The darkness pressed in, thick and oppressive, the silence absolute.
Walking through such a place, Coulson didn't feel nervous at all. On the contrary, he felt remarkably calm, his mind turning over the task the director had given him.
Two months ago, a string of brutal murders had begun plaguing various neighborhoods across New York.
Every victim bore the same horrifying characteristics—torn flesh from sharp teeth, bodies partially devoured.
It defied explanation.
These incidents occurred in prosperous urban areas, far from any wilderness. No dangerous animals had escaped from nearby zoos. It seemed impossible that any creature would dare invade human territory to hunt like this.
The police and FBI investigators came up empty-handed.
That's when S.H.I.E.L.D. took notice.
They deployed high-tech equipment and investigative methods far beyond what conventional agencies possessed, and yet... they found nothing either.
Fury knew something wasn't right. Combined with the growing public panic over the cannibal cases, he sent his most trusted agent—Coulson.
At first, Coulson wasn't particularly concerned.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was specifically designed to handle supernatural events. He'd dealt with dozens of bizarre cases before. This would just be another file closed, another success added to his record.
But then...
Despite employing criminal investigation techniques decades ahead of the current standard, despite using technology that seemed almost science fiction—after two weeks of intensive work, he couldn't find a single clue.
Meanwhile, the attacks escalated. The frequency increased, each new incident sending fresh waves of terror through the city.
Under mounting public pressure, various agencies and S.H.I.E.L.D. doubled down on their efforts.
Still nothing.
When Coulson ran out of conventional options, he decided to reach out to an old acquaintance.
"Acquaintance" might be too strong a word—they'd only worked together twice before.
The man was an Asian in his twenties. His identity remained a complete mystery. He ran a peculiar business out of Hell's Kitchen—a "master's house" where he took payment to solve problems.
However.
While he certainly worked for money, he operated by a strict code.
He wasn't exactly a law-abiding citizen, but he possessed a clear moral compass, a personal sense of right and wrong that guided his actions.
Coulson first encountered him during an incident that the man helped resolve perfectly.
They'd collaborated once more after that, with equally flawless results.
This would be their third time working together.
Honestly, if Coulson had any other option, he'd prefer not to involve this person.
The man was too much of an enigma.
His origins were unknown. His family background—if he even had one—was a blank slate. His ultimate goals remained unclear.
Even with the full resources of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director at their disposal, they could only trace the man's history back one year, to when he suddenly appeared in Manhattan and opened a small shop in Hell's Kitchen.
Before that? Nothing. As if he'd materialized out of thin air.
Working with someone like that made Coulson uneasy. He couldn't shake the feeling that the man was playing some deeper game, working toward some hidden agenda.
Maybe it was just an agent's natural paranoia.
Lost in thought, Coulson noticed a sliver of light ahead.
He stopped and studied the narrow storefront before him—barely two meters wide, tucked into a windowsill. A sign hung nearby displaying three Chinese characters, with English translation below: "Master's House."
So he's from China?
Coulson filed away the observation, though it told him nothing he couldn't have guessed.
"Yo, Coulson!"
A young man leaned out from the window, a cigarette dangling from his lips, regarding him with an amused smile.
Coulson turned toward him smoothly, arranging his features into his trademark pleasant expression. "Mr. Quinn, good evening!"
"Not really."
The corner of Quinn's mouth quirked upward, though he seemed perfectly content with the situation.
"When business is this slow, nobody enjoys staying up past midnight every night. But hey, a man's got to eat, right?"
"Then why not come work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Coulson suggested with a smile. "The pay might not be spectacular, but it's got to beat whatever you're making here."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that."
Hm?
Coulson glanced at the young man in surprise. The confident smile never wavered. "Do you have reason to disagree, Mr. Quinn?"
"Yeah."
Quinn took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and said, "Sure, this place is off the beaten path. Foot traffic is practically nonexistent. Most people probably think I'm running some kind of scam. But every once in a while, I land a job big enough to bankroll a year or two of comfortable living."
Oh?
Coulson's interest sharpened, though his expression remained skeptical, almost pitying. "Come on now. In a business that looks like a con operation, who's really going to trust you with serious money?"
"Oh, plenty of people."
Quinn stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray, settling back comfortably. "You, for instance. You're about to give me serious money right now, aren't you?"
Coulson's pleasant mask slipped for just a moment before reassembling itself. "Does Mr. Quinn already know why I'm here?"
"The cannibal cases have been all over the news lately."
"And does Mr. Quinn know something about them?"
"I wouldn't call it inside information exactly. Let's just say I've heard a few things."
Quinn reached under the counter and produced a credit card reader. "Two hundred thousand dollars, and the information is yours."
"Two hundred thousand?!" Coulson stared at him in disbelief. "Are you insane? What information could possibly be worth that much?"
"If it's not worth it, you can have the bank freeze my account." Quinn's tone remained utterly casual. "We've worked together twice before. Don't you trust me at least that much?"
"We don't know anything about you, Mr. Quinn. If—"
"If you don't trust me, then please leave."
Quinn gestured toward the mouth of the alley with his right hand, his expression making it clear he couldn't care less either way.
Coulson studied him carefully.
After a long moment, he relaxed slightly. "Give me a minute. I need to request authorization for the funds."
"Take your time."
Quinn grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds from a nearby shelf and began cracking them casually.
Coulson took a deep breath, then pulled out his phone and called Fury.
"...So that's the situation."
After Coulson explained everything, the line went silent for several seconds before Fury's gravelly voice responded.
"Give him the two hundred thousand. But if the information isn't worth the price, freeze his account."
"Understood."
"Also, if you get the chance, try to find out where he's getting his intelligence."
"Will do."
Fury hung up.
Coulson raised his head to look at the young man, who had turned his attention to a variety show playing on a small screen while munching seeds. He took another deep breath.
"Authorization granted."
Coulson stepped up to the window, produced his bank card, and entered his PIN on the reader. "Now you can share the details."
"...Alright, payment received."
Quinn glanced at the confirmation message on his phone, and a genuinely warm smile spread across his face. "So, Coulson—have you ever heard of demons?"