Heisenberg soared through the clouds again and again, relishing the sensation of drifting within a sea of white.
Swimming is a skill most humans can master, but swimming in the sky—no, in the sea of clouds—was something else entirely.
Wasn't that even more heroic than braving waves in the ocean?
Of course it was!
Otherwise, how could Heisenberg have flown from the depths of midnight to the break of dawn?
…
Truthfully, Heisenberg had been flying a little crazily.
He couldn't even remember how many times he'd circled the Earth since leaving the Helicarrier.
When he'd parted ways with Nick Fury—unilaterally, mind you—it was around midnight.
Now, as he hovered over New York again, the sun was already high, casting a golden glow over the city below.
Suspended roughly 20,000 meters in the air, Heisenberg lay flat, arms and legs outstretched like a starfish, bathing in direct sunlight.
"This feeling… this warmth and rush of strength…!"
Heisenberg froze.
It reminded him of a certain time before his "accident"—when he'd popped a little blue pill during a romantic weekend getaway with his wife.
How to describe it?
Hot. Invigorating. Bursting with confidence.
And now?
He had no need for pills. The sun itself was enough.
That's the gift of being Kryptonian.
Under the yellow sun of Earth, he could feel power rushing through him, flooding every fiber of his being.
He didn't know exactly how much stronger he was becoming, but he was confident: right now, he could probably take on Thor and Iron Man at the same time and walk away grinning.
Heisenberg stayed there, soaking in the rays for over two hours before finally flipping over and floating lazily through the sky.
It was time to think seriously—where should he settle down?
Should he find a remote farm in Kansas and play Superman 2.0?
No, no, no.
That wasn't Heisenberg's style.
Even when he had no strength, he pursued pleasure to the limit.
Back when he made less than $5,000 a month, he still treated himself to good meals.
When he hit $10,000, he'd go out clubbing, blowing off steam with disco lights and cocktails.
The richer he got, the more indulgent he became. Power only sharpened his desires.
Before gaining Kryptonian physiology, he was obsessed with making money—because in a world without superpowers, money was power.
Now?
Now that he wielded power that transcended human limits…
He was supposed to hide in some small town, living under an alias, playing house like Clark Kent?
Hell no!
Without hesitation, Heisenberg turned and rocketed straight back into the S.H.I.E.L.D. New York branch—the very office he'd left behind.
BOOM!!
Crash—!!
The freshly installed floor-to-ceiling windows shattered like tissue paper as Heisenberg smashed through.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. renovation crew, still wrapping up repairs, nearly soiled themselves on the spot.
Amid the chaos, Heisenberg floated gently to the ground and waved casually.
"No need for formalities—carry on. I'm just here to see your boss, Nick Fury."
Every person in the office froze.
Some began to count under their breath, as if that might calm them.
The glass he shattered had been imported explosion-proof composite from China, stronger than military-grade armor.
It was supposed to withstand a Raptor's mounted cannon.
And this guy?
He burst through like it was rice paper!
Who the hell was he?!
One of the agents panicked and raised his firearm.
Pop—pop—pop!
Tiny bullets ricocheted harmlessly off Heisenberg's body, shredding his clothes but not even scratching his skin.
He sighed.
"Guys, really. Let's not do this. I'm not your enemy."
But they didn't listen.
To them, he was an unidentified threat.
No one had briefed them. No one had said, "Hey, the man with laser eyes and abs of steel is chill."
So the bullets kept flying.
Jingle—clink—ricochet!
Bullets bounced off Heisenberg, scattering in all directions. Some struck lights, walls, and—unfortunately—each other.
In seconds, the office turned into a battlefield.
"AHHH! MY BACK!"
"Watch the friendly fire, damn it!"
"He's bulletproof! STOP SHOOTING!"
"Monster! Is he a mutant?!"
"WHO IS THIS GUY?!"
By the time the chaos ended—less than five seconds later—more than 300 rounds had been fired.
Heisenberg hadn't moved an inch.
But over half a dozen agents were down, clutching various bullet wounds and groaning in pain.
