"Here we are," I exhaled, unable to resist making a theatrical gesture. This whole espionage drama was starting to frankly tire me out. The fact that Fury had so easily admitted to moles in his vaunted organization was unexpected. "And what are our next steps, Director?"
"They're obvious. We'll root them out and eliminate them," Fury chuckled, his eyes gleaming in the half-light. "But those are my problems. Right now, the person on the agenda is you."
"Let's just not return to the topic of Kraven. That topic is closed," I nodded, and touching the corpse, I sent it to my inventory. It simply vanished, leaving only a dark stain on the concrete. I didn't risk removing the suit from my body just yet.
"We won't," Fury agreed, surprisingly easily. "Though I have more questions for you than I have answers. But for now, let's discuss the preliminary terms."
Again with these terms and preliminary agreements. God, how they loved this bureaucratic tinsel, these multi-layered games. Why couldn't it ever be simple and honest? We give you this, you give us that. No, they needed to stage a whole performance. First, there was Natasha with her theater of the absurd, where Elena had also barged in uninvited. Then there was Coulson, who was ready to listen but who lacked authority. And now the S.H.I.E.L.D. chief himself, instead of getting down to business, was starting the old routine again. While they had been playing their games, Kraven had been acting. While they had been discussing things, he had kidnapped civilians who should have been under watch. While Coulson had been having a conversation with me, my base was already being mined.
"My terms haven't changed," I replied, cutting off his attempt to start a new round of negotiations. My voice came out sharper than I had planned, but I had neither the strength nor the desire to restrain myself. "And after the recent events, I have only strengthened my position. But there is a new point that is non-negotiable. Constant protection for the Parkers. It must be provided by your best and most trusted people."
Fury didn't flinch at my tone. He only slowly nodded, as if acknowledging my right to this sharpness.
"That's already been done. You can be certain of that. As for the rest, you're right. Your terms are quite feasible. Especially now. Your demonstration," he nodded to where the corpse had just been lying, "has significantly simplified some points. The ability to eliminate a threat of Kraven's level is a weighty argument."
"Then why are we dragging this out?" I spread my hands. "Where is my lab and my transnational corporation with a pompous name in the spirit of Arasaka? Why was this whole performance in an abandoned barn necessary?"
"A personal meeting removes many questions and allows us to avoid any misunderstandings," Fury answered briefly. "Follow me."
He turned and headed for the exit. The other three followed him, and after hesitating for a second, I walked after them. We exited the grain elevator's oppressive silence and went out into the damp night air. We wound our way through this industrial era graveyard until we stopped at two cars. They were ordinary gray sedans, the kind you could see in any Walmart parking lot. There was no tinting, no chrome, not a single hint that inside them sat the elite of one of the planet's main intelligence services. Fury must have sensed my bewilderment, even through the mask.
"Only those who desperately want to be noticed drive brutal, black SUVs," he chuckled, opening the back door and inviting me to sit beside him.
At that moment, I somehow remembered those loser vampires that I had recently released from my inventory. They definitely wanted to be noticed now. I wondered how they were doing. As for Fury's words, they were quite logical. Brutal, black jeeps were for movies and cartels. Real power doesn't shout about itself.
I got into the car. Coulson turned out to be behind the wheel of our sedan. The car started smoothly, almost silently. We passed through Brooklyn streets, the bridge's steel lacework, and Manhattan's neon canyons. The journey took about forty minutes, and throughout all that time, we rode in silence. But it wasn't an empty silence. It was thick, filled with unspoken words and expectation. Fury was immersed in his tablet, only occasionally casting quick glances at me.
I was occupied with thoughts of Hydra. Not as an abstract enemy from the comics, but as a real, systemic tumor that Fury himself had just unknowingly acknowledged. If they could so easily isolate me and blind S.H.I.E.L.D., what could they do when they wanted to strike a real blow? Which of the agents I hadn't yet met carried their symbol in their soul? Was it the kid who brought Coulson his coffee? Was it the analyst studying my data? They were everywhere. And now that I had killed their valuable mercenary, I had ended up right on their radar.
But if I thought more rationally, what did I actually know about them, about this Hydra? If I stripped away the husk, actually not much. There were the Winter Soldiers. There was the Red Skull. And there was one name that right now was my main ace up my sleeve. Alexander Pierce.
He was a big shot in S.H.I.E.L.D. and simultaneously a big shot in Hydra. However much they boasted about their decentralization and many heads, any system rests on its key nodes. Pierce was a validator, a key node in this bloody network. Remove people like him, and the whole vaunted system would start to crumble from the banal human factor, because the rank-and-file executors would lose their direction and start tearing each other's throats out for power.
Should I reveal him now? I would have to look for fools elsewhere. This was the worst possible move. It would be like shooting yourself in the foot to scare a sniper. I had no idea how deeply this infection had metastasized. One careless word, one hint about Pierce or about Hydra itself in a conversation with Fury, and the invisible target on my back would instantly change its color from capture alive to eliminate immediately. And what would come for me wouldn't be just one Kraven. A cleanup team of Winter Soldiers and the planet's best meta-mercenaries would come, the ones who sold themselves for money, and there were plenty of those. No, thank you. I would struggle along for a little while longer. So I would just mentally check the box next to the name Pierce and shelve this problem for now.
