*Silence*
The moment the naked man appeared, a tense hush fell over everyone near the New York Stock Exchange.
The silence lasted a full twenty seconds—until Heisenberg twitched weakly, breaking the spell.
Like a reanimated corpse, he stiffly raised a hand.
In an instant, seventy rifles and twelve grenade launchers locked onto him.
Iron Man's repulsors hummed, charged to full power.
Black Widow's gauntlets crackled with deadly arcs of electricity.
And Coulson?
He glanced at his pitifully raised pistol and sighed.
Why do I even bother?
Clearing his throat, Coulson pushed aside his existential crisis and spoke carefully.
"Can you understand me? Who are you? Where are you from? What do you want?"
Heisenberg frowned.
The Three Great Questions of Life: Who am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going?
"I am Heisenberg. Supreme Elder of Krypton's 64th High Council. I—ugh—AAAAAGH!!!"
His declaration dissolved into agony.
Sound.
Raw, unfiltered sound rampaged through his skull.
It was like 10,000 huskies howling in his ears.
Like a million women gossiping inside his brain.
Like a thousand nukes detonating in his sinuses.
Air.
Every breath was razor blades. His lungs screamed for oxygen yet rejected it like poison.
And worst of all—
Radiation.
Earth's yellow sun was bombarding his cells, supercharging them—but the process was anything but gentle.
His body, starved for millennia, was now a desert hit by a flash flood. Solar energy tore through him, reshaping muscle, bone, and nerve with brutal efficiency.
"I—fuck—GODDAMN IT ALL!!!"
Collapsing face-first onto the asphalt, Heisenberg convulsed like a shrimp in boiling water.
His suffering instantly defused S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hostility.
Coulson rushed forward.
"Christ. An alien elder with space leprosy. Just what we needed."
Barking orders, he waved over a hazmat team.
"Full Manhattan quarantine! Possible Level-5 biohazard! Agents under 25—stand down! The rest—get him to containment!"
Three volunteers hauled Heisenberg into a black SUV, which peeled away—leaving Iron Man staring at the empty spot.
Stark's faceplate flipped up, revealing a look of pure exasperation.
"Well. That was anti-climactic."
His gaze dropped to the pavement—where three distinct indentations marked Heisenberg's fall.
Two shallow divots… and one alarmingly deep crater.
Stark's eyes widened.
"Oh. Oh no."
He gingerly traced the edges, then recoiled in horror.
"That's… that's a dick imprint."
Paling, he looked down at his own crotch, then back at the foot-deep depression.
"I need to burn this suit."
With a shudder, he rocketed skyward.
---
S.H.I.E.L.D. New York Branch – 40 Minutes Later
Nick Fury studied Heisenberg through one-way glass.
Inside the lab, twelve scientists buzzed around the alien like ants on a carcass.
"Our scanners can't penetrate his skin. His muscle density exceeds tungsten!"
"Surgical tools fail on his hair. Hair!"
"Lasers bounce off his corneas. What is this thing?!"
"Thor wasn't this durable!"
Heisenberg's eyes snapped open.
"Because I'm not Thor."
His voice—smooth, fluent English—sent shockwaves through the room.
Fury's earpiece crackled.
"Ask about the 'disease'! Contagion risk—now!"
Heisenberg spat.
"Insult me again, and I'll peel your spine out through your nose."
With a twitch, the adamantium-reinforced restraints shattered.
Doctors recoiled as metal shrapnel pinged off walls.
Heisenberg rose, legs wobbling. His hand shot out, crushing a diagnostic machine like tinfoil.
"Oops."
Wrapping a sheet around his waist, he strode to the glass—and locked eyes with Fury through the one-way mirror.
"You. 'Director Fury,' was it? I heard your lackeys gossiping. Let's chat—outside this fish tank."
Before Fury could react, Heisenberg walked through the wall.
The bulletproof glass exploded outward, peppering the hallway with shrapnel.
Fury barely dodged a chunk the size of a dinner plate.
When the dust settled, Heisenberg stood amid the wreckage, adjusting his makeshift toga.
"Clothes. Black trench coat. Now."
---
Fury's Office – Five Minutes Later
Dressed in S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue black, Heisenberg lounged on Fury's couch like a king.
His speed-dressing had literally caused a windstorm—papers still fluttered from the ceiling.
Fury sat opposite him, sweating bullets.
"Drinks?" he offered weakly.
Hill vanished to fetch liquor—and secretly activate the "Big Green Protocol."
Alone, Fury steadied himself.
"Before we… socialize. May I ask what you are?"
Heisenberg chuckled.
What am I?
No longer the groveling wage slave. No longer powerless.
Now?
Now he could speak truth.
"I am Heisenberg—64th High Elder of Krypton. The only leader in my planet's history branded traitor by his own people."
Leaning forward, he let the weight of his words sink in.
