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A brown, old-model Cadillac with a license plate flagged by an all-points bulletin appeared on the streets of Los Angeles. A patrol car immediately lit up its siren and lights and pulled it over.
The wanted "dangerous individual," Stark Industries' film subsidiary CEO Henry Brown, was sitting in the driver's seat. Even more dangerous—there was a fully grown adult tiger in the back seat.
The rookie officer riding along nearly drew his gun and emptied the magazine on the spot.
But among America's three strangest major cities—New York, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas—law enforcement officers tend to be both well-traveled and unusually bold. The veteran cop quickly noticed that the tiger was chained in the back seat.
Don't do anything stupid, and there won't be a problem.
He immediately stopped his rookie partner.
He understood very well that the bulletin itself was suspicious. It only said the target was "dangerous" and needed to be apprehended. It didn't say what crime had been committed, how dangerous the suspect was, or provide any convincing justification—just a blanket order to grab the man.
The whole thing felt like a high-level power struggle, with decisions being made far above their pay grade.
If the charges were airtight, then law enforcement should act impartially. But in cases like this—where the situation might still turn around—you still act by the book, but you don't make a mortal enemy out of someone who might bounce back.
Fortunately, the suspect only asked for a lawyer and otherwise cooperated fully. The only real problem was the tiger—something even seasoned LAPD officers didn't know how to handle.
In the end, they called in animal control hunters. One tranquilizer dart solved the issue. Throughout the process, Kitty behaved like a well-fed house cat—calm and nonthreatening—so much so that even the animal-handling professionals felt no danger.
And so Henry Brown was arrested by the LAPD and taken to the police station, where he waited to see whether the FBI or his lawyer would arrive first.
---
Henry contacted a lawyer himself using the public phone at the station.
In the United States, practicing attorneys must hold licenses for the states they operate in; they can't freely practice across state lines.
Stark Industries' projects, however, weren't limited to any single state. As a result, its legal advisory structure consisted of multiple partner law firms, prepared to respond to issues wherever they arose.
At Stark Pictures in Los Angeles, routine business matters and commercial disputes had their own in-house legal counsel. But for problems outside the scope of ordinary business, they had to rely on the more comprehensive legal team of Stark Industries proper.
Henry called the Los Angeles representative of Stark Industries' legal advisory group—the managing partner of a well-known law firm.
---
Meanwhile, the LAPD chief informed the FBI's Los Angeles field office that Henry Brown had been apprehended and told them to send someone to pick him up.
Owen Davis, Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the FBI's Los Angeles office—the de facto head of the Bureau in the city—was genuinely surprised by the news.
Henry Brown was supposed to be a bulletproof mutant. And now he'd been arrested by a bunch of street cops?
But from Owen's perspective, not catching him would have been good news. Now that they had him, Owen had no idea what to do.
At times like this, the only option was to dump the problem back onto the organization that had impersonated the FBI and issued a shoot-on-sight order for the man.
But the FBI couldn't simply hand Henry over.
That organization wasn't officially recognized, had no lawful authority, and there was no legitimate channel for transferring a detainee.
Besides, the FBI's pursuit of Henry Brown had mostly been opportunistic—riding the wave after someone else made the first move. Everything they'd done stayed within a vague gray zone of "reasonable procedure," but there had been no court order at any point.
So the only way forward was an off-the-books transfer.
In plain terms: calling in favors.
---
If Owen wanted to talk favors with that shadowy organization, he couldn't approach their Los Angeles front man—the thin, slippery Director Keller.
The best contact was an old war buddy.
Nick Fury.
Owen immediately redialed a number he'd already called more times than he cared to count.
He assumed it would go like the previous attempts—ringing endlessly with no answer.
This time, however, he was calling a mobile phone rather than a landline. After about ten rings, it would normally roll over to voicemail.
But only a few rings in, the call connected.
And a familiar voice came through, delivering familiar words in a familiar tone:
"Motherf— you white monkey! Do you have any idea how busy I've been these past few days? Busier than a damn Jew! You've called me this many times—you'd better have something important, or I swear this black grandpa's gonna kick your ass red!"
Owen Davis ignored the torrent of profanity.
Back in the trenches, the dirtier the language, the closer the bond. When it came to enemies, nobody wasted breath—just a burst of bullets and that was it.
But this call was serious business.
Owen spoke as if claiming credit.
"Hey, I helped you catch the guy you wanted taken care of. I think that's worth a good bottle of liquor—assuming you want him transferred."
"…Who?"
The tone alone allowed Owen to picture the look of confusion on Nick Fury's face.
"Henry Brown."
"WHO?!"
That didn't sound like surprise or delight.
It sounded like panic—the same tone Fury had used years ago when Owen told him they were surrounded.
Owen felt a sinking feeling.
"I'm saying we caught Henry Brown. Well—LAPD did. I've already sent people over to handle the transfer."
"Motherf—! Why the hell did you arrest that guy?!"
"Well… wasn't he your target? From what I heard, when your people went out using FBI credentials, they even issued a shoot-to-kill order. It's just that against a bulletproof mutant, our equipment wasn't exactly—"
"That's enough, Owen. I get it now."
On the other end, Nick Fury rubbed his forehead, finally remembering the mess the Skrulls had left behind—exactly what Barbara Morse had warned him about.
Barbara Morse's situation was easy to resolve. He'd return to headquarters, file a report detailing the entire incident from start to finish, and with the added credit of helping recover the Tesseract, her case would quietly disappear—even though she hadn't seen it through to the end.
But Henry Brown…
That was something Nick Fury had genuinely forgotten.
And he certainly hadn't expected things to spiral this far while his attention was elsewhere.
"…All right, Fury," Owen Davis said cautiously. "You're going to have to explain this to me. Because I'm starting to think I really screwed up."
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