The Quinjet landed smoothly on the banks of the Potomac River in Washington, D.C. The Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s futuristic, trident-shaped headquarters, reflected the cold, metallic glint of the sun.
The hatch opened, and a gust of wind carrying the dampness of the river and the clamor of the city rushed in.
Coulson walked ahead, turning sideways to guide Paul, his respectful demeanor tinged with an undisguisable formality.
"Mr. Paul, welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Fury is waiting for you."
With his hands in his pockets, Paul strolled casually down the ramp, but his eyes were like the highest-precision scanners, rapidly absorbing data from his surroundings. The positioning of the security personnel, the distribution of surveillance cameras, the seams in the building materials… everything transformed into a stream of analyzable data in his eyes.
"Hn," he responded faintly.
The moment his foot touched the ground of the Triskelion, a cute, white robot icon on the seemingly ordinary children's watch on his wrist flickered once before vanishing.
[Command received. Infiltrating target network…]
Baymax's AI, like a silent, invisible drop of water, merged into the vast ocean of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s information network.
"This way, please." Coulson led Paul inside the building. The bright lights and the bustling, black-clad agents moving with purpose created an atmosphere of high efficiency and tension.
"Mr. Paul, I must remind you that many areas of the headquarters are restricted. For your own safety, please stay close to me and do not touch any unauthorized equipment," Coulson said politely, but the warning in his words was clear.
Paul's lip curled slightly, but he said nothing.
Safety? Restrictions?
To him, this building's network defense system was like a fishing net—it looked tight, but it was riddled with holes.
Just a moment ago, Baymax had sent back its first piece of information.
[Suspicious algorithm module detected. Designation: Project Insight. Preliminary analysis indicates a logical backdoor in the algorithm. Tracing source… Confirmed. Source traces back to a deceased scientist, Arnim Zola.]
HYDRA.
Paul's gaze darkened slightly. As expected, the organization was like a cancer that had rotted the place to its core.
He followed Coulson without a change in expression, but a plan was already forming in his mind.
Soon, they arrived at a top-floor office that overlooked the entirety of Washington. A bald, black man in a leather trench coat and a single eyepatch stood with his back to them, quietly observing the view outside the window.
Nick Fury.
"Director Fury, Mr. Paul Stark has arrived," Coulson reported.
Fury turned around slowly, his one good eye as sharp as a hawk's, seemingly capable of piercing through a person's soul. He looked Paul up and down, his face expressionless.
"Paul Stark. I've heard about you from Coulson. The data you provided had our scientists so excited they haven't slept in days," Fury's voice was deep and powerful. "They say you're a purer genius than Tony Stark."
It was a grand compliment, one that would have made any other fourteen-year-old's head swell with pride.
But Paul merely lifted his eyelids, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
"Isn't that obvious? My dad's little bag of tricks is only good for fooling amateurs like you."
Coulson's eye twitched.
To call Tony Stark's work a "little bag of tricks" in front of the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.—he was probably the only one in the world who would dare.
A flicker of surprise crossed Fury's eye, quickly replaced by a subtle hint of appreciation. He liked dealing with smart people, especially the kind who didn't play by the rules.
"Alright, it seems you're confident in your abilities." Fury walked to his desk and sat down, lacing his fingers together. "So, tell me. You didn't go to all this trouble to come here just to give me a welcome gift. What do you want?"
"It's simple." Paul pulled out a chair and sat directly across from him, leaning forward slightly as he spoke, enunciating each word. "I want the technical data for two things."
"First, all research data on the Super-Soldier Serum, including Dr. Erskine's original formula and analysis of all subsequent failed or successful variant samples."
"Second, all of Dr. Hank Pym's research on the 'Pym Particle'."
The air in the office instantly froze.
Coulson's breath hitched.
Within S.H.I.E.L.D., those two names were classified at the highest level, practically taboo. One created Captain America but also spawned countless madmen trying to replicate the legend. The other opened a subatomic world humanity had never touched, a man who, because of it, broke ties with S.H.I.E.L.D. and sealed away his technology for good.
The muscles in Fury's face tightened. His single eye stared intently at Paul, its emotion complex and unreadable.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking for, kid?" his voice grew cold. "One of those technologies is incomplete, the other is extremely dangerous. We've spent decades and countless resources, and the only result we've ever gotten is—monsters."
He deliberately emphasized the word "monsters," trying to warn the boy before him with the bloody truth behind it.
"I know," Paul's reply was sharp and decisive, his face even showing a hint of excitement and defiance. "What's incomplete, I'll complete. What's dangerous, I'll control. Just because they couldn't do it doesn't mean I can't."
His eyes shone with an almost fanatical confidence—the arrogance of a genius, and the primal craving for the unknown.
Fury fell silent.
He stared at Paul, as if trying to discern from that youthful face whether he was the hope of the future or another impending disaster about to spin out of control.
After a long moment, his tense expression suddenly relaxed. The corner of his mouth even twitched upward into what could pass for a friendly smile.
"Fine. I agree."
The answer came so quickly that even Coulson, standing by, was taken aback.
"Coulson," Fury looked at his most trusted agent. "Take Mr. Paul to Lab Thirteen. Give him read access to the relevant databases. Remember, 'read' access."
"Yes, Director." Though his mind was filled with doubts, Coulson immediately accepted the order.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Director Fury," Paul said, standing up and extending his hand.
Fury shook it, his own hand broad and strong. "I hope you don't disappoint me, kid."
Paul smiled, said nothing more, and turned to follow Coulson out of the office.
The moment the door closed, the smile vanished from Fury's face, replaced by a deep, calculating coldness.
He walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window and watched Paul's back disappear into the elevator.
"Curiosity, arrogance, a thirst for power…" he muttered to himself. "So similar."
Was he saying Paul was like Tony, or like someone much older, and far more dangerous?
…
Inside the elevator, Paul's mind was far from the calm his exterior suggested.
Just moments ago, Baymax had transmitted its final infiltration report.
[Infiltration complete. Surface-level firewalls bypassed. Large number of low and mid-level encrypted files discovered, along with the Zola algorithm backdoor.]
[Warning: Unable to access core database. Target network contains a deep-level, physically isolated server. Cannot be accessed through conventional network means.]
[Preliminary judgment: All intelligence related to 'Li Lina' is likely stored on this deep-level server.]
Paul's brow furrowed imperceptibly.
The old fox.
Fury had handed over the Super-Soldier and Pym Particle data so readily. It seemed like a fair trade, but in reality, it was like he'd tossed two juicy bones in front of him.
Those two technologies were enough to make any scientist lose themselves, consuming all of their time and energy.
But what he truly wanted, the truth about his mother, was hidden somewhere deeper, more secure.
Fury was using technology as bait, trying to trap him in a lab and keep him too busy to look elsewhere.
Even his quick agreement was a trap in itself. He wanted to see what kind of a thing he, this "genius," would create after being given two pieces of "forbidden" knowledge.
The elevator doors opened with a *ding*.
Coulson's voice sounded beside him. "Mr. Paul, we've arrived at Lab Thirteen. This will be your workspace for the time being. All the equipment is state-of-the-art."
Paul stepped out of the elevator. He looked at the space before him, even larger and more sophisticated than the labs in Stark Tower, but his gaze grew deeper.
A secret deal had been struck.
But the real contest had only just begun.
*Fury, you think you can trap me with two incomplete data files?*
*You underestimate me.*
*And you vastly underestimate the determination of a son trying to find the truth about his mother.*