Fury studied him carefully. "You're willing to reveal that?"
"Yes, just exposing my 'mind reading' minimizes casualties. This is our best solution." James said. "Although we can't catch all of them in one fell swoop, the people who escape will be exposed. When the time comes, we can slowly catch them. As long as S.H.I.E.L.D. keep their strength, we will succeed."
Silence followed.
Finally, Fury nodded. "I'll be the bait. I'll slow the weapons rollout and arrange your introductions with the World Security Council to find out the Hydra among them."
James met his gaze. "I'll identify the rot."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The three of them decided on a simple plan in the office, nothing more. A plan like this needed time and careful refinement.
Before Nick Fury departed, he reminded Phil Coulson to keep an eye on Skye.
"There's something off about Skye. Keep your eyes open."
THE SLINGSHOT — TRAINING GROUNDS
Now that they had completed their mission, the team was granted a brief rest period. James had no intention of doing so..
He called Fitz, Simmons, and Skye together under the open desert sky. The Slingshot was isolated and barren—perfect for live-fire training.
"The three of you aren't good enough for field work," James said evenly. "That's not an insult. It's a fact. So while we're here, we're going to do extensive training."
He placed three pistols on the table.
"A Glock 22, .40 caliber with fifteen-round magazine, and a Standard law-enforcement sidearm. This should not be too difficult for you to use. Your objective today is not accuracy."
He met their eyes one by one.
"It's to be calm when using a firearm."
Fitz raised a hand hesitantly. "I… I've had shooting lessons before. With Simmons."
"I know," James replied. "But could you fire during an actual firefight?"
Fitz froze.
"That's what this is for," James continued. "You're not learning to fight. You're learning not to freeze."
He gestured. "All three of you, stand in line. Simmons, you're up first."
JEMMA SIMMONS
James handed her a pistol and magazines.
"I believe you know how to use it and the proper safety requirements. Now get ready to shoot."
Simmons inhaled, loaded in the magazine, racked the slide, and raised the weapon. James watched closely—her grip and stance was correct.
"Fire." BANG
James saw the tremor in her immediately.
"Again. Ten more magazines. One shot at a time. Re-align your arms between each trigger pull."
He stepped away, just letting her get used to firing without a flinch.
LEO FITZ
James handed him the second pistol.
"Same rules."
Fitz fired too fast—three shots in quick succession.
James barked once. "One shot at a time, don't be a happy trigger or you'll miss every shot. You're an engineer, act like one."
Fitz swallowed and slowed down.
DAISY JOHNSON
James approached Skye last, handing her a Glock 17 Gen 4 standard police sidearm.
"Before you do any shooting, you learn the mechanics," he said. He pointed to the pistol. "This isn't a toy; it's a tool. Magazine release is here by your thumb, Slide lock is above it, and the Safety switch to lock the trigger. Even if you have the safety switch on, it's your discipline that matters most, keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot what's in front of you."
She nodded, trying to mirror his grip, but when she went to seat the magazine, she fumbled. The metal mag hit the sand with a dull thud.
James didn't offer a hand. "Pick it up. Dust it off. If grit gets in the spring, the gun gets jammed. One firm slap to seat the mag, then pull the slide back like you're trying to snap a rubber band. Don't ride it forward—let the spring do the work."
She smiled sheepishly, wiped the magazine on her tactile vest, and tried again. Slap. Rack. The metallic clack-clack of the slide chambering a dummy round making a satisfying sound.
Just as she started to raise the weapon to the target, James's hand gripped the chamber, pushing it down toward the dirt.
"Muzzle discipline," he barked. "Never point it at anything you aren't prepared to kill. Including your own feet. Load it again."
He took the weapon, cleared the chamber, and handed it back empty.
For thirty minutes, she repeated the sequence: Eyes on the target, slap the mag, rack the slide, check the safety, find the sight alignment. By the time Fitz and Simmons had finished ten magazines of live fire, their hands were shaking from the recoil and the adrenaline. Skye's hands were just sore from the friction of the steel.
AFTER
James returned to Fitz and Simmons.
"Stretch your hands. Practice daily if you can. Or don't. That's your choice."
He then walked away.
Simmons lowered her voice. "What's wrong with him?"
Fitz shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe he thinks we shouldn't be here."
"You really think so?"
"…I don't know."
THE BUS
James reentered the aircraft. Phil Coulson was polishing her beloved car Lola, lovingly as ever.
"First time I've seen you train like that," Coulson said.
"The Fraternity trained shooters the same way," James replied. "Through repetition and discipline. It worked with me, so why not them? If they continue to practice like this, they will be able to shoot in less than a month. That is of course we have enough stock of bullets for their training."
Coulson nodded. "Don't worry, S.H.I.E.L.D. has enough ammunition for their training."
Fitz and Simons came in with their heads down, ready to go back to the lab.
"You're not done yet," James said. "Refill all the spent magazines first. Only after that would the training be over. You could then go ahead and work on the stun guns."
Helpless, the two of them turned back again and collected the empty magazines. They soon found some bullets and began to press them into the empty magazines.
