Two days passed quickly.
William Rodriguez's life, for the next forty-eight hours, was as calm as still water.
He took a vacation.
He woke up naturally every day, ground a cup of pour-over coffee with newly bought top-grade Blue Mountain coffee beans, then sat in front of his computer like a typical finance geek, browsing the headlines of major global news websites with keen interest.
The World was busy, but he was idle.
This feeling made him feel at ease.
On the computer screen, Stuttgart, Germany.
A man in a green Cloak and an exaggerated horned helmet was using a scepter glowing with blue light to force hundreds of people in the square to kneel.
In the image, he wore an arrogant smile, like a god looking down on ants.
"Mortals, kneel!"
William sipped his coffee and shook his head.
This entrance was flamboyant, clichéd, lacked novelty, and the speech was uninspiring.
He casually clicked on Osborn Industries' real-time stock price, and seeing the green line drop slightly due to panic over the alien invasion, his mood inexplicably improved a bit.
Immediately after.
A quinjet roared in, Captain America's vibrant uniform descended from the sky, accompanied by Iron Man's iconic flashy red and gold color scheme.
A chaotic battle unfolded in the live news broadcast.
William didn't even bother to watch the end; he knew the outcome.
Loki would be easily captured and then taken back to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Helicarrier to continue his flawed "capture" plan.
He closed the international news page and switched to New York local news.
The headline was striking—"Hell's Kitchen's New Guardians? Mysterious Four-Person Group Deals Heavy Blow to Gang Transaction!"
The accompanying image was a highly blurred long-shot photo.
On the dim dock, the outlines of four figures were vaguely discernible.
An invulnerable big Black man, a rich kid whose fists glowed, a woman who could throw shipping containers like sandbags, and another, the red devil who moved freely through a hail of bullets.
However, this combination was a little different.
There was an additional White little tiger.
"contract, what about Hell's Kitchen?"
[contract: Based on street surveillance and police communications analysis, "Defenders" unofficially formed last night.]
[Five members stopped a Hand human trafficking operation in the dock area.]
[Currently, the New York Police Department has classified them as a "highly cooperative vigilante group."]
William nodded with satisfaction.
Very good, the clients have already started asset restructuring and business integration, so it seems it's time to design a "Comprehensive Team Accidental Injury and Property Loss Insurance."
Sold as a package, with a 5% discount.
He had even thought of the advertising slogan: Defenders, dedicated to protecting Hell's Kitchen; and William Insurance, dedicated to protecting Defenders.
Perfect.
Of course, the truly interesting news came from the encrypted channels that would never appear in the public eye.
Internal personnel changes within S.H.I.E.L.D. became unusually frequent in these two days.
Several "meritorious" senior Agents were suddenly transferred from core positions under the guise of foreign study, internal review, or even "mental health issues."
The unluckiest one was directly assigned to a research station in Alaska, euphemistically called "protecting global environmental data security."
At the same time, a large chemical plant in New Jersey experienced an "accidental explosion," with the official report citing aging equipment leading to a chain reaction.
But the residual communications intercepted by "contract" were full of German screams and the classic "Hail HYDRA" before death.
Hundreds of similar "accidents" and "gang wars" erupted globally in the past forty-eight hours.
An invisible war had already begun.
William could almost imagine Nick Fury's expression at this moment.
The King of Agents was frantically dealing with Loki who had fallen from the sky, only to turn around and find that the Underground Room in his own home had been occupied by a group of venomous snakes he had raised for decades.
What made him even more upset was probably that those venomous snakes seemed to have received advance warning and, before he could clean them out, had already started infighting and destroying evidence, leaving him punching cotton.
William even felt some sympathy for him.
He considered whether to send Director Fury a box of high-quality blood pressure medication as a gesture of condolence, under the guise of a concerned citizen.
It was good that the World was in chaos; the chaos made him feel at ease.
Just as he was contemplating how to profit from a national crisis, his private phone on the sofa, which hadn't rung in a long time, suddenly vibrated.
The caller ID showed a name he was all too familiar with: Tony Stark.
William raised an eyebrow and answered the phone.
"Hey, insurance Agent, are your ears still working?"
Tony's characteristic, metallic-echoing teasing voice came from the other end of the phone, with the huge roar of a jet engine audible in the background.
"I just had a very noisy rock party over here, with lightning and thunder, and a big dumb guy holding a glow stick."
"Sounds like your social life is much more exciting than mine, Tony."
William leaned back in his chair, picking up his coffee cup.
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