Morning sunlight streamed through the immense floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the top-floor office of Paul Tech in gold.
Outside the windows, the skyline of New York City was awakening in the dawn.
The digital world, however, was in the midst of a raging tempest.
"Paul Tech Declares War!"
"Big Three's Stock Prices Plummet by Thirty Billion Overnight!"
"New Tech King Crowned, Terminator of the Old Guard's Rules!"
Countless sensational headlines scrolled madly across the front pages of major news websites worldwide, every word a jolt to the public's nerves.
And the architect of this storm, Paul Stark, sat quietly in his office, a cup of steaming black tea placed before him.
His expression was as placid as a deep pool, as if the clamor of the outside world had nothing to do with him.
The office door opened softly. Wang Nuo strode in, his face a mixture of irrepressible excitement and a hint of confusion.
"Boss, those three companies are in complete chaos. Their boards are holding emergency meetings, probably racking their brains trying to figure out how we got our hands on that data."
Wang Nuo's voice was filled with admiration. To pull the rug out from under them overnight with such a precise, surgical strike... the sheer genius of the move left him in awe.
Paul lifted his teacup, gently blowing on the steam without a word.
"However..." Wang Nuo's tone shifted, his expression turning a little strange. "The administrative department at Stark Industries headquarters just sent over a personnel transfer notice."
"Oh?" Paul finally lifted his eyelids, a flicker of interest in his eyes.
"They've... assigned you a new 'personal assistant,' claiming it's to better take care of your daily life and ensure your safety." Wang Nuo found the words "personal assistant" absurd even as he said them.
With Paul's current status and level of security, did he really need Stark Industries to "care" for him? It sounded more like a joke.
"She's already downstairs. Name's Melinda May, a Chinese-American woman."
Melinda May.
As the name left Wang Nuo's lips, Paul's hand, holding the teacup, paused in mid-air for a fraction of a second.
His eyes instantly sharpened, a profound depth entering them, as if he could see through the office walls to the woman about to make her entrance downstairs.
Nick Fury.
That one-eyed Director.
He certainly worked fast.
Paul had barely finished turning the world upside down, and now his "babysitter" had come knocking.
Was Fury afraid he'd take things too far, sending someone to keep an eye on him? Or did he want a closer look to assess his threat level?
The corner of Paul's mouth curved into an almost imperceptible smirk.
Interesting.
"Send her up," Paul said coolly, placing the cup back on the table with a soft, crisp click.
Though filled with questions, Wang Nuo nodded immediately. "Right away, Boss."
He turned and left, and the office returned to silence.
"Baymax," Paul called out softly.
"I am here, sir," Baymax's gentle voice responded.
"Bring up all public records on Melinda May."
In the next second, a holographic projection materialized in the air before Paul.
The photo of a handsome, stern-faced Chinese-American woman appeared in the center of the screen.
Her resume was flawless.
A former ace pilot for the U.S. Air Force, holder of multiple flight records. After retiring, she entered the private security sector, serving at several of the world's top security firms. Proficient in close-quarters combat, firearms, tactical driving... There wasn't a single blemish on her record. It was as clean as a sheet of paper that had been wiped countless times.
"Her resume comes with a special recommendation from the Stark Industries Board's Security Advisory Department, with the highest possible evaluation," Baymax added.
Paul looked at the "model agent" resume and chuckled softly.
Security Advisory Department? After Obadiah's fall, that department had been infiltrated by so many different parties it was practically a sieve. It would have been all too easy for Nick Fury to plant someone inside.
The "Cavalry," the legendary Level 7 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent said to be capable of resolving a crisis single-handedly, was now posing as a personal assistant by his side.
Fury certainly held him in high regard.
Paul waved his hand, dismissing the hologram.
He stood up and walked to the massive window, looking down at the city below.
If you want to play, then I'll play along.
He just wondered what kind of expression this elite agent would have on her face when she discovered that the target she was supposed to be "supervising" knew every last detail about her.
...
In the meeting room.
Melinda May sat in silence, her back perfectly straight, hands resting flat on her knees. She was like a sculpture, devoid of emotion.
Her gaze was fixed forward, unfocused, and she radiated an icy aura that warned others to keep their distance.
The door opened.
Paul walked in, a polite, slightly detached smile on his face, fitting for his age.
"Ms. May? Hello, I'm Paul Stark."
Melinda stood up, her movements crisp and efficient, without a single wasted motion. She extended a hand, her voice so steady it was impossible to read any emotion. "Mr. Stark, a pleasure. I'm Melinda May. You can call me May."
Their hands clasped briefly and then parted.
Paul could feel the roughness of her skin, the calluses on the web of her hand left by the long-term grip of a weapon.
