Nick Fury's consciousness was like a sunken submarine in the deep sea, struggling to surface.
The first things he registered were the sharp pain at the nape of his neck and a persistent ringing in his ears.
Then, a beam of light, so blinding it brought involuntary tears to his eye, violently shattered the darkness.
He tried to raise a hand to shield his eye, only to find his arms firmly secured to the armrests of a cold, metal chair. His ankles were bound as well.
As the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., a Level Nine agent, the planet's top spymaster, he had endured countless interrogations and counter-interrogations. But he had never imagined waking up like this, in Tony Stark's living room.
The air was thick with the rich scent of grilled burgers and ketchup.
*Crunch.*
The sound of a french fry being chewed was unnervingly crisp.
"Dad, you should eat less of that. Watch your cholesterol," a teenager's voice drawled.
"Shut up. This is extortion. A hundred bucks for a burger? Why don't you just rob me at gunpoint?" Tony Stark's voice was laced with its usual arrogance, and a faint, almost imperceptible hint of indignation.
"A fair deal's a fair deal. You're the one who said you were craving this the moment you woke up from your coma."
Fury squinted, his vision struggling to adjust. Through the glare, two blurry silhouettes slowly sharpened into focus: Tony Stark and his mysterious son, Paul Stark.
The father and son each held a burger, with Cokes and fries laid out before them. They looked like a front-row audience at a movie, and he, Fury, was the clown tied up on stage.
An indescribable wave of shame and anger rushed to Fury's head.
He had screwed up.
He'd thought his infiltration skills were enough to give Tony Stark a "surprise" without a trace. He never expected to be ambushed from behind by a teenager and taken down in a single move. This was, without a doubt, the biggest and most absurd blemish on his entire career.
"Awake?" Paul asked, his voice muffled by a large bite of his burger. He set it down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and then began to circle Fury's chair like a seasoned police detective, his eyes full of scrutiny.
"Name, codename, organization, and purpose of your visit. Confess and you'll be treated leniently. Resist, and we'll be severe."
Fury remained silent, his single eye fixing Paul with a cold stare, attempting to crush the boy with sheer force of presence.
Tony watched from the side, the corner of his eye twitching. He still hadn't fully processed what had just happened. This one-eyed man calling himself Nick Fury was clearly no ordinary person, yet here he was, tied up like a turkey by his own son.
When had the world become so surreal?
"Not talking, are we?" Paul raised an eyebrow, a look of 'I knew it' on his face. He snapped his fingers.
"Baymax, time to get to work."
With a soft whir of inflation, the plump white medical robot emerged from the corner. But this Baymax was a far cry from his usual soft and cuddly self. His white vinyl skin was now covered in makeshift metal wiring, and his round hands were fitted with two metal gloves that crackled with blue arcs of electricity.
"Hello, I am Baymax, your personal penitence assistant."
To Fury, Baymax's emotionless electronic voice was the whisper of a demon.
Penitence assistant? What the hell was that?!
"Crank it up a notch," Paul ordered. "Initiate the 'Professor Yang's Loving Embrace' protocol. Let him experience some mysterious Eastern power."
Tony nearly choked on his Coke. Professor Yang? What the hell was that?
Before Fury could even process the meaning of the words, Baymax's two taser gloves were pressed against his arms on the armrests.
*BZZZZT—!*
Blue arcs of electricity instantly shot through Fury's body. He felt every single nerve ending fire wildly, his muscles spasming uncontrollably, his teeth chattering violently. An indescribable, searing numbness shot up his spine to his skull, turning his brain to white noise, leaving nothing but endless convulsions.
He wanted to roar, to curse, but the current robbed him of the strength to even open his mouth. All he could manage were muffled, meaningless grunts from his throat.
The formidable Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury, was being electrocuted like a fish out of water, thrashing wildly in his chair.
Tony stared, dumbfounded, the burger in his hand completely forgotten.
His son… what kind of demon was he?
"How's that feel, Director Fury?" Paul asked casually, taking a sip of his Coke. "This 'penitence program' is something I designed especially for stubborn customers like you. It purifies the soul, realigns your moral compass, satisfaction guaranteed."
Fury's single eye looked ready to spit fire.
The kid knew who he was!
"Stop! Stop it!" Tony finally snapped out of it, rushing to intervene. "Paul, that's enough! Stop fooling around!"
He might find this uninvited one-eyed man annoying, but electrocution… that was going too far. Besides, the man clearly had some serious connections.
Paul pouted, waving his hand with a look of disappointment.
Baymax retracted his gloves, and the electric arcs vanished.
