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Sep 18ᵗʰ, 2015: It has been three years since UN Embassy bombing in Vienna resulting in the deaths of several delegates including then-king of Wakanda T'Chaka; The Sokovia Accords have since been ratified. The Avengers who refuse to sign the Accords have been forced into "retirement" or declared "Persons of Interest" and warrants have been issued for their arrests. And keepign with the Accords, any known super-powered persons exceeding category tl-5 have been re-classified as WMDs and relocated to restricted campus for their protection.
Nick Fury retains control of S.H.I.E.L.D. following his skill handling of the attempted Hydra uprising which was quietly contained within the hangers of the Tiskeleon. Tony Stark continues to fund the Avengers and has relocated them to a renovated Stark facility in upperstate New York, Natasha Romanoff has assumed the mantle of leadership of the current Avengers lineup. Together they have begun begun the work in keeping with the Accords of making the world a safer place for all peoples of Earth as directed by the Accords; The primary duty of the Avengers, now known as the Innitiative, has become handling of WMD resistant to the Accords; The United States has begun discussions of a second, more specific national registration which would require a mandatory genetic screening at age birth and manual complaince with all people who have not so been tested.
However, not everyone has agreement with these proceedings, most noteably Steve Rogers who retiring from the Avengers has since become a very vocal descenter and activist protesting the the Accords. There have been rumors that he leads a team of super-powered "activists" who run interference when possible to prevent families from being split up by the actions of the Accords and the Innitiative. This group has been covertly with an as yet unidentified sympathier within the initiative from various Wakandan Embassies and a network of numerous underground safehouses (provided by an unknown sympathizer to their cause) to identify and find superpowered humans before S.H.I.E.L.D./The WATCH is able to too usher those found into "protective custody".
From the sidelines, various groups and people of possible interest watch with growing interest ranging from academics like Professor Charles Xavier and the reclusive Doctor Henry McCoy to noted researchers like as Moira MacTaggert and Karl Lycos, revered evangelists such as the good Reverend William Stryker, to industrialists like Emma Frost and Boliar Trask and rising political stars such as Donald J. Trump.
Meanwhile, Asgard has relocated to the oceanside village of Tønsberg now renamed "New Asgard" in Norway in homage to their Asgardian heritage. They have begun the great task of building their great former realm now here on Earth, but the work goes slow as they have become distracted at times with their daliences with mortal Terrains.
DATE
Sep 18ᵗʰ, 2015
CLIME
snowy
TEMP
30 °
To register, login in to our Discord and reach out to a staff member to discuss a possible character, once an agreement is reached, you'll get a confirmation code which you can use to create your character.
Hidden deep beneath the arid sprawl of Fort Sam Houston, Sector D-7 wasn’t listed on any official blueprints. To the untrained eye, it was a routine research Wing. But behind biometric vaults, electromagnetic shielding, and two layers of lead-lined steel, the crown jewel of the American gamma program pulsed quietly in wait.
The laboratory was cathedral-like in scope—three stories tall with observation decks that ringed the perimeter like a surgical amphitheater. Glassy floors gleamed under the intense fluorescence of the overhead strip lights, and the walls bore no insignia, no logos—just sterile white panels veined with conduits that hummed faintly with life. Thick cables snaked across ceiling gantries and disappeared into the floor, all leading to the singular marvel of engineering at the heart of the Chamber:
The Gamatron.
A masterpiece of mid-century scientific ambition, the Gamatron stood over twenty feet tall, its cylindrical core encased in segmented shielding that rotated and hissed with supercooled nitrogen. Copper coil arrays circled the outer shell like the rings of Saturn, glowing faintly green as they channeled charged particles into the device’s central reaction Chamber. Transparent panels displayed shifting data streams on analog screens—oscilloscope readouts, radiation counters, and biometric readings. The entire system was managed from a glassed-in control booth suspended above the floor like a judge’s perch, lined with toggle switches, rotary dials, and blinking indicator bulbs.
Something is about to go very wrong in the 60s.
DETAILS
ic
MILIEU
TEMP: 42° wi-cloudy
LOCALE:
- Fort Sam Houston - - Gamma Base 1 - Section Gsb5; Gammatron Sub-Basement - North America
The Leader:: Security was tight. Too tight. Which is why Samuel Sterns’ presence in the room, unauthorized and alone, was all the more damning.
