Lucifer returned to the Manhattan apartment, his muscles screaming a rhythmic complaint against the Tier 5 defense he had deployed so often.
He had successfully delivered the package, collected the massive payout, and even managed to secure a few new Silver-Rank jobs for the week.
He opened the apartment door, expecting to find Raven in her usual corner, watching the terrible sitcom or silently meditating.
Instead, he was greeted by the faint, slightly acrid smell of burnt butter and a chaotic scene in the small, modern kitchen.
Raven was standing in front of the induction cooktop, wearing her purple cloak over a surprisingly practical apron she must have materialized from sheer willpower.
She was holding a spatula and staring intently at a sputtering frying pan that contained a vaguely recognizable mass of eggs and vegetables.
His Basic Empathy flared with a complicated mix: Intense Focus, Minor Frustration, and an overriding layer of Earnest Hope.
Lucifer carefully removed his helmet and closed the door. "Shield Up," he muttered, activating his field just in case the cooking endeavor went nuclear.
"What the hell is going on, Raven? Are you trying to synthesize a new element in the kitchen now?"
Raven jumped slightly, clearly startled, but she quickly regained her composure. She didn't turn to him, keeping her focus entirely on the pan.
"I am attempting to prepare a human sustenance called 'omelet,'"
She replied, her voice strained with concentration.
"The consistency of the curds is proving… volatile."
Lucifer walked closer, fascinated.
"Why are you interested in cooking? You literally sustained yourself on the spiritual anguish of mankind for millennia."
Raven finally turned, holding the spatula like a weapon.
"The shows I have been observing,"
She explained, nodding toward the TV, which was paused on a decades-old cooking channel,
"Repeatedly asserting that a 'good girl' should be 'capable in the kitchen.' It is a fundamental component of the human female identity, apparently."
Lucifer slapped his forehead with his free hand. He understood instantly.
The old sitcoms and shows Raven was watching were relics of a vastly different time, filled with outdated societal expectations.
She was trying to fit the mold of what she perceived as 'normal' and 'acceptable' human behavior to maintain her grounding.
"Raven,"
Lucifer said patiently, "those shows are thirty years old. No one expects you to be a domestic goddess. You're the daughter of an interdimensional demon. We expect you to accidentally incinerate the toaster, not master the julienne slice."
"But this is normal,"
She insisted, turning back to the sizzling pan with renewed determination.
"I need to experience the full spectrum of normalcy, even the culinary demands of an antiquated domestic paradigm. Now, sit."
Lucifer, too tired and bemused to argue with a focused reality-warper, sat at the small table.
"Taste it,"
Raven commanded, sliding a slightly scorched, but mostly intact, omelet onto a plate.
"Be honest."
He picked up the fork. The texture was slightly rubbery, but the seasoning was surprisingly subtle and balanced, likely due to her innate understanding of Fundamental Insight applied to flavor chemistry.
He chewed slowly, then nodded.
"It's… good. Surprisingly good, actually. For a first attempt by a being of pure psychic energy, this is stellar."
A subtle, genuine warmth radiated from Raven, a feeling of Validation and Quiet Triumph.
The effort to maintain normal behavior was clearly rewarding her emotionally, strengthening her self-control.
"The effort was justified, then,"
She stated, already turning back to attempt a second, less scorched omelet.
After dinner and a grueling two-hour training session that ended with the Tier 5 Force Field Activated (10/10), Lucifer showered, changed, and took the express elevator up to Stark Tower.
He found Tony Stark in his lab, looking significantly better than a few days ago, energized by the success of the new element.
The lab glowed with the light of the new, stable ARC reactor core.
"Kid! Glad you could make it,"
Tony greeted, raising a newly functional prosthetic arm in a salute.
"The element is stable. I owe you a new car, minimum, but let's stick to the current payment plan."
"I prefer cash, Mr. Stark,"
Lucifer replied, walking toward the central console.
That's when he saw her.
Slumped casually in a high-backed ergonomic chair near the coffee station was a woman.
She was impeccably dressed in a chic but unremarkable business suit, working diligently on a tablet.
She had fiery red hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, and she wore a pair of oversized, non-prescription glasses.
Lucifer's Basic Empathy immediately registered: Absolute Control, Hidden Focus, and an aura of practiced, lethal Deception.
The system, ever vigilant, flared a warning.
[Target: Natalie Rushman (Cover Identity)]
[Status: Covert Agent / Elite Intelligence Operative / S.H.I.E.L.D. Asset]
[Threat Level: A+ (Hidden Potential: S)]
[Remark: Highly trained. Unwavering loyalty to the mission. Do Not Engage Physically/Verbally.]
Lucifer didn't need the system.
He knew. It was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. Her 'disguise' was flawless to the average human, designed to make her look like a high-level corporate assistant—exactly the kind of person you'd ignore in Stark Tower.
But to someone trained to sense intent, her relaxed posture was a masterclass in controlled readiness.
Lucifer paused, suppressing his instinct to activate his shield.
"Ah, Lucifer, meet Natalie,"
Tony said smoothly, introducing the disguised operative with a wave of his hand.
"She's my new Chief of Compliance. Making sure all my logistics are... above board."
Natasha looked up from her tablet, gave Lucifer a brief, dismissive nod, and offered a bland, corporate smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Mr. Morningstar. Just running an audit on the new logistics channels."
Lucifer gave a tight, professional nod in return.
"A pleasure, Natalie. I prefer everything to be transparent."
He understood the situation immediately. He had saved his life, but he hadn't saved his legal position.
The moment Stark stabilized his reactor, S.H.I.E.L.D. would descend.
Natasha wasn't auditing; she was investigating how the hell the volatile Vibranium isotopes were moved under their nose, and Lucifer was the prime suspect.
Tony was dragging him into the thickening plot, using him as a blind spot for S.H.I.E.L.D.
"So, the next delivery, Morningstar,"
Tony continued, his tone overly casual.
"I need you to move this small package. Highly sensitive. Top of the line encryption. I need to go to a private collector in San Francisco. A simple, coast-to-coast run."
Tony slid a secure, flash-encrypted data card across the desk.
[New High-Risk Delivery Alert]
[Target: San Francisco (Coast-to-Coast)]
[Reward: $40,000]
[Classification: High-Risk/Platinum-Tier]
[Danger: Elevated Surveillance.]
"Sounds straightforward,"
Lucifer said, picking up the card. He felt the weight of Natasha's unblinking, analytical gaze on him the entire time.
"It is,"
Tony confirmed.
"Just fly out tomorrow. Natalie will handle the flight arrangements and compliance paperwork."
Natasha gave him another sharp, fake smile.
"See you at the gate, Mr. Morningstar."
Lucifer knew the flight arrangements would be deliberately scrutinized, the paperwork would be a legal minefield, and the entire job was designed to see if he was an amateur smuggler or a professional threat.
Little Spoiler: Harley Quinn and Joker
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