The next morning, at FBI Headquarters.
Ingrid Hannigan was already waiting in the lobby for Agent Dante and his... very distinctive squad.
As of today, the Star Team had its own dedicated office space.
Yes, office space.
Don't get the wrong idea—being an FBI agent wasn't just running around solving crimes and shooting bad guys. The paperwork? Easily twice what your average precinct officer has to deal with.
And when it came to missions too weird for public consumption, you couldn't exactly slap a "zombie outbreak" on an official report. So they had to write two versions. Sometimes more. One true, and one—or several—false.
Many new agents joined with dreams of action hero glory… only to rage-quit after filing their 87th fabricated mission log. The retention rate for rookies was under 40%. Most didn't survive their first six months.
It was already 9 a.m. by the time Dante, Ada Wong, and Harley Quinn sauntered in like nothing was weird.
"Ingrid? Why are you posted in the lobby today? Got reassigned as the first-floor receptionist?" Dante said without missing a beat.
The vein on Ingrid Hannigan's forehead twitched.
But the smile on her face remained professional.
"Director Fury arranged a new office space for the Star Team. I came down to welcome you."
"New digs, huh? Lead the way."
Dante followed her into the elevator, watching as she pressed the button for the thirty-second floor.
"How'd you three show up together?" she asked casually.
"Heh, Ingrid... You wouldn't believe my night," Dante grinned. "These two maniacs wouldn't let me sleep."
The two "ladies" awkwardly cleared their throats in unison, then launched into their very on-brand excuses with a straight face.
"Not my fault," Ada said smoothly. "You know me—I'm an elite field agent. Emergency reflex muscle memory is totally normal."
"Not my fault either!" Harley chirped. "You know me—I'm an elite mental patient. Body and mind doing their own thing is completely normal."
Impressive. No wonder they were both walking red flags. Apparently, if you're shameless enough, nothing is your fault.
"Ugh… Ingrid," Dante groaned. "Tell me—where on Earth do people like this—HEY! What are you doing?!"
"Filing a complaint with Internal Affairs," Ingrid said, typing furiously on her terminal. "First day of Star Team formation and its members are already—mmf!"
Harley slapped a hand over the elevator camera.
Ada covered Ingrid's mouth like a reflex.
Dante, lightning-fast, grabbed her terminal and force-recalled the message.
Crisis averted.
All three let out a synchronized sigh of relief.
"If we got reported on our first day, I might actually die from the shame," Dante muttered.
"Look," he said, turning to Ingrid, "those two have... issues with phrasing. But you're the one twisting it."
"Last night, I—being a law-abiding gentleman—offered temporary housing to two homeless women. There was only one bed. I got forced into a group sleep situation. Then, because of reflexive instincts and bad sleeping posture, we all accidentally whacked each other throughout the night. I didn't get actual sleep until around 5 a.m. Understand?"
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Ingrid nodded quickly, muffled.
"Ada, let her go."
Ada released her.
"You covered that surveillance cam like a pro."
"You blocked Ingrid's mouth without hesitation."
"I learned it from watching you."
The two women shared a few dry compliments... and a weird look that might've been mutual appreciation.
Ding. Elevator doors opened.
The thirty-second floor.
"By special order from the Director," Ingrid said, switching instantly back to full-professional logistics mode, "the entire thirty-second floor, excluding Director Fury's office, has been allocated as the exclusive operations space for the Star Team."
The moment they stepped out, the space looked legit.
Rows of new desks, upgraded terminals, and one very shiny coffee machine.
But just as they were settling in, the office at the far end cracked open.
A familiar bald, one-eyed silhouette appeared.
"Amusement park tour's over. Meeting. Now."
Fury turned and walked back into his office without another word.
The four of them exchanged a glance and followed him in.
Meetings: the soul of all government jobs.
Thankfully, Fury wasn't the kind of guy who needed fifty-nine minutes to say nothing in a sixty-minute meeting.
In fact, he was often too direct.
"Witnesses in Westchester County, New York, reported sightings of zombies and B.O.W.s. No confirmed casualties yet. The Sheriff's Department has formally requested our assistance," Fury said, pulling up video and data onto a giant 3D display. "Ada. You're our in-house B.O.W. expert. Brief them."
"Yes, Director."
Ada's expression snapped into full mission mode. She studied the footage, browsed the text logs, and then turned to the team.
"The zombies are standard T-virus infections. But they're confined to a specific area—which means someone is using an external control method. The unknown B.O.W. is likely a new Tyrant variant. Based on visual data, it combines traits from both the Nemesis and the Ivan Tyrant models."
She tapped through several photos.
"We've confirmed four separate units on video. Odds are, the actual number's higher."
[Mission: Biochemical Maniac]
[Objective: As the newly appointed Captain, lead Star Team into its first operation. Eliminate all zombies and B.O.W.s. Identify and apprehend the mastermind.]
Figures.
The moment Ada finished the briefing, the system popped up with a mission notification.
Dante didn't even flinch.
He'd learned his lesson after the last time.
The system said "persuade Harley Quinn to surrender." Reality said "battle the entire Joker Gang at Arkham."
In this multiverse mashup, anyone could show up next.
"Hot weapons work against B.O.W.s?" Dante asked.
"Yes," Ada confirmed. "They're technically easier to neutralize than supervillains. As long as your individual firepower's high enough, it's doable. The hard part is tracking the person controlling them. B.O.W.s never appear without a puppet master. There's always a deeper plot."
"Do we have enough weapons on the Airbus?"
"Absolutely. Worst-case scenario, we can deploy the Quinjet for a saturation strike."
"Cool. I'm good, then."
Dante clapped his hands and turned for the door.
"Star Team—let's move."
For a second, he felt kinda cool walking out like that.
Until Fury added:
"What's the rush? This case interests me personally. I'll be joining Star Team on this mission."
Dante froze mid-step.
Oh no.
Going on a mission was one thing.
Going on a mission with your boss?
Absolute nightmare fuel.
(To be continued.)