Flying—free and effortless flight.
Heisenberg soared through the clouds time and again, reveling in the sensation of drifting through a sea of mist.
Swimming was a skill most humans could master, but beyond battling waves in the ocean, wouldn't swimming through clouds feel even more exhilarating?
Of course it would!
Otherwise, why would Heisenberg have flown from dusk till dawn?
...
It had to be admitted—Heisenberg had gone a little flight-crazy. He wasn't even sure how many times he'd circled the Earth.
When he'd unilaterally bid farewell to Nick Fury, the night had suggested it was barely past eleven or twelve.
But now, as he hovered over New York once more, the sun was already bathing the city in light.
Heisenberg floated at an altitude of around 20,000 meters, sprawled in a starfish pose, his entire front basking in the sunlight.
"This... this warm, vibrant sensation...!"
Heisenberg was stunned.
It reminded him of the times before his transmigration, when he'd secretly taken those little blue pills with his wife!
How to describe it?
A burning heat, his entire body brimming with confidence!
Hah—
Comparing sunlight's effect on a Kryptonian to that of performance-enhancing drugs might be a bit rude.
But the sunlight truly gave him the same feeling.
Heisenberg could even feel his power swelling rapidly!
He couldn't quantify the exact increase, but he was confident that the current him could take on two of his former selves without breaking a sweat.
And so, luxuriating in the sun's strengthening rays, Heisenberg lay still for over two hours.
Only when restlessness stirred within him did he flip over in the clouds and begin pondering where to settle down.
Should he follow Superman's example and find a farm, quietly playing the role of an American farmer?
No, no!
That wasn't the life Heisenberg wanted.
Even before gaining power, he had pursued indulgence to the fullest.
When he earned less than 5,000 a month, he made sure to drink a few rounds.
When his income neared 10,000, he occasionally hit the clubs.
Later, as he earned more, his fun grew wilder, but so did his desires.
Before becoming a Kryptonian, Heisenberg had been obsessed with money because, on an Earth without supernatural power, money was power!
But now, wielding strength that bordered on the divine...
Was he supposed to lie low, hide his identity, blend in, and conform to the world?
Screw that!
With a sudden twist, Heisenberg shot straight back into the room he'd left earlier—Nick Fury's private office in the New York branch of S.H.I.E.L.D.
BOOM!!!
CRASH—
The floor-to-ceiling windows, installed less than two hours ago, shattered instantly. The S.H.I.E.L.D. repair crew working on the office floor nearly wet themselves in terror.
Amidst the stunned gazes of the workers, Heisenberg casually waved.
"Don't panic. Carry on as you were. I'm only here for Nick Fury. Seems I had a little... appointment with him before I left."
His words did little to calm the room. Every single person present looked ready to drop to their knees in fear.
This was insane! That was Chinese-made blast-resistant glass—not some cheap, mass-produced American knockoff.
Bulletproof against heavy machine-gun fire, and this guy had torn through it like it was tissue paper!
What kind of monster was he?!
After a moment of stunned silence, someone finally snapped into action.
One of the agents whipped out a pistol and opened fire on Heisenberg.
The small handgun spat out bullets with all its might, but Heisenberg merely frowned.
His clothes... were getting ruined.
"Gentlemen, momentary impulsiveness is forgivable. But if you continue, don't say I didn't warn you."
For the sake of maintaining some semblance of decorum, Heisenberg offered a word of caution.
But no one was listening.
To them, Heisenberg was an intruder. After all, Nick Fury had locked down all information about him, and no one had been briefed on his identity.
The ensuing hail of gunfire was a testament to S.H.I.E.L.D. agents' impeccable training.
TING! TANG! CLANG!
Bullets ricocheted off Heisenberg's body, scattering wildly in all directions.
Heisenberg didn't even flinch, but the agents soon began screaming.
"AAAAH! MY LEG—!"
"Damn it, watch for stray shots!"
"Stop firing—he's bulletproof!"
"What the hell is he?!"
"Someone help—I'm hit!"
In just five seconds, over 300 bullets had struck Heisenberg and careened into every corner of the office.
At least six agents were wounded in the crossfire.
The barrage ended as abruptly as it began. Heisenberg remained standing in place, while the agents scrambled for cover.
"This is Repair Team Four—intruder at the Triskelion! Requesting immediate backup!"
"Suspect displays superhuman abilities—we need support!"
Panicked reports flooded the comms, sending Nick Fury—who had been monitoring Natasha's progress in the underground control center—into a cold sweat.
Fury immediately switched off the feed from India, pulling up the security footage from his office.
Heisenberg's face filled the screen.
"This is Nick Fury. Cease fire! All units, stand down!"
Barking the order into his comm, Fury wiped his brow and bolted from the control room.
Back in the office, Heisenberg's superhuman hearing picked up Fury's command.
The agents, well-trained as they were, lowered their weapons and raised their hands in surrender.
Heisenberg, however...
"Now you stop?"
With a mocking chuckle, he raised his foot and brought it down.
BOOM!
The entire office floor disintegrated.
Concrete and reinforced metal plating shattered into fragments, leaving not a single stable surface beneath them.
