James leaned back, satisfied. SHIELD indeed has some serious gear of many varieties— armored SUVs, digital camouflage, even flying transports. He's not expecting to get Fury's personal ride, but if he played the long game, maybe he could work his way up to it.
The Tesseract was the goal. The car, the missions, the weapons? They were just bonuses.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James parted ways with Phil and drove his new sports car back home. The apartment sat on Central Park South, perched at 1,396 feet — over 425 meters high. Two penthouses occupied the top floor: one now belonged to James, the other to Carlos. Both had been bought outright. Pricey for 2007, sure, but in ten years? The value would skyrocket. And James knew it.
Four underground parking spots came with the property. They were only using two. After parking the car, he took the elevator straight up. Carlos was already inside, inspecting the second unit.
"What do you think?" Carlos asked as James walked in.
"Not bad," James said, giving the space a quick glance. "You should find a new woman. Two penthouses for only two people. Feels like a waste having all this place for ourselves."
Carlos gave a flustered grunt. "This is America."
James grinned. "I used your name for the penthouses, we each get to have one. Sloan's money paid for everything anyway — and we've still got more left over. You thinking of doing something now that you're retired?"
Carlos nodded. "Yeah. I'm in my forties. Might as well do something with the rest of my life that doesn't involve knives and sniper scopes."
"Well, you've got time to think it over. Take a look around New York, see what clicks. Meanwhile, it's nice not having to rent anymore."
Carlos agreed. "I'll start walking around the city tomorrow. So, why'd you sell that old Manhattan place?"
"Too close to Stark Tower," James said seriously. "Tony's brilliant, but he's also a magnet for explosions, aliens, and lawsuits. It's just asking for trouble."
Carlos raised an eyebrow about those weird comments but chose to ignore it. "Then why buy stock in Stark Industries?" Carlos asked, amused.
"Because he's a genius. And geniuses make money before they get their heads straight. Right now is the perfect time to invest. Once he stabilizes the company, the stock will be too expensive to touch. We've still got enough cash to grab a million shares if we want. You should figure out what you want to do. Doesn't even need to make money. Just has to be something you enjoy."
Just then, James's phone buzzed.
"Hello?... That was fast… Alright, I'll head down. Just pull into the underground garage — I know you can get through security. Yep. See you there."
He hung up and turned to Carlos. "Our weapons are here. Let's go take a look."
They took the elevator down to Level 2 of the parking garage. Two black Chevy Suburban's were parked, headlights off.
A SHIELD operative stepped out and handed James a folder. "This is your temporary ID. You'll need to report to the SHIELD branch in Manhattan soon. This car's yours for now. Everything you requested is inside, along with some instructions. Any tech you don't understand, you'll get trained on later."
"Thanks." James gave a polite nod, then opened the Chevy's rear doors.
Inside were crates — lots of them.
The first thing he pulled out was a Barrett M82A1 sniper rifle, secured in a green hard case. The effective range: 1,850 meters. Max range: 6,800. But that number didn't mean much unless the shooter could handle it. The best snipers could make accurate shots up to 2,200 meters. But James had Cortana — and she could do the math most snipers couldn't in an ever changing variables.
Carlos leaned over. "It's powerful, but the recoil's a beast. I trust you'll manage though. You're stronger than I was at your age."
James popped the case on the second rifle: a lightweight AWP(Arctic Warfare Police) sniper rifle which is modeled after the real sniper rifle, AWM(Accuracy International Arctic Warfare Police) sniper rifle, compact with a 600-meter effective range. It came with a full accessory pack — rifle, optic scope, bipod, magazines, soft bullet bag, night scope, cheek rest, and more. Everything neatly packed for grab-and-go missions.
Then came the carbines.
James had asked for assault rifles, but SHIELD had swapped in four HK416A5 Carbines instead — short-barrel, highly adaptable, perfect for urban environments.
"Smart choice," James muttered, checking the build. "I didn't even think of that. Makes more sense in a city."
The weapons were all kitted with attachments: scopes, vertical grips, suppressors, slings, and cleaning kits.
Carlos nodded approvingly. "They like you. This is a solid loadout. Not an expensive gear, but complete. You'll need to get them registered though."
"Yeah, that's the tradeoff," James said. "Registration keeps it legal but opens the door for scrutiny."
He moved on to the support gear: grenades, flashbangs, smoke bombs, gas masks, tactical vests, gloves, boots, black training uniforms — the works.
"Not bad," James said. "They even covered the stuff I didn't think to ask for."
He drove the Chevy up to the elevator, loaded everything in, then parked it properly. Thankfully, the elevator was empty — anyone else would've passed out seeing it packed with firearms.
Once upstairs, James and Carlos unloaded everything into the armory and began organizing it on the racks. Crates were stacked, rifles lined up, vests hung on hooks.
"These are gonna need maintenance," James said, eyeing the haul.
Carlos rolled up his sleeves. "Don't worry. I'll handle that. Even if I'm retired, it's good to keep my hands busy."
James picked up his new ID badge. It had the SHIELD logo on it, along with his name.
"Intern Agent?" he groaned. "They seriously labeled me as an intern?"
Carlos shrugged. "Makes sense. You haven't gone through full training yet."
James glanced at a separate box of electronics — a secure phone, radio, and encrypted laptop. Probably SHIELD-issue.
The rest? He couldn't even name. Weird devices with no obvious function. Cortana popped up a text box in his HUD:
[Unknown tech. No match found in the database. Possibly classified. Recommend direct instruction.]
James sighed. "Yeah… figures. We're entering the deep end now."