Coulson placed the compiled dossier on Fury's desk with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd briefed the Director countless times. "Sir, this contains our latest intelligence on the Fraternity and Smith Doyle, compiled from Romanoff's observations and my own analysis."
He didn't wait for acknowledgment before launching into the summary. "First: following the elimination of the Hand and Kingpin's organization, the Fraternity's financial position has improved dramatically. Conservative estimates place their liquid assets at twenty billion dollars minimum."
Fury's single eye narrowed. "That's all? The Hand and Kingpin together controlled assets worth considerably more. Kingpin alone was probably sitting on that much."
"Correct, sir. But the Fraternity was selective about what they acquired." Coulson gestured to a specific section in the report. "They took over several legitimate business fronts, the ones Kingpin transferred directly through back-channel negotiations. But they left most of the Hand's legal operations untouched, probably because the paper trail was too complicated or too exposed."
He flipped to another page. "More significantly, they completely abandoned the criminal enterprises. All of them, weapons trafficking, narcotics distribution, organ trade, human trafficking, telecom fraud operations, assassination networks. The Fraternity stripped out all the cash reserves and seized key real estate holdings, but they didn't assume operational control of any illegal activities."
Fury leaned back, processing that information. It painted an interesting picture, an organization with the power to seize criminal infrastructure but the restraint not to. "Since those operations don't have clear succession, I'll authorize SHIELD to take control of the legitimate assets through official channels. Can't leave that kind of money sitting around for other organizations to claim."
"Already in progress, sir. We've positioned our financial specialists to begin acquisition procedures."
"Good. Continue."
Coulson's expression grew more serious. "Second: Romanoff confirmed that Smith Doyle possesses some form of energy projection ability. He can generate and fire concentrated energy blasts from both hands. Destructive capacity is substantial, she witnessed him obliterate an entire building with a single discharge. Maximum range, sustained output, and upper limits remain unknown."
Fury made a note on his tablet, his jaw tightening slightly. Enhanced individuals were never simple problems.
"Third," Coulson continued, "Smith Doyle has developed an unexpectedly close relationship with Tony Stark. They attended the firefighters' charity gala together last night. Additionally, Doyle profited significantly by short-selling Stark Industries stock immediately before Tony's weapons shutdown announcement. The relationship appears genuine, more than just transactional gratitude for the rescue."
"Convenient timing on those stock trades," Fury observed dryly. "Almost like he knew what Tony was going to say before Tony said it."
"Yes, sir. That's noted in the anomaly section."
Coulson tapped the next bullet point. "Fourth: During my conversation with Smith Doyle at the gala, he mentioned that the Fraternity has developed technology that enabled him to locate Tony Stark in the Afghan desert when our satellites and the entire US military failed. He claims they'll be releasing this technology as a commercial product in the near future, with SHIELD receiving an invitation to the product demonstration."
Fury's interest sharpened visibly. "Detection technology capable of finding specific individuals across thousands of square miles of hostile territory? That's either revolutionary or bullshit. Make sure we're on that invitation list."
"Already confirmed, sir."
"Fifth," Coulson said, moving to the final major point, "all assassination contracts currently posted through the Fraternity's network are being fulfilled by independent underground assassins. The Fraternity itself, their actual members, aren't participating in these operations. They're functioning purely as intermediaries, taking commission fees without direct involvement."
He paused before adding the last detail. "Regarding Smith Doyle's background: our embedded assets within the Fraternity, specifically those handling historical records and biographical documentation, have found almost nothing useful. The official story is that Smith Doyle was an orphan, discovered as an infant. The organization's leadership refers to him as 'GOD,' but there's no documentation explaining that designation."
Fury absorbed the information in silence for several seconds, his mind already working through strategic implications. "Have Romanoff investigate whoever runs the Fraternity's research laboratory. As Fox's assistant, she should have access to personnel records and facility information. If they're developing commercial technology, there's a scientist somewhere pulling it together."
"Yes, sir."
"When they release that detection product, I want you there personally, Coulson. Buy whatever they're selling, even if it turns out to be garbage. Consider it an investment in the relationship. But if the technology actually works?" Fury's expression hardened. "Then we need to completely reassess what the Fraternity represents and what they're capable of."
He stood, moving to the window overlooking SHIELD's campus. "We should also strengthen ties with Smith Doyle directly. Give his business ventures preferential treatment when they intersect with our operations. Smooth the bureaucratic path when necessary. Make him understand that SHIELD can be a valuable ally."
Turning back to Coulson, Fury added, "And have the intelligence division dig into missing infant cases in Brooklyn from eighteen years ago. Cross-reference against hospitals, orphanages, police reports. Nobody appears from nowhere, Coulson. Smith Doyle came from somewhere, and I want to know where."