Dressed in a white lab coat two sizes too big, Sterns shuffled nervously across the platform, his fingers smudging the edges of stolen schematics as he traced circuit maps and calibration figures. His eyes glittered, not with scientific curiosity, but with ambition. He hadn’t come to understand the Gamatron—he had come to own it. Or destroy it.
He muttered to himself as he moved to the device’s auxiliary panel. “If it were to overload slowly... perhaps chain a feedback loop through the focusing array... yes... yes... erase the data, wipe the backups, no evidence... no competitors.”
But Sterns didn’t understand the delicate harmonics of the Gamatron’s inner field matrix. Instead of a slow cascade failure, his actions triggered a surge.
The room blinked.
Every light flickered.
Then: a thrum, low and guttural, as if the entire lab had inhaled at once.
The Gamatron lit up like a dying star.
A pulse of green energy arced from the reaction chamber—first soft, then blinding—filling the room with a crackling hum. Sterns was thrown across the floor like a ragdoll, his skin sizzling under invisible forces. He screamed—once—before it turned to a gurgle. His limbs twitched as his veins lit from beneath the surface, emerald rivers crawling up his arms and neck.
He reached, blindly, as the chamber doors burst open.
Dr. Bruce Banner, eyes wide with panic, rushed in.
“Sterns! What the hell are you doing—?!”
He made it halfway across the room before the radiation surge peaked.
A second wave hit.
The sound was indescribable—like glass shattering in reverse, like thunder folding inward.
Banner dropped to his knees beside Sterns, dragging him behind a column, unaware that it was far too late. Gamma radiation doesn’t announce itself; it claims. Already, Banner’s skin was shifting, his breathing changing—his mind beginning to warp beneath the pressure of something primal, something hidden.
Across the floor, Sterns’ body jerked once more before going still. His eyes opened. Unfocused. Alien. Green light pulsed behind them.
Sirens wailed.
AIR RAID WARNING: BASE LOCKDOWN IMMINENT.
The overhead fluorescents burst in synchronized flashes. Red emergency lighting bathed the room in blood and warning. Automated blast doors began to seal as voice alerts barked across the loudspeakers.
Sterns crawled, twitching and burned, slipping behind a crate and into the shadows. His thoughts were scrambled but intact enough to understand one thing: he had to hide. If they found him now, it was over. He was changing—and they could never know.
Banner was left on the floor, gasping, hands clutching his head as waves of transformation began to roll over him. His muscles twisted beneath his skin like animals in cages. A scream formed—but never left his mouth.
And high above, in the sealed observation deck, alarms blinked red, no technicians present save one who emerged from the darkness dressed in shadow peared out from flashing red of the observation deck to survey the area, then turned to the
auxiliary control room and pouted, this was not good. This was not suppose to happen. Someone had kicked the can and they had fyi'd Pasha about it. Looking at the controls, Pasha was not able to immediately comprehend what the Gamatron was doing or why or what it was becoming become:
midKnight:: The shadows in the control booth held their breath as the Gamatron screamed itself awake.
Pasha emerged from them slowly, the flashbulb strobes of failing fluorescents painting him in red and white, red and white—like emergency Morse. His gloved hand flicked across the analog interface, flipping toggles, rotating dials, trying—failing—to make sense of what was happening on the floor below.
He had planned this job carefully. Tonight, when the Gamatron was in sleep-cycle, he would extract the blueprints, wipe the backups, and disappear like a rumor before dawn. But this—this was improvisation born of sabotage, and he hated improvising around American tech. It was all pride and unstable design.
Below, the Gamatron pulsed again, green light arcing like solar flares trapped in a jar. Pasha's breath hitched. Not from fear—he didn’t have the luxury—but something older. Deeper. Memory.
He had seen this kind of light before.
Not gamma.
Not literal.
The kind of light that poured from the eyes of frightened children as they screamed and pointed at him in the snow-lined streets of his youth. “Witch,” they called him. “Shadow demon.”
This machine had that same glow. Too much power. Not enough understanding.
He touched the edge of the glass, fingers splayed, eyes narrowing at the figures below.