SKYE
Skye finished firing and shook out her arms from all the recoil. She soon joined Fitz and Simmons.
"Does mindless shooting even help?" she asked. "There's no target for us to hit."
Simmons shrugged. But Fitz thought for a moment.
"He's Nocturne," Fitz said. "One of the best shooters alive, on par with hawkeye. If he trains like this, there's a reason."
Skye tilted her head. "Why 'Nocturne' is it because he was a former assassin?"
"No idea," Fitz said. "I just know he runs League Games. And he's famous."
Skye drifted away, thoughtful.
Her phone vibrated.
She glanced at the message—from Tide Rising.
After a moment, she typed a single reply.
I'm in.
MORE TRAINING
After a week of rest and reorganization at the Slingshot, James kept them on a strict routine.
Every morning was firearms training. Every afternoon, Fitz and Simmons buried themselves in stun-weapon development. Skye, alone, was assigned physical conditioning.
"Why am I the only one doing this?" Skye complained.
James stood in front of her, arms folded. "Because you have no foundation. And if you don't care about this consultant position, I can recommend Phil to terminate your contract. You're free to walk away."
Skye stiffened. "Hmph. Fine. I'll train. But why just me?"
"That's simple," James replied. "You're the only one without a full workload."
She blinked. "And you?"
"I'm supervising."
She rolled her eyes. "You're not punishing me because I turned you down for dinner, are you?"
James didn't move. "You can think whatever you like. But the training continues. I won't teach you about combat—that's not my lane. Melinda will handle that when you're ready."
At the mention of May, Skye's enthusiasm vanished.
They trained for another week.
Then a mission finally came in.
BRIEFING — THE BUS
Phil Coulson stood at the front of the living area, tablet in hand.
"Minutes ago, a S.H.I.E.L.D. transport was hijacked," he said. "At route 76, Sterling City. The vehicle carried Red Priority protected assets."
Skye frowned. "What's Red Priority?"
No one answered her. She still had a lot to learn.
Coulson continued. "The asset is Canadian physicist Dr. Franklin Hall and his research."
Simmons was surprised. "How could it be Dr. Hall?"
Fitz said in remembrance, "Dr. Hall? He's our chemistry teacher in the second grade."
"Yeah, he was even so passionate about science. Are we going to save him?" Simons added.
James said nothing. His thoughts were already moving. The doctor's schedule had been leaked by himself.
The doctor's devotion to science made what had been done to him intolerable. Worse, intelligence confirmed that a rare substance was now involved—dangerous, unstable, and already drawing attention from people who shouldn't have it.
Whoever was responsible would become a long-term liability to S.H.I.E.L.D..
James had little patience for that.
Capturing the culprit later would introduce variables—delays, negotiations, and complications. James preferred certainty. In this world, strength decides outcomes. Power bent rules. The six Infinity Stones were proof enough.
The decision settled in his mind.
James would intervene personally to not let what happened in the show happen. He would extract the doctor before the substance claimed him. In another timeline, the man survived the exposure—but survival didn't mean stability. There was no reliable data on the final outcome, and James wasn't interested in gambling on unknowns.
"James," Skye asked, watching him sit in silence, "do you have any ideas?"
"No," he replied. "But finding the doctor shouldn't be difficult. I'll handle it."
RESEARCH ROOM
He moved to the conference room and pulled up Dr. Franklin Hall's history—academic records, research partnerships, former classmates. Names and faces began to populate the screen.
Skye leaned over his shoulder, scanning the list.
"Can you really find him like this?"
"I don't know," James said evenly. "The plane's already en route to the incident site. I have time."
Then Skye found something peculiar.
"Oh," she said slowly. "That's interesting."
James glanced sideways. "What is?"
"This guy," she said, tapping the screen. "They were classmates. Spent years working together."
The name highlighted itself.
Ian Quinn.
James didn't react outwardly. 'There it is.'
"Is he important?" he asked, deliberately neutral.
Skye stared at him. "You don't know? He's a major philanthropist. Over eight billion dollars in donations."
James smirked faintly. "Should I? He didn't donate to me. You didn't take his money, did you?"
She scoffed. "Aren't you a billionaire? How much have you donated?"
"I went to one charity cocktail party," James replied flatly. "Bought my sister a hairpin."
"Stingy."
James looked at her then, unimpressed. "Why is donating an obligation? I made my money legally, paid my taxes, and broke no laws. What gives you the right to judge me on how i use my money?"
"Capable people should shoulder responsibility," Skye said without hesitation.
"Oh?" James leaned back. "Then what about you? You're a gifted hacker. What responsibility did you shoulder? Exposing private lives? Leaking classified data and making people afraid?"
Skye opened her mouth—then stopped.
James returned his attention to the screen.
"So, they spent years together," he said. "If someone took the doctor, he's the most likely candidate. When we reach the site, we'll look for confirmation."
"You're sure it's him?" Skye asked.
"I'm not sure of anything," James replied. "He's just the only suspect we have."
He ignored her after that. Although Skye is a beauty, she still has full trust in her boyfriend, James knew better. In field operations and in life, rushing only created mistakes. Patience always paid off.