"Hmm… it's like they just appeared out of thin air."
Agent Coulson paused, his brows furrowed in thought as the projection flickered on the wall of Director Nick Fury's office. Around them, the dim lighting emphasized the tension in the air. The images of fourteen distinct faces hovered in high resolution—surveillance captures from across New York City.
Coulson's gaze lingered on one particular image before continuing. "We haven't found any traces of their existence before two months ago. No IDs. No digital footprints. Not even a birth certificate. It's like they didn't exist before this."
Fury leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His one visible eye glinted with a cold edge. "And you're wondering if they're connected to Lucian."
It wasn't a question. It was an assessment.
Coulson nodded. "It's possible. All of them appeared in the same general timeframe. All linked to sites of recent attacks. And Lucian—well, we still haven't cracked where he came from either."
Fury didn't speak, but the implications weighed heavy in the silence.
In S.H.I.E.L.D., the appearance of one untraceable anomaly was rare enough to raise red flags. Two? That was a pattern. Fifteen? That was a crisis.
"Surveillance footage shows these individuals only appearing in shadows or at night," Coulson continued. "That aligns with what Lucian told us about them avoiding sunlight. But…" He hesitated. "We can't confirm whether it's a conscious avoidance or just coincidental capture bias."
Fury snorted. "Lucian knew we'd double-check everything. He wouldn't lie about something that easy to verify."
Coulson agreed. "And Lucian different. He walks in the daylight, shows up on every camera we track. If what he says about these 'man-eating demons' is true, then he's not one of them."
"Could he be working with them?" Fury pressed.
"Unlikely," Coulson replied immediately. "They prey on humans. Lucian been selling us the means to fight them. If they were allies, why arm us with their weaknesses?"
Fury raised an eyebrow. "Money?"
"Not for the amounts we've paid," Coulson said. "He made thirty million alone tipping us off about Obadiah Stane and Stark's kidnapping. The ghost weapon deals? Barely a couple million. Too small a payday for someone like him."
Fury's fingers tapped the armrest of his chair. He hated feeling like a step behind, and Lucian always seemed two steps ahead.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. Intel Division's still digging into him," Coulson added. "We've got a complete map of his daily routines. No contacts, no inquiries, no digital searches. It's like he doesn't even need to ask questions—he just… knows."
Fury narrowed his eye. "You're saying he might have a gift?"
"Possibly clairvoyance. Some form of passive omniscience." Coulson kept his tone measured. "He doesn't ask because he doesn't need to. He just... sees."
Fury grunted. "Even if that's true, we can't afford to trust him blindly. Send someone to test him. Apply pressure."
"I'll prepare an operative."
"And find those fourteen." Fury's tone sharpened like a blade. "We need answers."
Meanwhile, in a shadowed alley in Hell's Kitchen…
"Well, well… look who's back." Lucian voice echoed softly through the dark, his breath clouding in the cool air. He leaned against the brick wall outside his convenience store, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.
The man who'd been waiting stepped out of the darkness. Clad in black tactical gear, with a holstered pistol and eyes like a snake's—cold, focused, and deadly.
"Lucian," the man greeted flatly. "You finally returned."
"Otto said you had something to discuss." Lucian gave a lazy nod to the pale, wiry man standing off to the side—Otto, his loyal subordinate, exhaled in relief and stepped back into the shadows.
Lucian glanced at the newcomer. "I remember you… Kingpin's dog, right? Bullseye?"
The man's eyes narrowed at the label. "You know more than you should."
Lucian grinned, blowing out a slow stream of smoke. "Information's my business. So, what does your boss want with me?"
Bullseye stepped forward, voice as sharp as the knives he carried. "There are newcomers in town. Not part of Kingpin's organization. They've been… disruptive."
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "They jacked his business?"
"No."
"Territory?"
"No."
"Then what did they do?" Lucian asked, genuinely puzzled. "It takes a lot to get Wilson Fisk riled up enough to send his top assassin."
"They killed people."
Lucian let out a snort and nearly choked on his smoke. "You're kidding. Kingpin—the man who runs half the city's criminal underworld—is upset because someone killed someone?"
Bullseye's gaze turned icy. "Watch your mouth, black. Just because you're useful doesn't mean you're untouchable. Next time you talk about the boss like that, I'll carve out your tongue."
Lucian raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I meant no offense. It just sounds ironic."
Bullseye didn't blink. "This isn't about morality. It's about order. The Kingpin enforces balance. These new players? They broke it."
Lucian eyes gleamed with interest. "I see… they violated the unspoken rules."
Bullseye nodded. "Exactly. In this city, even killers have a code. These things—whatever they are—don't care. They kill for fun. For hunger. That's chaos."
Lucian tapped his cigarette out, then held out a hand. "Details?"
Bullseye handed over a folded newspaper.
Headline: "Another Cannibal Killing—Victims Found Mutilated in Midtown"
Leo's jaw tightened. Of course. More demon activity. More ghosts.
This time, the ripples had reached the criminal underworld.
"They're your problem now," Bullseye said, watching him carefully. "You've got a reputation. You've got answers. So answer."
Lucian exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the page. "You're not the first to ask about this today."
"Then you know something."
"I do," Lucian said calmly. "But information isn't free."
Bullseye stared at him, then dropped a heavy duffel bag onto the ground with a thud.
Lucian unzipped it. Stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills gleamed under the streetlight.
"Two hundred thousand," Bullseye said.
Lucian smiled. "Now we're speaking my language."