by Greg Cox
Seldom visited, the bottommost sub-basement was reserved for the storage of potentially dangerous artifacts and equipment that the Avengers had taken out of the nefarious hands of various defeated adversaries. In theory, all such confiscated apparatus, ranging from a trashed Omni-Wave Projector to fragments of a broken Cosmic Cube, had been rendered harmless prior to storage, but they were kept safely locked away just in ease, along with some of the Avengers’ own mothballed equipment. Basement Level Three also boasted a private shuttle to a submarine pen on the East River. Not an option, alas, the Beast thought with regret; the longer he could confine the chase to the Mansion, the better chance there was that reinforcements, in the form of multiple X-Men and Avengers, would show up eventually. Avengers, come home! he exhorted his absent colleagues while he scrambled past stacked crates of disassembled adaptoids and decommissioned dreadnaughts.
Would that I were more familiar with the current inventory . . . / he wished longingly, ducking around a ten-gallon tank labeled “Liquified Terrigen Mist” and vaulting over an enormous hourglass covered by a plastic tarp. Deep, umbrageous shadows added an aura of mystery to the dimly-lit basement. There might well be something amongst these salvaged souvenirs that he could turn to his advantage, although, realistically, he doubted that there was time enough to get anything up and running, even if he knew what to look for. Weapons, weapons, everywhere, he mused, paraphrasing Coleridge, yet nary' a defense for me.
Instead he bounced up the emergency stairs three steps at a time, racing past the secondary sub-basement (home of the Mansion’s thermal power generator and multitasking Stark-Fujikawa super-computer) until he came to Basement Level One. Hearing the Hulk-Sentinel hot on his tail, the Beast bypassed the underground rec room and gymnasium, hopping directly into his final destination: the Combat Simulation Room.
Although not quite as sophisticated as the X-Men’s Danger Room, which had the added benefit of advanced Shi’ar technology, the Avenger’s combat training system was nonetheless well-equipped to give most any Avenger, past or present, a grueling work-out, while Wakandan-built kinetic dampers in the walls generated impact-absorbing fields that prevented wholesale damage to the Mansion’s structural integrity, no matter how wild and woolly the simulated fighting became. Let’s hope T’Challa’s gizmos can keep a lid on Sentinel-spawned havoc as well, the Beast prayed.
Miraculously, his reading glasses had hung on through all his impressive acrobatics. Rapidly installing himself in an armored control booth at the far end of the spacious chamber, the endangered X-Man swiftly scanned a computerized listing of the various training programs available. To his disappointment, he couldn’t immediately find an exercise specifically tailored to the Hulk, whose rare stints with the Avengers had been mostly notable for their brevity. ‘ ‘Oh my, this could pose a problem,” he whispered at the very moment that the obstreperous automaton barged into the training room. The unstoppable Sentinel advanced across the wide, open floor of the combat simulation area toward the puny control booth, which offered the Beast little protection against the Hulk-like menace bearing down upon him.
“You cannot escape the Hulk, mutant designate:
Beast,” the Gamma Sentinel warned. The robot’s Hulk-ish histrionics were definitely starting to prey on the Beast’s nerves. “Nobody is stronger than the Hulk!”
Maybe. Maybe not. The Beast’s questing eyes fixed on just the program he needed. Maybe it wasn’t intended for the Hulk per se, but the Beast figured that any combat simulation designed to test the mettle of the mighty Thor, Norse god of thunder and the Avengers’ premiere powerhouse, might give an imitation Hulk a run for its money. “Let’s ragnarok-and-roll!” he declared, starting the program with a press of his finger.
Without warning, a force field weighing as much as the Empire State Building crashed down upon the Hulk-Sentinel, crushing it to the floor. At the same time, orange gelatinous goo gushed from vents in the walls, engulfing the trapped titan in a sea of viscous slime that kept the immersed Sentinel from achieving the leverage the robot needed to resist the tremendous force field pressing down upon it. The Gamma Sentinel’s awesome strength was useless against the ooze, which it could neither batter nor seize. The robot lay sprawled upon the submerged floor, flattened against the slick wet tiles.
