Nick Fury sat in his office, tablet in hand, reviewing the compiled intelligence from Broadway. SHIELD agents had managed to document extensive footage before the military established their cordon—good work, considering Ross's attempts to lock down the scene.
The videos showed everything. The Abomination's rampage. Smith Doyle's intervention. The escalating battle between Smith and the Hulk. And most interestingly, the moment Smith had deliberately allowed Bruce Banner to escape.
Fury's single eye narrowed thoughtfully. That wasn't coincidence or oversight. Smith Doyle had let Banner go intentionally. The question was why.
He set the tablet down and reached for his phone. "Hill, come to my office."
Hill arrived within two minutes, her posture professional and alert. She'd learned to recognize the tone Fury used when he was working through a problem that required delicate handling.
"Originally, Coulson was handling Smith Doyle's portfolio," Fury began without preamble. "But I've just assigned him to investigate the Sky Curtain incident, which means you're up."
He slid the tablet across his desk. Hill picked it up, swiping through the footage and images. Smith Doyle fighting two gamma-enhanced monsters simultaneously, barely breaking a sweat. The devastating force behind each strike. The casual confidence in his movements.
"I need you to visit Smith Doyle's base," Fury said, his voice carefully neutral. "Test him. Probe for information about his origins."
Hill's eyebrow rose fractionally. "You think he's an alien?"
"He's becoming more and more like Superman from the comics," Fury said, ticking off attributes on his fingers. "Flight. Invulnerability. Heat vision. Superhuman strength that rivals the Hulk. And now he's got his Universal Capsule Company—essentially making him a combination of Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne."
Fury leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "He has too many abilities. Too many overlapping power sets that don't match any known enhanced human profile we have on file."
"You think he's Kryptonian?" Hill asked, her tone suggesting she found that unlikely but wasn't dismissing it entirely.
"No," Fury admitted. "I don't actually think he's an alien. But in our line of work, we make bold assumptions and verify carefully. Better to ask the question and be wrong than not ask and miss something critical."
He paused, then added, "Of course, you're just going over there to test the waters. Ask about the Avengers Initiative. I'm planning to apply for a dedicated facility for the team."
Hill's expression remained professionally blank, but internally she noted the irony. Everyone in SHIELD's senior leadership knew that Fury had used the Avengers concept to hook Smith Doyle and Tony Stark into cooperation. When Smith had tried to exercise actual oversight authority, Fury had stonewalled him with bureaucratic delays, claiming the team wasn't formally established yet.
Political maneuvering at its finest—dangle the carrot, then pull it away when someone tries to take a bite.
But Hill was career SHIELD. Orders were orders, regardless of the ethical gymnastics required. "I'll visit their base tomorrow morning."
"Good," Fury said. "While you're there, find out how much they know about the military's gamma experiments. Also check if the Universal Capsule Company has any new products in development. And see if they're planning to release an upgraded scouter—the 150-point limit is becoming a problem."
Hill nodded, committing the objectives to memory, then left the office.
Fury waited until the door closed before pulling out Bruce Banner's file again. He opened it, studying the psychological profiles and combat footage.
"If this guy can control his sanity," Fury murmured to himself, "he could be an Avenger. It's rare to find someone who can withstand Smith Doyle's attacks and keep fighting."
His thoughts drifted to the conversation he'd had with Talos about Smith's potential origins. According to the Skrulls' extensive intelligence network spanning multiple galaxies, there was no race matching Smith Doyle's power profile. No planet called Krypton, no species called Kryptonians.
The Kree existed, certainly—blue-blooded warriors with enhanced physiology. But their appearance was distinctly non-human, their biology obviously alien. Smith looked completely human. Acted human. Had human documentation going back years.
Either he was human with unexplained enhancement, or he was something so exotic that even the Skrulls' intelligence network had no reference point for it.
Fury pulled a modified pager from his desk drawer—Stark tech housing Kree communications arrays, a hybrid device for reaching someone very far away. He looked at it for a long moment, then returned it to the drawer.
"The Earth is getting busier," he said to the empty office.
But not yet. Not for this. Carol had bigger problems to deal with in the wider galaxy. This was still manageable with terrestrial resources.
For now.
The Next Morning - Smith's Residence
Smith Doyle sat at his kitchen counter, working through a plate of scrambled eggs and toast while the television played in the background. The morning news had been dominated by Broadway coverage—as expected.
"—two giant monsters appeared on Broadway last night and wreaked havoc throughout the district," the anchor announced, her tone appropriately grave. "The damage was catastrophic."
