"Damn it, why are you coming at me with that kind of killing intent?" he snapped, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. His voice carried just enough sarcasm to mask the tension coiling beneath it. "The one watching me is Phil Coulson, and the one with the arrow trained on me is Clint Barton. Do you hate me that much? Can we switch targets or something?"
He steadied his breathing, suppressing the instinct to lash out. The pressure in his chest slowly eased as he forced himself into a more relaxed posture, then he spoke again with a polished, almost theatrical calm. "I am Nick Fury, Director of the Strategic Homeland Defense, Attack, and Logistics Support Division."
His tone shifted, smooth and authoritative, as if delivering a rehearsed speech. "We're backed by the most powerful nations on Earth. Our reach spans the globe, and we are one of the key forces maintaining international stability. If we want to find something, we find it. If we decide to catch someone, they don't escape."
Coulson and the others exchanged baffled glances. None of them had expected Fury to start pitching the agency like a recruitment commercial, let alone one that sounded so shamelessly self-congratulatory.
Fury didn't care. He continued without missing a beat, his single eye fixed forward. "Mr. Iron Man, have you ever considered joining us? There are many exceptional individuals within our organization. You might find… opportunities to learn from each other."
Coulson's eyes widened slightly at that. Exceptional individuals? Since when did Fury start advertising like this?
Inside, however, the tension around them shifted. The words had a subtle effect, calming the storm that had been brewing just moments ago.
The man in front of them thought quickly. Fury carried a pager—one that could call down something far worse than reinforcements if things went wrong. Killing him outright wasn't just risky, it was reckless. If Fury died under suspicious circumstances, retaliation would come from somewhere far beyond their control.
If he was going to kill someone, it had to be justified. It didn't matter if the justification was logical or even true. It only needed to be convincing enough to silence consequences.
Worst case? Apologize later.
With that conclusion settled, he loosened his grip and released Fury's hand. Faint white marks lingered against the man's dark skin, evidence of how close things had come.
Fury calmly slipped his hand behind his back, hiding any sign of discomfort. His expression remained unchanged as he turned slightly toward Coulson. "Well, I don't think Iron Man is the type to kill innocent people indiscriminately. Call off the snipers we've positioned nearby."
He paused, then added casually, "Also, I just remembered I left the gas stove on at home. You handle things from here."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
Coulson, along with the others, stood there in stunned silence.
He was moving fast—too fast for someone supposedly unconcerned. It almost looked like he was… escaping.
Watching his retreating figure, a strange emptiness settled in the air.
Then, suddenly, a realization struck.
The system didn't just evaluate prey by strength. It also measured status.
Fury wasn't high-tier because of combat ability. It was because of his position.
That thought opened an entirely new perspective. If someone like the President—someone with immense influence but limited physical power—became a target, how high would their rank be? Diamond? Higher?
Interesting.
The idea took root immediately. Assassinating someone like the President wasn't realistic—not yet—but the world was full of people who possessed enormous status and relatively little strength.
That category was wide open.
Turning back, his gaze landed on the remaining agents. Natasha Romanoff and Barton remained composed, but Coulson… Coulson looked visibly uncomfortable.
He forced a smile, though it didn't quite hold. "Haha, Director Fury really likes his jokes. There aren't any snipers around, I promise."
The silence that followed stretched just long enough to make that statement collapse under its own weight.
The smile on Coulson's face slowly faded. He sighed, then shrugged and snapped his fingers.
A cold realization settled in his chest. Before this meeting, Fury had explicitly ordered him not to display hostility. No snipers had been deployed. Not a single one.
And yet now, standing in front of someone responsible for hundreds of deaths, even with two elite agents beside him, the tension was undeniable.
Meanwhile, the man in question had already shifted focus entirely.
"Why are you here this time?" he asked casually, waving a hand as if dismissing the earlier tension.
Coulson seized the opportunity to steer the conversation. "Last time, you mentioned a major disaster was about to happen in New York. The Director asked me to follow up. Have any gangs… upset you recently? Maybe try to restrain yourself a little. Kill fewer people."
The response was immediate.
"What?" His eyes widened in disbelief, genuine irritation flashing across his face. "Is that really how you see me now? That's slander."
He straightened, voice rising with conviction. "I'm not some lunatic murdering innocent people. I'm a hero. I deliver justice. I punish evil. That's what I do. Do you even understand what that word means?"
Coulson nodded rapidly, almost too quickly. "Hero, yes, of course. We can issue you a certificate if you'd like."
The sarcasm barely masked the tension. The other man rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Forget it. The reason there's going to be a disaster isn't because of me. It's because the underground group known as the Hand is planning something far worse."
His tone shifted, becoming more serious. "They're preparing to summon an ancient demon. Based on my intel, it's happening tonight."
That stopped everyone cold.
"A demon?" Barton repeated, disbelief clear in his voice.
"They might be able to bring it through," he continued, "but they won't be able to control it. Once it appears, New York is done. Chaos, death, blood in the streets. At best, maybe one in ten survives."
The room fell silent.
Coulson swallowed, then instinctively reached for his phone. "I need to report this."
He dialed quickly, putting the call on speaker.
Fury's voice came through immediately. "Coulson, what is he planning now? Who offended him this time? Is he about to kill again?"
Coulson stiffened slightly but pushed forward. "Sir, this is serious. He says the Hand is trying to summon an ancient demon. If they succeed, New York will be devastated."
"Summoning a demon?" Fury's tone stretched, skeptical. "Are you sure he isn't lying? You've been too soft lately, Coulson. With someone like him, you need to be more aggressive."
There was a faint pause before he added, almost dismissively, "That so-called devil-faced Iron Man? He's nothing more than a minor nuisance in my eyes."
Coulson glanced sideways, his expression tightening.
Across from him, the man simply nodded, calm and unbothered.
Natasha and Barton exchanged looks, both realizing exactly what was happening. Coulson had just unintentionally set Fury up.
Fury continued, unaware. "Even if the Hand is doing something, it's probably connected to him. Keep a close eye on him. Maybe he's trying to distract you. Ideally, I want to know everything he does—what he eats, where he goes, even…"
A voice cut in, smooth and amused.
"Heh. Director Fury really is sharp. The Hand does have plans involving me this time. But what about the people of New York? Are you just going to sit back and watch?"
The line went silent.
"As for what I eat," the voice continued lightly, "don't worry. I can package it up and send it to you personally."
Dead silence.
Then—
"Beep. Beep. Beep."
The call ended.
Coulson cleared his throat, forcing a polite smile back onto his face. "It seems the Director understands the situation now. Mr. Iron Man, time is short. Why don't we discuss how to handle this?"
A nod.
"It's simple," he said. "We find them, and we kill them."
Coulson leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite himself. "And the plan?"
"Step one," he replied calmly, "we prepare."
Coulson nodded. "Okay. And then?"
"Step two…" He paused, just long enough to let the moment hang.
"We wait for the bald guy."
Coulson blinked. "What?"
....
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