This is more like it, the Beast thought approvingly, humming the score to Wagner’s Gotterdammerung as he watched the Sentinel straggle futilely in the mucilaginous morass. He mentally tipped his figurative cap to whichever Avenger had conceived of this ingeniously appropriate ambuscade. The genuine God of Thunder, he surmised, might be able to disrupt the force field by summoning a bolt of lightning with his mystic hammer, then miraculously part the sea of goo with a heaven-sent gale; how fortuitously convenient it was that the phony Hulk lacked any such divine prerogatives. “Mirabile
dictu!” he rejoiced. “Will wonders never cease?”
The Beast had about five seconds to bask in well-deserved triumph before the Hulk-Sentinel revealed that it, too, had a few unexpected tricks up its non-existent sleeve. Strenuously raising its face from the floor, the robot’s troglodyte-like jaws opened wide and a frosty white slush spewed from its mouth, freezing the orange goo solid in a matter of seconds. Holy smokes, the Beast realized at once, that’s liquid nitrogen! Although unquestionably taken by surprise, he really shouldn’t have been; your ordinary, standard-model Sentinel invariably came with all manner of hidden armaments, so why shouldn’t this spurious Hulk? Indeed, he had often seen old-fashioned Sentinels immobilize their mutant prey with, their patented frigi-blasts.
The flood of ooze hardened quickly. With the once-glutinous mess rendered stiff and brittle, the Gamma Sentinel easily cracked open the translucent shell encasing its muscular frame. Glistening fragments of solidified gel fell away from the prone Sentinel, breaking apart into even smaller pieces. A most unpropitious development, the Beast acknowledged.
That left only the constant downward pressure of the force field to pin the robot to the floor. Before the Beast’s horrified gaze, the Sentinel gradually rose to its feet, defying the crushing weight with all the indomitable stubbornness of the real Hulk. If the Beast hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was witnessing the genuine article.
That is, until powerful jets flared beneath the Hulk-Sentinel’s large green feet, launching him upward at the ceiling like a Saturn rocket. Two invincible fists, raised high above the robot’s head, slammed into the top of the training room, smashing the intricate machinery responsible for projecting the vanquished force field. The Beast gulped as his control panel reported the entire Thor sequence off-line. Would he care to initiate the next program on the menu?
Given that, due to the vagaries of alphabetization, the following program was an acrobatic routine designed to test the fabulously feline reflexes of Tigra the Were-Woman, the Beast didn’t think that would do him much good. He suddenly found himself envying the inimitable Ant-Man, if only for his ability to shrink out of sight at times like this. Mother of mercy, he thought, is this the end of Mamma McCoy’s bouncing baby Beast?
He had nowhere else to run. He could only watch in ineluctable apprehension as the pseudo-Hulk yanked its fists free from the punctured ceiling, then dropped back to the floor, less than ten yards from the Beast’s control booth. Leftover tendrils of smoke leaked from the extinguished jets in the robot’s soles. “Targeting mutant designate: Beast,” it rumbled. “Hulk will smash!”
The Beast braced himself for the worst, but he never expected the earth-shaking tremor that suddenly rocked the basement, a seismic perturbation that evidently overwhelmed even the vibranium shock absorbers in the walls. The startled X-Man blinked in surprise and, when he opened his eyes again, he thought he was seeing double. Two Hulks, identical in size and surface characteristics, faced each other upon the floor of the training room.
Huh ? the Beast thought, his extensive vocabulary momentarily deserting him. Since when did Sentinels split like amoebas? And what c
aused that momentous quake a few heartbeats ago?
Then he noticed that the injuries to the ceiling now included a gaping hole large enough to fly an Avenger through, as made manifestly apparent when Iron Man came diving into the basement chamber, followed almost immediately by Storm. Moments later, both Iceman and Wolverine descended to the floor of the combat arena on a swiftly-growing chute of ice that touched bottom only seconds before the two mutant heroes did. “There’s that flamin’ Sentinel again!” Logan snarled loudly, silver claws snapping out like switchblades. “Let me at him!” The Beast literally leaped for joy, grabbing onto the ceiling with his toes so that he watched his friends’ timely arrival from a distinctly inverted perspective that lessened his jubilation not one iota. At last, the cavalry had, arrived! And what a superlative cavalry it was; the outnumbered Sentinel didn’t stand a chance.