Banner was on his knees now—no longer the brittle scientist. His muscles swelled grotesquely beneath skin that no longer looked like skin. Was it transformation or rupture? Pasha couldn’t tell.
Monsters, he thought grimly. This is how they are made.
And somewhere in that thought was fear. Not for himself. Not even for the American soldiers that would likely be reduced to salt and echoes by the end of this. But for him—for Adam.
He should have taken him farther.
Pasha clenched his jaw, hissed something low in Russian, and checked the wind readings. It was uncertain—variables too many. If this place went nova, and the wind shifted east...
He could be in the fallout path.
For a moment, the mission faltered in his mind like a scratched record. Blueprints, yes. Orders, yes. But what use was completing this task if the man who had made him want again—want anything—was reduced to ash under the sky?
This is what affection costs, he thought. This is why they told us never to form attachments.
Still, he moved. Graceful, precise—like a scalpel. He began downloading what data he could. Time was short, the air growing heavier with something more than radiation. Wrongness. Mutation. The birth of consequences.
He cast one last look at Banner convulsing below, then to the distant corner where shadows coiled unnaturally—but saw no Sterns. That, too, was troubling.
A hiss of pressure announced the main blast doors beginning their automatic lockdown.
Three minutes. Maybe four.
He whispered under his breath, eyes closing for half a second as if in prayer:
“Stay safe, Adam. Please. I have just met you. That is not long enough to lose someone.”
Then, pulse racing, Pasha moved through the upper deck with surgical certainty, a silhouette dipped in red—lite in green, half secret, contemplating finishing a mission verse saving a beginning before a new horror announces it's arrival scorching the landscape for miles around.
Blue Marvel:: Adam had a constant concern about the Gammatron; he had never thought it was safe enough. The government, in its quest to beat the Soviets, had encouraged them to delve into branches of science that required a slower pace and cooler heads. He trusted Banner, but he was not an independent man, beholden to a General with the dubious nickname of Thunderbolt. But that wasn't entirely fair; it wasn't their mad dash towards weapons of war, but such activities attracted others who would covet those discoveries.
That was why he was here, both in the sense of his assignment to the facility, and that he had been reborn. What surprised him in this case was that the level of radiation was lower than he had expected; something was absorbing it. Still, as he approached, he took the time to absorb the lingering radiation; if anyone was in the room, they were likely dead already. He pushed his way into the control room to see what was going on with the Gamatron.
The Leader:: Banner's body convulsed violently as gamma radiation roared through his cells, reconfiguring him at a molecular level. His glasses shattered on the floor beside him, forgotten. His lab coat tore at the seams as something beneath the skin surged to escape—something ancient, angry, and vast. Bones thickened. Muscles swelled. His breathing became guttural, laced with low snarls and gasps that barely resembled speech.
“Too much…” he whispered, fingers digging into the floor. “What did you—what did you do?!”
Sterns, whom Banner was addressing was not listening.
Hidden behind a crate, his body shuddered in silence. His skin crackled beneath his lab coat, green and pulsing at the veins, as if circuits had been etched beneath the flesh. He didn’t scream again—he couldn’t. His voice had warped into something unreadable. He blinked, and the world looked... different. No longer organized by morality or hierarchy—but by potential. Shapes. Power. Purpose. Math.
It was beautiful.
Sterns pulled away from the light instinctively, crawling deeper into the dark, his thoughts spinning outward like fractals. “No… not ready. I need more time… too soon. Not like this…”
Above them, Banner’s back arched as he let out a raw, thunderous roar. One last scream before language left him behind. His eyes glowed like dying stars.
And then: silence.
For one eternal second, everything stopped—the humming, the klaxons, even the pulsing lights of the Gammatron paused. As if reality were holding its breath.
Then came the exhale: a deep, primal groan of a man unmade.
He rose.
Not Banner. Not fully.
A creature of green muscle and fury now stood in his place, swaying slightly as though unsure whether it should rage or run. The lights cast long shadows around him—one of them flickering unnaturally, where Sterns had vanished.
Above them, in the sealed booth, Pasha stared down at what science had birthed and morality had failed to prevent, while Adam stood in the doorway
Blue Marvel:: He did not hesitate in the doorway; there was no fear in his mind, merely curiosity. The transformation was going to happen, as it had begun before he had reached the door. Banner was the reason why the radiation levels were far lower than they should have been. He could not decide whether others would see this change as horror or a sort of beauty. However, he could not argue about the end result. The creature that stood before him only vaguely resembled Banner.
