"Boss, don't worry," Eddie said, conviction clear in his voice. "Anyone with a criminal history gets excluded from final review. Serious offenders won't even make it past initial screening. We're building a superhero team, not recruiting supervillains."
Smith nodded approval. "Good. Then you have authorization to proceed. Launch The Paragons recruitment campaign."
Within forty-eight hours of receiving approval, Red Ribbon Corporation's media blitz hit every major platform simultaneously.
The campaign started subtle—mysterious teaser images on social media. Silhouettes of seven figures standing against a cityscape at sunset, the tagline: "Heroes. Together. Soon."
Then came the video releases. Professional production quality, cinematic music, sweeping shots of New York being protected by individual heroes—footage of Iron Man's public saves, Blue Dynamo stopping an armed robbery, carefully edited clips of GOD intervening in various crises.
The narrator's voice carried gravitas: "For years, heroes have stood alone. Protecting. Saving. Fighting for those who cannot fight for themselves. But what if they didn't have to stand alone? What if there was something more?"
The final shot showed seven empty pedestals, spotlights illuminating them one by one.
"THE PARAGONS. Coming Soon."
The internet exploded.
YouTube comment sections filled within hours:
@SuperFanNYC: "OH MY GOD ARE SUPERHEROES FORMING A TEAM?? Will GOD join? Iron Man? Blue Dynamo??"
@RealistRick42: "Are you kidding? Those three have their own thing going. Why would they join someone else's company? But honestly, the idea of a superhero TEAM is amazing!"
@MarvelousMindy: "FINALLY! I've been saying they should coordinate for years! Imagine what they could accomplish together!"
@SkepticSam: "This is either brilliant or a disaster waiting to happen. No in-between."
The hashtag #TheParagons trended globally within six hours. Speculation ran wild—who would be selected, what powers they'd have, whether existing heroes would join or if the team would be entirely new faces.
Red Ribbon Corporation fanned the flames expertly. Daily updates. Behind-the-scenes teasers. Interviews with experts discussing the logistics of superhero teamwork. Profiles of historical hero team-ups from comic books and mythology.
Eddie Brock appeared on morning talk shows, charming and professional, explaining the vision: "We're creating something unprecedented—a coordinated superhero team dedicated to protecting people. Not vigilantes. Not lone wolves. An actual organization with training, support, and accountability."
The hosts ate it up. The audiences loved it.
But not everyone was celebrating.
In a dingy warehouse in Brooklyn, a mid-level drug distributor named Marcus sat with three of his lieutenants, watching the Red Ribbon promotional video on a laptop.
"You seeing this shit?" Marcus muttered, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. "Another superhero team. Like we don't have enough already."
His second-in-command, a scarred man named Dmitri, snorted. "New York's already a nightmare. GOD, Iron Man, Blue Dynamo—now this Headhunter guy eating people's heads. Half the families have already relocated to Detroit or Miami."
"Can't operate here anymore," another lieutenant added. "Used to be you could run protection rackets, move product, do business. Now? Masked heroes on every corner. Surveillance everywhere. One wrong move and some cape swoops in."
Marcus took a long drag. "My cousin in Chicago says it's better there. Fewer heroes, cops still manageable. Says the underground's actually functional."
"So we're relocating?" Dmitri asked.
"What choice do we have?" Marcus gestured at the laptop. "They're forming teams now. TEAMS. That means coordinated patrols, information sharing, systematic takedowns. We're already struggling against individuals—can't fight organized hero groups."
He stubbed out the cigarette. "Start liquidating assets. We move to Chicago by end of month. New York's finished for people like us."
Similar conversations occurred across the city's criminal underworld. The smart ones recognized the writing on the wall and started planning exits. The stubborn ones convinced themselves they could adapt, that heroes were just another obstacle to navigate.
The stubborn ones rarely lasted long in the new New York.
But while criminals fled, ordinary citizens embraced the superhero presence with increasing enthusiasm.
Part of that was financial. Superhero Property Protection Insurance—the joint venture between Smith Doyle, Tony Stark, and Ivan Vanko—had revolutionized public perception of collateral damage.
Previously, if superheroes fought near your home or business, you were just screwed. Property destroyed, no compensation, rebuild on your own dime or go bankrupt.
Now? Comprehensive coverage at reasonable rates, backed by three of the world's richest individuals. Claims processed quickly. Generous payouts that often exceeded actual damage costs.
