The briefing room was silent.
Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, holding a folder marked WAKANDA – PRIORITY ALPHA. Around him, SHIELD agents sat in tense anticipation. The only sound was the low hum of the lights—and the occasional nervous glance toward the man seated at the far end.
King.
He hadn't said a word since the mission was announced. His eyes were wide. His palms sweaty. His chair slightly tilted back, as if preparing for escape.
Fury cleared his throat.
"We'll need boots on the ground. This is a high-threat zone. Vibranium, insurgents, possible cosmic interference. King, you'll lead the forward team."
King blinked.
Then stood up.
Then said the words no one in SHIELD had ever expected to hear:
"I resign."
The room froze.
The Engine Activates
"You… what?" Fury asked, stunned.
"I'm not a front-line guy," King said, voice trembling. "I'm more of a… background presence. A lurking deterrent. A… hallway legend."
The agents exchanged glances. Some looked confused. Others looked like they'd just seen a unicorn file taxes.
Then it happened.
A low, mechanical rumble.
King's Engine activated.
The temperature dropped. The lights dimmed. A coffee mug shattered in the corner.
"He's powering up again!" someone whispered.
King wasn't doing anything. But the fear of being forced into battle had triggered the Engine on its own. The atmosphere thickened like a thundercloud made of dread.
Fury's instincts screamed at him to de-escalate.
We can't force a man who soloed Galactus, he thought. We have to compromise.
The Mansion Deal
Fury exhaled slowly and made a decision.
"Alright. No field work. You've done enough."
King blinked. "Really?"
"We'll reassign you. Quiet duty. Strategic deterrence. You'll be… stationed."
"Where?"
"Washington, D.C. We'll set you up with a secure residence. Defense budget will cover it."
King hesitated. "You mean… like a safehouse?"
"More like a… symbolic fortress."
Arrival in D.C.
The next morning, King arrived at his new home.
Correction: his new mansion.
It had columns. Fountains. A private garden. A garage with nothing in it but a single government-issued bicycle. The front gate had a plaque that read:
"Property of the First Shield – National Asset"
King stood at the entrance, stunned.
"Government people get paid really well," he muttered.
He wandered through the marble halls, the velvet-draped rooms, the kitchen with twelve burners and no groceries.
Then reality hit him.
"Wait… I don't get a salary?"
He checked the fridge. Empty. The pantry? Dust. The defense budget had covered the building, the security, the reinforced windows—but not the food.
"I can't eat air," he whispered.
The Job Hunt Begins
The next morning, King stood in front of a mirror, adjusting a borrowed tie.
"Alright," he said to himself. "Time to get a job."
The Engine rumbled faintly.
"No, no, not now," he whispered. "It's just a job interview. Not a war zone."
He stepped out the door, determined.
The Shield had stepped back.
But the legend was just getting started.