What does he see?
The Highbreed disguised as Steve Rogers felt an inexplicable chill crawl down his spine as Ben Parker's gaze lingered on him for just a fraction too long. Those eyes seemed to look through the carefully constructed facade, piercing layers of deception to glimpse the truth beneath.
But then Ben looked away, attention shifting back to the holographic displays, and the moment passed.
I'm being paranoid, the infiltrator told himself, forcing his borrowed muscles to relax. He couldn't possibly see through my disguise. It's perfect.
And it was. The holographic mask was merely the surface layer, an optical illusion to fool cameras and casual observation. But that wasn't what gave him true confidence. No, his real advantage lay in the ability the Supreme Intelligence had accidentally granted his species during their failed attempt to create a Cosmic Cube.
The Highbreed had sought to solve their catastrophic genetic degradation. They'd failed at that objective spectacularly. But in the process, they'd gained something unexpected: dramatic improvements to their physical capabilities and several unique powers.
Chief among these was "mimicry"—not the shapeshifting of the Skrulls, but something far more sophisticated. It allowed them to compress their enormous frames into the bodies of smaller species, to replicate not just appearance but also biological signatures and even recent memories.
It was this ability that had made their infiltration of the Behemoth Star Ring so devastatingly successful. Holographic masks alone could never conceal their true three-meter height or their insectoid physiology.
Though wearing the skin of an inferior species grated against every fiber of his racial pride, the Highbreed endured the indignity. The anti-life extinction plan demanded sacrifice. If he had to crawl through mud to see it succeed, then crawl he would.
Unaware that his cover had already been compromised, the infiltrator's thoughts drifted to his fellow operatives on Earth. By now, they must have constructed multiple climate control towers. Perhaps some had even successfully penetrated the Plumber headquarters on Sakaar itself.
The thought brought him grim satisfaction.
Meanwhile, in a secure conference chamber deeper within the Helicarrier, seven figures gathered around a circular table. These were the true architects of Hydra's global dominion—the infamous Hydra Cabinet.
Madame Hydra Elisa Sinclair sat with predatory grace, her green hair pulled back to reveal sharp features and sharper eyes. Beside her, the Hive's host body shifted restlessly, parasitic intelligence barely contained within stolen flesh. Baron Zemo's purple mask caught the cold overhead lights as he leaned back in his chair. The Kraken's massive frame dominated one side of the table, while Arnim Zola's consciousness flickered across nearby monitors, his mechanical voice emanating from hidden speakers. Ophelia Sarkissian, the Viper, coiled in her seat like her namesake, and the withered form of Herr Kleiser completed the circle.
These were the most powerful individuals in the world, answering to no one save their Supreme Leader.
"They've disabled all surveillance in their section of the ship." Dr. Zola's digitized voice dripped with indignation, his face appearing on a dozen screens simultaneously. "In my assessment, these so-called envoys are hardly acting in good faith. We should eliminate them immediately, then mobilize our forces to extend Hydra's glory to this other universe."
Baron Zemo drummed his fingers against the table, the sound deliberate and measured. "And what do we actually know about these people, Zola? The young man leading them isn't anyone in our databases, yet both Steve Rogers and T'Challa from that universe appear to defer to his authority." His masked face turned toward the others. "And what about the four-armed woman? Some kind of mutated Hulk variant?"
He spread his hands. "We know nothing substantive about their capabilities or backing. Rushing into conflict would be foolish."
"You worry too much, Zemo." The Viper's forked tongue flickered between her lips as she laughed, the sound cold and predatory. "We command the Dark Avengers. We have nothing to fear from a handful of interdimensional refugees. Every rebel in this world has learned to submit to Hydra's will. These will be no different."
Herr Kleiser's ancient voice rasped across the table. "I support Zemo's caution. Recklessness serves no purpose. We've played the long game for years, and we won through patience and planning. Our external enemies aren't completely neutralized yet."
He leaned forward, age-spotted hands folded on the table. "My recommendation: maintain the facade of cooperation with these 'envoys.' Extract every scrap of information about this collision crisis. Meanwhile, mobilize our forces covertly and prepare to destroy their Earth in a single overwhelming strike."
Murmurs of dissent rippled around the table.