"Please, sit." Paul gestured, then casually sat on the sofa opposite her, his body relaxed against the backrest. "Stark Industries is remarkably efficient. Just yesterday, I was thinking I could use someone to fetch me tea, and today, they send over someone of your caliber, Ms. May."
His tone was light, as if joking, but his eyes were silently observing her.
Melinda's expression didn't change, as if she hadn't caught the sarcasm in his words.
"My duty is to ensure your convenience and safety, Mr. Stark," she replied, her answer watertight.
"Safety?" Paul raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "I'm very safe here. You've probably heard about my security system. As for convenience..."
He paused, then shifted gears, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced.
"Ms. May, what can you do?"
The question was abrupt, almost confrontational.
For the first time, an almost imperceptible flicker crossed Melinda's eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
"I can cook, drive, provide basic medical first aid, and handle daily administrative tasks. If you require, I can also serve as your personal bodyguard."
"Sounds good," Paul nodded, seeming satisfied.
He stood up and started walking towards his private workshop.
"Come with me. Since you're my personal assistant, you should get familiar with your work environment."
Melinda followed without a word.
The private workshop was filled with an air of futuristic technology. Holographic projections flickered and intersected in the air, several robotic arms were meticulously assembling a complex component, and in the corner, Baymax stood quietly in his charging station.
Paul walked over to a workbench where several silver metal spheres, each the size of a fist, were laid out.
"My latest little toys. Floating electromagnetic cannons, still in the debugging phase," Paul said, picking one up and tossing it in his hand as if introducing a simple collectible. "Their instantaneous acceleration is high, but the stability isn't quite there yet."
With that, he placed the metal sphere back down and pressed a button on the console.
A basketball-sized drone slowly rose into the air inside the workshop, hovering in place.
"Hand me that red calibrator over there," Paul said to Melinda without turning around, pointing to a workbench on the other side of the room.
Melinda didn't hesitate, striding towards the calibrator.
Just as she reached the center of the workshop, less than two meters from the hovering drone, everything changed.
The floating drone suddenly emitted a shrill electronic screech, its body flashing red. Then, like an arrow loosed from a bow, it shot through the air with a piercing whine, aimed directly at Melinda's head!
It all happened too fast for an ordinary person to react.
But Melinda was no ordinary person.
At that last possible second, her body erupted with a terrifying reaction speed that utterly contradicted her calm exterior.
She didn't dodge. She simply canted her body to the side, twisting at an impossible angle as her right hand shot out like lightning, snatching the drone from the air with perfect precision.
*Zzzt—*
The powerful kinetic energy and electric current burst in her palm, but her hand was as steady as a rock. She forcefully stopped the out-of-control drone in mid-air, less than ten centimeters from her temple.
The entire workshop fell into a dead silence.
Paul slowly turned around, the same unruffled expression on his face, and looked at Melinda, who was still holding the drone in a ready stance.
"Oh. It seems the stability really is an issue," he said calmly, as if the dangerous incident had been nothing more than a harmless experimental error.
He walked up to Melinda and took the now-silent drone from her hand to inspect it.
"Quick reflexes. Good skills," Paul said, lifting his head and looking directly into Melinda's eyes. "Better than any of my previous assistants."
Melinda slowly lowered her hand, a trace of gravity entering her eyes for the first time.
She looked at the young man before her, so much younger than herself, and alarm bells screamed in her mind.
Was that an accident, or... a test?
"It seems my job will be very challenging," Melinda said, reining in all her emotions, her voice returning to its placid state.
"The challenge is just beginning," Paul smiled, a playful and profound meaning in his expression.
He turned and walked to another corner of the workshop, where a vintage mechanical safe stood, seeming completely out of place amidst the room's futuristic technology.
"Since you're my personal assistant, you'll need to demonstrate your abilities before I can entrust my life to you."
Paul leaned against the safe, his arms crossed.
"First task. It's simple."
He pointed to the safe.
"Make me a cup of coffee. My favorite Blue Mountain No. 1 beans are inside."
Melinda's brow furrowed almost invisibly.
Paul pretended not to notice and continued, "Oh, right. The combination... I've forgotten it."
He pointed to a full set of sophisticated lock-picking tools and electronic cracking devices on a nearby tool bench.
"The tools are at your disposal. No brute force; I detest noise."
"And," Paul's gaze fell on the safe's mirror-like black finish, "don't scratch the paint. My father painted it himself back in the day. It has sentimental value."
After speaking, he didn't look at Melinda again. He walked back to his chair, sat down leisurely, and waited for the show to begin.
The air seemed to freeze in that moment.
Melinda stood in place, looking from the formidable safe to the "employer" sitting in the chair, whose eyes held a depth that didn't belong to a teenager.
She finally understood. This mission was going to be ten thousand times more difficult than the file had described.