Separated by the one-way tinted glass, Phil Coulson felt like a laboratory mouse tossed into a Petri dish.
Even though the teenager outside couldn’t see in, the chill of being locked onto by an apex predator surged wildly up his spine.
He didn’t move.
He was waiting.
According to his files, the target was suspected of possessing pyrokinesis, with a danger rating of Level 4.
Yet this kid had just laid bare all the secrets of this heavily modified vehicle with a single sentence.
“Not opening up?”
Outside the car window, Leon’s voice sounded slightly muffled.
He seemed to have lost his last shred of patience.
Raising his left hand, his finger flicked the strange dial on his wristwatch.
No fiery orange glow.
Only an eerie, digital, fluorescent green hue.
Coulson’s pupils shrank to pinpricks, his finger instinctively twitching toward the trigger of his tranquilizer gun.
Too late.
The teenager’s body…
collapsed.
Not into a mess of flesh and blood, but instantly liquified into a stream of black-and-green metallic fluid.
Defying the laws of physics, it squeezed forcefully through the microscopic gaps in the car door weatherstripping!
*Sizzle—*
The interior lights flashed wildly.
The red alarm light blew out the instant it lit up.
“Warning!
Firewall under physical…
*bzzzt*…
system resetting…
*bzzzt*…”
The synthesized electronic voice degraded into an ear-splitting screech of garbled code.
Every dashboard gauge, screen, and even the comms channel inside Coulson’s earpiece went dead black simultaneously.
The next second.
Countless green streams of data flooded the screens in a frenzy, eventually converging into a green circular emblem that took over the entire center console.
The liquid matter gathered, stretched, and hardened on the front passenger seat.
The black fluid reconstructed the outline of Leon Parker, but circuit patterns flickered beneath his skin, and his eyes no longer bore human pupils, but cascading waterfalls of scrolling data.
“Upgrade.”
Leon’s voice came with its own reverb, sounding like a synthesized electronic voice echoing from the depths of a speaker.
He raised his hand, his fingertips lightly tapping the dead dashboard.
“Did SHIELD write its firewall in DOS from the last century?
I haven’t even started trying, and it already caved.”
*Click.*
The locks on all four car doors popped open at once.
Coulson held up his gun, his wrist stiff.
Inside the cramped cabin, facing a silicon-based lifeform capable of physically merging with and rewriting any electronic device, the tranquilizer gun in his hand was less useful than a stick of firewood.
“I think we need to find somewhere else to talk.” Coulson lowered the gun and forced his signature professional smile, though his back was drenched in cold sweat.
“We’re still outside a high school, after all, Mr.
Parker.”
The black circuit lines on Leon’s skin quickly receded, restoring his normal human complexion.
He leaned back, sinking into the rigid tactical seat.
“Don’t take me to one of those interrogation rooms with a one-way mirror and instant coffee.”
Leon turned his head, his gaze sweeping over Coulson’s slightly pale knuckles.
“I still need to go home for dinner.
May made beef stew.
If I’m late, she’ll nag me all night.”
…
Twenty minutes later.
Somewhere in Manhattan, a safehouse.
It was decorated like an upscale therapy clinic—beige wallpaper, leather sofas, even damned Mozart playing in the background.
Yet a red stream of data flickered through the depths of Leon’s eyes.
Three layers of lead plates lined the walls, neural gas nozzles were hidden inside the vents, and inside the decorative chandelier overhead, at least four high-definition cameras stared dead at his crown.
Coulson brought over two glasses of water.
“Leon Parker, sixteen years old, honor student at Midtown High.”
Coulson sat opposite him, opening a paper folder to regain control of the conversation.
“Previous assessment reports indicated you were a pyrokinetic.
But earlier in the car…
was that technological power?
Or some kind of symbiote?”
Coulson’s eyes sharpened.
“Multiple abilities?
Or is that some kind of high-tech gear?”
Leon didn’t touch the water.
He crossed his legs, lazily tapping his fingers on his knee.
“Is this how SHIELD treats its guests?”
“We handle unknown threats,” Coulson corrected gently.
