The lengthy, convoluted name of the agency struck Jason like a bolt of lightning, igniting a spark deep within his nerves. A powerful wave of familiarity surged through his mind, fragments of memories swirling like a storm, elusive yet tantalizingly close.
Jason furrowed his brow, his voice tinged with curiosity and confusion. "That name… I swear I've heard it somewhere before."
Stan chuckled, his tone dismissive as he leaned back against the boulder, the cool night air rustling his hair. "No way, boss. You must've misheard. Even I, an insider in the law enforcement world, have never come across that mouthful of a name."
Jason shook his head, his conviction unwavering. "I'm telling you, I've heard it. Just give me a second to think."
'Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.'
He murmured the name under his breath, rolling the words over his tongue as if tasting them. Then, he tried piecing together the acronym, letter by letter.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.!"
'SHIELD!'
A sudden flash of insight, like a crack of thunder, illuminated his mind. Buried memories, long dormant in the recesses of his consciousness, erupted to the surface. Faces materialized in his thoughts: the stern, one-eyed Director Fury, nicknamed "Nick" for his bald head; the sultry, enigmatic Black Widow, her curves as dangerous as her skills; and Hawkeye, the sharpshooting archer with a steely gaze.
Jason's eyes gleamed with a wild, almost manic excitement. "This is a gift, Stan!" He exclaimed, his voice brimming with fervor. "You've got to join SHIELD!"
Stan turned, his brow creasing in confusion. "SHIELD? What the hell is that? Sounds like some obscure, backwater agency."
Jason grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. "Spell out the first letters of that ridiculous name, and you'll see."
Stan muttered the acronym to himself, his lips moving as he pieced it together. "S… H… I… E… L… D. Huh. SHIELD." His expression shifted to one of mild intrigue, but skepticism lingered. "Okay, so it's got a catchy acronym. But I've never even heard of this outfit. Joining some no-name department sounds like a one-way ticket to being sidelined, buried in paperwork forever."
Jason clapped a hand on Stan's shoulder, his grin widening. "Trust me, once you're in, once you meet their top brass, you'll realize the FBI, CIA, even your precious DEA—they're all child's play compared to SHIELD. That organization is on a whole other level."
Stan's eyes narrowed, his interest piqued but his doubts intact. "You serious? That guy who reached out—Phil something-or-other, Coulson, I think—looked like a boring desk jockey. Nothing special about him."
Jason's mind raced, sifting through the fragments of knowledge he possessed about SHIELD. He recalled vivid images: the sleek, futuristic Helicarrier soaring through the clouds, its massive turbines humming with otherworldly power; the shadowy figures of operatives who operated beyond the bounds of conventional authority. But the details were hazy, like a half-remembered dream. "I don't have the full picture," He admitted, "But I can tell you this: SHIELD is a nest of monsters. Their operatives have combat skills that make elite soldiers look like amateurs, and their tech? Decades ahead of anything the world's seen."
Stan's face lit up with a mix of awe and greed. "If this SHIELD is as big as you say, we could hit the jackpot. Infiltrating an organization like that? The intel alone would be worth billions."
Jason's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a warning growl. "Don't underestimate them, Stan. SHIELD's a labyrinth of power plays and sharp minds. One wrong move, and they'll sniff you out. Next thing you know, you're disappearing in a 'tragic accident.'"
Stan smirked, his confidence unshaken. "Relax, boss. I've been playing the game for over a decade, clawing my way from nobody to DEA chief. I know how to cover my tracks. They won't see me coming."
Jason nodded, reassured by Stan's cunning. The man's rise to power hadn't been luck—he was a master of political maneuvering, a snake in the grass who could charm or backstab with equal finesse. If anyone could infiltrate SHIELD and climb its ranks, it was Stan.
The plan crystallized in Jason's mind. If Stan could embed himself in SHIELD, bide his time, and secure a position of influence, Jason could start planting his own people inside. In a few years, SHIELD could be transformed—molded into something new, something his. The Joker Organization's reach would extend into the heart of the most powerful agency on Earth. SHIELD would become the Joker.
But success hinged on Stan's ability to keep pace with the organization's ambitions. He'd need to join SHIELD swiftly, earn the trust of its leaders, and rise through the ranks without arousing suspicion. It was a dangerous game, one fraught with peril. A single misstep could cost him everything.
