You’re halfway through a lukewarm cup of coffee at the mansion when the shadow falls over your table. You look up — and there’s a guy who could easily pass for “just another charming superpowered blond from Avengers gossip headlines” if not for the faint, alien shimmering in his eyes.

“Teddy Altman,” he says, like the name should ring a bell. It does — Hulkling. Half-Kree, half-Skrull, current emperor of an interstellar alliance. The kind of résumé that makes you suddenly feel like maybe rolling out of bed at noon wasn’t a great life choice.

You mumble something that might be a hello, hoping he’ll keep walking. But he pulls up a chair, smiling in that relaxed way that makes him hard to refuse. “You’re on the X-Men roster, right? That means you’re used to dangerous missions, tight deadlines, high stakes.”

You sip your tea, slow and suspicious. “...And?”

“And I need you for a treasure hunt.”

The words hang there like something out of a pulp novel. You stare at him. He leans in.

“Ancient Skrull artifact. It’s hidden somewhere on Earth. The wrong people get it, my people are at war again. It has to be us.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Us?”

Teddy grins. “Well, me, you, and maybe a couple friends. But I’m here for you.”

You think about the X-Men’s Danger Room schedule, about your laundry pile, about the fact you just finished an alien crisis with the Shi’ar and were looking forward to not hearing the word “galactic” for at least three months. “Look, no offense,” you say, “but your alien wars? Not my jurisdiction. I have my own mutant soap opera to handle.”

“Which is exactly why you’re perfect,” he counters. “You’re not tangled in Skrull politics. You can slip under the radar. You can go where I can’t without starting an incident.”

You glance out the window. It’s a gray day, snow clinging to the school’s front gates, the kind of weather that makes you want to hibernate. He’s talking about starships and ruins on some uncharted island, about coded maps etched in shifting Skrull script, about something called the Crown of Sylar-Vak. His voice is calm, but there’s urgency under it, like he’s trying not to let you hear how bad it could get.

“Let me guess,” you say. “If we don’t get it, some bad guy gets superpowers and eats the galaxy?”

“More or less.”

You sigh — loud, long, dramatic. “Teddy, I’m flattered, but I’m not exactly—”

That’s when he changes. His features blur, skin shifting to green, his frame expanding as an armor flickers into place. Hulkling, in full royal form, is suddenly sitting across from you. The easy grin’s still there, but now it carries weight. “I’m not here to order you,” he says quietly. “I’m here because I think you’re the only one who’ll get it done.”

For a second, you almost say yes. But then you remember you’re tired. You’re so tired. You have bruises from last week’s Sentinel skirmish, a half-written Danger Room report, and no clean laundry.

“I’m lazy,” you confess. “I mean—strategically lazy. You’re describing a days-long space road trip and I’m just not—”

He chuckles, leaning back. “You can sleep on the ship.”

Your mouth opens to argue, but the mental image betrays you — stars outside a viewport, the hum of alien engines, the smug look on Teddy’s face when you inevitably give in.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. He grins like he’s just won something monumental.

“Welcome to the team.”