“And we’re protecting you.
Kids with superpowers rarely live past twenty—they either lose control and blow themselves up, or end up dissected by illegal organizations.”
“Like Hydra?”
Leon tossed out the word casually.
The room fell dead silent.
The smile froze on Coulson’s face, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints in an instant.
“That’s a World War II historical term,” he said tightly.
Leon leaned forward, his eyes looking straight through Coulson’s soul.
“Then why are there three backdoors embedded deep in this safehouse’s security system source code, activatable only with specific permissions?
The code signature is a variant of ‘H.Y.D.R.A.’ Does your one-eyed director know he’s steering a leaking ship?”
Coulson snapped the folder shut.
This teenager knew too much.
Enough to make him feel a chill of dread.
“Name your terms.” Coulson abandoned probing and got straight to the point.
“You didn’t come looking for us just to mock our cybersecurity.”
“I want insurance.”
Leon dropped his flippant demeanor, his tone turning cold.
“I want Level 10 family protection from SHIELD, staffed exclusively by people brought in by that black guy.
Covering the house in Forest Hills, Queens, and the two people living inside—Ben Parker and May Parker.”
“Level 10?” Coulson frowned.
“That’s reserved for key witnesses and families of high-ranking agents.
We’d need to reassign two satellites and at least three rotating tactical teams.
What makes you think we’d pay that kind of price for a high school student?”
“Because of this.”
Leon stood up abruptly.
This time, he didn’t turn the dial; he triggered the transformation purely with his mind.
*BOOM!*
Red muscle ballooned like inflating balloons, tearing through the air with a sonic crack.
His original six-foot height surged instantly to nearly ten feet, and four massive, hydraulic-vise-like arms burst from his torso, his dark red skin hardened like solid rock.
Four Arms.
A towering shadow engulfed Coulson.
Leon—or rather, this red titan—merely rested his bottom-most hand lightly on the heavy solid-wood coffee table in front of him.
He didn’t even exert force.
Just his weight.
*CRACK.*
The two-inch-thick solid wood tabletop shattered like a cracker, and the steel frame beneath it collapsed into a mangled heap of scrap metal.
“Because I can tear this building down and play with it like building blocks.”
Four eyes glared down at the tiny agent, his voice echoing in the cramped space like thunder, rattling Coulson’s eardrums.
“Or, because I can deal with the monsters your bullets can’t pierce.”
Coulson sat on the sofa without backing away an inch.
Though his heart rate spiked to 120, he maintained his agent composure.
“Violence doesn’t solve every problem, Mr.
Parker,” Coulson remarked, looking at the four arms bursting with destructive force.
“Though…
displaying power is certainly part of a negotiation.”
A red flash flared.
The behemoth vanished.
Leon transformed back into the hoodie-wearing teenager, sitting back on the sofa as if the red monster from moments ago had merely been a holographic projection.
“I won’t join SHIELD, I won’t sign my life away, and I won’t accept any of your supervisory orders,” Leon laid down his terms in an unquestionable voice.
“I’m strictly an off-the-books consultant.
Leave me alone normally—I still need to get into college.
I’m actually thinking of studying law; I hear it pays well in America.
But if something shows up in New York that you can’t handle—like an alien invasion, or some mad scientist trying to turn the city into a reptile zoo—I’ll step in.”
He paused, his eyes turning dangerously sharp.
“As for my family…
SHIELD is the first line of defense.
If any faction—whether it’s Hydra or any other trash—hurts a single hair on their heads…”
Leon pointed at Coulson’s earpiece.
“Tell Nick Fury I’ll pull SHIELD up by its roots, regardless of whether it’s named Strategic Homeland or Hydra.”
Coulson pressed his earpiece, clearly listening to instructions from his superior.
A few seconds of silence followed.
Over the earpiece came Nick Fury’s distinct raspy voice: “Agree to it.
And ask him if he has any suggestions for an internal purge.”
Coulson cut off the transmission, pulled a black rectangular device from his inner suit pocket, and slid it beside the pile of splintered wood.
“This is an encrypted communicator directly linked to my private frequency.