The screen split, showing before-and-after aerial shots of Broadway. The contrast was stark—pristine urban development on the left, cratered warzone on the right.
"Direct losses are estimated at over one billion dollars, with indirect economic impact reaching ten billion when accounting for business disruption and infrastructure repair," the anchor continued. "However, casualties were far lower than initially feared, thanks to the timely intervention of Smith Doyle—known publicly as God—who was shopping with Bulma, chief scientist of the Universal Capsule Company, at the time of the incident."
The screen changed to show a candid photo Smith hadn't known existed. Bulma holding two ice cream cones, handing one to him, both of them looking relaxed and happy. The photographer had captured them mid-laugh about something.
Smith paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. When had that been taken? He'd been actively scanning for threats during their outing, but apparently not thoroughly enough to catch paparazzi.
He shrugged and continued eating. Not like the photo was compromising.
"We now go live to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, where we're speaking with Brian McCarthy, one of the civilians caught in yesterday's incident."
The feed cut to a hospital room. A middle-aged man with bandages wrapped around his head sat up in bed, a microphone thrust toward him by an eager reporter.
"Mr. McCarthy, what are your thoughts on yesterday's events? We understand you were injured during the incident."
Brian's face lit up with genuine enthusiasm despite the obvious pain medication haze. "God is our protector. Our hero. I'll support him forever."
The reporter, perhaps expecting a more traumatic response, seemed momentarily thrown. "Superman isn't particularly popular in the comics. Why do you support Smith Doyle so strongly, sir?"
Brian's expression shifted to outright disdain. "What do you know? How can Superman compare to God? Superman couldn't even get his house back when the bank foreclosed on it in the comics."
He gestured emphatically, nearly dislodging his IV line. "But listen to this—I parked my car on Broadway yesterday. One of those green monsters slapped it, and my car was completely destroyed. Totaled. I was devastated."
His expression transformed into something like religious fervor. "But this morning—this morning—the Smith Doyle Foundation contacted me. They're processing my claim already. Full replacement value, expedited. I'll have a check by next week."
Brian pointed at the camera, speaking directly to it. "How can I not support someone like that? He protects us, and he takes care of us when we're hurt. He's not just God—he's our Superman. Better than Superman."
The reporter's expression shifted from professional neutrality to something more genuine. "Unfortunately, my car wasn't near Broadway, so I missed the opportunity for an upgrade."
She turned back to the camera, her tone becoming more editorial. "It seems being a superhero requires more than just abilities—it requires resources, organization, and genuine care for civilian welfare. Currently, our two most prominent superheroes—God and Iron Man—exemplify this perfectly. Both powerful, and both using their wealth to support their heroic activities."
Smith smiled at the screen, taking another bite of eggs. The compensation fund was working exactly as intended—generating positive PR while ensuring civilian support remained strong. The military was covering most of the actual damages through their settlement, which meant Smith's personal outlay was minimal.
And the long-term investment would pay dividends. Public goodwill was worth far more than the few million he'd spend on legitimate claims.
Fox walked into the kitchen, her expression amused as she glanced at the television. "The fact that you took our little scientist out for ice cream is now global news."
Smith grinned. "What, are you jealous?"
Fox rolled her eyes dramatically, then leaned against the counter. Her tongue traced her upper lip slowly, deliberately provocative. "If I want to eat something sweet, I'll eat your ice cream."
Smith laughed, setting down his fork. "Sounds like you want me for breakfast."
Fox's playful expression shifted to something more serious. She moved closer, perching on the stool beside him. "Okay, jokes aside—we have a situation. Agent Hill from SHIELD is here to visit you. Almost certainly related to yesterday's incident. I've had her escorted to the formal receiving room."
Smith's smile faded into something more calculating. Hill, not Coulson. Interesting choice. Fury was sending his second-in-command for a reason—either he wanted to signal that this was high-priority, or he wanted someone with more tactical assessment capability.
Probably both.
"Give me five minutes to finish breakfast," Smith said, already running through likely conversation topics in his mind. "Then I'll go see what Fury wants now."
Fox nodded and slipped off the stool, heading back toward the administrative wing to ensure their guest remained comfortable while she waited.
Smith returned his attention to his eggs, but his mind was elsewhere—cataloging information that SHIELD might want, calculating what he could safely share versus what needed to remain proprietary.
Politics and superheroics. Sometimes it was hard to tell which was more complicated.