"Well, well—if it isn't the legendary owner of the Devil May Cry Detective Agency himself! For a big shot like you to grace a little woman like me with your presence… truly, what an honor!"
Natasha smiled sweetly, her tone all honey and charm.
But Lucas could feel the killing intent hidden beneath that warmth. Behind that gentle smile lurked a predator ready to devour him whole. For a split second, he almost pulled out Judgment and fired just to be safe.
"Uh… I mean, here I am, right?" Lucas said nervously, trying to sound casual. He immediately scooted his chair farther away from her, terrified that if she snapped, he'd end up as lunch.
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Come with me."
"??"
Lucas blinked in confusion. "Go? Go where? We haven't even talked about the terms yet!"
The effort it took Natasha not to punch him right there could've powered a city.
"Our Director wants to see you. I'm taking you to him."
Her voice was taut with irritation, her jaw clenched.
"Wait—you mean your shiny bald director? You want me to go all the way to S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ? That's in Washington, isn't it? That's kinda far, don't you think?"
"The Director's here in New York," Natasha said curtly. "He's waiting for you in a secure safehouse."
Without another word, she stood and strode toward the door.
Lucas sighed helplessly, turned to Skye, and said, "Watch the place, I'll be back soon." Then he followed Natasha out.
---
As they drove, Lucas couldn't help himself.
"You know," he began, "your Director really has a persecution complex. Dude acts like the entire world's out to kill him. Hiding in safehouses, jumping at shadows—what does he think he is, made of gold?"
"Thank you, Mr. Norman," a deep, calm voice suddenly rumbled from the back seat, "for your insightful psychological evaluation. But I assure you, I don't suffer from any persecution delusions."
"AHHH—WHAT THE HELL!"
Lucas nearly jumped out of his skin. He slammed his head against the car roof and almost fell right into Natasha's lap.
Instinctively, he whipped out Judgment, ready to unload a few rounds into the mysterious voice.
"Lucas, what the hell are you doing?!" Natasha yelled, stomping on the brakes so hard that the car screeched to a stop. She grabbed Lucas's wrist just in time to keep him from firing.
"You sneaky, shady, one-eyed eggplant! Do you have any idea how close I was to dying of a heart attack? I've lived through demons, gods, and worse—and I was almost scared to death by you!"
Lucas shouted at the top of his lungs, the barrel of his gun nearly pressed against Nick Fury's forehead.
Fury, meanwhile, sat there as calm as ever, leaning back casually like it was a Sunday drive.
"Mr. Norman," he said dryly, "I've been in the car the whole time. You simply failed to notice me. Also, I'd appreciate it if you removed the gun. I don't believe I pose any real threat to you."
Lucas scowled but lowered his weapon. "Not my fault! You blend right into the seat! Maybe next time try some white upholstery or something. Then people might actually see you instead of dying of fright!"
"Mr. Norman," Fury replied, his expression even darker than usual, "let's refrain from personal attacks and focus on the mission."
If his face got any darker, he'd merge with the seat entirely.
"Weren't you supposed to be in a safehouse?" Lucas said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Why are you in the car? Is this your so-called safehouse?"
Natasha just shrugged, saying nothing.
"There's no safer place than this car," Fury replied evenly.
"Oh, really? You were about two seconds away from being shot in the face. Real secure, Director."
Lucas scoffed. He hadn't actually meant to shoot him—Judgment couldn't even harm regular humans—but Fury didn't need to know that.
A vein pulsed on Fury's forehead. He'd met talkative people before, but this kid's mouth was lethal.
"Enough. Let's talk about the mission—Stark's rescue." Fury clasped his hands together. "Agent Romanoff's already briefed you, I assume. You claim you can find Tony Stark?"
Lucas nodded casually. "Sure can. And I can bring him back alive. But…"
He rubbed his fingers together meaningfully.
"Money isn't an issue," Fury said. "Half a million dollars. Just bring Stark back safely."
Lucas stared at him like he'd just heard a bad joke. "Half a million? Are you serious? For that price, I'll bring you back one of his fingers—maybe this much." He held up his index finger for emphasis.
Fury's face went from dark to pitch-black. He'd known this guy would gouge him, but he hadn't expected him to bite this hard. He'd barely managed to squeeze ten million out of the World Security Council—half a million was generous!
"How much do you want?" Fury asked through gritted teeth, as if every word cost him blood.
Lucas raised one finger again. "Ten million. Not a cent less."
"WHAT?!"
Fury nearly exploded. Ten million?! That's literally the entire damn budget!
Lucas leaned back, feigning innocence. "Oh, so you do eat people, huh? Judging by that look, you're about to take a bite outta me."
"Forget it," Fury snapped. "Ten million? Not happening."
Lucas shrugged. "Fine, then let's change the payment. I don't need cash—just give me something from your inventory. You know what I mean."
He grinned, eyes glinting.
Fury's instincts kicked in immediately. "What item?"
"Item 084," Lucas said simply.
The words hit Fury like a bullet. His brow furrowed deeply. "How do you even know about 084?"
Lucas didn't answer. He just smiled faintly. "Doesn't matter. Are you giving it to me or not?"
Fury's single eye locked on him for a long, tense moment. The air in the car thickened, heavy with unspoken threats. Natasha's hand drifted toward her waist on reflex, fingers brushing the hidden weapon there.
"Absolutely not," Fury said at last, his tone sharp as a blade. "That object is classified. You can forget about it."
Lucas sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll compromise then. Lend it to me for three days—and throw in a million cash. In return, I'll bring Tony Stark back safe and sound."
Fury narrowed his eye, considering it. "…Alright. But if I lend you 084, one of my agents goes with you. No exceptions."
The money didn't even seem to bother him anymore. What he really wanted to know was—what the hell did Lucas want with that thing?
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