Moreover, there was no guarantee that eliminating Pierce alone would solve the problem rather than provoke a global collapse. Obviously, he was just one of many, and I fully admitted that he wasn't the only big toad in this swamp. What if at the very top of S.H.I.E.L.D. there sat an entire board of Hydra directors? What if, being completely paranoid, I imagined that their agents were literally everywhere, from the janitor in the corridor to the senator who was right now distributing defense budgets? To cut rashly in such a situation would mean to cut the branch that you were possibly sitting on.
Okay. The Hydra problem was a marathon, not a sprint. It would require the surgical precision of a spirit scalpel, not the strike of a vibro-glove. But what was worth thinking about here and now was security. And strangely enough, it wasn't my own security.
My victory over Kraven had given me a clear understanding of my place in the food chain. I had reached the low-middle league level. I could tangle with a hypothetical Logan, but I would be unlikely to survive a meeting with Sabretooth. I could give Emma Frost some problems, but Xavier would break my brain without even noticing it. I could peck at Ben Grimm, but the Hulk would just smear me across the pavement. I could handle my own hide for now. But others.
There was Problem Number One, Peter. Right now, all hope obviously rested on S.H.I.E.L.D., but that was a temporary measure. Apparently, I would have to accelerate the creation of a combat kit for him. The trouble was, he had ants in his pants and a hero complex in his head. Giving him tools for defense was the right thing to do. But with his character, he would immediately turn the shield into a pair of brass knuckles and run off looking for adventures, using the kit not for self-defense but for self-attacking problems. And however cynically it sounded, in my head, a folder that was labeled written-off asset was slowly starting to form. I had big plans for him. I needed someone to run my future corporation's science department. But if he didn't wise up in his personal matters, if his heroism outweighed his self-preservation instinct and ended up endangering not only him but everyone around him, I would have to make a hard decision. However, I was still hoping that Gwen's dirt on MJ would straighten his brains out.
There was Problem Number Two, Gwen. With her, fortunately, everything was simpler. She was more adequate and pragmatic than Peter was. But assigning S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to her would mean hanging an official ally label on her. It would turn her from a random acquaintance into a legitimate target for enemies. She was strong and proud, and she wouldn't accept such guardianship. And even if she did, it would only expose her to attack. Maybe she would respond and wouldn't even be too indignant about it, but the memories of how she had leaked to Shocker were still fresh. No, the path here should be different. It shouldn't be external protection, but internal reinforcement. I had just promised her a suit. Now it wasn't just a gift. It was a production necessity. Excellent. That was another matter for my infinitely growing list.
And all of this mess had started with one damned flower. A Ghost Orchid. It was time to rename it Pandora's Box.
While I was running through my growing list of problems in my head, the car smoothly braked. Our route had ended at the most ordinary residential building in Manhattan. It was twenty floors of glass and steel, with a closed courtyard. A facade of respectability and boredom. We entered the underground parking lot, where Coulson parked in an unremarkable spot. And then the floor under the cars trembled and went down, without a single squeak.
It was a hidden car elevator. How these locals loved to build not just upward but also downward. First, there was Blade with his underground base. May it rest in peace. Now there was Fury, another pompous guy in a leather coat. Maybe this was a professional deformation in all cape-wearers? An attraction to dungeons? I didn't want to test this theory on my own hide. No capes for me. I was still missing a Doom cosplay in my biography. For now, I would stick with just a hood and a stylish mask.
We descended several levels, and the picture changed sharply. This wasn't just a garage. It was the upper level of a giant underground parking structure, and here there was no more masking. The space was crammed with those very attention-attracting vehicles. There were familiar tinted Land Cruisers, and there were full military Hummers that were bristling with barrels, antennas, and so many modifications that my suit could be envious.
Maintaining their professional silence, Fury and his team moved toward one of the exits. We walked through sterile, faceless corridors that were polished to a mirror shine. The air was cold and smelled of sterility. At one intersection, Romanoff, Barton, and Coulson, without a word and in one coordinated movement, separated from us and turned into another corridor. And now I was left alone with him.
And immediately a paranoia switch clicked in my head. He was leading me deep into his citadel, and he was alone, without any guards. Was this trust? Or was this another, the most subtle, stage of testing? Was he calculating that I would relax and give away some information? And if I wanted to attack him, what would stop me? His coat? Or were these labyrinth walls stuffed with hidden turrets?
And then came another, far more disturbing thought. Why, actually, was my brain even generating a scenario for attacking Fury? Without any reason. Since when did I, by default, consider physical elimination as one of the options for solving a problem? Was this a side effect from all of these battles and intrigues? Or was the isekai protagonist's itch demanding a bloody banquet?
