“Okay,” Daisy said.
“So.
Inhumans.”
Max took the chair that faced the door, the way he always did, and watched her tap the tablet in her hand like she was about to ask for something she didn’t expect to get easily.
Six faces appeared on the wall screen behind her.
“SHIELD’s got a list of people who’ve been through terrigenesis and aren’t actively trying to kill anyone.
I need to build a team.
Fast.
HYDRA’s recruiting too, and they’re not picky about the ‘not trying to kill anyone’ part.”
She looked around the room.
Four analysts, including Max.
Two field handlers.
Simmons in the corner with a data pad.
“Problem is,” Daisy continued, “vetting takes time we don’t have.
Background checks are fine for civilian analysts no offense but Inhumans?
Half of them have powers that don’t show up on a form.
The other half are lying about what they can do because they’re scared we’ll lock them up.” She set the tablet down.
“I need help screening these six before HYDRA gets to them.
You’ve got files.
Read them.
Flag anything that doesn’t reconcile.”
Max opened the file on his terminal.
The first candidate: Mira Espinosa, 27, Los Angeles.
Terrigenesis three months ago.
Reported power: enhanced reflexes.
No criminal record.
Employment history clean.
A photo that looked like it had been taken at a DMV.
The violet was there before he consciously reached for it.
Faint.
Steady.
The warm hum that said Inhuman, present, not hostile.
He blinked and it was gone, filed under the part of his awareness he’d learned to keep quiet.
He scanned the file.
Nothing wrong.
Nothing that flagged.
Mira Espinosa read clean.
He made a note.
Moved to the next.
Across the table, one of the other analysts Gutierrez was three paragraphs into the same file Max had just cleared.
Simmons was cross-referencing medical data.
The field handlers were arguing over whether a gap in employment history was a red flag or just bad luck.
Max slowed his read.
Opened a second window.
Let his eyes track over irrelevant paragraphs while he counted to thirty.
The second candidate: Aaron Xu, 31, San Francisco.
Reported power: temporary invisibility, under ten seconds.
The file said cooperative but evasive during intake.
The violet pulsed.
Brighter.
A flicker at the edge that didn’t match the rest.
Max leaned back.
Kept his face neutral.
Opened the intake transcript and read it line by line, the way a careful analyst would.
Intake officer: Describe your ability.
Xu: I can go invisible.
Maybe eight, nine seconds.
Officer: Demonstrate.
Xu: Not right now.
I’m tired.
It drains me.
Officer: When you’re ready.
The transcript ended there.
Max pulled the medical scan.
Normal human baseline.
No anomalies.
The violet said otherwise.
The flicker was still there a second signature, faint and wrong, like a note played half a step flat.
Max made a note: Request follow-up demonstration.
Intake claim unverified.
He moved to the third file.
Forced himself to read every line twice.
Gutierrez finished the first file.
Started the second.
Max was already on his fifth.
Daisy walked the room.
Stopped at Max’s terminal.
“How many?”
“Five,” Max said.
“One flagged for follow-up.”
She leaned in.
Read his note on Xu.
“Why?”
“No demonstration on record,” Max said.
“Intake says he was evasive.
Could be nerves.
Could be something else.”
Daisy nodded.
Moved on.
By the time the room cleared two hours later, Max had processed all six files.
Gutierrez had finished three.
Simmons had cross-referenced two.
The field handlers were still arguing over employment gaps.
Max’s assessments, printed and stacked on Daisy’s desk:
1.
Mira Espinosa: Clear.
Recommend intake.
2.
Aaron Xu: Follow-up required.
Demonstration under controlled conditions.
3.
Jonas Trent: Clear with reservations.
Monitor for power growth.
4.
Lian Zhou: Clear.
5.
Marco Reyes: Do not approach.
Hostile indicator in file metadata.
6.
Sophia Ruiz: Clear.
Expedite intake before external contact.
Daisy picked up the stack.
Read through it once.
Looked at Max.
“Hostile indicator in file metadata?” she said.
Max pulled up the Reyes file.
Pointed to a line in the intake notes.
“Officer noted subject became agitated when asked about family.
Metadata shows the file was accessed twice by an unlogged terminal two days after intake.
Someone’s interested in him who shouldn’t be.”
Daisy stared at the screen.
“HYDRA.”
“Maybe,” Max said.
“Or someone selling to HYDRA.
She made a note on her tablet.
Looked back at the stack.
“You did this in two hours.”
“I read fast,” Max said.
“Gutierrez reads fast.
You read like you already knew half of what was in there.”
Max met her eyes.
Calm.
Even.
“I didn’t.
I just didn’t stop to second-guess the parts that were already clear.”
Daisy studied him.
The look lasted three seconds longer than comfortable.
Then she picked up the stack and walked out.
Simmons appeared at his desk ten minutes later.
Set down a mug of water.
“Daisy asked me to run a secondary check on your flags.”
“And?”
“Aaron Xu came in this morning for follow-up.
Demonstrated invisibility under observation.
Also demonstrated a second ability he didn’t disclose at intake: short-range pyrokinesis.
Small flames, controllable, but not something you want to miss in a field op.” She tapped the mug.
“Drink.
You’ve been staring at a screen for two hours without blinking.”
Max drank.
The water was cold and tasted like nothing.
“How did you know?” Simmons asked.
“I didn’t,” Max said.
“I flagged an unverified claim and evasive behavior.
The rest was him.”
Simmons made a note on her pad.
Paused.
“Daisy’s building something.
If you’re part of it, I need to know you’re not going to burn out halfway through.”
“I won’t,” Max said.
“You said that yesterday.
Then you spent the night shaking off a tremor you still haven’t explained.”
Max said nothing.
Simmons sighed.
Picked up her pad.
“Mandatory rest intervals still apply.
Eight hours between deep-focus tasks.
I don’t care how fast you read.”
She left.
Max closed the terminal.
Leaned back.
The violet was quiet now ambient, diffuse, the way it always was when no Inhuman was close.
He could feel it the way he could feel the hum of the server banks two rooms over: present, ignorable, part of the background noise of the Playground.
Daisy would use him again.
She’d already decided he was useful.
A little strange, maybe.
Too fast, maybe.
But useful enough to keep around.
Max closed the tab on Aaron Xu’s file and let the queue refill itself.
His hands were steady.
The headache was gone.
And somewhere in a San Francisco intake room, Aaron Xu was explaining to a very patient field officer why he’d thought it was fine to forget about the fire.
Max’s note sat in Daisy’s file: Follow-up required.
He hadn’t written I knew.
He’d written verify.
The difference, he thought, was the whole job.