It was a sweltering, tense May afternoon in 2012; in the Helicarrier's conference room, the scent of lahmacun lingered, frothy ayran glasses bubbled, and Ottoman Sherbet jugs stayed cool. The Avengers—Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Thor—were raving about my food when sirens wailed through the ship's metal corridors. We were in The Avengers' critical moment—Loki, captured in Germany, was aboard; but Hawkeye, Clint Barton, under mind control, was about to attack with a Quinjet. The room crackled with tension; Loki's Mind Scepter sat on the table, radiating an invisible pressure—Tony needled Steve with smirks, Steve kept his cool, Natasha's eyes never left the scepter. I stood with a tea tray, thinking, "Picnic or crisis meeting?"—until a blast rocked the ship, the Helicarrier shuddering. "Here's the trap," I thought, playing dumb—I'd seen the movies, knew Hulk's rage, Hawkeye's betrayal, but had to act clueless.
The explosion shook the ship; Quinjet rockets hit the deck, flames licked corridors, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents shouted, scrambling. Tony yelled, "What the hell was that?" tapping his wrist device—Iron Man armor snapped around him in seconds. Natasha drew her gun, striding to the door; Steve gripped his shield, barking, "Everyone, positions!" Then, in the room's corner, Bruce Banner trembled—fists clenched, eyes flashing green, breath ragged, face slick with sweat. "Mr. Stark…" I said, voice quaking, backing up with my tray, "that… green guy… is that really Dr. Banner?" Tony spun, face a mix of shock and urgency, "Yeah, King, step back!" he shouted, but too late. Bruce's body swelled; shirt tore, pants shredded, and the Incredible Hulk loomed—the scepter's tension and blast's shock had snapped his control. Hulk roared; massive fists smashed the table in one blow—lahmacuns flew, sherbet jugs crashed, simits rolled. "HULK ANGRY!" he bellowed, voice rattling the ship's steel, shaking everyone. Thor charged, "Calm yourself, green friend!" Steve shouted, "Stay cool, no panic!" but Hulk's fury seemed unstoppable.
I froze in a corner, clutching a surviving Ottoman Sherbet jug—heart pounding, but a wild idea sparked. "Hey… big green guy!" I said, voice shaky but firm, stepping forward, jug pressed to my chest. "This is nuts," I thought, "but in the movies, Hulk's mind's like a toddler's, right? God, help me!" Hulk turned; green eyes blazed, teeth gritted, huge chest heaving—his rage rocked the ship, metal floors buckling under his steps. "HULK ANGRY!" he roared, advancing, the ground quaking, walls cracking. "Look," I said, raising my hands slowly, "I just wanna talk. Want some of this? It's tasty, real nice. No bad vibes here." I popped the jug's lid, poured a glass—hands trembling, but I faked calm. "See, no tricks—I'm drinking too," I said, sipping; the cool, sweet sherbet slid down, leaving a refreshing zing. Hulk paused; fiery glare turned to doubt, massive head tilting, then curiosity. His giant hand snatched the glass—comically tiny in his grip—and downed it. His green face tensed, brows rising; then a smile broke, eyes softening. "HULK LIKE THIS!" he said, voice still loud but rage gone. He thrust the jug back, "MORE!" I poured another; he drank—then his eyes drooped, huge frame sank to the floor, head lolling, and he dozed off. Green skin shrank, muscles relaxed; Bruce Banner returned, in tattered pants, sleeping peacefully, a serene look on his face.
Meanwhile, Natasha fought Hawkeye in a corridor—Clint, under Loki's control, was sabotaging systems. With a swift strike, she knocked him out; he crumpled, mind control teetering but not yet broken. Loki watched from his cell—behind clear glass, green cape swirling, face shifting from shock to raw fury. "What nonsense is this?" he hissed, teeth clenched, "Curse you, mortal! A vendor ruined my plan?" But he seized the blast's chaos, breaching his cell's security to escape—Phil Coulson's radio crackled: "Alien god's loose! Heading to the deck!" Loki's trap had flopped—Hulk calmed, Hawkeye stopped—but he wasn't done.
Back in the conference room, the Avengers were stunned; Tony shed his armor, "King, what'd you do?" he said, jaw dropped, half a simit in hand. Steve lowered his shield, "That… was unreal," he muttered, eyes on Bruce. Natasha, after checking Clint, returned, "You surprised me again, Ali," she said, a small smile playing. Thor bellowed, "Midgard's greatest sorcerer!" waving a lahmacun. Nick Fury stormed in; his one eye scanned me, temples still throbbing, but anger gave way to awe. "You…" he said, voice gruff but curious, "calmed Hulk with that sherbet?" "Yes, sir," I said, holding the empty jug, grinning, "Ottoman Sherbet—cures all! Made with Herbalism Mastery (Rare), got a soothing kick." Fury paused, rubbing his chin, then, "Write that recipe down for mass production," he said, dead serious but with a hint of admiration. "Open to sponsorship talks!" I quipped—Fury's face softened, a rare smirk flickering, "Maybe we'll see," he muttered.
Bruce stirred, rubbing his eyes, sitting up, tugging his torn pants, "Ali… thank you," he said, voice shaky but earnest, "that sherbet… saved me." Gratitude shone in his eyes—Hulk's rage was his nightmare, an untamed beast, but my sherbet worked a miracle. Tony grinned, "This guy's more than a genius—a Hulk whisperer!" Thor added, "Midgard's noblest knight!" munching another simit, mouth full. Steve stepped close, "Your guts and smarts saved the day," he said, clapping my shoulder—yesterday's running buddy now looked at me with awe. Natasha winked, "Your food unites, but this was next level."
A Ding! chimed; the system screen flashed:
"Quest Update: Loki's Trap Failed - Hulk calmed, Hawkeye saved. Reward: +150 CST (from Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Thor, Nick Fury)."
"Whoa," I thought, "all these MCU stars—points pouring like rain." But Loki had escaped; the Helicarrier's chaos wasn't over—the Chitauri invasion loomed with the Battle of New York. "Why's this always on me?" I thought, standing with an empty teapot. Sirens blared again; Fury shouted, "Positions, this isn't done!" I, Ali the vendor, had tamed Hulk with Ottoman Sherbet, derailed Loki's scheme—but the adventure was just heating up, and there I stood, jug in hand, dazed in the MCU's core. "Started with a lahmacun, now I'm here," I thought, chuckling—once again, an unlikely hero.