Director Nick Fury's harsh criticism made Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz lower their heads in embarrassment.
But deep down, both were screaming internally. How could anyone expect them to keep up with a once-in-a-century genius like Tony Stark?
Come on—this was Tony freaking Stark! The prodigy of the Stark family, a man who turned engineering into art.
Right now, they could only play dead ostrich. The Black Egg—uh, Director Fury—was in one of his moods. Best not to poke the bear.
Fury knew exactly when to stop. He needed to remind them that he wasn't always the "reasonable" boss.
Then came the next act in his performance.
"Alright, listen up," Fury said, straightening. "You've all done your best. After all, Tony Stark's genius speaks for itself. From now on, your focus will be on reverse-engineering this kind of combat armor—start with the exoskeleton framework."
"As long as you deliver results, I'll make sure you're rewarded. Promotions, raises—you'll get what you earn."
He paused, his tone darkening.
"I'll also work with the military to pressure Stark into handing over one of his suits. Once we get our hands on it, you'll take it apart and figure out how to build our own."
It had to be said—Nick Fury's heart was darker than his leather coat.
He was basically talking about robbing Tony Stark... right in front of everyone. And he said it like he was claiming something that already belonged to him. Whether Tony would even give him the time of day? That was another story.
The classic carrot and stick—Nick Fury was a master at playing that game.
But that was just round one.
He turned to his next topic.
"Now, about our field agents... It's been what, half a month since Leo showed up?"
His single eye swept over the room.
"I want to know—what the hell have you found out? Because from what I've seen, all I've gotten are reports about his sleeping schedule, takeout orders, and walks in the park. Not one damn piece of useful intel!"
He slammed his hand on the table.
"I'm giving you another two weeks. I want everything. Who he meets, what they talk about, what he does, where he goes. Every detail."
"If there's still nothing, consider all level-five-and-above agents grounded—no vacations, no bonuses. And if that's not enough motivation, I'll personally see to it that you're out of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
The fury (no pun intended) in his one-eyed glare made the entire room go silent.
No one dared meet his gaze. Heads dropped one after another.
Fury's lips twitched in satisfaction. "That's right," he thought smugly. "I still got it."
Of course, what he didn't know was that 80% of the people in that room were secretly HYDRA. They weren't intimidated—they were just guilty as hell.
When he'd had enough of glaring, Fury leaned back and waved his hand. "You're dismissed. Coulson, Natasha, Barton—stay behind."
Everyone else scattered instantly. The tension in the room could've shattered glass.
Now, only his "core" people remained—the ones he trusted... well, about 30%. Which, for Nick Fury, was basically a full 100.
There was Maria Hill, Level Nine Agent and airship commander, the cool-headed second-in-command with brains, beauty, and authority.
Phil Coulson, Level Eight, the loyal, kindhearted field agent—basically the moral compass of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye, Level Seven, the sharp-eyed archer who somehow turned every mission into a win.
And Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself. No introduction needed—her charm and deadliness spoke for themselves.
Fury's eye scanned them. "I don't know if I can fully trust you," he began, "but I don't have a choice. You're the best I've got."
"I hope you don't betray that trust. We've been through a lot together—you're my partners, my confidants."
That statement made everyone shift uncomfortably. Being trusted by Nick Fury... was both an honor and a death sentence.
The man wasn't just dark-skinned; his heart was darker than a black hole. Still, no one showed a hint of displeasure. They were professionals.
"Alright," Fury said, turning to Natasha. "Report. You've had direct contact with Leo. What's your read?"
"Yes, Director."
Natasha rose and spoke calmly. "Our supercomputer ran his name and image through every global and off-grid database. There's nothing—no record, no match. It's like he appeared out of thin air."
She paused before continuing. "But here's the disturbing part: while we know nothing about him... he seems to know everything about us. Our structure, our operations—everything."
The room went dead silent.
The first revelation was strange. The second? Terrifying.
They didn't even know if Leo was friend or foe, but he already knew S.H.I.E.L.D. inside and out?
Coulson frowned. "Director, the suspected mutant—Leo—is said to be from the Dragon Kingdom, right? Maybe their government has intel we don't. Did we request cooperation?"
Fury shook his head. "Already handled it. I contacted our counterparts in the Dragon Kingdom. They were just as confused. No record of him. Nothing."
Everyone went quiet again.
Coulson gave a helpless look that said, Yeah, sure, they just told you everything. Totally believable.
Fury rubbed his temples. This was getting nowhere.
What he didn't tell them—and neither did Natasha—was that Leo had mentioned the M78 Nebula and alien invasions. That kind of information was on a strictly need-to-know basis.
Finally, Fury waved them off, exhausted. "That's all. You're dismissed. Natasha—stay. I have another mission for you."
The others left silently, exchanging uneasy glances.
Whatever was coming next, it wouldn't be simple.