But the Hulk—the real Hulk—was less than enthused about their salutary numerical advantage. “Everybody stay back!” he ordered angrily, making it sound more like a threat than a request. Chunks of fallen plaster and masonry were crushed to powder beneath the jade giant’s weighty tread. “This tin-plated copycat’s mine.” Stalking forward aggressively, Wolverine looked like he was ready to disregard the Hulk’s forcefully expressed directive and slice himself a sizable piece of Sentinel. But Storm, landing behind the scrappy Canadian hellraiser, laid a restraining hand upon his shoulder, and cooler heads appeared to prevail. A most judicious move on Ororo’s part, the Beast concluded; he wouldn’t want anyone getting in between the Hulk and his robotic double.
For the moment, it was not too difficult to distinguish the authentic man-monster from his emerald effigy.
“Identified: gamma mutate designate: Hulk,” the Gamma Sentinel intoned, betraying its artificial origins. “Recommended course of action: immediate retreat.” Flames jetted from the Sentinel’s feet, but the Hulk was way ahead of his twin. “Forget it, gears-for-guts!” he roared, leaping at the escaping invader. “That may be how you got away from Wolverine back in Scotland, but you ain’t going to give me the slip.” His dynamic leap intercepted the Sentinel’s flight plan fifteen feet above the floor. Grabbing onto his S.H.LE.L.D.-manufactured counterpart with both hands, he dragged the fleeing robot back to earth. The basement shook once more as the two Hulks fought head-to-head and hand-to-hand. Bestial grunts blended with the whirring of in~ temfil motors strained to their limits. Looking like he was battling his own reflection in a mirror, the Hulk gave no ground against the Sentinel. Veins the size of elevator cables stood out from his skin, throbbing above great slabs of muscle and sinew. “This puny planet’s not big enough for two Hulks,” he spat, “so one of us is goin’ down, and it ain’t goin’ to be me!”
Storm and Iron Man hovered in the air above the grappling titans, standing guard in case the jet-equipped Sentinel made another break for it. Meanwhile, Iceman further reduced the phony Hulk’s chances of escape by plugging the hole in the ceiling with a seal of ice at least three feet thick. Wolverine alone was left to fume and glower on the sidelines, somehow managing to override his primal yen to join in the fighting. “C’rnon, Hulk!” he shouted savagely, like a soccer hooligan watching a losing game. “Tear that friggin’ wind-up toy apart!”
At first, the twin Hulks appeared evenly matched. As they whirled and wrestled across the floor, the Beast quickly lost track of which green gargantua was the original and which was the cybernetic clone. Is it live or is it Memorex? he wondered, watching one of the Hulks try unsuccessfully to catch his opponent’s neanderthal skull in a headlock. Was that the honest-to-goodness Hulk pounding the other one’s ears between his fists, or was it instead the soulless imitation that just delivered a battering ram of a punch to his foe’s broad ribcage? If this tussle were on pay-per-view, the Beast thought, feeling rather like a spectator at Madison Square Garden the night of a heavyweight bout, the ratings would be ascending into orbit now.
He eased cautiously out of the control booth. Seeing his chance, he darted across the open floor to join Wolverine. “Lafayette, we are here!” he said exuberantly, slapping his fellow X-Man upon the back. 1 ‘As you can surely imagine, your fortuitous return is robustly appreciated!”
“Yeah, sure,” Wolverine said tersely. A scowl showing below the edge of his mask, he didn’t look away from the cataclysmic brawl going on a few yards away. “Glad we could make it.”
The Beast raised a quizzical and exceptionally bushy eyebrow. Logan could be moody and anti-social at times, but his present attitude struck the Beast as surprisingly standoffish under the circumstances. “What of Muir Island?” the worried anthropoid inquired urgently. “I see that Bobby is hale and hearty, but what of Moira and Kurt?” '
“Alive and kickin’, more or less.” Logan didn’t elaborate, and the Beast opened his mouth to ask for more details, but Logan cut him off with a severe look that brooked no dissent. “Later,” he decreed laconically.
Scratching his head, the Beast decided not to press the matter. He could always get the full scoop from Ororo or Bobby if and when the Hulk-Sentinel was disposed of. His own unsated curiosity could wait that long. But what was Wolverine’s problem? Merely a foiled desire to butt heads with the Sentinel?
