Inside a restaurant in Los Angeles.
On the TV screen, footage played of a man in a hood jumping from the fifth floor of an exploding building while carrying a woman to safety.
Michael smiled faintly as he listened to the reporter call him a "superhero."
Then he lowered his head again, red pen in hand, circling potential job listings in the newspaper.
He needed work—fast. Otherwise, his son wouldn't have food to eat.
Across from him, a young woman with a messenger bag sat nervously, glancing around every few seconds.
"Hey, act natural," she whispered.
"What?" Michael looked up, frowning.
"Pretend we're talking," the woman muttered. "You never know who might be listening."
Michael blinked. "Ma'am, you've got the wrong guy."
"Shh!" she hissed. "My name's Skye. And I know you're the hooded superhero from the news!"
Michael sighed. "Sorry, lady. You've mistaken me for someone else. I'm just a regular guy."
Skye leaned forward, lowering her voice but smiling excitedly.
"Yeah, a regular guy by day. But I saw you jump from the fifth floor to save that woman. You're a hero! I mean, I'm not a crazy fan or anything, but—oh my god, this is amazing!"
Michael stared at her blankly. Definitely unstable.
"I think you should leave," he said.
"Listen to me," Skye pressed on, her tone suddenly serious. "You're in danger."
"Danger?" Michael frowned.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.," she said gravely.
"They're the shadowy government suits who lock people like you away. They knew about the New York alien invasion before it happened.
Then they cleaned it all up overnight. How long do you think they'd take to deal with you?"
She leaned even closer. "Even Flashman—the superhero who helped save New York—is one of their people!"
Michael froze. "Flashman?"
"Yes! The Flashman! He caught me once in Texas. If I hadn't been clever, I'd probably be locked in some S.H.I.E.L.D. basement right now!"
"Lady, you've lost it," Michael muttered, standing up. "I'm just an ordinary worker."
"Wait!" Skye reached out, grabbing his sleeve.
"You can't just hide forever. The bigger your power, the more chaos it brings. You can't run from it."
But Michael pulled away and left without looking back.
Skye sighed and sat down.
Then she smirked and opened her hand—Michael's driver's license was there. She'd swiped it the moment she grabbed him.
Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. Airbus.
The new black-winged Airbus was one of the most advanced aircraft S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever built—three decks of reinforced steel and technology several times superior to the standard Quinjet.
Agent Ward walked through the main cabin, frowning as he noticed Kai's personal leather sofa, complete with a snack table and drinks.
He turned to Fitz. "Is Flash always like this? He doesn't seem… focused on the job."
Fitz chuckled, glancing at Kai, who was happily munching on chips.
"That's a good thing, actually. If Kai's focused, it usually means we're in serious trouble."
He pointed at the drinks, "Simmons and I bought those for him yesterday. Melinda brought the snacks, and Coulson had the R&D department build that seat just for him—snack-stabilizing table included, so turbulence doesn't spill anything."
Ward's expression darkened. "That's ridiculous. These are privileges. Totally unfair to the rest of the team."
Simmons looked up from her lab kit. "Oh, you didn't know. Kai isn't part of S.H.I.E.L.D."
"What?" Ward frowned.
"He's from Stark Industries," Simmons explained.
"Director Fury approved his transfer personally. And sure, Kai likes to slack off, but he's one of the most reliable people on the team."
She crossed her arms. "His main role isn't recon—it's protection. He's saved all of us more than once. Remember the missile strike in the valley? Or the suicide bomber in New Jersey?"
Ward blinked.
"So yeah," Simmons said firmly. "He's earned every one of those privileges. And honestly, all of us are fine with it."
Fitz nodded. "Yup. If you've got a problem with it, talk to Coulson. But he'll probably tell you the same thing."
Ward glanced over at Kai, who was now absorbed in a PSP game, a potato chip hanging from his lips.
Maybe Hill was right—his interpersonal skills were crap.
But even Melinda May, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s "Iron Knight," didn't seem to mind Kai's attitude.
She'd even handed him the bag of chips earlier.
Maybe he was the problem.
Ward sighed, leaned back, and checked his gear.
With Kai around, he'd have to stay extra careful about his cover.
Just then, Coulson rolled up in a bright red vintage car inside the hangar bay.
"Hey, Kai!" Coulson called with a grin. "Remember when I said I'd let you take Lola for a spin? Here she is!"
Kai raised an eyebrow and walked over.
"This baby's got everything," Coulson said proudly. "Flamethrower, global GPS, and more history than most museums."
He patted the car fondly. "People always think the new versions are better—but sometimes, the classics outperform them all."
Kai smirked. "Are we still talking about the car… or Captain Rogers?"
Coulson just smiled. "Maybe both."