Insurance companies had initially been skeptical, but the data was undeniable: superhero battles in New York resulted in surprisingly minimal collateral damage. GOD's precision, Iron Man's controlled combat style, Blue Dynamo's drone coordination—they fought smart, minimizing civilian casualties and property destruction.
The premiums were high enough to generate profit even with occasional payouts. Other insurance providers noticed and started offering competing policies. The market boomed.
Some enterprising individuals had even started gaming the system—monitoring superhero activity online, rushing to active fight zones with old vehicles, hoping their beater cars would get "accidentally" destroyed for insurance payouts worth more than the car.
The insurance companies caught on eventually and implemented proximity fraud detection. But the fact that people were trying said something about public confidence in the superhero ecosystem.
When heroes saved your life and ensured you didn't go bankrupt from the aftermath, you tended to support them.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Triskelion headquarters, Washington D.C.
Nick Fury sat behind his desk, single eye fixed on Phil Coulson with the intensity of a man dealing with a migraine that had achieved sentience.
"Run it by me again," Fury said, voice deceptively calm. "The sky curtain incident."
Coulson consulted his tablet. "Still no progress, sir. We know there was approximately one year between the first global darkness event and this most recent one. Satellite imagery captured nothing useful—the phenomenon originated from ground level, spread instantaneously, and affected the entire planet except for areas above the atmosphere."
"So we have nothing," Fury summarized.
"Correct."
Fury's jaw tightened. The fact that someone—or something—could plunge half the planet into darkness and S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't even identify the source was professionally embarrassing and strategically terrifying.
"Fine. Shelve it for now. Tell me about this Red Ribbon Group situation."
Coulson pulled up new files. "Red Ribbon Corporation, formerly a media subsidiary of Universal Capsule Company. Recently restructured under Eddie Brock's leadership with two new shareholders: Tony Stark and Ivan Vanko."
"Smith's three musketeers," Fury muttered. "What are they doing?"
"Building a commercial superhero enterprise," Coulson replied. "Tony and Ivan both contributed their superhero IP—Iron Man and Blue Dynamo respectively—as corporate assets. Red Ribbon now holds exclusive merchandising rights."
He scrolled through documentation. "They've already begun aggressive legal action against unauthorized merchandise manufacturers. Acquired a toy factory for official production. Launched websites selling licensed apparel, posters, action figures. They're treating superhero identities as entertainment properties."
Fury absorbed that. On one level, it was brilliant—monetizing heroism, creating sustainable funding for superhero activities. On another level, it was concerning because it represented power consolidating outside S.H.I.E.L.D.'s control.
"What about this team they're forming?"
"I spoke directly with Eddie Brock," Coulson said. "He confirmed he's the vigilante Headhunter who's been operating in New York, although he wanted to change that that name to Venom. He's planning to recruit seven superheroes, manage them as a coordinated team, and develop them as public figures—think professional athletes or pop stars, but with actual heroism."
Coulson's tone carried a note of grudging respect. "Movies, endorsements, merchandise, public appearances. The whole package. He's creating the first franchised superhero team."
Fury's expression darkened. "So Smith Doyle's people want to control seven enhanced individuals and call themselves a legitimate business."
"Essentially."
"Did you inform Mr. Brock that all superhuman affairs fall under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction?"
Coulson's face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. "I did. He responded by presenting two documents."
He pulled them up on screen. "First: White House authorization acknowledging Red Ribbon Corporation's commercial superhero initiative and granting operational legitimacy. Second: Pentagon assessment stating Red Ribbon poses no national security threat and should be permitted to operate freely."
Fury stared at the documents for ten seconds, his silence more ominous than any outburst.
"Smith, Tony, and Ivan went over our heads," he finally said, voice flat. "Got approval from the President and the military before we even knew this was happening."
"Correct," Coulson confirmed. "By the time we became aware of the initiative, they'd already secured political protection. We can't shut them down without directly contradicting the White House and Pentagon."
Fury leaned back in his chair, mind racing through implications. This was chess at the highest level—Smith Doyle positioning pieces months in advance, anticipating S.H.I.E.L.D.'s response and neutralizing it before the game even began.
"The Scouters changed everything," Fury said quietly. "Used to be we could keep enhanced individuals secret. Classify them, study them, control the narrative. Now? Everyone knows there are three distinct categories of superhuman capability. Can't stuff that genie back in the bottle."
He looked at Coulson directly. "We've lost the ability to unilaterally detain enhanced individuals for 'research.' Can't just throw them in the Icebox without cause anymore. Too much public awareness, too much political pressure."