Okay. Inhale, exhale. Calm down. S.H.I.E.L.D., despite the serpent infection, was a system. Hydra wouldn't act openly here. It would be too risky.
While I was taming my inner demons, we reached another nondescript door that had no sign on it. Fury silently opened it and went inside. The office turned out to be surprisingly ordinary. There were no holographic screens or futuristic furniture. There was just a large desk, a comfortable chair, and a panoramic window behind which, obviously, there was only a high-quality imitation of the night city view. The only thing that revealed the owner was a nameplate on the desk. It read, Director Nicholas Joseph Fury.
Nick sat down at the head of the table and folded his hands together.
"Well then. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., John Thompson," his voice broke the silence. "Judging by the way you addressed me, you know who I am. But I, as it turns out, don't know who you are. All of the information that we have on you," he paused, "doesn't explain the corpse of Kraven the Hunter at all."
It was a direct question. I approved. The problem was, a truthful answer was even worse than a lie. If I revealed that I was an alien from another world with a System and with partial, but very important, knowledge of their future? That wasn't even up for discussion. A mental ward cell or vivisection weren't the best prospects. If I said that I was a mutant, that would be stupid. The first X-gene test would show that it was a deception. Only one thing remained. I had to stand my ground.
"Precisely because you didn't know all of my cards, I won, Director," I replied, shaking my head. "And I'm sorry, but I don't intend to reveal them. Not right now."
To confirm my words and as a gesture of good faith, I removed the Chimera's suit and put it into my inventory, remaining in my ordinary clothes. I looked directly at Fury.
"I hope that in the S.H.I.E.L.D. director's office, I can feel safe without it?"
"Expectedly, you can," Fury answered evenly, but the corner of his mouth twitched for a split second in something that resembled an approving smirk. My gesture had been appreciated. "I can't blame you for your paranoia, especially not now. But let's change the subject. Why do you need publicity? Your answer to Coulson was too vague."
"But it was truthful," I shrugged, and demonstratively relaxing, I sat in the chair opposite him. "Problems of such a large scale are coming, ones where a squad of meta-mercenaries will be useless. It doesn't matter what you call them or what colorful tights you dress them in. They will remain a rapid response squad. A fire brigade. And I'm talking about rebuilding the house before it even burns to the ground."
"It's an interesting perspective," Fury clasped his fingers together. "You told Coulson about space? About mystical threats?"
"Not only that. Do you want a more specific and down-to-earth example?"
"We can use an informal address," Fury nodded, his gaze becoming even more attentive. He clearly wanted to hear this example.
"Good," I leaned forward. "Here's a specific example. Reed Richards. He's a genius, a public darling, and he's currently a failed space pioneer. And he is also a walking catalyst for global problems. What do you currently have on his friend, Victor von Doom, for example? I'll probably stay quiet about the other team members, but I think you get the point."
This was a direct shot, right in the bullseye. Fury fell silent. He didn't just pause. He froze, and his gaze turned into a drill bit that was trying to bore through me and extract from my head everything that I knew but shouldn't. In this ten-second silence, the air in the office seemed like it could be cut with a knife.
"You are dangerously well-informed, Thompson," he finally said quietly, more to himself than to me. Then, louder, he said, "I admit, your logic makes sense. Sometimes, to fight a dragon, you don't need a team of knights. You need another dragon, a bigger one."
"Since we've found some common ground, can we move from philosophy to practice?" I decided to strike while the iron was hot. "I'm tired of repeating this, but I need a lab."
"It's not a quick process. Especially if it's going to be equipped according to your requests, and something tells me..."
"Yes, the requests will be specific," I answered honestly, mentally running through a list of equipment that would give any resource base manager a heart attack. "By the roughest estimates, the initial equipment investment is around seventy million."
"We can start small," Fury suggested, without batting an eye. "The science complex at the base has several advanced labs. They will be at your disposal. For a start."
"For a start, that'll do," I nodded. Even S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most rundown lab would be a technological paradise compared to what I had previously had.
"Allow me to be curious," a genuine curiosity slipped into Fury's voice. "Where are you rushing off to in such a hurry?"
"Nick, while I'm sitting here talking to you, somewhere in the world, another genius, possibly a villain, is working in their lab. Technology doesn't wait. Threats don't wait. Every hour of downtime is their advantage and our risk. My haste isn't a whim. It's a necessity."
Fury, with a heavy sigh, picked up his tablet again.
"Fine. I understand. Then we really do need to hurry. Let's sketch out the main points. What you will give to S.H.I.E.L.D. What S.H.I.E.L.D. will give to you. The deadlines, the conditions, the sanctions for non-compliance. A protocol of intent."
"Bureaucracy," I grimaced sincerely, internally shuddering at the thought of stacks of documents. "I hate it."
"Me too. That's why, for now, we'll just cover the essence. No fluff. We'll let the paper-pushers from the legal department have their fun later," he looked at me point-blank. "Are you ready?"
I smirked.
"I don't have any other proposals besides the lab and creating a transnational corporation, anyway. Give me your points, Director. Cut right to it."
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