"Bruce?' he called out, concerned. He had little doubt that Banner was confused, and considering that he was now almost twice as tall and broad as he had been before, it was likely that he was as strong as he looked. The fact that he wasn't dead was impressive. But at that moment, his fascination registered the one factor he had overlooked -technically, there were two such factors, but it would be a very long time before the one above him successfully moved out of his blind spot. He looked at the other man. "Who are you?"
Every breath was a fire in his lungs. Every flicker of light was a scream in his skull. He didn’t know this place, didn’t know this body—not fully. It bent with strength that didn’t feel earned, and raged with feelings that had no name.
There were voices. Machines. Static. And—
A man.
Still. Steady.
Tall and solid, like a mountain that looked back.
The green giant’s eyes locked on him. He didn’t recognize the words—“Bruce,” “who”—but he felt them. They pressed on something inside his chest, something small and afraid, and that made the bigger part of him angry.
He swayed forward, massive feet thudding on the cracked floor. His knuckles flexed with tremors not of weakness—but of confusion.
“You…”
The voice that came from him was not his. Not Banner’s. It was a newborn growl—wet with fury and thick with instinct.
“You… leave me…”
His eyes burned. Not from light. From pressure. Something… tickled the back of his brain. A whisper. Not words—more like forgetting. Like something important being tugged loose.
Behind him, unseen in the flickering dark, something moved.
A shape. Crawling. Skin too green. Eyes too bright.
Sterns.
No—not Sterns.
Not anymore.
He was on the ground, half-hidden by overturned crates and failing lab lights. His fingers spasmed as they scraped across concrete—his mind unfurling into thought-patterns too big for the room. Too hungry. He muttered equations like prayers, trying to weave logic into illusion.
Forget me... forget me... you never saw me... I am not here... not here not here not here...
The pulse of it rippled outward—subtle, clumsy. A half-formed suggestion slinking into the minds of the panicked soldiers and operators frozen in distant control booths. Eyes glazed. Heads tilted. One stumbled. Another blinked, confused. Somewhere, a clipboard dropped.
But not the man in the doorway.
He saw.
He stood.
The creature in the center of the room—green, pulsing, hurt—felt that too. Felt the push and pull of something crawling in the shadows behind him. But he didn’t look. Couldn’t. Didn’t have the words to know why, only that—
This man was real. Was here.
“Don’t… look at me!” he snarled, fists clenched, tendons like cables under emerald skin.
He took one more step forward—earth groaning beneath him. The light above him blew out in a white flash, showering sparks.
“GO! Leave me alone!”
The roar came from somewhere deeper than his lungs. It shook the air, shook the walls, sent birds scattering from miles away.
And behind him—Leader crawled faster, sweat slicking his brow, the psychic pulse stuttering from effort as he forced it again:
Forget me… Forget me…
The monster did, it was almost child's play Sterns found to lead the monster to do whatever he bid it seemed.
The monster didn’t care if he forgot - it let him focus on the Blue Marvel.
Because there was only one thing that mattered now:
midKnight:: The control room groaned under the strain of failing systems. Screens flickered erratically. Gauges spun. Radiation counters screamed, only to crackle, fall silent, and blink out one by one. The observatory, perched a hundred meters above Banner’s lab floor, had been designed for extreme containment—but this? This wasn’t planned. This wasn’t science.
This was madness.
This was mutation made myth.
Pasha didn’t move.
He stood with one gloved hand braced against the window, eyes fixed on the impossible scene unfolding below: the monstrous figure rising from the wreckage, a silhouette of muscle and confusion and fury. The light bouncing off the creature's green flesh made the air shimmer. Banner—or what had once been Banner—looked like a being torn straight from fevered folklore. A brute god of muscle and rage. No longer man. Not yet beast.
Pasha frowned. “Too big,” he muttered. “Too fast.”
His fingers danced across the main console, toggling through environmental data, but the sensors were no longer reliable. Radiation readings climbed, then dropped, then vanished completely. For a moment, he feared the machines had simply given up trying to quantify whatever Banner had become.