Coulson had expected exactly this approach, Director Fury never met a potential asset he didn't try to recruit. But recruitment required leverage, and leverage required a common enemy. Without an immediate threat to rally against, bringing Smith Doyle firmly into SHIELD's orbit would be challenging. The intelligence division would need to work overtime manufacturing the right circumstances.
"Understood, sir. I'll coordinate with all relevant departments."
Coulson gathered the briefing materials and departed, leaving Fury alone with his thoughts and the classified documents spread across his desk.
After Coulson's footsteps faded, Fury retrieved a separate file from his locked drawer, intelligence from the survivors of the High Table's elder council. The report contained one crucial detail that had been bothering him: grenades and explosive ordnance could harm Smith Doyle.
That single fact had significantly reduced Fury's assessment of the threat level. If Smith Doyle's durability topped out at small-caliber firearms resistance, then conventional military solutions remained viable. Missiles, artillery, air strikes, plenty of options for neutralization if the situation demanded it.
But the report was frustratingly vague about upper limits. The video footage of Smith's combat showed impressive speed and strength, but kinetic impacts only told part of the story. How much punishment could he actually absorb before his defenses failed? Could he survive sustained heavy weapons fire? What about armor-piercing rounds or incendiary devices?
Testing those limits would require careful planning and plausible deniability. Can't just send a strike team to attack a civilian without cause.
Fury's thoughts drifted to Carol Danvers, Captain Marvel, currently somewhere among the stars dealing with whatever cosmic problems kept her away from Earth. With Carol's power, testing Smith Doyle's capabilities would be simple. She could push him to his limits without permanent damage, gather comprehensive data on his abilities, all under the pretense of a friendly sparring match.
But Carol wasn't here. And using the pager she'd left him, his ultimate trump card, for something like this felt wrong.
Fury opened his personal safe and withdrew the modified pager, its antiquated design hiding impossibly advanced alien technology. Carol had been explicit in her instructions: don't use this unless the threat is extinction-level. A crisis that could end human civilization. Anything less, SHIELD should handle on its own.
And truthfully? Since helping Carol deal with the Kree situation years ago, he hadn't encountered anything that qualified. SHIELD had managed every challenge thrown at them through conventional means, intelligence work, and strategic deployment of resources.
Fury turned the pager over in his hands, studying it with grudging respect.
He needs to understand Smith Doyle, if he didn't understand Smith Doyle's character, how could he recruit him?
Fury shook his head, dismissing the impulse toward direct action. Better to let Coulson continue building the relationship. The agent was excellent at making people comfortable, at presenting SHIELD as helpful rather than threatening. If anyone could successfully recruit Smith Doyle, it was Coulson.
Fury closed the safe, but instead of returning the Captain Marvel pager to its secured location, he slipped it into his coat pocket. The weight settled against his chest, a constant reminder of the power he could summon if circumstances became truly desperate.
He didn't consciously think about who or what he might need that power to defend against. But the pager stayed in his pocket nonetheless, ready for immediate use.
Just in case.
Halfway across the world, in the small town of Gulmira, Afghanistan, inhumane atrocities unfolded with methodical brutality.
The Ten Rings militants moved through the streets like locusts, stripping the village of everything valuable, including its people. Women and children were herded onto trucks like livestock, destined for trafficking networks. Adult men and the elderly were being executed systematically, their bodies left in the streets as warnings to other settlements.
A father called desperately for his son. The boy screamed back, reaching for his father even as militants dragged him toward the trucks. The father broke free from the line, running toward his child with the desperate strength of parental love.
A Ten Rings soldier raised his rifle, finger tightening on the trigger. The father had two steps left. One step. The barrel lined up with his chest,
Something fell from the sky like a meteor.
The impact cratered the ground between father and son, dust and debris exploding outward. When it cleared, a figure stood in the crater, humanoid but wrong, covered in red and gold armor that gleamed in the harsh Afghan sunlight.
Iron Man had arrived.
The militants stared for half a second, processing the impossible sight. Then training overcame shock, and weapons snapped up. AK-47s barked in unison, muzzle flashes lighting up the street as dozens of rifles opened fire.
Ting. Ting. Tang. Clang.
Bullets ricocheted off the Mark III's armor plating like rain off steel, sparking but causing zero damage. Not even scratching the paint. The armor absorbed the kinetic energy as if the militants were throwing pebbles.
Tony stood motionless in the storm of gunfire, his HUD tracking each shooter, calculating threat assessments, identifying targets. His hands rose slowly, repulsors charging with building whine.
The shooting stopped as militants realized their weapons were useless.
In the silence that followed, Tony's voice emerged from the armor's external speakers, distorted by processing but unmistakably human.
"Bad call."
Then the repulsors fired, and Iron Man went to work.