For the first time, Maggie Lang—Cassie's mother—looked at Lock with something like respect.
The "actor," as she still half-thought of him, might not have looked like a professional performer, but that little "magic trick" of his? It was beyond anything she'd ever seen. And most importantly—Cassie believed every word.
So, for her daughter's sake, she decided to play along.
Dinner was an awkward affair.
Cassie sat between her parents, smiling from ear to ear, while Lock and Luis chatted cheerfully about everything except the massive display of supernatural power that had just happened outside.
Then Cassie's stepfather, Jim Paxton—a police officer still in uniform—walked through the door.
The room fell silent for a beat. Five people, one child, and an immortal god-like mutant sat at a dinner table pretending everything was normal.
Lock, of course, didn't mind. He was busy entertaining Cassie with sleight-of-hand tricks using fragments of energy and tiny sparks of light.
Paxton's eyes, however, locked on the visitation document sitting beside Scott's plate. He frowned. "Scott," he said carefully, "I don't know how you got visitation rights back this fast, but that comes with responsibility. You can't just enjoy your rights as a father—you have to fulfill your obligations too. That means alimony."
Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know. Don't worry. There are… a few international companies fighting to hire me right now. Once I'm officially on the payroll, I'll make things right."
Paxton arched an eyebrow. "International companies, huh? As far as I know, corporations that size don't usually rush to hire ex-cons. Especially ones convicted for hacking corporate systems and leaking trade secrets."
The jab was obvious, but he kept his tone measured—at least for Cassie's sake.
Scott opened his mouth to defend himself, but Lock's calm voice cut through the tension.
"Actually," he said, placing a thick folder on the table, "this might clear things up."
Paxton glanced at it warily. "What's that?"
Lock pushed it toward him. "A scholarship fund. Consider it part of Scott's employment package. The beneficiary is Cassie Lang."
Everyone froze.
Lock continued, his tone as even as if he were reading a grocery list. "From now until she completes her Ph.D., all of Cassie's tuition and living expenses are fully covered. She can choose any top Ivy League school—Harvard, Yale, Princeton—or, if she prefers to study abroad, any accredited university in the Western Hemisphere."
Scott blinked, his voice barely a whisper. "You… did this?"
Lock simply smiled.
Maggie and Paxton exchanged a stunned look. Paxton opened the folder and began flipping through the official-looking pages. He might have been skeptical—until he saw the seals. The formatting. The signatures. The trace codes.
He'd spent enough time in law enforcement to know a fake when he saw one.
And this wasn't fake.
Maggie leaned forward, anxious. "What's wrong? Is it counterfeit?"
Paxton shook his head slowly. "No. This… this is real."
Scott exhaled sharply. Maggie covered her mouth.
For a long, quiet moment, no one spoke. The document sitting between them was worth more than a fortune—it was Cassie's future.
When Paxton finally looked up, his expression was thoughtful, even respectful. "Mr. Lock, right? What kind of company spends this much money hiring a guy like Scott?"
He stopped short of saying "burglar" in front of the girl.
Lock leaned back in his chair, perfectly composed. "S.H.I.E.L.D."
The word dropped like a thunderclap.
"I'm recruiting on behalf of them," Lock said. "Scott has potential—more than most people realize. He'll become a superhero one day. The world will need him."
Cassie's eyes turned to stars. "See, Mom? I told you! Dad's a superhero!"
Luis whispered under his breath, "Man, you really know how to sell it…"
Scott didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Everyone else was too stunned—or too polite—to argue.
Lock, meanwhile, was satisfied. He could feel it—the rising warmth in the air. Scott's trust level had jumped again. The system inside him hummed, feeding on that faith, replenishing the fortune he'd burned to make all this happen.
Cassie's laughter filled the room. For Lock, it was more than data—it was human, warm, and pure. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what his own child—perhaps one day, with Natasha—might be like.
After dinner, as twilight settled over the neighborhood, Cassie hugged both her father and Lock tightly at the door.
"Thank you, Uncle Lock," she said. "I'm gonna hang your picture by my bed! So you'll smile at me while I sleep."
Lock smiled gently. "Then I'll keep watch."
The Next Morning
Jim Paxton sat in his squad car, the photo of Lock on his phone burning in his mind. Something about the man didn't add up.
Curiosity—or maybe instinct—got the better of him. Back at the precinct, he uploaded the image into the state database for facial recognition.
Within seconds, a red warning flashed across the screen:
ACCESS DENIED – CLASSIFIED LEVEL OMEGA.
PERMISSION EXCEEDED.
Then the screen went black.
A moment later, every terminal in the precinct crashed. The entire network went offline.
Officers groaned across the bullpen. "What the hell happened now? Another fallout from that 'digital god' incident last month?"
Paxton's stomach twisted. Before he could reboot the system, the sound of tires screeching filled the street outside.
Several matte-black armored SUVs slid to a halt in front of the station. The doors opened, and heavily armed agents in black tactical gear poured out, moving with cold precision.
The cops inside instinctively reached for their sidearms—until the lead agent flashed a badge.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said sharply. "Who used terminal C-9 in the last ten minutes?"
Within minutes, both Paxton and the precinct captain were escorted to an interrogation room—on the wrong side of the table for once.
The agents weren't there just to protect Lock's identity—they were tracking Hydra leaks.
Years ago, Alexander Pierce had seen Lock's classified file. Hydra fragments within S.H.I.E.L.D. had likely spread it. Anyone who accessed that image without authorization was a potential Hydra connection.
The interrogation was brisk, efficient, and terrifying. When it was over, Paxton finally understood the truth.
"So… that man really was King Apocalypse?" he asked, pale.
One of the agents raised an eyebrow. "You didn't know?"
"I thought he was some actor—he came to visit my stepdaughter! He even signed her photo!"
The agents exchanged looks—and then, quietly, all took a step back.
Even low-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives rarely saw Lock in person. The idea of him casually dropping by a suburban home for dinner and autographs was… beyond belief.
"Sir," one of them said carefully, "for your safety, we need you to sign a confidentiality agreement. If anyone finds out your family has a personal connection to King Apocalypse, it could draw attention from very dangerous people."
Paxton swallowed hard. "Understood."
When the agents finally left, the precinct was silent.
The captain turned to Paxton, his face full of awe. "Hey… when you get a chance, mind if I take a look at that photo? The one with your kid? I'll make it worth your while. I'll even bring a gift for little Cassie."
Paxton sighed. "I'll… ask her permission."
Outside, the sun glinted off the rooftops of San Francisco.
Somewhere across town, Lock was already preparing Scott Lang for his first mission—unaware that his casual visit had just sent shockwaves through the most secretive intelligence agency on Earth.
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