"Destroy it?" Madame Hydra's eyes narrowed. "Isn't that wasteful?"
The Hive's host body spoke, multiple voices layered in unnatural harmony. "If we can conquer another Earth, we gain not just a planet but an entire universe. Resources beyond measure. Territory without the complication of Captain Marvel and those Kree warriors trapped outside our shield."
In their world, Hydra's dominion ended at Earth's atmosphere. The planetary shield that kept superheroes sealed in the Dark Dimension also trapped them inside, unable to expand into space while Carol Danvers and her allies waited in orbit like hungry wolves.
But another universe represented virgin territory.
"How can you be certain their universe lacks its own Captain Marvel?" Kleiser's question cut through the rising excitement. "Or other cosmic-level threats we know nothing about?"
He shook his head slowly. "This situation has developed too quickly for proper intelligence gathering. We need information before committing to action. As for claiming their universe..." A thin smile crossed his lips. "The multiverse contains infinite worlds, gentlemen. There's no need to fixate on the first one we encounter."
The logic was sound enough to give the others pause.
At that moment, the conference room door opened. Steve Rogers Captain Hydra entered with military precision. He knew the cabinet would have reached their conclusions by now. Whatever recommendations they offered, the final decision rested with him. He was, after all, the Supreme Leader.
"Steve." Madame Hydra spoke first, her voice carrying the weight of certainty. "You understand we cannot abandon Earth. The moment we lower the planetary shield for evacuation, Captain Marvel and her Kree allies will strike. If they manage to break the seals on New York and free the heroes trapped in the Dark Dimension, everything we've built will collapse."
Steve's face nodded slowly. "My assessment aligns with yours."
He saw no moral complication in destroying another Earth. Protecting the people of an alternate universe fell outside his mandate. His sense of ethics, such as it was, didn't extend that far.
"However," he continued, "we need to maintain their cooperation long enough to extract actionable intelligence about this collision crisis. Based on their behavior and preparation, this clearly isn't a random occurrence. We may face similar incursions from other realities in the future."
He let that implication settle. "We need to understand the pattern. The mechanism. How to predict and control it."
Satisfied nods circled the table.
Ten minutes later, Steve returned to the makeshift conference room where Ben and his team waited. The young man was examining holographic star charts, while Looma had taken up position by the window, her massive frame silhouetted against the clouds below.
"We accept your proposal," Steve said smoothly, his expression open and cooperative. "But evacuating billions of people will require time to coordinate. We'll need several hours at minimum."
He settled into a chair across from Ben, projecting calm reasonableness. "However, before we begin the evacuation, we need more information about this collision crisis you've mentioned. The mechanics of it. The cause. Everything you know."
Felicia blinked in surprise, turning to Ben. "They agreed? Just like that? I was certain there'd be at least some pushback, maybe even a fight."
Steve offered an apologetic smile, the expression perfectly calibrated to convey reluctant acceptance. "Trust me, if we had any viable alternative, we wouldn't choose to abandon our world. But you've given us almost no time to prepare. The odds of successfully repelling your forces are..." He shook his head. "Unacceptable. We're not suicidal."
The explanation landed with the ring of truth. Reasonable. Pragmatic. Exactly what a leader protecting his people would say.
"We don't fully understand the cause ourselves," Ben said, his tone deliberately measured. "Initially, we theorized it was some kind of space-time oscillation. But subsequent investigation suggests something more fundamental is at work."
He pulled up a holographic model showing two universes drifting toward collision. "What we do know is that the multiverse itself is collapsing. Earth serves as the singularity point—the anchor that draws realities together. Countless alternate universes are approaching each other because of their respective Earths. Eventually, they collide." He made a crushing gesture with his hands. "Destroying one Earth before impact is the most resource-efficient solution we've identified."
We could destroy entire universes, Ben's tone seemed to suggest, but planetary annihilation is simply more practical.
"I understand the urgency," Steve said. "But we'll need every available hour to organize the evacuation. Our logistics capabilities are substantial, but moving an entire planetary population..."
"You don't have much time," T'Challa interrupted, his voice carrying an odd note of surprise. "We can't afford to wait much longer."