The remaining agents wisely decided to run.
"This is Maintenance Unit Four—unauthorized breach in the Tricurved Wing Building!"
"The intruder exhibits enhanced capabilities—requesting immediate backup!"
Alarms blared across the Helicarrier as SHIELD operatives scrambled. In the command center, Nick Fury's one good eye narrowed at the alert. He was monitoring Agent Romanoff's undercover operation in India when the sudden security breach shifted his focus.
He killed the feed and activated the surveillance stream to his own office—only to see a man standing amidst armed agents: Heisenberg.
Fury's face darkened.
"This is Director Fury," he barked into the comms. "Stand down. All agents, stand down. Do not engage!"
He bolted from the lower levels, coat billowing as he made his way toward the disturbance.
---
In Fury's Office
Heisenberg stood calmly, surrounded by agents frozen mid-motion, their weapons lowered. He heard the order, of course. His senses were far sharper than any human's.
"Now you realize who you're dealing with?" he said coolly.
Then, with a stomp of his foot, the reinforced flooring cracked and shattered. The blast-resistant foundation caved in like paper, and the agents around him plummeted one level below—crashing into the laboratory beneath with groans of pain and sprays of dust.
Concrete shards and metal reinforcements scattered everywhere, injuring several agents severely.
"Medic! Get medics in here!"
"We need evac for Level Four personnel, now!"
Researchers scrambled amidst the chaos, dragging injured agents to safety. Above them, Heisenberg hovered, untouched and unmoved, his expression unreadable.
After a few tense seconds, one of the agents—bleeding but standing—shouted:
"We stood down! Why are you still attacking us?!"
Heisenberg floated downward, expression hard.
"You think you get to decide when the fight ends? Fire when you want, stop when you feel like it. What am I—your lapdog?"
CRACK!
His hand struck the agent hard across the face, sending him sprawling. Heisenberg didn't kill him—he wasn't careless. But the message was clear.
"I don't take chances with loaded weapons pointed at me," he growled. "Consider this a lesson in cause and effect."
Heisenberg moved through the facility like he owned it, agents parting as he passed. He made his way into a common lounge and slumped onto a couch, stretching out comfortably.
Soon, Maria Hill entered, her usual composed demeanor slightly strained. She sat across from him, cool but clearly on edge.
"You've made quite the entrance."
"You've got five minutes," Heisenberg said, eyes closed. "Fury's still about sixty meters down. But hey, five minutes with a beautiful woman? I'll take it."
Hill raised an eyebrow, unamused.
"Your charm doesn't quite match your brutality, Mr. Heisenberg."
"It's not about charm," he replied. "It's about clarity. Someone threatens me—I make sure they regret it. Simple."
"You know those agents couldn't hurt you."
"And I'm supposed to wait around and let them try? You don't survive long thinking like that."
Hill crossed her arms. "You're not on your Earth anymore. We don't resolve things by smashing through floors and hospitalizing agents."
Heisenberg leaned forward, tone low and serious.
"Where I come from, people who hide behind words and justice are the first to fall. Superman tried it. Batman tried it. They get stabbed in the back by people they once spared. I don't play that game."
He stood and stepped toward her, his height casting a shadow over her smaller frame.
"This is your second warning, Hill. No one points a gun at me without consequences."
Hill stood as well, defiant. "And I'm telling you—we won't be intimidated."
There was a brief, charged silence before Heisenberg chuckled.
"You're bold. I like that."
Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed her.
"—Mmmph!"
Hill's eyes went wide. When he finally pulled away, she slapped him—hard.
Or tried to.
Her hand struck his raised arm with a sharp smack, and she winced.
"You've got a fiery side," Heisenberg said with a smirk, grabbing her hand gently. "But maybe don't slap a guy who could crush steel with his pinky."
"I'm not your toy," she snapped, wrenching her hand back.
He laughed. "No, you're not. But you're fun."
She glared at him, regaining her composure. "We're not done here. Fury will deal with you."
"I'll be right here. Just bring a drink next time, Agent."