"Ding~"
The elevator chimed softly as we arrived at the highest floor of the building.
Mrs. Romanoff led me through a maze of hallways as we made our way toward the eastern wing. I made a conscious effort not to stare at her.
The clothing in this world was often far too revealing for my tastes, particularly among heroes and powerful individuals. Tight-fitting garments appeared to be the preferred style.
Instead, I focused on the surroundings.
Unlike the lower floors, there were no glass windows here. Only thick walls reinforced with metal lined the corridors. The interior embraced a sleek, modern aesthetic, dominated by shades of black, white, gray, and blue.
Along the way, Mrs. Romanoff repeatedly used an access card to bypass various security checkpoints.
Level Eight clearance.
According to Noah, only agents with Level Eight clearance or higher could access this floor without prior authorization.
Technology on Earth was peculiar.
At times, their security systems appeared laughably easy to circumvent. Yet there were also moments when I had to exercise caution to avoid exposing my use of mana—particularly around certain scientists.
Some carried strange devices that emitted an unsettling buzzing whenever I passed by.
I made it a point to avoid them.
"Right in here."
Mrs. Romanoff interrupted my thoughts as she opened a pair of large French doors and strode inside.
I followed behind her, quietly closing the door.
My eyes briefly swept across the office.
Bookshelves lined the walls. A large conference table occupied the center of the room, while an impressive oak desk sat near the far windows overlooking the city below.
I had seen both unimaginable wealth and unimaginable poverty during my travels across the galaxy.
This office was comfortable, but hardly remarkable.
I approached Mrs. Romanoff, who now stood beside a tall black man wearing an eyepatch.
"Director."
I inclined my head respectfully and clasped my hands behind my back.
The man studied me in silence.
Director Nick Fury.
Noah had spoken of him often.
A capable leader.
Pragmatic.
Ruthless when necessary.
As expected of one entrusted with guiding an organization such as S.H.I.E.L.D.
Director Fury slowly looked me up and down.
It was the same expression Father and the Council had often worn whenever I displayed a new ability.
Evaluation.
Calculation.
Assessment.
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
I did not appreciate being looked at as though I were a useful weapon.
"Sit," Fury ordered, gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk.
I complied, settling comfortably into the cushioned seat.
"Ian King," Fury said, opening a file resting on his desk.
Should I simply change my surname?
Hearing that title remained somewhat unpleasant.
"Please call me Ian, sir."
My voice remained calm and quiet.
Not intentionally.
I was simply tired.
This human body demanded several hours of sleep every night. Last evening, I had sacrificed most of those precious hours reading through a fascinating information archive called Wikipedia.
Humanity had documented nearly everything.
I found it strangely addictive.
Fury glanced up from the file.
"Six months of observation and countless tests, yet medically, nothing about you has changed."
He leaned back.
"Do you feel any different following the incident? Any notable physical or psychological changes?"
A question whose answer he likely already knew.
"I feel fine, sir," I replied honestly. "Perhaps somewhat stronger than before."
I barely suppressed a yawn.
Humans truly were exhausting creatures.
"'Superhuman strength comparable to Captain America. Possibility of further mutations remains unknown.'"
Fury read directly from the report.
"Hm."
"You were transporting an 0-8-4 when the incident occurred. Given the circumstances, the assessment is plausible."
I recalled Noah explaining that an 0-8-4 referred to an unidentified object of unknown origin.
Fury closed the folder.
"The doctors have officially cleared you for active duty."
"Understood, sir."
"Agent Ian."
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you intend to return to field operations, or would you prefer reassignment to a desk position?"
"I wish to continue field work, sir."
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mrs. Romanoff glance toward Director Fury.
Silence followed.
She looked as though she wished to say something, yet ultimately remained quiet.
Finally, Fury spoke.
"I'm promoting you to Level Six effective immediately."
Interesting.
"Additionally, you'll be reassigned to a new team."
I simply nodded.
"Do you accept?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
He handed me a file.
"That's all. Close the door on your way out."
"Understood. Good day, Director."
I left without further comment.
Honestly, I had expected a far more thorough interrogation.
No matter.
That worked in my favor.
By the time I reached my quarters, the meeting had already slipped from my thoughts.
I needed sleep.
Back in Director Fury's office...
The moment the door shut behind Ian, Natasha turned toward Fury.
"I thought you were going to bring up the Initiative."
Fury remained silent for a moment.
"Not yet."
Natasha crossed her arms.
"You don't think he's suitable?"
Fury stared at the closed door.
"No. I don't think he's ready."
That wasn't entirely accurate.
Ian was more than capable.
If anything, Fury suspected the young agent was vastly more dangerous than anyone currently realized.
What concerned him was something else.
The kid simply didn't care.
During the entire conversation, Ian had displayed perfect manners, appropriate responses, and complete cooperation.
Yet it all felt hollow.
Detached.
As though none of it truly mattered to him.
It reminded Fury of a soldier who had already survived his war.
"He has no desire to be a hero," Fury continued. "No interest in responsibility. No patriotism. No ambition."
Unlike Steve Rogers, Ian wasn't driven by duty.
And unlike most agents, he possessed no obvious weaknesses.
No family.
No lover.
No close relationships.
No leverage.
Nothing.
The usual speeches about protecting loved ones or serving one's country would fall flat.
Fury disliked variables he couldn't predict.
"He's disconnected," Fury said finally. "If I push too hard, he'll walk."
Natasha was quiet for a moment.
"And if he does?"
Fury looked out at the city.
"Then we lose someone with abilities rivaling Steve Rogers."
He paused.
"And I don't intend to let that happen."
For now, Ian King would remain where he was.
An agent.
Observed.
Monitored.
And, hopefully, someday convinced to join the Avengers Initiative.