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May ended the call, holstering her phone. Fury's order was clear: no one approached the RV without his word. She tightened her grip on her weapon, eyes sweeping the perimeter with predator focus, but her ears strained toward the muffled voices inside.
If Fury and Li Feng were friends, why the gun to the head? If they were enemies, why no backup? Fury carried contradictions like extra ammo.
Inside, Li Feng cracked open a beer, glancing at Fury still bent over the spellbook. His lips twitched. Buddy, that's my book. Without my say-so, you'll never see past the page I let you see.
Fury silently cursed. Ten centimeters thick, and the damn thing wouldn't turn. Unknown tech—or worse, alien. And Li Feng still swore he was Earth-born. Fury almost laughed. Yeah. And maybe your home planet just happens to be called Earth too.
Finally, Fury snapped the book shut and reached for a beer of his own. "I've got to ask—where'd you get this? Or should I say… what world did you bring it from?"
Li Feng nearly choked on his drink. Again? Did Fury really buy into his alien theory? By now the guy had to know Li Feng's official file read Earth-born, plain as day.
You're the alien here, one-eye.
Then it clicked. Fury wasn't stupid—he was baiting. Push hard enough, maybe Li Feng would slip. Admit to alien blood? Checkmate. Deny it? Fury would demand sources for the resurrection notes. Either reveal dimensional travel, or build a cover story airtight enough to fool the most paranoid spymaster alive.
No easy door out.
Li Feng set his beer aside and smirked. "Funny. Lot of weight tucked between the lines of your questions."
Fury's eye narrowed. He'd been made. Time to change angles. He leaned back, voice dropping. "Fine. Then let's talk Kree gear. What've you figured out?"
Li Feng chuckled. "You've got a habit, you know. However I answer, you'll just decide I'm packing alien tech."
"So you admit you lifted weapons off that cruiser," Fury said, crossing his legs, sipping beer like it was a chess move. "I thought you'd pawn them off. But my people checked every black-market alley from here to Madripoor. Nothing. Not a trace."
He tapped the sealed book. "And you expect me to believe a regular guy carries this around without backup? Looks more like something out of a lab. So what are you—a scientist?"
Li Feng snorted. "Do I look like a scientist?"
Fury spread his hands. "Then why the data? Soldiers carry rifles. Researchers carry notes. Which are you?" He leaned in close, eye glinting.
Li Feng grimaced and pulled back. "Ever heard of personal space?"
"Or maybe you're a corporate spy," Fury pressed. "Stole it out of some lab. Only cracked the resurrection files. If we teamed up, I could put a strike team on that lab, get you the rest."
Li Feng rubbed his temples. Exhausting. Every answer was just new leverage for Fury. Admit the book was his, and Fury would demand more. Deny it, and he'd have to spin an entire fake history. And lying to a man like Fury? That was suicide.
So he said nothing. Cracked another beer. Stared at the horizon.
Fury studied him, irritation simmering. If not for the goodwill on Talos's word, he'd have slapped cuffs on Li Feng by now. But hostile or not, the resurrection notes were real—or a convincing enough fake. Either way, worth digging deeper.
Silence stretched until the low chop of rotor blades cut across the sky.
Fury straightened, glancing out the window. A chopper touched down nearby. Coulson hopped out, balancing a takeout bag and a six-pack like it was standard S.H.I.E.L.D. kit.
Fury nudged Li Feng. "Your delivery's here. Never seen a chopper used for Chinese takeout. Must've been one hell of an order."
Li Feng blinked. "Delivery? I didn't order anything."
Fury slid out, waved Coulson and a doctor inside, and tossed a sly smile back. "You were supposed to enjoy lunch in Chinatown. Got spoiled. So I had my people pack a replacement."
Coulson handed the bag over. Li Feng peeked inside, then gave Coulson's receding hairline a pointed look. "Thanks. Working under Fury must be stressful. Take care of that hair."
Coulson just smiled politely, glanced at Fury, and gestured to the doctor. "Sir, this is Dr. Owen. PhD in biology—"
"Save the titles." Fury shoved the book forward. "Doctor, I need your expertise."
Li Feng casually popped it open, pages sliding for him alone, and pushed it across the table.
Blocking Coulson's line of sight, Fury winked. "Take May's shift. Let her rest."
"Yes, sir." Coulson left.
Outside, he found May. "Boss says you're off-duty. Get some rest."
Her expression stayed calm, but her eyes sharpened. She headed back to her car, popped the trunk, and pulled a slim locator. As she passed the RV, she crouched to "tie her shoe," sliding the device beneath the chassis before standing and handing Coulson a bottle of water.
Her face was neutral, unreadable. But her eyes stayed locked on the RV, unblinking.
At first, Dr. Owen barely cared. When Fury shoved the spellbook into his hands, he assumed it was another antique, the kind of thing eccentric collectors mistook for science. Doctors in America were well-paid; antiques were his real hobby. Through his S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts, he had plenty of sources.
