"Director Fury wants to speak with you."
Natasha removed a small black cube from her wrist and set it on the table. A soft hum followed, and a holographic projection flickered to life—revealing none other than Nick Fury, the one-eyed, bald-headed Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
"Mr. Lucas Norman, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm—"
Before he could finish, Lucas interrupted casually, waving his hand.
"I know, I know. Nick Fury—the legendary Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Also known as the Cyclopean Spymaster, Motherf***er Man, and the Great Black Egg."
He fired off a list of nicknames with a perfectly straight face.
Natasha blinked. Black Egg? She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
He really does look like one, though…
Meanwhile, Fury's already-dark face somehow managed to darken further—like an ink-stained squid that had been left in the sun too long.
"Mr. Norman," he said in that deep, even voice, "may I ask how you learned about our organization?"
Lucas gave a nonchalant shrug. "You people are everywhere. I'm sure a man of your legendary resources can figure that out yourself, can't you, Director?"
Of course, he wasn't about to tell Fury the truth—that he was a transmigrant from another universe. He'd have to be insane to admit that.
Fury's eye narrowed. He stayed silent for a long moment, then tapped something on his end. A video appeared in the projection—grainy satellite footage showing a tornado ripping apart a warehouse.
"Mr. Norman," Fury said slowly, "care to explain this?"
Lucas barely glanced at it before leaning back lazily.
"Explain what? That I was walking by and happened to see a tornado? They're not that uncommon in New York, you know."
He knew exactly what it was—the moment he unleashed one of his powers. They'd already confirmed there were no security cameras in the area, so this footage could only have come from a satellite.
Still, he wasn't worried. As long as he didn't admit anything, S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing solid.
"It seems you don't plan on cooperating," Fury said. "Then I'll keep this brief. Two questions."
He raised two fingers, not waiting for Lucas's consent.
"First—are you a mutant?"
Lucas chuckled and shook his head. "Do I look like a mutant? Come on. You ever seen one this handsome?"
Even Natasha had to fight a smirk.
Fury pressed on, unfazed. "Second question: where did your abilities come from?"
"Born with them," Lucas replied vaguely. "They only awakened recently. But no, I'm not a mutant."
Fury frowned, deep in thought. Not a mutant, but born with powers? Then could he be…
He looked back up sharply. "Have you come into contact with any crystals recently? Perhaps… something called Terrigen?"
Lucas knew exactly what he was referring to—the Terrigen Crystals of the Inhumans.
"I know what you're talking about," he said calmly, "but no. I've never touched any Terrigen crystals."
Fury's single eye narrowed even more. Now he was truly intrigued. The fact that Lucas even knew about Terrigen was alarming.
This man was no ordinary civilian.
Lucas, meanwhile, could practically read Fury's mind. The man trusted no one—always digging, always doubting, probably even suspicious of his own reflection.
"Save yourself the brain strain, Director," Lucas said, cracking open a bottle of melon juice. "I'm not your enemy. I run a detective agency. I don't have any grand ambitions, and I don't want to be part of your messy global spy drama.
Unless, of course, you make me part of it."
He smiled, all easy charm—but there was a quiet weight behind his words that made even Fury hesitate.
Truth was, Lucas was happy living a laid-back life—doing the occasional system-assigned mission, lounging on his sofa, cooking ridiculous desserts. He wasn't rich beyond measure, but he was comfortable, and that was enough.
As long as S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't screw that up.
"Of course," he added suddenly, eyes glinting, "if you ever need help, Director Fury, I'm open for business. You can hire me—at a reasonable fee."
His grin widened as he rubbed his hands together. "We can negotiate the price."
Fury blinked once, expression unreadable.
From cosmic anomaly to shameless businessman in three seconds flat, he thought.
He finally said, "Last question, then. Will you ever pose a threat to this world?"
Lucas stared at him. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Lucas groaned, leaning back on the couch. "What's wrong with you people? You've got a persecution complex the size of Asgard. Threaten the world? What am I, a Saturday morning cartoon villain?
I've got a comfy apartment, good food, and a killer gaming setup. Why the hell would I want to blow up the planet?"
Even Natasha had to look away to hide a grin.
"...Fair enough," Fury said at last. "No further questions."
He was about to cut the transmission when Lucas suddenly raised a hand.
"Hold up. I'm not finished yet."
Both Fury and Natasha looked at him.
"The thing is…" Lucas paused dramatically. "Natasha's rent isn't refundable."
For a moment, there was silence. Then Fury's jaw actually twitched.
Natasha just stared at Lucas, dumbfounded. Is this guy for real?
"I'm aware," Fury said dryly after a beat. "Since the lease is signed, she'll stay. No point wasting the agency's money."
Natasha nodded quickly. Who would want to give up such a luxurious apartment, anyway? Besides, she knew what Fury really meant—she was to keep an eye on Lucas Norman.
Lucas, of course, saw right through it. But he didn't object.
If Natasha left, they'd just send someone else—or worse, plant surveillance teams nearby.
And Lucas hated being spied on. If it had to happen, he'd rather the spy be someone at least tolerable to look at.
Seeing he wasn't resisting, Fury seemed satisfied. The hologram flickered and vanished.
Natasha remained silent for a few moments, her earpiece crackling softly as Fury's voice came through again—issuing direct orders.
"Keep monitoring him. If he shows signs of being a threat—neutralize him."
Lucas didn't need to hear it to guess what was being said.
But Skye—still monitoring signals from her workstation—had already intercepted and recorded the entire encrypted transmission.
"So she is a spy," Skye muttered darkly. "And they're planning to move against the boss…"
Her fingers clenched around a handful of recovered bugs. Her expression hardened.
She wasn't about to let anyone—S.H.I.E.L.D. or otherwise—mess with the peaceful life she'd built here.
By the time she returned to the office, she dropped the small devices in front of Natasha with a sharp clack.
"Here. Take your toys. And stop planting them everywhere."
Then she plopped down at her desk, fingers flying over the keyboard. Within seconds, she was launching a counterattack—using the signal she'd intercepted to trace back and hack into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mainframe.
It didn't last long. Even with hundreds of fake IP masks, her intrusion was detected almost immediately.
Seconds later, Natasha's phone began to ring.
It was Nick Fury.
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