In the Oscrop Tower underground lab, Nolan watched as Wanda, clad in form-fitting yoga gear, sat cross-legged with her eyes closed, attempting to regulate her breathing. The focus today: structured meditation.
Nolan was blending two disciplines, the Chaste's meditative technique and the energy control principles from the Book of the Iron Fist. One trained innate potential; the other mastered energy control.
Together? A perfect storm of mind-body equilibrium.
He had Wanda start with the Chaste's meditation technique. Her innate power and latent energy were leagues above the Order's initiates, learning it shouldn't have been hard.
Nolan frowned. Her brows were furrowed. Shoulders tense. Her mind was elsewhere.
"Unfocused. Start again," he said coolly.
Wanda snapped her eyes open, startled. "Sorry! I'm trying—"
"Take your time," Nolan said, less sharply now. "You're capable of mastering this."
She exhaled, visibly relieved, glancing down at the yoga outfit she'd worn. She'd assumed the meditation involved movement, now she felt overdressed, or perhaps underdressed.
Was it the outfit distracting her... or Nolan?
Meanwhile, Nolan's phone buzzed. He answered without hesitation.
"Boss," came Max's voice. "We met with Fisk. He says the whole Hell's Kitchen blockade came from the Hand. He's already promised them he won't interfere."
Nolan's tone chilled. "Then tell Fisk this: if he still wants Osborn's custom tech on his streets, he'd better pick a side."
The Hand, again. Always creeping. Always scheming.
Just then, Nolan's ears twitched. Something... granular was vibrating the building's outer perimeter.
Above Midtown, Spider-Man swung between rooftops, shooting webs at a humanoid shape made entirely of shifting sand.
"Whoa! This sentient sandbox can move?! That's new!" Peter quipped, slinging another line as his web splattered harmlessly through the creature.
Flint Marko—Sandman—roared.
"Oho! It talks! Somebody give the mudpie a medal!"
From above, a streak of fire cut across the sky. The Human Torch, Johnny Storm, hovered midair, flames licking around his form.
"Looks like someone forgot their litter box!" Johnny laughed. "Hey, Spidey! You look like you could use a tag-out!"
Peter blinked. "Wait... Human Torch?"
The Fantastic Four weren't global icons, but they were famous. Especially since their leader, Reed Richards, was one of the top scientists on the planet.
"Don't worry, kid! You did great. Let me show you how it's done!"
Johnny grinned, seizing the opportunity for some good old-fashioned hero work.
"Don't rush ahead," came a calm voice as Reed stretched his elastic body across nearby rooftops, trailing behind.
The ground shook as Ben Grimm, the Thing, charged forward, Susan Storm, the Invisible Woman, riding atop his rocky shoulder.
"BACK OFF!" Sandman growled, shaping his body into a towering sand fist and launching it toward them.
Ben met it head-on, only to be blasted backward.
"Johnny!" Reed called. "High heat! Superheat the silica—turn the sand into glass. That'll shut him down."
Johnny swooped low, unleashing gouts of searing flame.
Sandman roared, deflecting with bursts of sand and slamming Peter back with a tidal wave of grit. But he couldn't move fast enough.
A portion of his body vitrified instantly, shimmering into amber glass. He lost control of the section.
Panicked, he dropped into a waveform, racing down the street toward a nearby construction site.
From above, Johnny hurled more fireballs.
Each blast turned sand to brittle glass, but Flint adapted, dispersing his mass, shifting his shape, sending decoys to absorb the heat.
"This guy's slippery!" Peter shouted, back on his feet.
"Construction site, he's heading for loose material!" Reed warned. "There'll be tons of sand to work with there!"
The team raced to intercept, but it was too late.
Sandman reached the construction yard and grew, forming a massive body of grit and debris. A vortex of dust spiraled around him.
"You vermin!" he howled. "You think you can stop me?!"
Johnny hovered nearby. "Reed what now?"
"Distract him! We're searching for the main water line!"
Suddenly, a figure dropped from the sky like a warhead.
Concrete shattered. Dust exploded outward. A crater formed where the figure landed, silhouetted against the swirling sandstorm.
He stood, expression unreadable, suit jacket fluttering in the updraft.
His voice cut through the noise.
"Hey, big guy," he said coldly. "You just damaged Oscorp company property."
"I'll be billing you for that."
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