Jason's thoughts turned to the risks Stan would face, infiltrating a shadowy agency teeming with spies and superhumans. He needed an edge, something to ensure his survival. "This mission's going to be a minefield," Jason said, his tone grave. "I'm giving you a superpower."
Stan's head snapped around, his eyes wide with shock and unbridled joy. "You're serious?" But his excitement quickly gave way to restraint. "Wait, that money came from Harley and the others' heist. It's theirs by right."
Jason shook his head firmly. "Harley and the others aren't in immediate danger. Their need for powers can wait. You, on the other hand, are walking into the lion's den. You're carrying the weight of this organization's future. You can't afford to slip up. They'll understand."
Stan fell silent, his gaze dropping to the ground as he weighed the offer. After a long moment, he nodded. "Alright. What power are you thinking? Or do I get to choose?"
Jason leaned closer, his voice low and deliberate. "Tell me what you're thinking, and I'll let you know if it fits the job."
Stan rubbed his chin, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well… I've always had this fantasy since I was a kid. X-ray vision. Think about it—peering through walls, seeing what's hidden…"
Jason's face darkened, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Listen, you pervert, I'm talking about what's practical for the mission, not your teenage wet dreams."
Stan laughed, undeterred, and launched into a spirited defense. "Oh, come on! X-ray vision's perfect for the job! I join SHIELD, and boom—I'm peeking at classified files locked in safes, reading lips from across the room when the big shots think they're alone. Hell, with some training, I could spy on their private meetings without ever stepping foot in the room. It's versatile as hell!"
Jason raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "And how exactly does X-ray vision help you gain the trust of SHIELD's leadership? How does it keep you from screwing up in their cutthroat political games? Or let you smuggle out intel when you're under constant surveillance?"
Stan pouted, crossing his arms. "Alright, fine. You win. What's your brilliant idea?"
"I'm thinking telepathy," Jason said, his voice steady. "Mind-reading. You don't need to touch someone to know what they're thinking, access their memories. At higher levels, you could even control their thoughts, manipulate their actions."
Stan's jaw dropped, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Holy shit, that's way better than X-ray vision. Sign me up!"
Jason nodded, accessing the system interface in his mind. A holographic panel flickered to life before him, visible only to his eyes.
[System Notification: Would you like to spend 50,000 points to purchase the superpower 'Telepathy Level 1' for ally 'Norman Stanfield'? Current points: 59,850]
"Yes," Jason confirmed.
[System Notification: Purchase successful! Remaining points: 9,850]
"Ugh!"
In an instant, Stan's body seized, his spine stiffening as if struck by an invisible force. His eyes widened, then rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground, his body trembling violently as the genetic transformation took hold.
Jason watched, arms crossed, as Stan endured the same agonizing process Christine had gone through. After five or six grueling minutes, Stan stirred, clutching his head as he sat up, his face pale and slick with sweat.
"How's it feel?" Jason asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Stan groaned, massaging his temples. "Like my skull got cracked open and my brain's been stretched to fill a fucking stadium. It's… empty, but overwhelming."
Jason snorted, amused by the bizarre metaphor. "Alright, genius, test it out."
Stan nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings for a target. They were alone at the edge of the ranch, the distant lights of Manhattan twinkling like stars. His gaze settled on Jason, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"Oh, no you don't," Jason warned, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He focused, summoning an invisible energy shield around his mind, a fortress to block any intrusion.
"Sorry, boss," Stan said with a cheeky grin. "Gotta test it."
He concentrated, his mental energy coalescing into a sharp, needle-like probe that darted toward Jason's mind. If Stan's telepathy was a drill, Jason's mental shield was a titanium vault—impenetrable and unyielding.
Stan pushed harder, his face contorting with effort, beads of sweat forming on his brow. But the shield held firm. After several futile attempts, he collapsed back against the boulder, gasping, his mental energy depleted. "Fuck… I'm tapped out," He panted, clutching his head as a sharp pain pulsed through it.
Jason chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Try that on me again, and you're done for. Find a softer target next time. My mind's a fortress, Stan. You're not getting in."
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
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