Your family will be placed on the ‘Asset Protection List,’ codename ‘Nest.’ As long as SHIELD is operational, no one will lay a finger on them.”
Coulson paused, adding, “Furthermore…
regarding the intel on Hydra…
he hopes to hear more details.”
Leon picked up the communicator and weighed it in his hand.
“Tell that braised egghead to mend his own fence first.
Some bugs are growing right out of the roots.”
Leon stood up, dusted the wood shavings off his pants, and turned toward the exit.
“Oh, by the way,” he stopped at the doorway and glanced back at the mess on the floor, “this table goes on the expense account, right?
Don’t bill it to me.”
…
7:00 PM.
The aroma of stewed beef filled the Parker household dining room.
Uncle Ben was watching the evening news, which reported an inexplicable drop in Oscorp’s stock price today.
Aunt May served Leon a brimful bowl of beef, its rich, savory broth glistening alluringly under the light.
Peter wasn’t back yet—probably off playing his “friendly neighborhood” role somewhere.
“How was school today?” Ben asked casually, putting down his newspaper.
“Not bad,” Leon speared a carrot with his fork and popped it into his mouth.
“I went to a club interview.
The interviewer was a bit stiff, but I passed in the end.” *(Doesn’t SHIELD count as a club?)*
“That’s good,” May smiled, gently rubbing Leon’s hair.
“It’s good to participate in more activities.
Don’t coop yourself up in your room all day.”
Leon felt the warmth of May’s hand, feeling its familiar roughness and tender warmth.
He glanced out the window.
Night had fallen deep.
In his [Tactical Analysis] vision, three green markers were taking positions in the shadows around the house.
They were SHIELD agents—mediocre skill level, but at least an official early warning network.
As long as they were there, Hydra and Norman Osborn wouldn’t dare move lightheartedly, as doing so meant full exposure.
A truly perfect mutual check-and-balance.
The atmosphere at home was warm and tranquil.
The sound of the television and the clinking of cutlery formed the anchor of this world.
Leon took a large bite of beef, his heartbeat calm and steady.
He had sold his services for a good price.
But this was only the beginning.
The red data stream flashed across his retina once more.
[Warning: Energy index in Oscorp’s underground laboratory surging abnormally.]
[Warning: Human Enhancement Formula synthesis progress — 99%.]
Leon didn’t stop chewing his beef, but a cold glint flashed in the depths of his eyes.
Norman Osborn.
Looks like someone is eager to be his first whetstone.
…
Meanwhile.
Oscorp Tower, sub-level 30.
There was no warm lighting here, only the eerie glow emitted by harsh, pale fluorescent tubes.
The air was thick with the pungent stench of chemical reagents—sulfur, ozone, and a faint, indescribable odor of rot.
Norman Osborn stood before a massive glass partition, staring intently at the vial of emerald-green liquid inside the culture chamber.
That was his hope.
And his ticket to hell.
“Those fools on the board…
they want to cancel my project?” Norman’s face reflected on the glass, twisted into a hideous sneer.
“They want to take my company?
Take my life’s work?”
“No…
no one can take it away.”
A sinister voice echoed inside his mind.
In the empty laboratory, there was only his long, stretched-out shadow.
“Who’s there?”
“Drink it,” the voice whispered tantalizingly, carrying an irresistible magnetism.
“Drink it, and show them what true power is.”
With trembling hands, Norman opened the valve to the chamber.
The green formula in his hand glowed with an eerie light, like an evil eye blinking in the dark.
On the monitor nearby, profile photos of Peter Parker and Leon Parker scrolled by—the results of his previous investigation.
“Two interesting little bugs…” Norman’s lips stretched unnaturally wide, grinning all the way to his ears, unleashing a hair-raising, psychotic laugh.
“The world is too quiet.”
“It’s time…
to throw some bombs and make some noise!”
He threw his head back and downed the boiling green poison in a single gulp.
*BOOM!*
The lab lights snapped off instantly.
In the darkness, only a pair of terrifyingly bright, yellow reptilian eyes flashed wildly.