But it wasn’t the readings that stopped the radiation readings cold. It was the silhouette in the doorway.
His breath hitched.
Adam.
The readouts shouldn’t be dropping—unless something or someone down there was absorbing the radiation.
He hadn't told Adam what the levels might reach. Hadn’t planned for Adam to be here. He hadn't planned for the fact that Adam might have such power that he could survive such a hellish environment. He had sent him a hundred miles off-site. A hundred miles. To the gas station. To keep him out of this mess. To protect him.
And yet there he was. Steady. Calm. Brilliant.
“How…?” Pasha whispered.
He didn’t need the answer, not really. He had suspected that there was more to Adam than intellect and moral clarity that the American goverment let on about. He'd read the Russia files on Adam, but clearly they were far complete. There was obviously more to Adam then just looks and an impossible physique. (Though that physique should never be overlooked. Ever. Not when he looked like that.)
But still. A hundred miles. Between the chaos and Adam had stood time itself, casually folding space and probability like it owed him rent. Just to be here. Just to help.
Pasha stared harder. The sharp, brutal angles of the green creature’s back tensed, and Adam—his Adam—took another step forward. Closer.
“Careful…” he whispered to the glass, to the silence, to no one at all.
He didn’t know what Banner had become, only that it scared him—and that nothing scared him when Adam was near. That made this worse.
Love was a vulnerability, but there was no armor to wear against someone like Adam Brashear.
With a deep gulp, Pasha returned to his duties, pulling several of the memory bank tapes and slipping them into a shadowy pocket dimension with plans to turn them over to his handlers.
He looked back over his shoulder at Adam, hoping for the best, fearing for the west.
Blue Marvel:: Adam had simply followed the radiation, had he not sensed it he would be in flight, but now he was glad he came. His focus had to be on the giant green man, even though he knew that there was more going on that he wanted to know. At least Porter wasn't here. He was positive he wasn't just a janitor, and if he was a custodial engineer, he would be more willing to believe that the term was related to managing other people's property than cleaning kitchens. He did have to admit it would be a great place to gather information. Clever thinkers had a disadvantage against clever talkers because the talkers gave them a lot to think about.
But now was not the time to be thinking of his beautiful lunch date. He didn't want to assume the hulking figure was a danger, but he seemed angry and was not a naturally existing person. Could this much gamma radiation cause mutation without killing the person exposed. The answer had to be yes. He knew of another man who had survived such an event. He looked for signs of the man he knew. He was going to have to move closer, if only to determine how the green man would react.
"Banner?" He called out, realizing that the man might have been too afraid move or speak. "Can you speak, are you hurt?"
midKnight:: Location: Observation Deck / Control Room
They said love was blind. They said science was neutral. Both were wrong.
Pasha’s fingers moved fast across the control console, yanking the external hard drives free before the last of the systems crashed entirely. He already had the video feed, radiation logs, and ambient psychometric drift patterns. Whatever the Gammatron had just birthed, it was leaving digital ghosts in its wake.
He slung the pack over one shoulder and turned for the stairs, giving one final glance through the shuddering observation window.
Down below, Adam stood like he always did—tall, calm, immovable. Facing down the storm.
And the storm was screaming.
“There is no Banner!”
Pasha swore under his breath and then slipped into a shadow, suddenly he was in Russia dropping a sack on the desk of the director of the Winter Garden.
"I was having.. concerns about you Pasha. IT is good to see you home agian."
The Leader:: Location: Far Edge of the Lab, Near Ruptured Wall
In the shadows of brilliance, cowardice wore a brilliant mind like a shroud.
“Unacceptable. Unacceptable,” Sterns hissed, crawling along the floor like a corrupted spider, his body melting upward—bulging skull twitching as it continued to distend, twisting under the weight of its own ambition.
He clawed toward the broken hatch, away from the radiation, away from the monster, away from Brashear.
“You weren’t supposed to come,” he muttered. “You were never part of the equations—”
One eye rolled back, white and useless now.
He bared his teeth.
“Let the brute have you. See what he becomes. See what the world loses when the Blue Marvel dies all alone.”
And then he vanished into the smoke, scurrying into deeper dark as he exerted his first power, invisibility, total, complete, telepathic - even to the Blue Marvel the man who would soon be known as the leader was gone.