The tome was heavy, ancient, its leather binding reeking of dust and history. Owen judged it like an artifact, not a weapon. Pre-modern medicine? Outdated quackery. Unless some lunatic billionaire had scrawled real breakthroughs between the lines, it belonged in a museum, not in his lap.
But Fury's sharp cough snapped him out of it. "Read."
Sighing, Owen humored him. For Alexander Pierce's sake, he'd skim a few lines.
Then his face twisted. The words weren't folklore. They were formulas. "Impossible… this can't be right…"
To Li Feng, he looked insane, fingers tracing every line like a drowning man clawing for a rope. But Fury saw through it. That wasn't madness—it was recognition. And recognition meant danger. If Owen reacted like this, then Li Feng's corroded flash drive wasn't a bluff.
Night fell. Owen's tie was loose, his throat dry from emptying an entire bottle of water. He hadn't looked up in hours.
"Well?" Fury pressed, tension edged sharp. "Can you replicate it? The resurrection experiment?"
Owen's voice came reverent, almost worshipful. "Resurrection's already been done. Primitive, yes. But effective. They even used electric eels as conduits. This isn't theory—this is decades-old practice. With time, I can replicate it. Improve it. Make them stronger."
Fury's eye narrowed. "Stronger how?"
Owen gestured at his own arm. "The human body's shackled by the brain. Even peak athletes use maybe forty percent of muscle. A corpse? No brain to limit it. Train the body right, it could hit a hundred."
Fury's gaze cut to Li Feng. Questions stacked. How many were out there already? Where? What nightmare had he just stumbled into?
Li Feng waved it off with a smirk. "Relax. Nobody's been resurrected yet. And don't forget the side effects."
Neither Fury nor Owen bought it. Owen, in fact, knew better—the book itself confirmed it. Frankenstein hadn't been a myth. He'd done it. At least once.
Maybe I should try it myself, Owen thought, excitement sparking.
Fury leaned in, voice low. "If this leaks, the world burns. Resurrection? Governments, warlords—they'd sell their souls for it. You'd have power beyond counting."
Li Feng chuckled darkly. He knew. Resurrect every president in the White House, and they'd clap while he trashed the place. No one would question the hollow shells, the erased memories. Not in a world that scoffed at souls.
Fury studied him. Li Feng lifted his right hand—then snapped his fingers.
The sharp crack froze the air.
Instantly Fury's gun was out, leveled at him.
Li Feng rolled his eyes. "Relax. I was being civil. You need therapy, not a sidearm."
He turned to Owen. "Tell me—are you Hydra?"
"Yes," Owen said flatly, eyes vacant.
"Shit," Fury hissed, gun whipping toward him. The blank stare, the slack jaw—it wasn't confession. It was hypnosis.
Fury swung back to Li Feng, stunned. "That snap… hypnosis? That's your trick? That's how you took down a Kree elite?"
Li Feng exhaled, feigning relief. "Exactly. Hypnosis. If Owen was just some civilian, I'd worry about leaks. But Hydra? He'll keep quiet. One way or another."
Fury's mind reeled. Hypnosis was worse than brute force—silent, invisible. Resurrection was one nightmare. Mind control was another. And Li Feng held both. Multiple cards, all hidden until now.
He cuffed Owen, face stone, brain racing. He'd drag him back to S.H.I.E.L.D., interrogate, verify. And Li Feng—he wasn't walking away this time.
But Li Feng's boot lashed out, catching Fury square in the chest. Fury tumbled out of the RV, gun skittering across the pavement. The door slammed.
From inside, Li Feng's voice came lazy. "I'm sleeping. Don't like an audience. We'll talk tomorrow. Oh—and keep an eye on that little toy in your pocket. Last thing you want is a city full of amnesiacs."
Fury froze, bile rising. Did he just—? Was Li Feng about to vanish again, like on the Kree ship?
"Listen," Fury called, steadying his tone. "You saved my life once. I'll make this easy. Come in, register your ability. No one hurts you."
Li Feng laughed, cold and sharp, slammed the lock, and climbed onto the RV's roof. With beer, peanuts, and white-cut chicken, he lounged under the stars like it was a rooftop bar.
Coulson edged closer. "Sir… what now? He doesn't look hostile. Going lethal—"
Fury's scowl deepened. "Man's eating my food, drinking my beer, and I can't touch him. Where's the justice?"
But his mind was running calculations. He signaled May forward. She eased the SUV into place, boxing the RV in, waiting for backup.
Li Feng didn't care. Not one bit. The moment Fury and Coulson shifted their eyes, he slid a glowing orange circle beneath the RV.
In a blink—Li Feng, the RV, everything—was gone.
Fury stood frozen, then slammed his fist on the hood of his car, fury boiling over.
"Goddammit."
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