Absorbing Man

A certain urban district, a slum.

Overcast clouds blotted out the stars, oppressive darkness shrouding the neighborhood. The pitch-black alleyways were narrow and cramped, with piles of uncollected trash festering at every corner, reeking of a heavy stench. The already dim streetlights flickered from aging wiring, and a cold wind cut through the dilapidated, rundown buildings.

A well-trained team of agents silently infiltrated one of the buildings, moving swiftly and nimbly up the crumbling stairs. They were all dressed in black tactical gear, the iconic S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle emblem stitched onto their sleeves.

The team spread out in the hallway on the fifth floor. Grant Ward, a perpetually grim-faced Level Seven Agent with thick stubble on his chin, and Melinda May, a former agent known as "The Cavalry" and an Action Specialist, were the highest-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. agents present and the leads on this operation.

The two took positions on either side of the door to room 502, its aged wooden surface almost entirely stripped of paint. The agents communicated silently with hand signals and eye contact, counting down to breach, while multiple gun muzzles trained on the old wooden door.

Ward spun and kicked the door in. It groaned in protest and fell backward, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. He raised his gun with textbook precision, the beam from his flashlight cutting a golden path through the swirling debris.

Beyond the door was a single room, dark and seemingly empty. It held only a table, a computer, a large wardrobe, and a simple wooden bed with unmade sheets.

Ward swept his flashlight around, confirmed no one was there, and stepped in first, with Agent May close behind. Their tactical boots creaked against the aged wooden floorboards.

"Looks like we're a step too late," Ward said, turning to May. "Creel's gone."

Agent May frowned but didn't reply. She held her breath, slowly sweeping her flashlight beam across the cramped room.

Just as the light was about to reach the large wardrobe, the "wardrobe" moved! Or more accurately, something clinging to its surface moved. A hulking shadow lunged forward like a jackal lurking in the dark, the spinning gust of its movement churning the floating dust into a vortex.

It was Carl Creel, the superhuman codenamed "Absorbing Man." He had transformed his body to match the wardrobe's material and pressed himself flat against it, like a cunning chameleon.

Someone must have tipped him off—Creel knew they were coming.

Ward and May dodged with quick reflexes, but the agents behind them weren't so lucky. Creel barreled through them like a bull in a rodeo, sending two agents flying out of the room and crashing into the hallway.

The rest reacted swiftly. They raised their guns in unison and opened fire, a web of gunfire quickly enveloping Creel. But in the same instant, his skin shifted into a crystalline Diamond Form. Bullets screeched as they ricocheted off that diamond-hard surface, deformed casings clattering to the floor.

Creel had clearly prepared the diamond material for his transformation beforehand; firearms were useless against his Diamond Form. He tore through the team with a few brutal punches and kicks, his raw strength leaving the agents with no chance.

Agent May spun and delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to Creel's left arm, but unsurprisingly, the Absorbing Man in his Diamond Form didn't budge. He turned, his diamond right arm shooting out like a venomous snake, and seized May by the throat. With a flex of his arm, he lifted her off the ground with ease, then hurled her sideways. She crashed through the peeling wall and tumbled into the next room.

In just six or seven seconds, only Agent Ward remained of the team that had entered the room. Grant Ward, a Level Seven S.H.I.E.L.D. Action Specialist, now showed his top-tier agent caliber. Unflappable under pressure, he ducked low to evade Creel's straight punch, then brought his pistol up from below, aiming the barrel directly at Creel's chin. He pulled the trigger. The muzzle flashed, and the bullet violently ricocheted off Creel's unbreakable diamond jaw, but the impact still snapped his head back.

It still wasn't enough to inflict real damage. Creel recovered quickly, swatting Ward's pistol away, and drove a massive fist toward his skull. The diamond skin glinted brilliantly in the streetlight filtering through the window.

Ward adapted on the fly, dropping into a slide that carried him past Creel's side. The diamond fist slammed into the floor where he'd been half a second ago, leaving a bowl-sized crater.

Ward scrambled to his feet, using his extensive combat experience to dodge two more punches while striking back with knife-hand blows and kicks to Creel's ribs, knees, and other joints. But each hit felt like striking solid rock, with little effect.

Creel caught him in a moment of hesitation, seized his wrist, and hurled Ward across the room by his arm. Ward slammed into the wooden bed against the wall, which buckled and snapped in half under the impact.

Ward lay sprawled on the collapsed bed frame, pain lancing through his back like a thousand fiery needles. But Creel wasn't about to give him a breather. The big man grabbed him by the throat, lifted him off the floor, and pinned him hard against the wall. Dust sifted down from the ceiling, and the whole room seemed to shudder.

Creel held him against the wall but didn't finish him off. Instead, he leaned in and growled, "How did you know I was here?"

The pain intensified, and the pressure on his throat was suffocating. Grant Ward gritted his teeth, forcing the words out: "Followed your stench?"

Creel's eyes flashed with menace as he tightened his grip. The crushing pressure constricted Ward's windpipe, cutting off his airway, and it seemed he was about to be killed.

Ward's consciousness began to fade. For a moment, he thought he was dead. But then Carl Creel suddenly stopped. His pupils contracted, his grip involuntarily loosened, and he staggered back two steps. The diamond skin on his body rippled like waves, then began to shift uncontrollably. It changed to rubber, then to wood, then back to diamond—like a malfunctioning transformer.

It was Agent May. She had jammed a cylindrical, complex device into Creel's back. The electronic suction cup at its end clung firmly to him, and the device spun at high speed, flooding countless particles into Creel's body like an unstoppable current. It disrupted his internal balance mechanism, throwing his absorption and transformation abilities into chaos.

Creel let out a pained groan and dropped heavily to his knees. Agent May didn't hesitate—she kicked him square in the face, sending him toppling sideways, unconscious and still.

May let out a long breath and extended a hand to Ward, who was leaning against the wall, gasping. "You okay?"

Ward took her hand and pulled himself up with effort. "Still alive."

They both glanced at Creel's prone form on the floor, a lingering unease in their eyes.

Ward crouched down, studying the device embedded in Creel's back that had neutralized his powers. "This thing really works. Fitz's design?"

May shook her head. "No. Coulson said it was issued from above specifically for this operation. But whoever designed it, I think we owe them our lives."