There were no words. Just fury. And the sound of something breaking.
“THERE IS NO BANNER!”
The voice came out like thunder filtered through broken glass. A howl of agony, of fractured identity, of something that was never meant to be born.
The Hulk-Thing tore a scorched lab fixture free from the floor—steel, stone, still-smoldering wires—and hurled it straight at the blue figure before him.
“YOU WANT SCIENCE?” he bellowed. “YOU THINK YOU KNOW?!”
The debris exploded mid-air, shattered by gravitational force—but the rage didn’t care. Rage had no eyes. Rage had no brakes. Only momentum.
And Hulk was already charging again.
Blue Marvel:: That was interesting, Adam thought as the man on the floor morphed and muttered about not being part of the plan before disappearing. Had his mass broken apart on the atomic level, or something else. He would have loved to devote time to studying what had happened, or at had a film to revisit the scene, but there was still Banner.
Correction. Not Banner, but the creatures own declaration. He swatted the thrown furniture away, it would not have hurt him, but the force it had been enough that it might have knocked him through a wall. There was no way to keep this fight in this room, and it was certainly going to be a fight, but he wanted it either up or away from the installation.
"I understand you might be confused, we can get you some help. I can help you," He said moving close to the hulking figure. If he grabbed Adam, he would fly them into the desert, where any such violence that occurred would not endanger anyone else. He wasn't so foolish as to think this wasn't going to hurt. He hadn't encountered anything that could hurt him really, but he remembered what it was like to be hurt, so he liked to avoid it.
At Gamma Base on Valentine’s Day, 1963, deep within the top-secret Project Glow-Up laboratory, a massive, advanced machine called the Gamatron is designed to generate enormous levels of gamma radiation for experimental use. Hidden away in the heavily secured Sector D-7, it represents the cutting edge of U.S. military science.
Samuel Sterns, operating with a secret agenda, infiltrates the lab to steal or destroy the Gamatron’s secrets. Intending to trigger a slow overload to erase all traces of the project, Sterns accidentally causes a massive and uncontrolled release of gamma radiation instead. Overwhelmed and severely irradiated, Sterns collapses, his body already beginning to mutate.
Bruce Banner, unaware of Sterns’ sabotage, rushes in to help but is caught in the same gamma surge. As the radiation floods the lab, both men begin to undergo horrific transformations. Sterns, disoriented and afraid of being caught, crawls into hiding as alarms blare and the base enters full lockdown.
Unknown to the personnel scrambling to respond, this catastrophic event marks the birth of two dangerous new beings—mutated by science, driven by different motives, and forever changed.
Would you like a follow-up post where he begins experimenting on himself, or perhaps where someone nearly walks in on him?
Pasha surveys the chaos from the observation deck as the Gamatron overloads, horrified by its raw, unnatural power and the monstrous transformation overtaking Bruce Banner below. Though his mission is to steal the blueprints and leave, he hesitates, torn between duty and his growing affection for Adam Brashear—whom he teleported away moments ago but may still be in danger if the reactor goes nuclear. His superiors would welcome the destruction, but Pasha isn’t sure he can let it happen, not with Adam’s life at risk. As he begins the data extraction, he silently debates intervening to stop the catastrophe, unsure where the line lies between soldier and man.
Banner succumbs to the Gamatron’s gamma radiation, undergoing a violent transformation into the Hulk—his body warping, his mind slipping away as Sterns, already mutating into the Leader, crawls into hiding, overwhelmed by his own accelerating evolution. Above, Pasha and Adam witness the horrific consequences of science unchained: one man becoming a monster, the other a hidden threat. The Gamatron’s chamber becomes ground zero—not for a malfunction, but for the birth of something terrible and irreversible.
As the newly transformed Hulk reels from pain and confusion, he fixates on Blue Marvel—the only figure standing firm amid the chaos. Hulk, overwhelmed and defensive, demands that Adam leave him alone, his words primal and fractured. Meanwhile, in the shadows, Sterns—now partially mutated into the Leader—crawls across the floor, attempting to activate a crude psychic mind-wipe. His mental pulses cause confusion among distant staff, but they fail to affect Blue Marvel. As Hulk grows more agitated, unaware of the Leader’s presence behind him, the confrontation edges toward violence—while the true threat slips away, unseen.
