"Sir, here's the intel on the new superhumans that have appeared."
"Got it."
The one-eyed Director Egglistlessly eyed the file Special Agent Phil had brought. After the Battle of New York, S.H.I.E.L.D. had begun collecting unattached specials floating in society. Before, they hadn't paid much attention; now it was different, as if the battle had flipped a switch—supers and Mutants were surfacing everywhere, keeping S.H.I.E.L.D. run off its feet, while internal problems remained as thorny as ever.
No matter how hard he dug, he hit walls; whoever he had purged clearly hadn't been purged enough. Someone big must be shielding these rats—anything was possible—and he had to plan for the worst. The enemy's reach might outrank his own clearance and authority.
"Tony, still no word?"
Nick casually flipped past a couple of pages and paused at a kid in red long-johns sporting a Union Jack. He studied the photo a second longer, then moved on; the rookie had only just surfaced, and a full evaluation would take another fortnight. What worried him more was the other thorn in his side: Tony Stark had vanished after an ambush. With the disappearance of the playboy—and the superhero Iron Man—Nick had personally asked Artoria to keep a lid on the story.
The public mustn't panic. The Avengers had just scored a spectacular victory; their power was on display for the world to see. If people learned they were dropping like flies, the fragile faith they'd only just regained would collapse overnight. News of Iron Man's disappearance could never reach the airwaves.
"Still nothing, ma'am. Miss Artoria hasn't heard from Tony either."
Knowing what his superior wanted, Phil didn't waste time. He phoned Artoria every day—first the pleasantries, then the same question about Tony. So far she had nothing, which left S.H.I.E.L.D. with zero leads and no moves to make.
"Understood. Keep watching these kids. If they check out, recruit them—but quietly. Not even all of our 'own' people need to know."
Nick handed the file to Phil, face grave. Trusted allies were dwindling; besides the loyal Special Agent in front of him, only Hill, Natasha, Hawkeye and Captain America Steve remained. He wouldn't let one of his own get knifed in the back by so-called teammates over something this small.
"Yes, sir."
Years of teamwork told Phil everything: unknown factions still festered inside the agency. These rookies couldn't stay here; they'd need a new staging ground—and Finance would have to squeeze blood from another stone.
"How's Natasha's progress?"
At the thought of Dr. Banner—now in hiding again—Nick's eye twitched. Those idiots with water for brains had seen the Hulk cut loose and wanted a pet monster. General Ross, moments from court-martial, walked free—proof enough of their intent. Hadn't the last fiasco that went sideways convinced them? Avengers wouldn't be left to bleed and weep on command. He'd quietly tasked Natasha to stash Banner somewhere safe until the bureaucrats' fever dream passed.
"She's got Dr. Banner settled and is heading back. But, sir—are we sure this is right?"
Phil's guilt showed; the politicians' cold-blooded use-and-discard tactics chilled every Special Agent. Fortunately the cowards wouldn't move openly—just petty harassment. If they tried more, the public would riot.
"Good. And remember, Special Agent Phil—some questions aren't asked."
He was pleased with Natasha, but Phil's comment earned a glare. Such doubts could be voiced here, yet never beyond this room; loose words could cost lives. Nick warned his old comrade and waved him off to his duties.
"This is as far as I can go for you, Banner."
Though branded Earth's shield, they answered to the U.S. government; if Congress voted to dissolve them, they'd dissolve. All he could do was maneuver Banner out of the line of fire. Even if ordered to capture the scientist, so long as the Hulk wasn't rampaging, Nick would drag his feet and let him slip away. His last resort was to appeal directly to the President—his own rank wasn't high enough to overrule Congress.
"This team is getting hard to lead. Time to build a covert squad."
"Secret Warriors—has a nice ring to it."
Only by operating off the books could they truly serve as Earth's Guardians, and fresh blood was essential. A shame Artoria was too visible; she'd make a perfect leader. That girl Stacy looked promising—vibration powers, worth cultivating.
"Settled, then. Now I just need a project to make those bastards pay through the nose."
With the first recruit chosen, Nick began drafting requisitions at double the usual cost—clearly an old habit. A black-hearted spymaster deserved black-hearted budgets, especially when the people he was fleecing were no saints themselves—simple poachers-versus-gamekeeper justice.
It just felt like he'd swindled a fortune from his husband and kept a toy-boy on the side—a total bitch.
"There it is again… that chill, the sense danger's coming."
Unlike Nick Fury, who was plotting someone's ruin, Artoria clocked in, flirted with the pretty staff, went home to chat with Big Sister Wang, and—cough—kissed… cough—hugged… cough—nothing! Just some 'loving' activities. Life was bliss, but the ahoge on her head kept twitching, warning her something huge was looming. With intuition practically a skill, she trusted the alarm bells; yet in this Marvel Universe the threats to Earth were so many she had no idea which final boss would pop up next.
"Hey, have you noticed? Artoria's… different, like she's even more gorgeous."
"Yeah… she really is."
From a corner Artoria couldn't see, Susan and Hope—usually at odds—were crouched together dissecting her change. To them she looked like a girl head-over-heels in love, grinning at nothing (actually listening to her ahoge). They'd mounted a tight watch: Maya, Helen Cho, Gwen, plus newcomer Raven formed a barrier no man could breach and no woman bypass. Artoria's glow made them suspect she'd found a new puppy outside.
"Don't talk nonsense—maybe she's worried about her brother."
In the end Susan rejected Hope's wild guess. At a time like this anyone would be distracted, yet Susan still felt someone had plucked her own cabbage—why?
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