Dante, who was starting to get used to this wild reality, didn't dwell on it too long. He simply took the folder and glanced at the cover.
"Patient files from Arkham Asylum?"
"Keep going," Fury said calmly, gesturing for him to continue flipping through.
Dante nodded and opened to the first page. It was a standard intake form, with a palm-sized photo in the upper left corner.
Bleached blonde hair, with the tips dyed red and blue.
No matter how he looked at it, the face was practically a copy-paste of Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn.
Maybe the entity that designed this chaotic multiverse felt that some of the comic book versions were just too over-the-top? Gotta tone it down to "blockbuster movie level insanity."
Dante pursed his lips. He really didn't have much to say about comic books' obsession with skintight costumes.
...Well. It was exciting, though.
["Birth name: Harleen Quinzel.
Height: 170 cm.
Weight: 64 kg.
Former psychologist contracted at Arkham Asylum, responsible for treating Gotham's most dangerous inmate—the Joker.
Became romantically obsessed with the Joker, gradually descended into madness, helped him escape, and adopted the alias Harley Quinn. Since then, she has operated as the Joker's criminal accomplice.
During a recent bank robbery, she was critically injured by one of the Joker's explosives and is currently being treated at Arkham."]
---
"Director, I mean no disrespect, but… why are you showing me a lunatic's medical file?"
"Oh? Didn't I text you?" Fury asked, feigning surprise. "I want you to take charge of a new initiative. Build a team. Harley Quinn will be your first recruit."
[Ding—Mission 'Team Genesis' has been released.]
[Mission Brief: Young Agent, your team's first mission is to recruit its inaugural member. Convince Harley Quinn to cooperate.]
Tsk. This busted system was really in a hurry.
"A team?" Dante said, raising an eyebrow. "With all due respect, sir—I'm an FBI agent. I've been trained to work alone. If you need someone to sneak into enemy territory and defuse a tactical nuke, I'm your guy. If you need an assassination behind enemy lines, I'm your guy. But team leadership? That's not in my toolbox."
He even put on a troubled look for effect. "Also… are we seriously considering a patient from Arkham Asylum as a future agent?"
Come on! If this were just a normal parallel world, fine.
But this is a crossover multiverse. God knows how many franchises are mashed together here—how many weird plot bombs are just waiting to explode?
If Fury's idea of building a team starts with Harley Quinn… what's next?
Are we building the Avengers?
Or worse—the Justice League?
What am I, the Phil Coulson knockoff in this dimension?
That poor guy got stabbed to death by Loki in the original timeline. Sure, he was resurrected later, but the trauma he endured during Project T.A.H.I.T.I. was probably worse than death.
And Dante had a strong hunch—if the Avengers were being reassembled in this world, it definitely wouldn't stop at Marvel characters.
The proof? He was literally holding Harley Quinn's medical files in his hands.
Dante sighed. That was the downside of living in a comprehensive multiverse.
Every shred of plot prediction?
Completely useless.
Nothing was reliable. Everything was new, unpredictable, and potentially lethal.
"I think you're absolutely right," Fury said. "Which is why you're going to learn how to be a team leader."
Just like every classic leader: once a decision was made, suggestions were just polite noise.
"Oh, and you're a Level Six Agent, right?"
"…Yeah. Level Six."
Dante nodded when he saw the conversation shift gears.
The Federal Bureau's agent hierarchy ran from Level One to Ten. Level Six might not sound like much, but it was the highest rank you could reach as a frontline operative—like military ranks. You wouldn't expect a highly decorated special forces soldier to march onto the battlefield as a general, right?
"Well then—congrats on the promotion. Welcome to Level Seven, Agent Dante."
Fury leaned back in his chair.
"Since I specifically seconded you from the Republic General Bureau, you answer directly to me. You won't need to follow the orders of any higher-ranked agents, no matter their level."
Dante blinked. Level Seven.
That meant he'd officially stepped out of the mid-tier agent pool and into the executive ranks.
And being accountable to Fury alone?
That made him something like a special envoy. No red tape. No chain of command. Just… him.
"I've always wanted to ask… is the General Bureau really that short-staffed?"
"You know, you really have no filter," Fury said, but didn't deny it. "Still, you're not wrong. We are short-staffed—especially for senior agents who can handle things independently."
He paused. "Something has been off lately. It's like the whole region's been cursed. The number of high-level incidents has gone up tenfold in just the past few months. I needed to put together a rapid-response team that can deal with unexpected chaos. So naturally, I had to poach an elite agent."
Dante stared at him.
He really hadn't expected Fury to just admit it. He thought he'd try to gaslight him with vague riddles and tactics.
But nope—this guy basically threw his hands up like, "Yeah, we're screwed."
Looked like Fury really was under enormous pressure lately.
"Alright. Stop staring at me. Head down to the thirtieth floor—I've assigned you an adjutant. She's been preparing the team formation protocol for the past week."
"Yes, sir," Dante nodded. But he couldn't resist getting one jab in.
"Off topic, Director… that scar peeking out from under your eyepatch. It kinda looks like it came from a feline."
"…Get out."
Seeing Fury wave him away with zero intention of further discussion, Dante wisely turned and exited the office.
As he stepped out, he spotted a Flerken curled up and yawning in the corner.
Men and their pride.
All things considered, that meeting went pretty well. Most importantly, Fury didn't waste words—he just handed out the authority Dante needed.
But the real highlight?
Fury used "she" when referring to his new adjutant.
Could it be… Mockingbird?
Sharon Carter?
An as-yet-unawakened Quake?
Or maybe the queen herself—Maria Hill?
For the first time since transmigrating, Dante felt like there might be perks to this chaos.
At the very least, he was about to enjoy some high-quality visual stimulation.
"If a team leader dates his subordinate, would that be workplace harassment?" he muttered as he stepped into the elevator.
He only had to go down one floor. The elevator doors slid open again almost immediately.
And the atmosphere changed instantly.
The thirty-first floor had looked like your average law enforcement conference center—just stupidly oversized.
But the thirtieth floor?
It looked like the set of a sci-fi drama. The tech level had jumped an entire generation.
Sleek, clean, futuristic design. Holographic monitors. Real-time data flying across a massive display wall.
There were quite a few people here, but everything moved with precision. No one batted an eye at the confused-looking transplant wandering through their high-tech workspace.
Dante took a few moments to admire the giant internal status board, when suddenly—a hand tapped his shoulder.
"Agent Dante Alighieri?"
"That's me, that's me."
He turned around with a friendly smile, hoping to make a solid first impression on his new teammate.
And then he saw her.
His smile froze.
It wasn't Quake. Or Maria Hill.
Wasn't Mockingbird. Not Agent 13 either.
This woman wasn't even wearing the standard blue uniform of the WFBI.
She wore a crimson qipao embroidered with golden butterflies, slit high along the leg, holsters barely visible underneath.
Which meant: total dress code exemption. At least Level Four or higher.
Her short black hair framed her face, exuding an enigmatic, seductive aura. Her expression was calm, almost playful—like a femme fatale straight out of a spy thriller.
She didn't look like an agent.
She looked like a very dangerous villain.
"Nice to meet you, Agent Dante," she said with a smile. "I'm your assigned adjutant from Director Fury."
"You can call me Ada Wong."
"Finally… we meet."
(To be continued.)