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Hyperion followed Captain America up the polished steel ramp of the SHIELD quinjet. Riding on a terrestrial aircraft was far slower than Zhib-Ran's natural flight, but Agent Milton doubted that Wilson's primitive set of artificial wings could keep up with Hyperion's own near lightspeed movement. So he could forgive his "superior's" decision to take the aircraft instead. He listened as Sam started to explain a plan that Director Nick Fury (or more likely his think tanks) thought up. Although Captain America would attempt to conceal his enthusiasm for this new project, it was plain to see (In Milton's eyes, anyway) that he had faith in whatever the higher ups had cooked up this time. Hyperion followed behind Cap into the main cabin and took a seat opposite him. He sat for a moment waiting for Wilson to finish with the pilot and take a seat. While he was sitting, Zhib-Ran noticed the air conditioning was bothering his now-exposed skin; his original world had always been warmer than most places on Earth. The irritation grew to such level of annoyance that Agent Milton decided to do something about it. After all, he had a dozen seconds or so to spare.

Hyperion stood up and zipped out of the ramp door and flew to the Midwest of the United States. He landed on the doorstep of a small farmhouse, knocking the door down and stepping inside. A white-haired woman peeked around the corner, investigating the source of the sound. She let loose a shrill, wordless scream before retreating backwards and out of sight. Milton crossed towards the stairway and smiled when he reached the second door to the left. The door was covered in poorly drawn pictures of a small family and photos of Spiderman clipped out of various Daily Bugle newspapers. Hyperion smashed the door down and was immediately greeted by the terrified cries of a young boy. Milton entered the child's room, ignoring his incessant need to announce his displeasure at this intrusion by bursting Zhib-Ran's sensitive eardrums. The SHIELD Agent moved to the center of the room. He examined the floor using his X-Ray vision; upon finding what he needed, Hyperion pulled up a number of wooden floor boards to reveal an obsidian colored box. He placed a massive hand on the surface of the strange shape, the area underneath flashed light blue and a voice spoke in a language unknown to man. The obsidian box split in two, and Hyperion pulled out a set of unearthly clothes. He violently shredded off the remains of his previous uniform and donned the black and gold set of tights that his people were known for. He finished off the getup by attaching the golden cape to his neck near the Atom symbol that dominated his suit's upper chest area. The symbol of his house: the atom, the thing that makes up all others. It holds entire worlds together. Yet it contains enough power to destroy them as well. It was all quite meaningful and theatrical symbolism that the people of Tok ate up. Hyperion glanced at the remains of the boy's door, at the pictures of this "Spider-Man" he had plastered on it. It would seem the people of Earth believe just as much (if not more so) in the idea of symbolism.

[i]Good.[/i] Milton thought. [i] I've always been a powerful symbol.[/i]

Suddenly an elderly man in overalls burst into the room, firing off a blast from his double barreled shotgun right into Hyperion's chest. The tiny pellets bounced harmlessly off his invincible body and left no mark on his new clothing. The suit was also designed to absorb solar radiation, so even its brief exposure to sunlight after all of these years left it able to deflect weapons fire. Zhib-Ran glared at the farmer, livid anger building up inside of him. [i]This peasant just struck me.[/i] He thought. [i]It dared to raise a finger against it's god.[/i] The hatred in his gaze rapidly mounted as the farmer fired off a second shell. [i]He doesn't even know how easily I could end his life. How easily I could shatter this entire putrid planet into shards. The ignorance. The stupidity. Such a creature doesn't deserve to live. [/i] Milton didn't notice his vision turning crimson. He didn't notice a pair of red beams exiting his pupils and turning the farmer and his wife into ash. He had become deaf to the sound of the child crying out for help. He wanted some hero to swoop in and save him. Perhaps even his God to lift a single finger to stop this horrendous act of murder right in front of his eyes. The wooden walls of the building caught fire. The red slowly faded from Hyperion's eyes, and he looked at all he had done. A pair of charred skeletons clutched each other in a final, desperate embrace. The little boy stumbled across the burning room and collapsed over their corpses, tears falling down his face in waves.

The rapidly expanding inferno would soon consume everything inside. There would be no evidence to point towards Hyperion's involvement in their deaths. It wasn't time for his true intentions to be revealed quite yet anyway. It was for the best, after all. Hyperion left the Midwest in a hurry and entered the quinjet moments before its ramp closed. He zipped into his seat and looked across at a confused Captain America. "Excuse my absence. I needed to retrieve a change of clothing; it's unnaturally cold in here." Hyperion smiled warmly. Sam started his presentation using one of those touch screen computers that humans seemed so fond of. He listened to the Captain's words and took mental notes on all of the individual candidates shown while also reading over the dossiers multiple times and closely examine the images so that he could remember his soon-to-be new teammates by both face and name. They all seemed as if they would offer enough to the team to be semi-useful, though in truth Hyperion doubted they would be much help when they started to get into the big leagues. They were no Squadron Supreme, that was for sure. He made sure to keep a note of Wilson's obvious dislike of Tony Stark as well as this 'Miss America' girl's origins. If she knew anything about Hyperion's past, everything would be put into jeopardy. He would need to get her alone and see what she knew.

"Yes. I led my own team of crime fighters. The press called us the Squadron Supreme, if I recall. We were more of an informal gathering of powerful heroes from nearby solar systems that got together whenever large threats to the galaxy presented themselves. We were all around the same power level, so we made an even more powerful force to be reckoned with. Except for Nighthawk, that clever piece of Vark-" Hyperion stopped himself, clearing his throat. "I believe this team has potential. They will certainly be an asset to SHIELD's war on super-crime, if they can manage to work together. I have my doubts about the inclusion of a potential villain and what amounts to a rich playboy with a couple of fancy toys to an official SHIELD-sponsored team, but I'm sure you can whip them into shape. I'll do all I can to help, of course."