Cold Water splashed on his face.
William looked up; a perfectly calm face stared back from the mirror.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. list was Nick Fury's "tightening-hoop spell" hanging over his head.
Tony's words, "He's not easy to fool," still echoed in his ears.
Every pixel of that "as soon as possible" document screamed the one-eyed man's undeniable will.
Provide a purely fake list?
What a joke.
Did they think the king of Agents, who controlled countless secrets, was a rookie intern?
Fury's informants could be the hot dog vendor on the street corner or the paperboy who delivered your newspaper every day.
Such a low-level trick would instantly escalate his survival difficulty in New York from "normal" to "hell" mode.
But a completely truthful list was akin to live-streaming an unboxing, handing a knife directly to the enemy.
Peter Parker, Jessica Jones, Matt Murdock… once these names fell into the control freak's hands… his makeshift team, so painstakingly built, would instantly turn to dust.
William turned off the faucet, and the sound of Water abruptly ceased.
Only the faint hum of electricity remained in the apartment.
Mechanical Induction amplified this silence infinitely.
He walked to his desk and opened a high-end computer configured by old Stark Industries.
The screen lit up, reflecting his thoughtful eyes.
Since it couldn't be entirely true, nor entirely false.
Then there was only one answer – I want it all, but my way.
A "work of art" that was half-true, half-false, and hard to distinguish.
A report that would make Fury exclaim, "Is that all?" after reading it, yet perfectly hide the core information.
He interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them.
The true hunter often appears in the guise of prey.
A faint bio-electrical resonance emanated from the lining of his foolproof plan, as if whispering: It's time to ramp up the intensity.
His thoughts began to clear.
William's fingers began to tap on the keyboard, the crisp sounds echoing in the quiet room.
The first name: Tony Stark.
This was the "stabilizing force" of the entire list, the ballast for its authenticity.
Concealing Stark on this list would be equivalent to writing "I am here to cheat" on an exam paper.
Tony Stark.
This was the "stabilizing force" of the entire list, the massive ballast for its authenticity.
Concealing Stark's existence from Fury on this list would be equivalent to brazenly writing "I am a spy sent by the KGB" on an FBI interview questionnaire.
Besides.
Given Tony's personality, which feared nothing more than the world not knowing his wealth, if a high-value client list didn't include his name, he himself might call to inquire.
Note: The client has special security concerns regarding the potential risks of his personal inventions and hedges against risks in the maintenance, storage, and transportation of his Iron Man suits.
This is standard practice for high-net-worth individuals.
Next, came those "attention-seekers" who were active in the streets and alleys, seemingly afraid that others wouldn't notice them.
Anonymous (Codename: Anxiang Duxingzhe (Dark Alley Walker)).
Note: The client's profession is night security, with a complex working environment and frequent records of equipment wear and tear.
He began to "custom-design" their identities.
So-called "vigilantes" were merely a poetic way of saying "high-risk professionals."
"Chain Bro" and "Slingshot Kid" were handled similarly, becoming "scrap yard managers" and "urban extreme sports enthusiasts."
It sounded absurd, yet perfectly matched their real activities on the streets.
Then came Maxwell Dillon.
Maxwell Dillon.
Note: Employee of Consolidated Edison Electric Company, long-term exposure to high-voltage environments, covered by company collective welfare benefits.
This was almost entirely true personal information.
The perfect disguise is extreme mediocrity.
The real challenge lay with those "heavyweight" figures.
William's fingers hovered above the keyboard.
Peter Parker.
This name was the eye of the storm and absolutely could not appear on the target list.
William created a new document with a rather "politically correct" title:
"Queens Community Care Program – Pilot Client List Appendix."
He consulted the system.
Thankfully.
Next, William filled it with dozens of irrelevant, system-generated virtual small claims cases.
"Mrs. Martha's cat climbed a tree and couldn't get down; firefighters damaged her coat during the rescue, claim for $32."
"Little Jimmy broke a neighbor's window playing baseball, claim for $123."
A list full of trivial but lively details was slowly taking shape.
Then.
He subtly inserted Peter's name.
Peter Parker.
Note: Due to a minor wrist sprain sustained while helping a classmate, eligible for a community mutual aid spirit reward clause, claim for $130.
Perfect.
To hide a drop of Water, throw it into the sea; to hide a god, let him blend into the crowd.
Peter's name was submerged in these trivialities.
Ordinary and inconspicuous.
As for Jessica Jones and Matt Murdock.
Delete them directly? That's a mistake only a rookie would make, drawing more attention.
William's lips curved into a smile.
He had a better way to play this.
Jessica Jones.
Profession: Private Investigator.
Note: Primarily insures against unintentional property damage and reputational disputes caused to third parties during investigation and evidence collection.
A grumpy, alcoholic female detective?
In Hell's Kitchen, that wasn't a personal file; that was a local specialty, as normal as could be.
Matt Murdock.
Profession: Lawyer.
Note: Due to representing multiple sensitive cases in Hell's Kitchen, the client is concerned about malicious retaliation from losing parties.
A blind lawyer who specializes in defending the poor?
This persona was practically a moral paragon of Hell's Kitchen.
Even if Fury knew their true identities, what then?
The insurance contract didn't mention "night shift part-time." My client is Matt, the lawyer.
As for Daredevil? I don't know him, really I don't.
Several hours later.
A document lay silently on the desk.
Seemingly unremarkable, yet every step was fraught with peril.
This wasn't a client list; it was clearly a set of "Werewolf" game rules written for the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Every line of text was a tactic, every note a disguise.
It was real enough to pass scrutiny, yet fake enough to protect his people.
William sent the document to Tony via an encrypted channel, with only one sentence attached.
For your one-eyed good friend. A completely bland business report.
Sent successfully.
William leaned back in his chair, finally exhaling a deep breath.
In the room, the suffocating pressure abruptly dissipated.
A steady warmth emanated from the "foolproof plan" on his left arm, like a silent ally, saluting this unspoken victory.
This was not the end, nor even the beginning of the end.
Nick Fury, that old fox, had suspicion etched into his DNA.
This was just the first round of probing.
But at least, he had bought himself, and Peter, valuable time to develop.
His phone screen lit up, reminding him of the next "battle."
3 PM, Morning Light Cafe, meeting May Parker.