"Boss, Mrs. Lin next door lost her dog and hired us to find it…"
Skye, ponytail swinging, dressed in a black suit, had adapted to life at the Murdock Detective Agency with ridiculous speed.
That's how geniuses are.
They pick things up fast.
They do everything well.
They make you want to hate them a little.
"Got it." Finnian Murdock set down the commission form. "Two hundred bucks…"
"I'll go look right away."
This was daily routine for the agency. Of course, after jobs from Happy Hogan and Tony Stark, their income had skyrocketed to unprecedented heights.
Two hundred dollars and five million dollars? Two different universes.
And the hundred million Stark was paying him annually as a "consultant?" Absolutely unmatchable.
Still, Finnian wasn't the type to slack just because he was rich. Poverty in his past life had wired him to always keep moving.
He flicked on Radar Sense.
In an instant, the entire block unfolded into billions of data points: the asphalt, shop fronts, pedestrians, traffic. Three-dimensional models stacked together in perfect clarity.
He was a walking radar tower.
This was the world as seen by his brother Matt Murdock — like something out of cyberpunk noir.
Two and a half minutes later, he found the missing Pomeranian in a trash can.
Finnian plucked out the filthy ball of fur, staring at the waist-high trash can in disbelief.
"Some people really need to get their manners checked…"
By the end of the day, he had located three dogs and two gambling-addict husbands who hadn't come home, netting a total of $2,600.
"Boss, you're amazing!" Skye's eyes sparkled. "You're like a detective Jinchuriki!"
"Just average," Finnian said flatly.
Thirty to fifty grand a month was fine for normal people, but for a man bound to a pay-to-win system? It was pocket change.
Without real money, how could he become truly invincible?
"Come on, I'll treat you to a late-night snack."
"Thanks, Boss!"
Skye slipped her arm through his. Her light perfume drifted across his nose, leaving him momentarily dazed.
This wasn't illegal in America, right?
"Skye, what's poking me?"
"My pistol. Didn't you say the city's dangerous? I listened."
Finnian gave an approving nod. "Good habit. Keep it up."
They strolled a while longer, eventually stopping outside a neon-lit Chinese BBQ place: Li Mei Barbecue.
Finnian grinned. "Skye, how about barbecue?"
"Sure, I'm not picky."
What a good girl. Shame about her family.
Soon, the air was thick with the smell of grilled meat. They sat outside on the street, chewing happily through skewers and washing them down with cheap beer.
"Burp~" Finnian set down his glass, refreshed.
This — this was living.
Though, it'd be even better with an endless river of dollars in his account.
"I'm stuffed," Skye groaned, stretching. Her shirt rode up, exposing pale skin and the lithe curve of her waist.
Finnian's eyes lingered a second too long.
Youth really was intoxicating. Unlike the girlfriends over twenty-five he'd cycled through — all downhill after that. No wonder so many idiots obsessed over immortality.
"Let's head back."
"Okay," Skye said sweetly.
The night breeze stirred around them as she once again slipped her hand around his arm. Their shadows overlapped beneath the streetlight.
In front of the Murdock Agency, Maria Hill stood frowning. She was rehearsing how to convince her ex-boyfriend to join S.H.I.E.L.D.
Offer him agent privileges?
Useless. Finnian had zero respect for the U.S. government.
Money?
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s salaries were pathetic.
Then she remembered how she'd paid for all their hotel rooms when they were together and sighed before dialing Fury's number.
"He's not interested. But…"
"But what?" Fury's voice crackled impatiently.
"He mainly thinks the salary's too low."
"Double it. No—triple it."
Hill hesitated. "You want me to try again?"
"Go for it. You can do it."
After hanging up, Hill realized something horrible.
Her own salary was lower.
For once, Maria Hill wanted to curse out loud.
And when she saw Skye clinging to Finnian's arm, that urge spiked like a rocket.
Motherf—!
"You're back," Hill said stiffly.
"Ah—" Skye yelped and instantly dropped Finnian's arm like she'd touched a live wire.
Before either could explain, Hill pressed forward. "I have something I want to discuss."
Finnian unlocked the door. "Come in then."
Two and a half minutes later, Finnian was already shaking his head.
"You want me to be an agent? No, no, Hill. You know me. I'm a lazy man."
Join S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Join the walking colander already riddled with HYDRA holes?
That was like joining the KMT in 1949. When the truth broke, S.H.I.E.L.D. would be the world's punchline.
"Twenty thousand dollars a month," Hill offered, still persistent.
Finnian snorted. "Twenty thousand?"
That was an insult. His detective agency was clearing more than twice that on a slow month. Why would he chain himself to their mess?
Of the handful of people in S.H.I.E.L.D. who even interested him, Hill had long since been checked off the list — she'd been one of his many exes.
Skye was already under his wing.
And he had no desire to chase after Natasha Romanoff.
Honestly, twenty thousand dollar a month was decent by government standards. Most FBI field agents scraped by on less than five.
But Finnian was about to refuse again when—
Ding. [System Notice: Income from official work can be counted toward top-up funds.]
"Hiss…" Finnian drew in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing.
A dangerous thought flickered.
"Does corruption count too?"
Everyone knew Nick Fury's boldest play was his network of safe houses scattered across the globe.
And everyone knew Fury's official salary couldn't possibly cover that.
So how did he afford it?
The answer was obvious.
The system didn't respond, but Finnian already knew.
He leaned close to Hill, whispered a few things in her ear. She flushed crimson.
"Alright… just this once," she whispered back.
Tonight would not be ordinary.
Because Finnian Murdock had just discovered a new path to power: embezzlement, siphoned into his pay-to-win system.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s funds might be pocket change compared to America's full coffers, but it was a ladder.
A ladder that could take him higher.
If low-level agents couldn't skim much, he'd rise to high-level.
If high-level wasn't enough, he'd climb to Director.
If that wasn't enough, Congressman.
Senator.
Governor.
Until eventually… President.
If Thaddeus Ross could sit in the Oval Office, why couldn't he?
Finnian Murdock would drain America dry.
Ambition blazing, he swept Hill off her feet and carried her to the bedroom.
Passion needed an outlet.
She really was his lucky star. Without her, he'd never have realized this brilliant little loophole.
"I'm going to be the President of America!"