"We do it quietly. Bring them in small groups. I'll vet them in person. We'll work our way through the rot. They'll never see it coming."
Coulson sighed. "Fine. I'll move. But James, this is the last quiet play. Once they figure out you're the filter, they'll push back hard."
"Let them," James said, already pocketing his phone. "I'm done being underestimated."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The explosion in the underground parking lot drew attention fast—but, as expected, the police were again slow to arrive.
The same sheriff. The same agenda.
"Mr. Gibson, you'll need to come with us again to make a statement," the sheriff called out, trying to assert control.
James didn't even look at him. "Not happening. Your job is to lock down the perimeter. This scene is now under the jurisdiction of my agency."
He didn't even bother playing nice.
The sheriff stiffened. "This falls under the New York Police Department's authority. I hope you're willing to cooperate."
Of course he was pushing back. His orders were clear—clean up the mess, fast and quietly. Hydra's fingerprints were all over this scene, and the bodies were going to raise questions.
James stepped closer, Gazing with all seriousness of authority.
"I don't care what you think your job is. I've already escalated this to S.H.I.E.L.D. command. This is no longer a precinct issue. It's an attempted assassination of a federal agent."
"You're overstepping, Mr. Gibson. You don't get to give orders here."
James's voice dropped. "I'm a Level Four agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. The men who attacked me were part of your jurisdiction. I'll give my damn orders as I like."
Before the sheriff could push further, a convoy of black Suburbans pulled up. Doors opened, and men in suits stepped out. Looking, all business.
"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," the lead man said, flashing a badge. "We're assuming control of this site. Agent Gibson, please cooperate. We'll begin an immediate investigation into the origin of the assailants."
James didn't miss the insignia—New York Division. Hydra embeds. They were moving to wipe the scene.
"I've already reported this to Agent Phil Coulson. He's inbound from Washington. Until he arrives, this location is frozen. No bodies are to be moved. No evidence to be touched."
The agent narrowed his eyes. "This is internal business. We don't need HQ interfering."
James didn't budge. "Phil Coulson is a Level Seven. He's my direct superior. I'm under his command, not yours. I activated emergency protocols this afternoon. No one came. Then I was ambushed. So you must forgive me if I don't trust anything with a New York branch stamp on it."
"You're alone," the man snapped. "You don't get to control this scene."
He raised a hand. Agents started moving toward the parking structure.
James said nothing.
He turned and walked back to the elevator.
Carlos was waiting at the door.
"What now?"
"The New York branch is compromised. I'm going to show them what that means."
James moved into the neighboring unit. Still under renovation. Workers paused as he passed through to the only completed room.
Inside, two Umbra Sentinel suits sat in silence. He walked past the Matte black—Nocturne—and stepped into the stripped-down model. Mark 1, refitted with the new energy core and basic energy weapon.
"Cortana."
[Standing by.]
"Link system control. We're going airborne."
[Neural sync confirmed. Weapons online.]
The armor sealed shut with a hiss. James launched out the window.
Seconds later, black steel hovered above the parking entrance.
The agents below were mid-extraction, already preparing to move bodies.
James's voice echoed down from above.
"Cease operations immediately or I am authorized to use force. You are in direct violation of orders issued by Level Seven Agent Phil Coulson. Further defiance will be considered mutiny."
This Umbra Sentinel armor wasn't built for crowd control like Iron Man.
It was built to Kill with no non-lethal limitations.
All weapons systems extended. Hatches clicked open. Lights glowed cold.
To the agents on the ground, it was Iron Man with no restraint. And everyone knew—James Gibson wasn't Tony Stark.
Tony might play games.
But James didn't, he has no qualms in taking human lives.
The Level Five agent leading the clean-up flinched. "Gibson, do you even know what you're doing?"
James descended slowly, his visor still sealed. "I know exactly what I'm doing. You don't move a single body. You don't leave this site. And any further movement will be considered active interference in a federal investigation."
He tilted his helmet slightly. "Sheriff. You're perimeter security until our people arrive. Lock it down."
The polished black armor reflected the city lights above. The sheriff swallowed hard. He didn't argue. He didn't want to end up dead next.
Reporters outside the complex caught glimpses of the black suit descending from the sky. Excitement erupted. Phones came out. Calls to studios were made.
Within minutes, the first reports leaked: Another Iron Man suit spotted in New York. But Stark was at a gala with Pepper Potts. Cameras had him on record.
Which meant this wasn't Tony Stark.
The dots in their minds connected fast.
James Gibson. Stark's Tech partner. Owner of Alliance Games. And apparently—Iron Man's shadow.
One hour later, another Chevy convoy rolled in.
Coulson stepped out, eyes immediately locking onto the figure in black steel.
"Well. I leave for five hours and you go on full Stark mode."
James's helmet retracted. "This isn't Stark's suit. That one's still in the case. This one's mine."
Coulson exhaled. "Alright. What's your plan?"
James nodded toward the agents still frozen at the scene. "This team is our first sample. You have full clearance. Take them under custody. We'll work through the branch from here."
"You think they're all in?"
"I know they are."
Coulson nodded once.
"Let's do this right," he said. "No noise. No missteps. If Hydra's this deep, we strip them out, piece by piece."
James glanced back at the bodies on the ground.
"Then it's time to cut them out."