Los Angeles — in the narrow alley beside a small restaurant.
Inside a cluttered van, Skye was recording a message into her laptop with fiery conviction.
"How are you going to capture us this time? Air strike? Ground assault?
We've already exposed your lies to the public — the secrets you tried to bury!"
"You can't stop the Rising Tide! You can't find us, and you'll never know who we really are!"
"We'll keep fighting against those who hide the truth from the people!"
"No one — and nothing — can stop our rising tide!"
Her voice was defiant and passionate.
But halfway through her speech, the van door suddenly swung open.
Standing there were Agent Coulson — calm as ever — and Kai, arms folded, chewing on a piece of orange.
Skye froze mid-sentence.
"Uh… hi," she said with an awkward smile.
After a beat, she raised her hands. "So, where are the handcuffs? Like last time in Texas?"
Instead of cuffs, Coulson handed her a black hood.
Skye glanced sideways at Kai, who just shrugged, expression unreadable.
With a resigned sigh, she slipped the hood over her head.
Ten minutes later — inside the interrogation room aboard the Blackwing Airbus.
Sitting at the steel table, Skye tried to look calm, though her heart was racing.
"Have I… done something wrong again?" she said with forced innocence. "You must've arrested the wrong person."
Coulson smiled faintly. "Should we address you as Ms. Catherine Jones… or Ms. Skye?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said quickly.
"Doesn't matter," Coulson replied. "Names aren't that important. What we really need… is another name. A heroic one."
Skye frowned. "Why do you think I'd know anything about that?"
Her eyes flicked toward Kai, who was lounging in the corner, peeling another orange.
"Still eating the sour ones?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
Kai offered her a slice. "Yeah. Want some?"
"Forget it," she muttered. "I prefer sweet."
Coulson smiled. "If you'd like sweet ones, Ms. Skye, I'll buy you a crate — after you tell us what we need to know."
He slid a photo across the table. "You're smart, Ms. Skye. The phone you used to record the Hooded Hero's video? It has the same coded signature as several Rising Tide posts."
Skye smirked. "Or maybe you're mistaken, Agent Coulson. I mean, I'm literally sitting in your secret flying base right now.
You found me — sure — but you still can't crack my encryption. So, tell me, who's really winning here?"
Then she turned to Kai, her tone sharpening.
"Hey, Flash. You saved people during the Battle of New York. You fought aliens. You helped save the world. You're supposed to be one of the good guys."
Her eyes burned with conviction. "So why are you with them? Don't you think people have the right to know the truth?"
"If you really are a hero, Flash, you should be on our side."
Kai let out a tired sigh and looked at Coulson. "Too much talk. Just use the truth serum already."
He turned away, leaning against the wall, back to her. He clearly wasn't interested in debating.
"Ugh, typical," Skye muttered, folding her arms.
Even so, she couldn't help glancing at him again.
In her heart, Kai was a real superhero — lazy, snarky, maybe a little weird — but real.
He didn't belong with S.H.I.E.L.D. and their secrets. He'd just lost his way, that's all.
She had to bring him back to the right side — her side.
That's what she'd promised herself ever since being captured back in Austin.
Coulson's calm voice broke her thoughts. "Ms. Skye, your speeches are impressive — really. But they won't work on us."
He leaned forward slightly. "You were near the explosion, and you filmed the entire incident. How did you know the Hooded Man would be there?"
Skye smirked. "I know a lot more than you do. You S.H.I.E.L.D. people covered up New Mexico, the Pegasus Project, even the existence of Avengers like Flash here."
"If it weren't for the Battle of New York, the public wouldn't even know the Avengers were real!"
Her voice rose. "And now you're covering up the Centipede thing too!"
Coulson blinked. "Centipede?"
Skye's grin widened. "Oh wow. You really don't know, do you? That's… hilarious."
She leaned back, triumphant. "You've got billion-dollar equipment, but I beat you with a second-hand laptop I won in a poker game."
Coulson sighed. "You're right about one thing — we're not the only ones looking for people with powers. Some want to recruit them… others want to use them."
He stood. "And the next group that finds the Hooded Man? They won't just want to study him. They'll want to dissect him."
Skye's smirk faltered slightly.
"So," Coulson asked evenly, "What exactly is the Centipede?"
Meanwhile, across the city — in a cramped, dimly lit apartment.
Michael Peterson sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the eviction notice on his wall.
His son was dribbling a basketball in the corner, unaware of the tension in his father's face.
Skye's words replayed in his mind — the views, the admiration, the idea that he could be somebody.
Maybe… maybe he really could become a superhero. A real one. Like the Flash.
He picked up his phone and dialed.
When the line connected, he spoke quietly but firmly.
"Doctor, people saw me. They saw what I can do. Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
"This proves your serum works — and it works incredibly. I think this could benefit both of us."
As he talked, he scratched at the strange, glowing device attached to his arm — a centipede-like implant pulsing under his skin.
"I know what I signed," he continued. "But if we can control it, maybe—"
The cold voice on the other end cut him off.
Michael's face twisted with frustration. "Then what do you want me to do?!"
His voice trembled. "I've got nothing left. No job, no money — they even denied my pension!"
The line went dead.
Michael stared at the phone, anger and despair flickering in his eyes — and the centipede device pulsed brighter.