Chapter 58
"Here we are," I said, exhaling, unable to resist a theatrical gesture. This whole espionage drama was starting to tire me out, frankly. The fact that Fury had so easily admitted there were 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, you're the one on the agenda."
"Let's not revisit the Kraven topic. That discussion is closed," I said, nodding. I touched the corpse and sent it to my inventory. It simply vanished, leaving only a dark stain on the concrete. I wasn't about to remove the suit just yet.
"We won't," Fury agreed, surprisingly easily. "Though I have more questions than answers. But for now, let's discuss the preliminary terms."
Again with these terms and preliminary agreements. God, how they loved this bureaucratic window dressing, these multi-layered games. Why couldn't anything ever be simple and honest? We give you this, you give us that. No, they had to stage a whole performance. First there was Natasha with her theater of the absurd, with Elena barging in uninvited. Then there was Coulson, ready to listen but lacking 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 played their games, Kraven had acted. While they discussed things, he had kidnapped civilians who should have been under surveillance. While Coulson talked 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'd intended, but I had neither the strength nor the desire to hold back. "And after recent events, I've only strengthened my position. But there's a new non-negotiable point. Constant protection for the Parkers. I want your best, most trusted people on it."
Fury didn't flinch at my tone. He only nodded slowly, 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 toward where the corpse had been lying, "has clarified several matters. The ability to eliminate a threat of Kraven's caliber is a compelling argument."
"Then why are we dragging this out?" I spread my hands. "Where's my lab and my multinational corporation with some pompous Arasaka-style name? Why was this whole production in an abandoned barn even necessary?"
"A face-to-face meeting clears up many questions and prevents misunderstandings," Fury said tersely. "Follow me."
He turned and headed for the exit. The other three followed him, and after hesitating for a second, I fell in behind them. We left the grain elevator's oppressive silence for 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'd find in any Walmart parking lot. No tinted windows, no chrome, nothing to suggest they carried the elite of one of the world's premier intelligence agencies. Fury must have sensed my bewilderment even through the mask.
"Only people desperate for attention drive intimidating black SUVs," he chuckled, opening the back door and gesturing for me to get in.
Suddenly, I remembered those loser vampires I'd recently released from my inventory. They definitely wanted attention now. I wondered how they were doing. As for Fury's words, they made sense. Intimidating black SUVs were for movies and cartels. Real power doesn't need to announce itself.
I got into the car. Coulson was behind the wheel. The engine started smoothly, almost silently. We passed through Brooklyn streets, over the bridge's steel lacework, and into Manhattan's neon canyons. The drive took about forty minutes, and the entire time, we sat in silence. But it wasn't an empty silence. It was heavy, filled with unspoken words and anticipation. Fury was absorbed in his tablet, only occasionally glancing my way.
I couldn't stop thinking about Hydra. Not as some abstract enemy from the comics, but as a real, systemic tumor that Fury himself had just unknowingly acknowledged. If they could isolate me and blind S.H.I.E.L.D. so easily, what could they do when they decided to strike a real blow? Which of the agents I hadn't met yet carried their mark? Was it the kid who brought Coulson his coffee? Was it the analyst poring over my data? They were everywhere. And now that I'd killed their valuable mercenary, I'd landed right on their radar.
But if I were being rational, what did I actually know about them, about this Hydra? Strip away the mythology, and the answer was: not much. There were the Winter Soldiers. There was the Red Skull. And there was one name that was currently 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 decentralization and having many heads, any system rested on its key nodes. Pierce was a gatekeeper, a critical node in this bloody network. Remove people like him, and the whole vaunted system would start to crumble due to simple human nature, because the rank-and-file operatives would lose direction and start tearing at each other's throats for power.
Should I reveal him now? I'd have to be an idiot to try. It was the worst possible move. It would be like shooting myself 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 Hydra itself in a conversation with Fury, and the invisible target on my back would instantly shift from "capture alive" to "eliminate immediately." And what came for me wouldn't be just one Kraven. A cleanup
team of Winter Soldiers and the planet's best meta-mercenaries would
follow, the kind who
worked for the highest bidder, and there
were plenty
of those. No, thank
you. I'd
lay low a
little
longer. I'd just
mentally
check the box
next to
Pierce's name and
shelve
this problem for
now.
Moreover, there was no guarantee that eliminating Pierce alone would solve the problem rather than trigger a global collapse. Obviously, he was just one of many, and I fully admitted he wasn't the only big toad in this swamp. What if an entire board of Hydra directors sat at the very top of S.H.I.E.L.D.? What if, in my paranoia, I imagined
their agents were literally everywhere, from the jan
itor in the hall to the senator currently allocating defense budgets? To act rash
ly in such a situation would mean sawing off the branch I was sitting on.
Okay. The Hydra problem was a marathon, not a sprint. It would require the surgical precision of a scalpel, not the brute force of a vibro-glove. But right now, I needed to focus on security. And strangely enough, it wasn't my own.
My victory over Kraven had given me a clear understanding of my place in the food chain. I had reached the lower-middle tier. I could hold my own against Logan, but I probably wouldn't survive an encounter with Sabretooth. I could give Emma Frost a headache, but Xavier would break my brain without even noticing. I could annoy Ben Grimm, but the Hulk would just smear me across the pavement. I could keep myself safe for now. But others.
