash unimaginable destruction. Moments later, they opened fire, pouring a relentless torrent of flame onto Li Yunlongs cottage. Amid the deafening thunder of the barrage, the blinding flashes of artillery outshone even the artificial daylight of the floodlights.
Inside the mobile command unit, Natasha watched the display through the tactical monitor. Even rendered through a digital screen, the sheer scale of the firepower was breathtaking. Taking a slow, deep breath, she felt the familiar rush-the scent of hot steel and scorched earth, of war and gunpowder, a heady mixture that spoke to the deepest, most primal desires of combat. Yet something felt off. Natasha narrowed her eyes, concentrating on the feeds. Suddenly, the anomaly clicked. «Where is the telemetry?» she demanded aloud. «Why isn't Mr. Ghosts Haunted House reacting?»
What was missing was the shockwave. The roar of the artillery had masked the discrepancy at first, but after sustained, direct bombardment, the physical evidence was nonexistent. Modern artillery shells and tactical rockets were not solid iron balls; they were packed with high explosives engineered to detonate on impact. Even if a single shell went off, the proximity alone should have shaken the command vehicle to its chassis. Yet the rig sat perfectly still. Had every single round fired at Mr. Ghosts Haunted House failed to detonate?
Whether the gunners noticed the anomaly or simply didn't care, they showed no intention of stopping. They continued their relentless barrage until every last shell, rocket, and round was expended. When the smoke finally cleared, the cottage showed visible signs of heavy structural damage-only to instantly regenerate, restoring itself to pristine condition within a single second. Colonel Stryker marched directly to Natashas command van and slammed a fist against the door. «What in the hell is that thing?!» he spat.
«We don't know,» Natasha replied coolly. «Which is precisely why we requested the military's assistance for field testing.» Stryker choked on his own anger, rendered speechless, before turning on his heel and stalking off. Natasha watched his retreating back through narrowed eyes. What was that old fox really planning?
The military brass quickly handed down new orders: resume fire. Empty every stockpile of obsolete munitions available; if necessary, hurl enough metal to crush the cursed house by sheer physical mass. A emergency mobilization order was issued, and surplus armaments were trucked in from nearby armories. Operating with complete disregard for cost, the military hammered away at Li Yunlongs cottage with insane zeal. More than twenty attack helicopters joined the fray, raining fire from above. Eventually, an air strike was called in. A jet fighter streaked through the sky, launching a heavy air-to-ground missile guided by a ground-based laser system. The ordnance was meant for hardened military bunkers; using it on a tiny residential home went far beyond overkill.
The destructive spectacle raged continuously until six in the morning. When the firing finally ceased, the exhausted troops stared in disbelief. Li Yunlongs cottage stood intact, stubbornly illuminated from within. Then, under the soft golden light of the breaking dawn, the building dissolved like a phantom, vanishing into thin air.
«Hulk!»
Without Li Yunlongs pressure holding him down, the green Goliath erupted from the crater with a deafening roar. Natasha immediately sprinted toward him, stepping in to calm the beast before he could tear the site apart. Meanwhile, Colonel Stryker walked alone to the edge of the pit, peering down into the deep cavity. The soil was completely smooth-not a single piece of shrapnel or spent bullet remained.
As morning arrived, the military units quietly packed up and pulled out. Doctor Banner was escorted into a vehicle to rest, while S.H.I.E.L.D. Personnel dismantled their monitoring equipment. Natasha stared down at the empty pit, a creeping sense of unreality washing over her. The events of the past night felt like a fever dream. What on earth did we just do?
