[Presbyterian Hospital Parking Lot]
"So, let me get this straight," Natasha Romanoff said, leaning against the hood of the sleek black sedan.
"Our target is a Necromancer?"
She looked at the file Coulson had handed her, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
"He has an army of skeletons, zombies, and... ghosts?"
"Wow," Natasha chuckled, though her eyes remained cold. "Since joining S.H.I.E.L.D., my threshold for 'weird' has really gone up. If you told me aliens were invading Manhattan tomorrow, I'd probably just ask what color they were."
"Coulson..." She lowered the folder, giving him a flat stare. "Please tell me this is a hazing ritual."
Coulson shook his head, his face dead serious.
"I wish it were, Nat. But I saw the victims. I saw the kids."
Natasha's smile vanished. She opened the folder again, her eyes scanning the reports.
"Ghosts," she muttered. "Skeletons I can break. Zombies I can shoot. But intangible entities? That's a problem."
She looked up. "Standard ballistics won't work. We're walking into a combat zone with useless weapons. That's suicide, Phil."
"Look on the bright side," Coulson said, opening the car door. "The entity seems territorial, not aggressive. He scared the kids away, he didn't kill them. As long as we don't start a war, I think our camping trip will be safe."
"Optimism kills, Phil."
"Hey," Coulson smiled, starting the engine. "We aren't going in defenseless. I know a guy."
"A guy?"
"An Exorcist. I think he can provide the... specialized hardware we need."
[Hell's Kitchen - Constantine Consulting]
Natasha rolled her eyes as Laura, Coulson's beloved vintage Corvette, pulled up to the familiar curb in Hell's Kitchen.
"Let me guess," Natasha sighed. "I just left this hellhole, and now you're dragging me back?"
"Director Fury didn't specify where you were," Coulson shrugged innocently. "Just that you were available."
They walked into the agency. The bell above the door jingled cheerfully, contrasting sharply with the smell of stale whiskey and tobacco.
Sprawled on the leather sofa was a man in a rumpled white shirt and loose tie, fast asleep. One arm dangled off the edge, knuckles grazing the floor.
"This is the Exorcist?" Natasha whispered, eyeing the sleeping figure with disdain. "If you hadn't brought me here, I'd assume he was a homeless drunk."
"I heard that," a groggy voice rasped from the sofa.
John Constantine cracked one eye open. He groaned, sitting up and running a hand through his messy blonde hair. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bottle of scotch and lost.
"And for the record, luv," John yawned, stretching his arms. "I'm a professional drunk."
He stood up, wobbling slightly. He saw Natasha—red hair, dangerous curves, eyes that could kill—and his grin widened.
"Well, hello. My morning just improved."
"Sorry about the mess," John waved a hand at the empty bottles. "Had a rough night. Spandex issues. Take a seat. I need to wash the sin off."
He shuffled to the back room.
Ten minutes later, John emerged, drying his hair with a towel. He looked slightly more presentable, though the dark circles under his eyes remained.
Coulson and Natasha were already seated at his desk.
"Right then," John dropped into his chair, tossing the towel aside. "What can I do for S.H.I.E.L.D. today?"
Coulson didn't waste time. He laid out the situation: The Haunted Forest. The skeletons. The intangible threats.
"We need protection," Coulson concluded. "We need weapons that can hurt things that don't have bodies."
John propped his chin on his hand, staring blankly at the wall.
To them, he looked deep in thought. In reality, he was scrolling through his System Exchange Panel, looking for the cheapest items he could sell for the highest markup.
'Let's see... ghost repellent... soul bullets... ah, here we go.'
"What are your specs?" John asked, lighting a cigarette. "Melee? Firearms? Armor?"
Natasha and Coulson exchanged a glance.
"Handguns," Natasha said immediately. "Easy to carry. Concealable."
"And defense," Coulson added. "Something light. We can't hike through a forest in full tactical gear."
John nodded sagely. "Give me a minute. I have just the thing in the vault."
He walked into the back room again (which was actually just a broom closet where he kept his cleaning supplies) to "retrieve" the items from his System inventory.
He returned carrying two sleek, black boxes. He placed them on the desk with a heavy thud.
"That will be two million dollars, please."
Coulson blinked. "Two million?"
"Consulting fees included," John winked.
He opened the first box. Inside lay two pistols that looked like standard Glocks, but runes were etched along the barrels, glowing with a faint purple light.
[Item: Disposable Psionic Pulse Pistol]
Capacity: 10 shots.
Reload: Auto-recharges from ambient psionic energy every 10 minutes.
Effect: Fires concentrated bursts of mental energy. Highly effective against spirits and non-corporeal entities.
"These beauties never run out of ammo," John explained, spinning one on his finger. "They pull juice from the air. Perfect for popping ghosts."
He opened the second box. Inside were a silver bracelet and a delicate silver necklace, both set with a cool, blue gemstone.
[Item: Disposable Ice Crystal Shield]
Activation: Mental trigger.
Effect: Generates a 360-degree barrier of ice-aspected mana.
Defense: Absorbs and disperses magical attacks.
"And these," John said, sliding the box toward Natasha, "will keep the nasties off you. Mental trigger. Think 'shield', and you get a bubble that eats magic for breakfast."
John leaned back, looking like the cat that got the cream.
"So... cash or check?"
....
.....
.....
Support my patreon and get early access to chapters
patreon.com/ImmortalDaoWriter
Don't forgot to give me powerstones.