Then there was Problem Number One: Peter. Right now, all hope rested on S.H.I.E.L.D., but that was only a temporary fix. Apparently, I would have to accelerate the creation of a combat kit for him. The trouble was that he had ants in his pants and a hero complex. Giving him tools for defense was the right thing to do, but with his personality, he would immediately turn a shield into brass knuckles and go looking for adventures, using the kit not for self-defense but to pick fights. And however cynical it sounded, in my head, a file labeled 'written-off asset' was slowly forming. I had big plans for him. I needed someone to run the science department of my future corporation. But if he didn't wise up about his personal life, if his heroism outweighed his self-preservation instinct and ended up endangering not just him but everyone around him, I would have to make a hard decision. Still, I was hoping that Gwen's dirt on MJ would knock some sense into him.
Then there was Problem Number Two: Gwen. Fortunately, things were simpler with her. She was more level-headed and pragmatic than Peter. But assigning S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to her would be tantamount to branding her an official ally. It would turn her from a random bystander into a legitimate target for enemies. She was strong and proud; she wouldn't accept that kind of protection. And even if she did, it would only expose her to attacks. Maybe she wouldn't even be too indignant about it, but the memory of her leak to Shocker was still fresh. No, the approach here needed to 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 an operational necessity. Excellent. Another item 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 reviewing my growing list of problems, the car came to a smooth stop. We had arrived at the most unremarkable residential building in Manhattan. Twenty floors of glass and steel, with an enclosed courtyard. A facade of respectability and boredom. We entered the underground parking garage, where Coulson parked in an unremarkable spot. Then the floor beneath the car trembled and began to descend without so much as a squeak.
It was a hidden car elevator. How
these locals loved building not just up but down. First there was Blade with his underground base. Rest in peace. Now Fury, another pompous guy in a leather coat, had
one too. Maybe this was an occupational hazard for all cape-wearers? An attraction to dungeons? I didn't want to test that theory on my skin. No capes for
me. My resume still lacked a Doom
cosplay. For now, I'd stick with just a hood and a stylish mask.
We descended several levels, and the scene changed dramatically. This wasn't just a garage. It was the upper level of a massive underground parking structure, and here nothing was hidden anymore. The space was crammed with exactly the kind of attention-grabbing vehicles you'd expect. There were familiar tinted Land Cruisers alongside military Hummers bristling with gun barrels, antennas, and so many modifications that my suit would be jealous.
Maintaining their silence, Fury and his team moved toward one of the exits. We walked through sterile, faceless corridors polished to a mirror shine. The air was cold and carried that same antiseptic smell. At one intersection, Romanoff, Barton, and Coulson separated from us without a word, moving in perfect coordination as they turned down another corridor. And now I was alone with him.
Immediately, a paranoia switch flipped in my head. He was leading me deep into his citadel, alone, without any guards. Was this trust? Or was this the most subtle stage of testing yet? Was he calculating that I'd relax and give something away? And if I wanted to attack him, what would stop me? His coat? Or were these labyrinth walls packed with hidden turrets?
Then came another, far more disturbing thought. Why exactly was my brain even generating a scenario for attacking Fury? For no reason. Since when did I default to physical elimination as an option for solving problems? Was this a side effect of all 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 was obviously just a convincing fake of a nighttime 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 cut through the silence. "Judging by the way you addressed me, you know who I am. But as it turns out, I don't know who you are. All of the information we have on you..." He paused. "...doesn't explain the corpse of Kraven the Hunter at all."
It was a direct question. I appreciated that. The problem was that 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. The prospect of a mental ward cell or vivisection wasn't appealing. 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 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, leaving me 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?"
"As expected, you can," Fury answered evenly, but the corner of his mouth flickered briefly into something like 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 made a show of relaxing, sinking into the chair opposite him. "Problems on a much larger 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. I'm talking about rebuilding the house before it burns to the ground."
"It's an interesting perspective." Fury laced 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 dispense with the formalities." Fury nodded, his gaze growing sharper. 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 currently a failed space pioneer. He's also a walking catalyst for global problems. What do you have on his friend Victor von Doom, for example? I'll keep 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 boring through me, trying to extract every secret I shouldn't know. In the ten-second silence that followed, the air in the office grew thick enough to cut with a knife.
"You are dangerously well-informed, Thompson," he finally said quietly, more to himself than to me. Then, louder, he added, "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 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 quartermaster a heart attack. "At a rough estimate, 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'll be at your disposal. To start."
"To start, that'll do," I said, nodding. Even S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most rundown lab would be a technological paradise compared to what I'd had before.
"Indulge my curiosity," Fury said, curiosity evident in his 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."
With a heavy sigh, Fury picked up his tablet again.
"Fine. I understand. Then we really do need to hurry. Let's sketch out the main points. What you'll give S.H.I.E.L.D. What S.H.I.E.L.D. will give you. Deadlines, conditions, sanctions for non-compliance. A protocol of intent."
"Bureaucracy," I said with a grimace, 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 said, looking me straight in the eye. "Are you ready?"
I smirked.
"I don't have any other proposals besides the lab and creating a transnational corporation. What do you have in mind, Director? Cut to the chase."
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