Fury gasped for breath, his body drenched in sweat. His black leather trench coat clung to his frame, a picture of utter humiliation. He felt as if he'd just taken a trip through hell and back, his very soul shocked out of his body.
"Now," Tony said, stepping forward with a serious expression, "can we have a civilized conversation, Director Fury?"
It took Fury a full half-minute to recover. He lifted his head, his single eye a storm of humiliation, fury, and a flicker of… apprehension. He stared daggers at Paul, as if trying to burn the boy's face into his memory.
"Let me go, Stark," he said, his voice raspy.
Tony glanced at Paul, who shrugged and walked over to undo the restraints.
Fury flexed his stiff wrists, slowly rising to his feet. He straightened his wrinkled trench coat, trying to reclaim some of his lost authority.
"I am here to discuss something with you," Fury's voice regained its deep, magnetic quality, as if the man who had just been twitching uncontrollably wasn't him. "Something that concerns the security of the entire world."
He paused, then enunciated each word clearly. "I'm here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative."
"The Avengers Initiative?" Tony raised an eyebrow. The name sounded both ridiculous and cool.
Beside him, Paul feigned curiosity, but inwardly, he was ecstatic. *It's happening, it's happening! The main storyline is finally starting!*
"There are threats in this world that we can't possibly imagine, and a single hero can't respond to every crisis," Fury's gaze swept over Tony before lingering on Paul for a moment. "I'm putting together a team of remarkable people, to fight the battles that we never could."
"Sounds great, but what does that have to do with us?" Tony said, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. "Saving the world? That's the government's job. I just sell weapons... oh, right, I sell robots now."
"You're not," Fury's gaze sharpened. "You're Iron Man. And him," he looked at Paul, "his abilities exceed even my estimations."
That last comment made Tony's heart tighten.
"So, you want to recruit us?" Paul cut in, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can I join? I'm a really good fighter! See? I took you down in one move."
An almost invisible twitch crossed Fury's face.
This kid. Always had to bring up the sore subject.
"Absolutely not!" Tony refused without a second thought, pulling Paul behind him like a protective mother hen. "He's just a kid! You're not dragging him into your dangerous spy games!"
"Dad! I'm fourteen!" Paul protested.
"Fourteen-year-olds belong in school, not following some one-eyed pirate to fight aliens!" Tony's stance was firm.
Fury watched the father-son duo, a glint of shrewdness in his eye. He knew a direct approach wouldn't work.
"Alright, Tony. I respect your decision," Fury changed his tone, sounding remarkably reasonable. "We can discuss the Avengers Initiative later. However…"
His gaze shifted back to Paul, a cryptic smile playing on his lips.
"Mr. Stark, while you may not be able to join a field team, S.H.I.E.L.D. is in great need of a genius like you. I'm officially inviting you to become a special technical consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D. We can provide you with the world's best resources and research funding."
Here it comes, the sugar-coated bullet.
Tony immediately became wary, about to refuse again.
But Paul spoke first, shaking his head with the unique blend of innocence and cunning only a teenager could possess.
"Consultant? Not interested. Being your glorified employee sounds boring."
Fury seemed to have expected this and wasn't surprised.
"Then what are you interested in?"
"Making money, of course," Paul replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "My technology is very expensive. For example, that 'penitence program' just now? Friendship price, one hundred thousand dollars per session. And since you're my first customer, I'll even give you a twenty-percent discount."
Fury: "…"
Tony: "…"
Had this kid fallen into a vat of money?!
"Besides," Paul added nonchalantly, as if an afterthought, "I have a lot of inventions, and Stark Industries' production capacity is limited. Lately, several companies have contacted me about licensing my tech… Hammer Industries, for instance, and some clandestine military divisions… I'm thinking of outsourcing some of the orders."
The moment he said that, the atmosphere in the living room shifted.
The playful, mocking expression on Tony's face vanished, replaced by an intense sharpness.
Hammer Industries?!
That idiot Justin Hammer, who could only copy and imitate?
And the military?
He shot a look at Fury, then at his own son, who was wearing an 'I don't know anything' expression.
A powerful sense of crisis seized his heart.
He could dismiss the Avengers Initiative. He could protect his son from dangerous missions.
But letting Paul's world-altering technology fall into the hands of an imbecile like Hammer, or any other uncontrollable faction?
Ab-so-lute-ly NOT.
For the first time, Tony Stark felt like he'd been checkmated.
And the players who had cornered him were the calculating, one-eyed man before him… and his own son, whom he had still seen as just a child.