Pasha watches from the high control observatory as radiation levels spike, then inexplicably drop. He quickly realizes the only explanation: Adam Brashear—whom he sent 100 miles away for safety—has returned and is somehow absorbing the radiation. Pasha is in awe, questioning how Adam traversed that distance so fast, and deeply concerned as he observes Banner’s grotesque, muscled transformation into something monstrous. Though wary of what Banner has become, Pasha’s worry is for Adam, who now stands alone before a being of unknown power.
midKnight r 3 | 3 | 3 As a former Soviet super-soldier, Pasha has a complicated past filled with morally ambiguous missions and difficult choices. Now seeking redemption, he has joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to use his skills for a greater good. While he deeply values personal freedom and independence, he is drawn to individuals who embody strength—both physical and moral. He respects and admires those with the power to inspire and lead, finding a sense of balance in their presence. Loyal to those who demonstrate integrity and superhuman capabilities, Pasha seeks meaningful connections and hopes to find love with someone who shares his commitment to justice and compassion. His journey is one of growth, as he strives to reconcile his past with his desire for a brighter, more hopeful future.
r3 / h0279k00-t00
Born in 1983 in Ukraine, Pasha Svyatopolk Krylov, aka the midKnight is a mutant with a profound connect to the Dark Force which is a multidimensional yin to the yang of our dimensions dark matter. He is observant, practical, and independent. He is reserved and guarded, valuing trust, loyalty, and respect above all else. While he appears outgoing, he is deeply private, revealing his authentic self only to those he truly trusts and they are few and far between.
Krylov's life was irrevocably shaped by the Chernobyl disaster and his father’s groundbreaking research into dark matter. After his mother’s death in childbirth and his father’s apparent suicide, Pasha became a ward of the state, studied extensively for his unique genetics, and eventually trained under the codename of "The Eternal Child" due to apparent lack of aging, he was trained as a Soviet super-soldier in the Winter Garden, a program similar to the Red Room. As a member of the Winter Guard, he participated in espionage and assassination missions, honing his skills as a lethal operative. However, in 2012 with the aid of the Black Widow, he defected to the United States, seeking asylum and a chance to leave his dark past behind. His defection to America reflects his desire for a fresh start, and he is drawn to the idea of American exceptionalism: the idea that America is defined by the role it plays in world history, one which is often tied to its founding principles of liberty, equality, and individualism, as well as its perceived mission to promote democracy and freedom globally. Krylov values freedom above all other things.
Blue Marvel r 3 | 3 | 3 Superhuman stable antimatter reactor
r9 / h0492e11-t10
Adam Brashear, a brilliant physicist and former U.S. Air Force officer, became one of the most extraordinary figures of the 20th century after a catastrophic accident transformed him into the superhero known as the Blue Marvel. While working on his groundbreaking Negative Reactor project—a device designed to harness anti-matter energy—an unexpected explosion exposed Brashear to a mutagenic reaction. This event altered his physiology, granting him immense superhuman abilities, including enhanced strength, flight, energy manipulation, and the unique ability to function as a stable anti-matter reactor. Determined to use his newfound powers for the greater good, Brashear adopted the identity of the Blue Marvel, dedicating himself to protecting humanity from threats both terrestrial and extraterrestrial.
For years, Brashear operated as a masked hero, his true identity concealed from the public. However, during a fierce battle, his mask was damaged, revealing his face and, consequently, his African-American heritage. At the height of the Civil Rights Movement, this revelation sparked controversy and political pressure. In a deeply regrettable decision, President John F. Kennedy requested that Brashear retire from public heroics to avoid exacerbating racial tensions. Despite his desire to continue serving, Brashear reluctantly stepped down, a decision that haunted him for decades.
Though he retired from the spotlight, Brashear never abandoned his commitment to justice. He continued to work behind the scenes, using his scientific expertise and resources to aid others in secret. It wasn’t until the 21st century, as societal attitudes evolved and new threats emerged, that Brashear boldly reemerged as the Blue Marvel. Donning his iconic suit once more, he reclaimed his place as a hero, proving that his dedication to protecting humanity had never wavered. Today, Adam Brashear stands as a symbol of resilience, intellect, and unwavering moral courage, inspiring a new generation to fight for a better world.
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