Washington, D.C.
Pennsylvania Avenue.
After passing through layer after layer of security, Finnian Murdock and his partner, Agent Phil Coulson, finally arrived at the legendary White House.
Finnian didn't care much for the current Commander-in-Chief. Hell, he didn't even care whether the man lived or died.
But—
The President could die anywhere, anytime… just not while Finnian was serving as his bodyguard.
That would stain his résumé as a future top leader.
"Mr. Murdock, President Ellis is still in a meeting. Please wait here a moment."
The secretary was a traditional blonde, long legs, gold-rimmed glasses—straight out of a political drama fantasy.
"Okay."
He and Coulson took a seat.
The secretary poured them coffee, then sat nearby, stealing glances at Finnian.
Tall. Handsome. Charismatic. A man who had literally fought the Hulk and Abominations.
And looking like a god while doing it.
Being good-looking was honestly the least of Finnian's advantages.
Still, the girl in glasses ticked all of Finnian's boxes, and when his eyes wandered her way, he found himself thinking:
C+… not bad.
This was back when Marvel's world hadn't yet been steamrolled by political correctness and corporate "representation quotas." The aesthetics were still intact.
Unlike those times when certain movements went overboard, dragging taste into the mud.
The thought of it left Finnian nauseous.
But the blonde with glasses in front of him? She was prime grade material.
Just when the tension was reaching its peak, a white-haired man in his fifties walked in.
President Matthew Ellis.
Coulson immediately stood. Ellis gave him a polite nod before heading straight for Finnian.
"Thank you for your hard work these past few days."
Finnian snapped to attention, saluting with one hand, his eyes carefully showing just the right amount of "devotion."
"Yes, sir."
Ellis smiled, patted his shoulder. "No need to be nervous. Our bright future depends on people like you."
"Yes, sir."
After a brief exchange, Ellis led his entourage and security team aboard Air Force One.
As a last-minute security assignment, Finnian didn't bother questioning why they were flying to London. His mind was on something else:
This was the first time in years he had truly left New York.
For too long, his life had been making money, odd jobs, takeout deliveries, law firm commissions—just scraping by while saving for "system purchases."
Never traveling. Never relaxing.
Now? Public funds. Presidential suites. Government pay.
Not bad.
On the plane, Coulson leaned close and whispered, "Finn, have you met the President before?"
Finnian shook his head. "First time."
"Then why did he…" Coulson stopped, realization dawning. "He's showing off."
"Showing off?"
Coulson nodded. "Think about it. Britain has its own supers—MI5's got Captain Britain. So what's Ellis do? Brings you along to flex. You have Captain Britain, we have Murdock."
Finnian gave him a thumbs up. "Good call, Commander Coulson."
"Eh, just a hunch." Coulson chuckled. "If I'm right, this mission is going to be way easier. Burden's on you, though."
Finnian blinked. "Wait—you mean I might have to compete with Captain Britain?"
"Very likely," Coulson admitted.
Finnian groaned. Great. Just great.
Mr. President, you really think too highly of me.
Captain Britain wasn't Captain America. They might both carry the title, but strength-wise? Totally different leagues.
If Steve Rogers was an ant, then Brian Braddock was an Ultraman. With the Sword of Might, the guy could literally split the multiverse in half.
Meanwhile, Finnian had a nice collection of upgrades: Stark tech armor, perfect spider-serum, freeze ability, energy absorption…
But against Captain Britain? That was a canyon-sized gap.
Britain's champ was multiversal-tier. Finnian had barely touched "god-level."
No contest.
Luckily, Captain Britain was just a name whispered in S.H.I.E.L.D. hallways. No official debut. No crushing humiliation—for now.
While they were talking, a figure passed by. Coulson immediately stood at attention.
"Senator Malik."
Gideon Malik gave a curt nod and walked straight toward President Ellis.
Finnian frowned. Coulson leaned in to explain. "Senator Gideon Malik. Member of the World Security Council."
Finnian said nothing, but he knew the man well.
The same Gideon Malik who, during the Battle of New York, voted to nuke Manhattan.
And behind that? HYDRA.
Malik wasn't just a politician—he was Hydra aristocracy. A patriarch of the family that once tried to bring back Hive, the Hydra progenitor.
Spoiler: Hive slaughtered his entire family. Reap what you sow.
Right now, though, Hydra was at its peak. Alexander Pierce running the Council, Gideon Malik in the Senate, Senator Stern lurking in the shadows.
If these bastards had just gone the "soft power" route—campaigns, elections—they could've stolen the country without firing a shot.
That was the danger of Hydra: they didn't just attack from the shadows, they blended in.
Bored with politics, Coulson tried changing the subject. "After this mission, I might finally get that promotion. Thanks to you."
Finnian smiled. "I hope so."
What he really wanted was simple. Ditch the "Deputy Captain" title.
Captain of the Rapid Response Unit meant seniority in S.H.I.E.L.D., more leverage, more space to maneuver.
And more money. At least $300 to $500 million a year, easy.
Start small, practice, then cash in big later.
As for whether his "side hustles" might ruin future political ambitions? Finnian didn't have a solution yet.
You can't have it all.
Not in this world.
On the other side of Air Force One, President Ellis sat with Gideon Malik, deep in quiet conversation.
The two went way back. Later, when Pierce was toppled, Malik would retire from the Council to become Ellis's presidential adviser.
Ellis leaned in. "Gideon, what do you think of that Murdock kid?"
"Very good. Clean background."
Ellis tapped his chin. "Do you think it's worth grooming him as the new Captain America?"