"I was imprisoned in chrono-matter for 18,000 years. A 'criminal' forgotten by time."
His smile turned razor-sharp.
"You fear I'll seek vengeance? Rage against this era?"
A shrug.
"Relax. Strip away the titles, the grudges, the entire fucking backstory..."
He spread his arms.
"Right now? I'm just a perfectly ordinary Kryptonian."
Injustice/Chapter 4: A Kryptonian's First Day on Earth
"Ordinary?!"
Nick Fury's obsidian forehead nearly glistened with sweat as he processed Heisenberg's self-introduction.
The man had described himself as perfectly ordinary—yet his resume read like a cosmic horror story.
Former leader of an alien civilization. Branded a traitor. Imprisoned for 18,000 years.
Fury had dealt with frozen relics before—Captain America had only been on ice for 70. But this?
This was prehistoric.
And let's not forget the laser-proof skin, the walking through reinforced walls like they're tissue paper—
"You call this ordinary?!" Fury screamed internally.
Externally, he clenched his fists and swallowed his pride.
Fine. You win. You're a 'normal' Kryptonian.
"I… grasp your identity," Fury said stiffly. "I'm Nick Fury. Though you already knew that."
Heisenberg shrugged. "Heisenberg. Not thrilled to meet you."
Fury tilted his head—a move so cringe-worthy Heisenberg physically recoiled.
"Ugh. Don't do that."
Sighing, Heisenberg stood and paced to the window, sunlight bathing his face.
"Your planet's gravity," he mused, "is 40 times weaker than Krypton's. I could fly here. Believe that?"
"Flight is a universal dream. But perhaps we should focus on—"
"—the now."
Heisenberg cut him off with a grin.
"Sheep adapt to the savanna. Lions rule it."
With that, he gave a lazy wave.
"Pro tip: Don't piss me off. If I'm bored, I'll drop by. Until then—later."
BOOM.
The floor shattered as Heisenberg launched himself skyward—straight through the ceiling.
Fury's office now had a new skylight.
---
2,600 Meters Up
Wind screamed past Heisenberg's face as he arced through the stratosphere.
His shirt ripped apart mid-ascent, buttons pinging off like shrapnel.
Note to self: Get a damn cape.
Back on his homeworld (the human one), he'd mocked Superman's spandex-and-tablecloth ensemble.
Now?
Now he envied it.
Flying at triple the speed of sound without proper attire was like fighting a tornado with a tissue.
"Goddamn collar won't stop slapping me—!"
His trajectory peaked. For a glorious moment, he hung weightless—
—then plummeted.
CRASH.
He bounced off a Roosevelt statue in Central Park, cratering the pavement for 17 meters.
Dust plumed. Birds fled. Somewhere, a squirrel flipped him off.
"Ugh. Lungful of dirt. Not ideal."
Shaking off debris (and the statue's decapitated head), he leaped again—this time punching through storm clouds.
8,000 meters.
"HA! Screw humanity—this is living!"
He cartwheeled through the sky, laughing like a madman.
No training. No technique. Just raw power.
"If Zod figured it out in minutes, so can I!"
BOOM.
A sonic shockwave rippled outward as he broke the sound barrier.
Satellites lost him instantly.
---
Stark Tower – Penthouse
Tony Stark muted the news feed, whiskey forgotten in his hand.
"Well. That's… humbling."
On screen: Thermal imaging showed the Kryptonian's vertical jump dwarfing the Hulk's by 30x. His flight speed left Thor in the dust.
"JARVIS?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Are we… obsolete?"
"Technology evolves incrementally. You remain on the cutting edge."
"Cutting edge of what? A butter knife?"
Slamming his drink, Tony stormed toward the lab.
Mark IV specs needed revisions.
Lots of them.
---
S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ – Post-Departure
Maria Hill entered Fury's office—now resembling a bomb site—and froze.
"Sir. What the hell happened?"
Fury snatched her bourbon and drained it.
"Lesson one: Never assume you understand aliens."
He gestured to the foot-deep footprints embedded in reinforced steel.
"One jump. $18 million in damages. And we've got zero leverage."
Pausing, Fury rubbed his temples.
"Do we nuke him?"
"Unclear. But if we try and fail…"
"We're screwed," Fury finished.
Silence.
Then:
"Activate Phase Two. Fast-track the Avengers. And get me eyes on that Kryptonian—24/7."
Hill nodded. "Already deploying Agent 13. Romanoff's en route to Banner."
"Good. And—" Fury's eye narrowed. "Lock down all data on 'Heisenberg.' If any agency approaches him first, I'll skin someone alive."
"Understood."
As Hill left, Fury stared at the hole in his ceiling.
Control. We need control.
But deep down, he knew:
S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't his anymore.
Hydra's tendrils ran too deep.
And if they got to Heisenberg first…
Game over.