THUD! CRASH! BANG!
Agents tumbled through the gaping hole like falling dumplings, landing hard on the level below.
Shards of concrete and jagged metal turned them into bloody messes.
From the looks of it, they were already drenched in red.
"AAAAAGH—!"
"Jesus, we need medics!"
"Someone help—they're bleeding out!"
The room below Fury's office appeared to be a lab. Panicked researchers scrambled to administer first aid.
Meanwhile, Heisenberg hovered calmly in the air, utterly indifferent to the chaos beneath him.
About twenty seconds later, someone finally found their voice.
A wounded but still-conscious repairman struggled to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at Heisenberg.
"We stopped shooting! Why did you do this?!"
"Why?"
Heisenberg sneered before slowly descending.
"You're asking why I retaliated after you ceased fire?
Then tell me—why did you keep trying to kill me even after I introduced myself and let your first attack slide?
You open fire when you want, stop when you want—since when does the world revolve around your whims?"
SMACK!
Heisenberg backhanded the man, sending him crashing to the ground.
He'd held back—just enough to avoid painting the researchers behind the agent with brain matter.
"Your methods are too ruthless. Your guns are too dangerous. Consider this a small lesson—remember it well.
And like I said: Don't say I didn't warn you."
With that icy remark, Heisenberg floated toward the door.
This was the image he'd chosen to project.
Yes, he was powerful—powerful enough that Nick Fury and his ilk knew better than to provoke him.
But that wasn't enough.
Superman was powerful too, yet no one feared him. Whether it was Lex Luthor or some random U.S. official, they all dared to mouth off at him.
Heisenberg refused to follow that example.
No matter the reason, true respect—and fear—from the weak only came after they'd been thoroughly beaten and bloodied.
By crafting an image of unpredictability, cruelty, and disregard for human life, he would ensure that no one dared cross him lightly.
Sigh...
Pushing open the door, Heisenberg stepped out into the hallway, where squads of agents were mobilizing.
Like a warrior surrounded yet unshaken, he strode past them, cutting through two more labs along the way.
Finally, he spotted a lounge—or at least a room with a few couches.
Settling onto one, he closed his eyes and waited for Nick Fury.
Agents lingered nearby, some watching, others monitoring.
But when Maria Hill arrived, they dispersed.
Hill took a seat across from Heisenberg, tapping the armrest to announce her presence.
Heisenberg snorted, cracking one eye open.
"Let's see... Nick Fury's about sixty meters underground, ascending. That gives us five minutes.
Short, but I'm honored to share it with a woman as lovely as you."
"Heh."
Hill's lips curled into a faint smile.
"Mr. Heisenberg, your charm doesn't quite match the way you just brutalized our agents."
"Allow me to explain. My philosophy on life is simple: bare your teeth at me, and I'll bare mine right back. Fair's fair."
"But you know my men couldn't hurt you!"
"So I should just stand there and let them shoot me in the face? If a swarm of mosquitoes bit you, would you stand still and let them feast?"
Heisenberg's expression darkened. No matter how beautiful the woman before him, his principles weren't up for negotiation.
To avoid being harmed by this world, you had to strike first—and strike hard.
He had to bare his fangs and claws, to make it clear that he wasn't to be trifled with.
Only then would no one dare provoke him lightly.
The DC universe next door had provided ample examples.
Take Superman: doing good deeds, earning admiration, yet constantly schemed against by countless villains.
The two people he loved most—his lover and his mother—had practically become professional kidnapping victims.
How pitiful. How laughable.
Then there was Batman. Brutal methods, yet clinging to a no-kill rule.
His enemies kept coming back, finding new ways to torment him, hurt him, break him.
Tsk.
But who dared mess with the Batman Who Laughs? The version who slaughtered without hesitation?
Who dared defy Injustice Superman? No one disobeyed his orders.
When power was sheathed in kindness and morality, the world ceased to fear its edge.
And that was the philosophy Heisenberg had chosen.
He refused to be a blade dulled by righteousness. He would show the world his sharpest edge.
He admitted it—for the first twenty-eight years of his life, he'd been ordinary. Maybe he couldn't match the Joker's absolute evil.
But when it came to killing?
He could do it.
And if a little bloodshed bought him peace...
If a touch of cruelty let him enjoy life more freely...
Then so be it.
"Hill."
Heisenberg's voice was grave.
"This is my second warning: anyone who points a gun at me won't live to regret it. Believe me."
"But—"
Hill seemed ready to argue, but Heisenberg was suddenly beside her, gripping her chin.
"You were about to say 'but'? Heh."
Hill's eyes blazed with anger, but fury looked anything but intimidating on her lovely face.
"Don't question me, human. You have your rules—I have mine.
They chose to aim their guns at me.
And I chose to make them pay.
Or do you think it's not enough? That they're still alive?
I could always fix that. What do you say?!"
"Mmph—!"
Hill struggled in his grip, but Heisenberg released her with a shove.
"Tsk. Fascinating creatures, humans. Self-centered hypocrites. So spare me your lectures.
Talking to you is making me thirsty. Fetch me a drink. Go."