His throat felt like sandpaper.
A piercing, high-pitched ringing echoed in the distance, pouring into his ears.
His memory was a mess.
With his eyes shut, he saw tangled streaks of red and blue light swirling in the darkness—just like his chaotic thoughts.
The most primitive part of his mind began to function, a thin thread of subconscious clarity slowly untangling itself within the distorted haze of his awareness, trying to help his waking brain sort out what had happened, piecing together what he had lost.
A nightclub.
A woman.
An old man.
And alcohol.
Endless drinking—he had no idea why he had let himself be talked into drinking so much.
His body told him that he was lying on something hard, with only his head and neck resting on something soft.
His subconscious supplied the answer—
A pillow.
And disinfectant.
He forced his lips apart, cracking the parched, dead skin that had formed over them.
The metallic taste of blood spread across his tongue, the salty tang jolting him into sharper focus—
Then, pain crashed into him.
It was a violent, skull-splitting pain that kicked him out of the depths of unconsciousness, dragging him above the murky waters of his mind.
The missing gaps in his memory began to stitch themselves back together.
Dave struggled to recall what had happened before his blackout—
And fear crept in from the corners of the dark.
He tried to open his eyes, but his lashes were stuck together with dried discharge.
A part of him dreaded seeing the dim lights and colorful strobes of a nightclub.
But he was even more afraid of seeing a hospital bill.
He just needed to know where he was.
His brain already knew the answer from the smell and feel of his surroundings.
A hospital.
That realization scared him even more.
Had he been taken here by ambulance?
He was just a broke college student—if not for Balthazar paying his ridiculous tuition, he would've needed a loan.
An ambulance didn't run on gas—it burned through his living expenses.
"You are a fascinating case."
The doctor, who had been reading his chart, spoke with amusement.
"Do you know how many doses of Brompheniramine-Procaine we had to inject into you when you were brought in? Your blood alcohol concentration was 0.9%—and you didn't even suffer alcohol poisoning."
Dave tried to speak.
But the air scraping against his raw throat came out as an unintelligible rasp.
"You should stay lying down."
The doctor's voice was kind, but firm.
Dave complied—he had no choice.
His head ached too much to think, and his fingertips were numb, unable to even grip anything.
A nurse had to help him drink some water before he could form words.
"You were brought in directly," the doctor explained.
"If you didn't have an ID, we would've dumped you outside.
"The ER has no empty beds for drunkards and junkies."
He waved a hand in front of Dave's face.
"Can you remember who you are? Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?
"I may not be a neurologist, but even I can tell your brain is a miracle. You interested in a study?"
Dave didn't answer.
His head was pounding, and he shut his eyes, trying to recall that weird old man he had met the night before.
But the pain kept tearing through his thoughts.
Right now, he didn't want to think.
He just wanted to sleep.
"You've already been sleeping for two days."
The doctor shrugged, seeing that Dave wasn't in the mood to talk.
He had no idea just how anxious Dave actually was.
But Dave's body wasn't giving him a choice.
"Just rest. Don't worry—someone covered your medical bills."
The doctor gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.
"If you need anything, ring for the nurse.
"Heidi is more than happy to take care of you, handsome."
—
When Dave opened his eyes again, there was a familiar figure sitting beside him.
Even with blurry vision, he could tell who it was from the unkempt black trench coat—unchanged for years—and the messy hair.
"Looks like Merlin got to you, too."
Balthazar sighed, stuffing an adult magazine into the couch cushions.
"He's at Kamar-Taj now—so he won't be causing any more trouble."
He tossed his phone onto the bedside table.
"Solomon called me. Said you were here.
"Oh—and he called your girlfriend, too. Told her you were in Oxford for academic exchange."
Balthazar gestured at the stack of papers on the nightstand.
"Your research papers are right there.
"And, yes—the conference actually happened.
"Solomon made sure it's impossible to trace.
"Trust me—it'll save your ass.
"If a woman thinks you cheated, she turns into the world's greatest detective."
"I HAVEN'T EVEN SAID ANYTHING YET!"
Dave croaked angrily, his voice still raw.
Balthazar coughed.
"I'm teaching you how to handle this, kid.
"Women aren't easy to deal with."
—
Solomon took the report from Tita, scanning it quickly.
It detailed how Dave had been sent to the hospital and how the bills had been settled.
Ever meticulous, Tita had even stapled the receipt to the report and included photos of the attending physician and his background information.
Solomon frowned, signing his name at the bottom before setting it aside.
He hadn't had time to personally handle Dave's situation—so he had delegated it to the artificial beings.
But he hadn't expected Tita to personally take on such a minor task.
She was like an unwavering machine, executing every order with flawless precision.
He admired her dedication.
But she was too focused on the smallest details—and he didn't want her wasting effort on everything.
He wasn't sure what to give her as a reward.
Previously, he had handpicked some luxury cosmetics as gifts—
Including her favorite:
YSL Black Opium and Givenchy Forbidden Kiss No. 16.
Against her snow-white hair, the bold yet alluring fragrances suited her perfectly.
Yes—Solomon remembered the artificial beings' preferences.
He had personally chosen every outfit and cosmetic item for Diana—
Even studied fashion with Athena just to keep up with the witches' shopping habits.
And in retrospect, it had been an invaluable skill to learn.
—
Next was Agent Victoria Hand's report.
It had been sitting on his desk for a while—marked non-urgent.
Maria Hill had secretly contacted Hand, requesting support for Coulson's team.
To hide her existence, Hill had officially declared Hand as deceased in government records—
Allowing her to operate in secrecy.
This was a mutual agreement between Solomon and Fury.
As a result, Hand had been able to recruit her old colleagues—
And lead the assault on Hydra's East African base.
And she was more than happy to do it.
"You let Grant Ward and John Garrett escape?"
Hand's voice dripped with contempt.
"Because one agent was taken hostage?"
"We don't negotiate with terrorists!"
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