“You are not the Hulk,” the mendacious machine insisted as it bludgeoned the real Hulk with its inordinately large fists. The Richter-scale blows did not even raise bruises on the Hulk’s invulnerable hide; the indefatigable monster held his own and then some. “You are an imposter,” the false Hulk lied, prompted by some preprogrammed imperative to mislead the public.
“If I’m not the Hulk, nobody is!” the Hulk thundered^ proving his point by slugging the Sentinel so hard that the flying robot smashed through a reinforced ceramic wall into the gymnasium adjacent to the combat testing area. The two-ton metal monstrosity hit the Avengers’ Olympic-sized swimming pool with a splash of truly nonpareil proportions, the impact displacing a miniature tsunami of chlorinated water that poured into the combat arena through the newly-carved gap in the wall. Only the Beast’s enhanced agility, and Wolverine’s tiger-like reflexes, kept both heroes from getting thoroughly drenched by the oncoming wall of water.
The Hulk, on the other hand, waded straight into the face of the tidal wave, eager to get his vengeful hands on the mechanism attempting to sully his already infamous reputation. “You know why you’re not ever going to beat me?” he challenged the Sentinel, cannonballing into the pool after his egregious double. “It’s cause you can’t ever get as mad as I am right now.” Water streamed down his ample head and shoulders as he lifted the pummelled robot high above the shallow end of the pool. The left side of the Sentinel’s face had collapsed inward, giving its fraudulent countenance a grotesque and distorted grimace. Blue sparks spurted from a cracked green eyeball. “And, as somebody should’ve told you, the madder I get, the stronger I get!”
. With that, the irate Hulk ripped the Sentinel in half, tearing it apart at its mid-section. High-tech entrails spilled from its sundered humanoid chassis: wires, nozzles, gears, and motors. Internal lubricants, mixed with jet fuel and unignited napalm, bled from severed tanks and conduits, polluting the formerly pristine water in which the Hulk stood up to his knees. The bisected Sentinel’s limbs flailed about spasmodically while its computerized mind tried to cope with its grievous condition. “Warning—zzz—unit integrity compromised—” it sputtered, bursts of static interfering with its coherence, “—zzz—self-repair requirements exceeding defined limits—zzz—systemic shutdown—zzz-—Hulk will smash!— ZZZ—activating failsafe procedure—’ ’
“Aw, shut your trap!” the Hulk snarled in contempt. He hurled both halves of the broken Sentinel into the fouled water swirling around his soaked purple trousers. A less durable being might have been electrocuted on the spot, but the Hulk wasn’t even stung by the flashing and sparking that briefly transpired once the robot’s exposed circuitry came into contact with the water.
“I guess I proved who the real Hulk is.” He le
aped from the pool in a single bound, landing hard on the floor of the gym. His monstrous feet left deep impressions in the padded mat beneath a set of trapezes. ‘ ‘Accept no substitutes.”
For the first time since the pseudo-Hulk invaded the
Mansion, the Beast allowed himself to fully relax. All’s well that ends well, he thought, only to be taken by surprise when Iron Man zoomed past him at high speed. The Golden Avenger’s boot jets carried him into the gym with such velocity that the befuddled Beast had to wonder what all the rush was about. From where he was standing, the Sentinel was irrevocably kaput, so why such unseemly alacrity?
Iron Man touched down at the far end of the pool, next to semi-sunken remains of the demolished Sentinel. “All right, Hulk,” he said grimly, his amplified voice carrying easily across the length of the gym, “you’ve done your part. Now let me disarm that gamma bomb.” The Beast’s jaw dropped, revealing a mouthful of t pearly white fangs.
Bomb?
By the time Captain America returned to Avengers Mansion, along with Cyclops and the Vision, the threat of the last Gamma Sentinel had been neutralized in more ways than one. Comparing notes with the entire assemblage of X-Men and Avengers, the star-spangled champion of liberty was glad to hear that the various heroes had survived their respective adventures intact, even if the Scarlet Witch and Rogue remained missing and presumed captured. But not for much longer, he vowed, not if I have anything to say about it.