He studied Steve with open curiosity. "You know, it's remarkable. After visiting so many alternate realities, I never expected that a world ruled by Hydra would be the most cooperative."
The statement hung in the air, somewhere between observation and accusation.
Steve's expression didn't flicker. "Survival transcends ideology, King T'Challa."
"If you don't mind," T'Challa continued, "we'd like to observe your evacuation efforts firsthand. To ensure everything proceeds smoothly."
Internally, he remained deeply skeptical. Hydra agreeing so readily to abandon Earth? It defied everything he knew about the organization. He needed to see with his own eyes whether they genuinely intended to evacuate civilians or if this was merely another layer of deception.
Steve had been calculating what excuse he might use to keep them contained, so the request actually simplified matters. "Of course. Would you like me to assign guides?"
"That won't be necessary." T'Challa's refusal was polite but firm. "We'll simply observe from the ground. Washington, D.C. should suffice."
He had no intention of being monitored by Hydra handlers.
Streets of Washington, D.C.
Ben and his team might as well have been technicolor characters dropped into a black-and-white photograph. Their presence radiated vitality against the oppressive grayness that permeated every corner of the city.
The architecture itself seemed designed to crush individuality—brutalist concrete towers bearing massive Hydra emblems, surveillance cameras on every corner, propaganda posters declaring absolute order. The very air tasted of suppressed fear and enforced compliance.
Despite being impossibly conspicuous—particularly Looma, whose Tetramand frame towered over every human on the street—the pedestrians refused to make eye contact. They flowed around the visitors like water around stones, eyes downcast, faces carefully blank.
Not a single person dared even a curious glance. Eye contact might invite attention. Attention might bring investigation. Investigation could mean arrest.
"This is suffocating," Felicia murmured, her arms wrapped around herself despite the mild temperature. The silver-haired young woman looked genuinely disturbed. "Imagine living your entire life like this. Always careful. Always watching what you say, how you move, where you look. One wrong breath and you could be arrested."
Her voice dropped lower. "One mistake and you're gone."
T'Challa, his attention split between their surroundings and his wrist computer, suddenly straightened. "They've actually issued the evacuation order."
He projected a hologram into the air between them. The image showed Steve Rogers in full gear, standing before the Hydra seal, his posture military-straight and his expression gravely serious. He looked every inch the wartime leader making the hardest decision of his life.
"Citizens of Earth," the recording began, "by order of Hydra High Command and the Supreme Council, I am authorizing a complete planetary evacuation..."
Almost simultaneously, the skies above Washington darkened with spacecraft. Hundreds of vessels poured from concealed hangars, forming aerial rivers of metal and thrust. They spread out like a mechanical swarm, descending on cities across the globe.
The sheer scale of the operation was breathtaking. This wasn't a hasty evacuation—it was a precisely choreographed military operation that had clearly been planned long in advance.
Moments later, loudspeakers throughout the city crackled to life, broadcasting Steve's voice again with specific instructions. Immediately, doors opened. Families emerged in small groups, moving with practiced efficiency toward designated gathering points. No panic. No chaos. Just grim, orderly compliance.
Watching the seamless coordination, Felicia found herself experiencing a deeply uncomfortable realization. "You know... as horrifying as this level of control is, part of me has to admit there's an upside. At least when the order comes, people actually respond instead of losing their minds, questioning everything, and causing chaos."
She immediately looked disgusted with herself for the thought.
T'Challa and Looma, however, showed no such ambivalence.
"Look at them," T'Challa said quietly, watching a family of four march past with mechanical precision. The parents' faces were blank masks. The children moved in perfect sync with their parents, no fidgeting, no questions. "They're not people anymore. They're puppets with their consciousness erased. Ruling these hollow shells is no different than ruling an army of robots."
Looma's four hands clenched into fists, her disappointment palpable. "I thought there might be warriors here worth fighting. Instead, I find only this." She gestured at the docile crowds with barely concealed contempt. "Where is their fire? Their defiance?"
She shook her head, each motion heavy with disgust. "This isn't victory. It's just... sad."
As the group stood among the orderly evacuation, shaking their heads at the dystopian efficiency surrounding them, none of them noticed the figure watching from a high-rise window three blocks away.
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