Sitting alone in the command vehicle, Natasha felt a heavy, dull exhaustion settling in her bones. As an experienced agent, she had witnessed horrors and wonders that ordinary people couldn't imagine in a hundred lifetimes, yet Mr. Ghosts Haunted House surpassed them all. It wasn't that the house was horrifying; it was the chilling, indifferent silence with which it absorbed the concentrated wrath of an army. Natasha knew modern warfare inside and out. She understood the terrifying efficiency of these steel monsters-monuments to human ingenuity dedicated entirely to destruction. Yet last night, before that quiet little cottage, the supreme authority of human violence had been rendered utterly meaningless. A quiet corner of her mind felt as if it were crumbling. What was happening to the world? When had it become so absurd, so entirely alien?
On the primary monitor, Director Nicks dark, scarred face appeared, looking down at her with formidable gravity. «Natasha, you look terrible.»
Natasha straightened her spine, smoothing her expression. «Im fine, Director. I can handle it.»
Director Nick didn't press the matter. «Don't let it weigh on you. The operation didn't yield the intended physical results, but we suffered zero casualties, and our tech teams gathered an enormous amount of raw telemetry.»
«Director,» Natasha asked, unable to contain her doubt, «have the analysts come up with anything useful regarding Mr. Ghosts Haunted House?»
She genuinely couldn't make sense of it. If Li Yunlongs cottage were a real, physical object, the military firepower directed at it should have obliterated it ten thousand times over. If it were merely an illusion, that would neatly explain how it repaired itself instantly-but whether physical or illusory, where had all the ammunition gone? As the military brass had put it, 'even if we throw rocks, well crush the damn house under the weight.' The military had spared no expense; Natasha estimated that even relying on surplus stocks, the night's expenditure exceeded ten million dollars. Even if every shell, rocket, missile, and grenade had been duds that failed to explode, their physical mass hadn't vanished into thin air. The sheer tonnage of copper and lead fired into that pit should have filled the hole to the brim and stacked three stories high! Where had it all gone? It was a complete paradox.
Director Nick paused for a long moment. It wasn't a matter of Natashas clearance level; rather, even he felt the scientific panel's conclusion sounded utterly insane. «The working theory from the analysts,» Nick said slowly, «is that Mr. Ghosts Haunted House exists in the precise intersection between two dimensions. Every round we fired crossed over into another reality. Consequently, our weapons produced no kinetic impact or debris in our world.»
«What kind of absurd nonsense is that?» Natasha muttered, her tone sharp. «Then how do the experts explain Brook Lee wandering all over Los Angeles?»
«The consensus,» Nick replied, «is that Brook Lee never stepped foot in Los Angeles. What the public saw was an extremely sophisticated optical projection.»
Natasha suppressed a bitter laugh. «And Doctor Banner? The Hulk went inside and came back out. That was no projection.»
That was the trouble with brilliant operatives-they possessed independent minds and refused to be fed comfortable lies. Director Nick rubbed his temple, looking uncharacteristically weary. «The analysts believe the Hulks unique physiological composition makes him an anomaly.»
Right, Natasha thought. When logic fails, label it an anomaly. What are we paying these scientists for if their best answer is magic? I knew those grant-chasing bastards were useless. Aloud, she asked, «And the giant that fought the Hulk? How do they explain that?»
Explanations? There were no explanations! Did Nick think he didn't know the S.H.I.E.L.D. Think tank was grasping at straws? But he was trapped. To his agents, Director Nick was an omnipotent authority figure, but to the true global elite, S.H.I.E.L.D. Was just another intelligence agency. He wanted top-tier, Nobel-laureate scientists working in his labs, but genuine academic giants sneered at classified government projects. Begging and pleading might buy their consultancy on a single project, but getting them to sign a full-time contract with S.H.I.E.L.D.? Pure fantasy.
Falling back on his authoritative commander persona, Director Nick cut the discussion short. «Thats enough for now. City leadership in Los Angeles has vetoed our follow-up proposals. The brass was thoroughly spooked by last night's display. Expect them to bury the file on Mr. Ghosts Haunted House under maximum security clearance and pretend the whole thing never happened. Wrap up your business and return to base. I have another assignment waiting for you.»
Meanwhile, in his own quiet space, Li Yunlong was busily counting his spoils.