In the top-floor conference room of Stark Industries, the air conditioning was blasting, but for the company's general manager sitting across from Paul—a portly white man named Henderson—beads of sweat still trickled profusely down his forehead.
His gaze was unfocused, his posture as rigid as a wax figure.
Beside him sat an Asian woman, her posture perfectly straight, her demeanor as calm as still water, as if everything around her was of no concern. She was Melinda May.
"Henderson," Paul said, lounging back into the sofa. He crossed his legs and tapped a dull rhythm on his knee. "You've been with Stark Industries for twenty years. You should know my rules better than anyone. On my private floor, not even a fly gets in without my say-so."
His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a cold awl, piercing Henderson's nerves with precision.
"So, explain to me... what's the deal with this woman?"
Henderson flinched almost imperceptibly. He pushed up his glasses and began to speak in a monotone, as if reciting a textbook. "Mr. Stark, Ms. May is the top candidate recommended by the headhunting firm. Her résumé is impeccable. She is perfectly suited for the position of your personal assistant, capable of providing you with comprehensive support."
"Comprehensive support?" Paul chuckled, leaning forward. His deep-set eyes glinted with an all-knowing light. "I recall that last month, you wrote three separate reports and held two meetings just to decide whether to switch the brand of coffee machine in the break room. And now you have the nerve to decide on my *personal assistant* for me? Who gave you the courage?"
Henderson's lips moved, his eyes growing even more vacant. "It was... the most logical decision, made after... careful evaluation... to ensure your quality of life and safety."
"Logical."
A playful smirk touched Paul's lips.
He suddenly reached out and snapped his fingers right in front of Henderson's face.
*Snap!*
The sharp sound echoed in the quiet room, but Henderson didn't so much as blink, his gaze remaining fixed straight ahead.
Hypnosis. A rather clumsy psychological suggestion, at that.
Paul understood. It seemed that old fox, Nick Fury, couldn't restrain himself after all and had sent someone to get close to him.
"Alright, your part is done, Henderson." Paul leaned back into the sofa again and waved a hand dismissively. "You can go. Head down to Finance, approve a bonus for yourself, and tell them it's from me."
Like a robot receiving a command, Henderson stiffly rose to his feet, turned, and walked out of the conference room with the same rigid gait.
The moment the door clicked shut, only Paul and Melinda May remained.
The air seemed to freeze.
"Mr. Stark." Melinda was the first to speak, her voice calm and rippleless, like the surface of a bottomless lake.
Paul finally pulled his gaze from the door and let it fall on her, openly looking her up and down.
"Melinda May. S.H.I.E.L.D. Level Seven agent, codename 'The Cavalry.' Proficient in multiple forms of combat and firearms, an expert pilot, and an interrogation specialist. Oh, and your résumé also says you're skilled in Chinese cuisine and French pastries. Looks like you people really pulled out all the stops to keep me happy."
Paul recited her details word for word. With each one, Melinda's eyes tightened fractionally. Yet, her face maintained a perfect, professional smile, as if Paul were merely reading the weather forecast.
"It seems you've done some research on me."
"The feeling's mutual," Paul shrugged. "What did you expect? That I'm some clueless fourteen-year-old you can fool with any old excuse?"
He picked up a glass of water from the table, took a sip, and continued, "Let me guess. Fury sent you to figure out the power vacuum within Stark Industries since my father's disappearance? Or to find out how much black tech is hidden inside that robot of mine I call 'Baymax'? Or... are you just interested in me?"
Melinda's breathing hitched, the change almost imperceptible.
The boy before her was a completely different type from his father, Tony Stark. Tony was flamboyant and overt, like a star on the verge of exploding. Paul, on the other hand, was reserved and profound, like a black hole that swallowed all light.
He had seen through everything, yet there was no anger, no move to throw her out. He was simply like a hunter, watching his trapped prey with keen interest.
"My mission is to ensure your safety," Melinda replied, sidestepping all the pointed questions with the most official and unassailable answer.
"Safety?" Paul laughed as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world. "In this place, *I* am the safest thing there is. The one who needs protection has never been me."
His laughter died, and his eyes turned cold in an instant.
"Alright, playtime's over." Paul stood up and straightened his collar. "Since you're so determined to stay, then stay."
The decision took even the ever-composed Melinda by surprise.
She had prepared dozens of contingency plans, from forceful negotiations after being exposed to using emotional leverage for a subtler infiltration. The one thing she hadn't anticipated was being hired so... casually.
"You... agree?"
"Why not?" Paul countered. "I happen to need a bodyguard who can fight, and who can also do my laundry and cooking. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent sounds more useful than any domestic help on the market. However..."
His tone shifted, and he started walking toward the door.
"Since you're staying, you'll follow my rules."
Melinda followed. One behind the other, they walked down a long corridor until they reached a massive, seamless door made of a special alloy.
This was Paul's private laboratory.
Paul stopped and turned to face Melinda. The playful look on his face had vanished completely, replaced by an authority that permitted no argument.
"This is my lab. My territory. Everything I have is in there. From now on, you only need to remember one rule."
He raised a single finger, bringing it so close it almost touched the tip of her nose.
"Without my permission, you do not come within ten meters of this door. It recognizes my voiceprint and iris scan only. It won't respond to anyone else. Don't try to hack it, don't try to force it, and don't even think about using some clever trick to get inside."
His gaze was sharp as a knife, as if it could pierce through her facade and stare directly into her soul.
"If you cross that line..."
Paul paused, that inscrutable smile returning to his lips.
"You'll face the consequences."
Melinda met his gaze, alarm bells ringing in her mind.
This wasn't a warning. It was a challenge.
He was laying his most vital secrets right in front of her, then drawing an absolute red line. It was a blatant provocation, an invitation for her to make a mistake.
"Understood, Mr. Stark," she replied calmly, burying all of her emotions deep inside.
"Good." Paul nodded in satisfaction. "Welcome aboard, Agent May. Your first assignment: go get me two cheeseburgers. Double patty, extra pickles. I'm hungry now."
With that, he turned to the cold metal door and spoke a single, soft sentence in a language Melinda had never heard before.
*VMMMM—*
The metal door slid open without a sound, revealing a deep darkness behind it, dotted with countless faint blue lights, like a starfield. Paul walked inside, and the door immediately slid shut behind him, leaving not even a crack.
In the hallway, Melinda was left standing alone.
She glanced down at her hands. These hands had snapped the necks of countless enemies and disarmed the most intricate bombs.
But now, she felt a chill run through them.
This mission's target was a thousand times more difficult than his file described.
This wasn't an infiltration and surveillance mission at all. It was a game of cat and mouse.
The question was, who was the cat, and who was the mouse—the one that looked harmless but had already laid an inescapable trap?