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Phil Coulson refused to give up on defining Henry Brown. "You should know—nothing in this world is coincidence. You're a Kryptonian, and we need a Superman. A kind Clark Kent."
Henry smiled. "I'd love that too. If I were really that powerful, the whole world would be kneeling at my feet."
"No. Superman wouldn't do that."
"Of course Clark Kent wouldn't. But why are you so sure Henry Brown wouldn't? Let me ask you—if I were Superman, what would you use to stop me? Found any Kryptonite yet?"
"…No. That doesn't exist in reality," Coulson admitted, disappointed.
"So there's no Kryptonite in reality, but I have to be the comic version of Clark Kent, not the real Henry Brown? You guys even handle renaming people now? I'm not in witness protection."
"That's not what I meant. It's just… we hope—no, I hope—you can become Superman and help us."
"…You do realize my abilities are nowhere near Superman's, right? Do you know how many people want to test just how far my bulletproof body can go? Rifle rounds, armor-piercing rounds, depleted uranium rounds… maybe even an ICBM someday."
"Maybe you just haven't fully developed your Kryptonian abilities. Like Superman as a child. We can help you—S.H.I.E.L.D. can unlock your potential and make you a better person."
"And then?"
"Then you can fight crime, uphold justice, and bring peace to the world."
"Oh, that sounds great. So let me ask—how much does that pay? Or what's the salary? People need to eat, have a place to sleep, maybe enjoy some entertainment now and then. All of that costs money."
"A Level One agent like me, depending on role and location, earns about forty to sixty thousand dollars a year. If you reach supervisory level, it can exceed a hundred thousand."
"Wow, that does sound like a lot. Do you know how much I make sitting here, slacking off and living off Stark's fortune?"
"…Two hundred—no, five hundred thousand?"
Henry gave a polite, not-too-awkward smile and held up all ten fingers. "Actually, it's ten… million."
"What?! A ten-million-dollar annual salary? You're serious?!" Coulson's face filled with disbelief.
"Filthy rich guy like him—if I don't fleece him, I'd be doing myself a disservice, right? So tell me, is saving the world more important than that?"
Coulson was speechless. Ten million a year versus secretly saving the world—he simply couldn't bring himself to say the money didn't matter.
After a long pause, he forced out, "But human lives are priceless. Saving lives—doesn't that mean anything to you?"
Henry chuckled. "Law enforcement has the police. Fires and disasters—firefighters. Wars—soldiers. Conspiracies—intelligence agencies. Does Earth collapse tomorrow just because there's no Superman?
"And besides, he's a fictional character. If wishing worked like that, shouldn't I go find Arnold Schwarzenegger and mass-produce a T-800 army? We could unify Earth under Skynet by tomorrow.
"Come on. You people got played by the Skrulls, and now you show up with a comic book claiming I'm Superman? I'm starting to wonder if your agency uses the same IQ standards as the military.
"And let's not pretend I don't know what your organization really does. If I became the kind of 'Superman' you want, what happens to my girlfriend? Not every woman is as bold as Lois Lane."
After his long speech, Henry took a sip of water, then looked at Coulson's stunned expression—and suddenly felt a playful urge.
He turned serious and said, "Alright, since you're so insistent, I'll admit it. I'm actually Jesus—sent back by God to save the world.
"If you don't believe me, I'll go put on a crown of thorns, carry a cross through the streets, and see if people fall to their knees begging for forgiveness."
Coulson instinctively replied, "That's impossible. There are plenty of frauds pretending to be the Lord, and even they use more convincing tricks and rhetoric."
"Exactly. I can't be Jesus—but I can be Superman?" Henry shrugged, spread his hands, and pursed his lips in a three-part gesture.
That completely shut Coulson down. Scrambling for another angle, he blurted, "Don't you love this country?"
Henry widened his eyes and pointed at himself. "Me? An alien? Love the United States? Are you serious? I pay taxes, follow the law, and don't commit crimes. Isn't that enough?"
"You can't ignore your identity—"
Cutting him off, Henry said, "This is an immigrant nation. I don't recall the Constitution excluding aliens.
"I know your organization could easily find flaws in how I obtained my identity. But let me remind you—the Earth isn't just the United States."
In truth, if it ever came down to it, leaving the U.S. wouldn't be that difficult a decision for Henry.
Back when he stayed, it was only because, during his most lost days in Alaska, he had somehow obtained legal status and simply gone with the flow.
Now, with his current capabilities, there was nothing to fear from deportation.
Coulson flushed red, still trying to speak, but Henry sighed inwardly. The future director is still too green…
"Mr. Coulson," Henry said, cutting him off again.
Coulson fell silent, waiting.
Henry's tone turned calm and cold. "I think this conversation ends here. Continuing won't lead to anything pleasant. I'm very satisfied with my current work and life. I trust you understand."
Coulson stood, fastening his suit jacket, making one last attempt. "Mr. Brown, if I've offended you in any way, I apologize. But I still hope—"
"If you want to make a wish, go find Aladdin's lamp—not Superman," Henry interrupted once more.
The honest agent, too drained to argue, turned quietly to leave.
"Mr. Coulson," Henry called out again before he exited.
A flicker of hope lit up Coulson's eyes as he turned back—only to see Henry holding up the Superman comic and giving it a small shake.
"I believe this is yours. Don't forget to take it with you."
"…Alright." The disappointment in his voice was impossible to hide.
Coulson didn't even remember how he left Stark Pictures. By the time he stepped outside, Nick Fury had just pulled up to the entrance.
"Coulson, get in," Nick Fury called from the car window.
"Sir." Coulson didn't resist. He greeted him and took the passenger seat.
As the car pulled away, a heavy silence filled the interior. Uncomfortable with it, Nick Fury spoke first.
"I take it the conversation didn't go the way you wanted. I can't say I'm surprised."..
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