The airlock hissed open, releasing a fine mist of antiseptic spray.
Michelle stepped into Luther's office, looking exhausted. Her usually immaculate bun was slightly loose, and there were faint dark circles under her eyes that even expensive concealer couldn't fully hide.
She wasn't alone.
Trailing behind her was a woman who looked like she had just stepped off a runway. Burgundy hair cascading in perfect waves, emerald eyes sharp and intelligent, and a tailored skirt suit that clung to her figure with dangerous precision.
Luther looked up from his tablet.
His eyes flashed blue for a nanosecond. X-Ray Vision: Active.
He peeled back the layers. Wool blend fabric. Silk lining. Skin. Muscle. Bone.
Impressive, Luther noted. Bone density is 30% higher than average. Muscle fibers are dense, optimized for fast-twitch combat. Resting heart rate is... 45 beats per minute. That's elite athlete level.
He scanned lower.
No uterus.
Luther's expression flickered with a strange mix of amusement and recognition. The scars from the Red Room sterilization procedure were faint but unmistakable to his microscopic vision.
He knew exactly who she was.
Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.
"Boss," Michelle said, her voice tight with fatigue. "This is the applicant I told you about. Natalie Rushman."
Luther leaned back in his chair, playing the part of the oblivious CEO. "Natalie. Right. Remind me what you're here for?"
"Senior Vice President," the redhead said. Her voice was smooth, confident, and carried just the right amount of deference. She stepped forward and extended a hand. "It's an honor, Mr. Luther."
Luther took her hand. His grip was firm but controlled. He could feel the calluses on her knuckles—faint, sanded down, but there. The hands of a killer disguised as a secretary.
"Michelle tells me you're overqualified," Luther said, releasing her hand. "She says you speak four languages and have a degree in international relations."
"I like to be prepared," Natasha smiled.
It was a perfect smile. Warm, disarming, and completely fake.
Luther turned to Michelle. "You're drowning, aren't you?"
Michelle flushed. "I... the workload has increased exponentially since the Vigor launch. The logistics for the loan program, the international shipping for the capsules, the new security division... I can't be everywhere at once."
She hated admitting it. She wanted to be indispensable. She had studied Pepper Potts' dynamic with Tony Stark and realized that the way to a genius billionaire's heart (or at least his wallet) was to be the only person who knew where his social security card was.
But she was human. She needed sleep.
"It's fine, Michelle," Luther said gently. "You need help. And Ms. Rushman seems capable."
He looked back at Natasha. He knew why she was here.
Nick Fury didn't trust him. The press conference had rattled S.H.I.E.L.D. A private company selling super-soldier drugs and privatizing the police force? That was a threat.
Fury couldn't raid the building without cause, so he sent his best agent to find one. Natasha was here to build a psychological profile. To find the skeletons in the closet. To see if Luther was a patriot or a monster.
"Let's test that 'preparedness'," Luther said suddenly, standing up.
He walked around the desk, invading her personal space just enough to be unsettling.
"You were a model in Tokyo, right?" Luther asked, circling her like a shark. "And you did paralegal work in Paris. So... how do you say 'infiltration' in Russian?"
The room went dead silent.
Michelle gasped softly. It was an accusatory question. A trap.
Natasha didn't flinch. Her pulse didn't jump. Her pupils didn't dilate. She was a master of control.
"Proniknoveniye," she replied instantly, her Russian accent flawless but seemingly academic.
"Good," Luther nodded. "And how about 'industrial espionage'?"
He switched to fluent Russian, his accent thick with the rough cadence of a Moscow street thug.
Natasha raised an eyebrow. She replied in kind, matching his dialect perfectly. "Promyshlennyy shpionazh. Are we expecting spies, sir?"
"Always," Luther grinned.
He switched again. Mandarin. Then German. Then ancient Egyptian (a dead language he'd picked up from the Kryptonian archives).
Natasha kept up. She was brilliant. She was quick.
Then Luther threw the curveball.
"Nǐ chīle ma?" he asked in the thick, almost unintelligible Wenzhou dialect—the "Devil's Language" of China, notorious for being impossible for outsiders to understand.
Natasha paused. She blinked.
"I... I'm afraid I don't know that one," she admitted, switching back to English.
Luther laughed. "It means 'Have you eaten yet?'. It's Wenzhou dialect. Don't worry, even most Chinese people don't understand it."
He walked back to his desk and sat down.
"You're good," Luther said. "Very good. Most people stumble after the third language switch."
"My father was a diplomat," Natasha lied smoothly. "We traveled a lot."
"I bet."
Luther looked at her. He could expose her right now. He could toss her out the window. But where was the fun in that?
Having the Black Widow in his office was actually a strategic advantage. If he fed her the right information, he could manipulate S.H.I.E.L.D. without ever picking up the phone. She would report back to Fury that Luther was eccentric, arrogant, and brilliant—but clean.
"You're hired," Luther announced.
Michelle let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Oh, thank god."
"But," Luther raised a finger. "Michelle stays on top. You report to her. She handles the money and the strategy. You handle... the mess."
"The mess?" Natasha asked.
"Logistics," Luther clarified. "We have security contracts with the NYPD. We have shipments of Vigor going to conflict zones. It gets complicated. I need someone who isn't afraid to get their hands dirty. And looking at your resume... you seem like a problem solver."
Natasha smiled again. This time, it looked a little more genuine. He was handing her the keys to the kingdom.
"I can solve problems," she agreed.
"Good."
Luther waved a hand dismissively. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a microscope. Michelle, show her the ropes. And Natalie?"
She stopped at the door. "Yes?"
"Welcome to Emperor Industries. Try not to break anything."
As the door closed behind them, Luther's face lost all warmth.
"Megatron," he said to the empty room.
"Yes, Boss?" The AI's voice echoed from the hidden speakers.
"Tag our new employee. Level 4 surveillance. I want audio, video, and biometric tracking on her 24/7. If she enters a restricted zone, don't stop her. Just record it."
"Understood. Initiating tracking on Natalie Rushman."
Luther turned back to his computer.
He pulled up the schematics for Project: Android.
"If Fury wants to play spy games," Luther whispered, his eyes glowing red, "I'll give him something to watch."
He tapped a key.
A new file opened. It was a genetic profile labeled: SUBJECT 18.
"Let's see if a Kryptonian clone can out-spy the Black Widow."
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