Phil Coulson spoke from the side. "If you know his name, then you know he's very familiar with computers."
Moments later, James returned—with Skye's laptop.
It was already unlocked.
He set it on the table, turning the screen toward her. Her own recorded footage played back, clean and intact.
"GPS encryption," James said quietly. "Clever trick, but not enough."
He met her gaze.
"Now, it would be best to start talking."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Skye stared at James, surprise flickering across her face. But she stayed determined.
"I don't know," she said stubbornly.
James rose from his chair and gave her a hard stare. "Think it through," he said before facing Phil. "Phil—let's step outside."
They exited the interrogation room. The door sealed behind them with a muted hiss.
Coulson lowered his voice. "What's wrong? You could've kept pressing on."
James glanced down the corridor to make sure they were alone. "Do you remember what I told you about John Garrett?"
"Of course," Coulson said. "But we can't confront him directly."
"The Centipede Project is his people's work," James replied quietly. "A plan to keep him alive."
Coulson stiffened. "That was the secret you pulled from him? Then what is The Centipede Project?"
"It's a crude plan," James said. "Garrett had Level Eight clearance. You know how much access that gives? The foundation for the Project is the Super Soldier Serum—the same one used on Steve Rogers. The problem is, it can't be replicated."
"So they tried anyway."
"And then some," James continued. "Alien metals, Gamma exposure, Synthetic serum variants, some patchwork solutions, and Unstable by design. The explosion we're investigating? Most likely a failed iteration of it."
Coulson's expression darkened. "So the person we're hunting is a walking bomb."
James nodded. "Yes."
"And the injured woman?" Coulson asked.
James paused—then frowned. "She could be one of them. The survivors pulled from the blast were likely their assets."
"I'll have May monitor her," Coulson said decisively. "We won't arrest them yet. Our priority is the target. Get it out of Skye."
James nodded once and re-entered the room alone.
INTERROGATION ROOM
Skye sat rigidly, watching him return.
James didn't speak at first. He studied her, letting his gaze linger—long enough to make her uneasy.
"…what's your problem?" she asked. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
He smiled faintly. "Nothing. Just an observation of mine. You're quite a beauty. Mixed heritage tends to be."
Skye blinked, caught off guard.
"Now," James continued evenly, taking a seat, "let's keep talking. Tell me what you know."
"I don't know anything," she snapped. "You're wasting your time."
"I hope you're wrong," James said. "Because the man you're protecting isn't a superhero. He's an experiment, Man-made, and Unstable."
He leaned slightly forward.
"His condition worsens with emotional stress. If it spirals, he won't just hurt himself. He'll detonate."
Skye scoffed. "An exploding man? You expect me to believe that?"
"I'm telling you the truth," James replied. "My team is collecting evidence from the blast site. Soon we'll have proof. But by then, we may be too late. He could already be dead—or worse."
He held her gaze.
"And the people who turned him into a weapon will walk away clean."
Skye's expression wavered.
She had never trusted S.H.I.E.L.D., for a long time, that belief only hardened. But if he was telling the truth…
"You know who I am," James said softly. "A billionaire who chose to be an agent. This job isn't a necessity for me—it just piques my interest."
He paused. "Am I worthy of your trust?"
Silence stretched.
Finally, Skye reached into her jacket and pulled out an ID card.
"This is his," she said. "I met him after the explosion. I… took it."
James accepted it carefully.
"Thank you," he said. "We'll do everything we can to save him."
He stood, then added lightly, "When this is over, wanna grab dinner? I meant what I said."
Skye rolled her eyes. "So you're a playboy too."
CONFERENCE ROOM
James placed the ID card on the table. The surface lit up, scanning automatically.
A full profile appeared.
Michael Peterson. Factory worker. Married. One son.
Employment history, residential addresses, recent movements—everything unfolded in clean, full detail.
James tapped his communicator. "Phil, I need you to come to the conference room."
Coulson entered, scanning the display. "You found him."
"Yes," James said. "But we don't know his current stability. If we come too hard, he could lose control."
"So what's the plan?"
"Are Fitz and Simmons back?" James asked. "Fitz should be developing a stun system that's sedative-based."
Moments later, Fitz and Simmons rushed in, gear still half-unpacked.
"Nocturne," Fitz said, breathless. "May left early. We git a new assignment?"
"That's right," James said. "We need your stun device. Is it ready for use?"
Fitz hesitated. "Not yet. It doesn't induce immediate unconsciousness. It still needs refinement. What's the target?"
"A man who could detonate if agitated," James said. "We need it to stabilize him."
Simmons paled. "Th-then the formula must be tuned to the source of instability."
James gestured to the recovered materials. "Here," he said. "Go analyze it. It enhances a person's strength—but it's unstable. I need a solution for it."
Fitz and Simmons scrambled instantly, workstations lighting up.
James turned toward the exit. "I'll check on our guest. Contact May. That survivor is our only thread."
Fitz and Simmons plunged into their work with barely contained urgency.
James returned to the interrogation room. Skye sat slumped at the table, staring into nothing. When the door opened, she straightened and brushed her long hair back into place.
"Did you find him?" she asked.
"We have his information," James replied, taking the chair across from her. "But we're not moving yet. If we don't suppress his instability first, everyone nearby is at risk."
Skye nodded slowly. "Ok. Then what happens to me?"
"That's my partner's call to make," James said evenly. "But you're not going to prison, so don't worry. For now, just wait. Things are quite busy."
He paused, then added lightly, "And about my earlier proposal—still want that dinner?"
Skye raised a brow. "Are all rich people like this?"
James smiled. "I only know one—Tony Stark. He was a playboy. But he's retired from that life. I've only been rich for two years. Still at the peak and way too far from thinking about it."
Skye laughed despite herself. "Not interested."
James lifted his hands in surrender. "How tragic. Maybe another time I guess. But seriously, are you hungry? or thirsty?"
"No thank you," she said quietly. "Just… save him."
James nodded once and left the room.
CORRIDOR — THE BUS
Phil Coulson was waiting.
"May's got eyes on the survivor," Coulson said. "She won't slip away. And when this is done, we need to talk about John Garrett."
James's expression sharpened. "We can use this incident to weaken him—and Hydra along with him."
Coulson nodded. "I'll brief the Director. But we need evidence before we make a move on Garrett."
"There's time," James said. "Hydra's preparing something bigger. They're still assembling pieces. Whatever they're building, it mirrors the Loom of Fate's concept—predictive and systemic. Have the Director keep an eye on recent proposals."
"Understood."
LAB
Simmons had already isolated samples with instruments humming softly. James watched for a moment without interfering.
Fitz hurried over. "I—I found a surveillance camera feed. Should I try to reconstruct the blast?"
James smiled reassuringly. "Do it. Even partial reconstruction helps."
Fitz nodded and scurried back, movements fast and awkward.
James exhaled quietly. 'I guess I should start getting serious.'
He moved to the upper level, opened his laptop, and linked Cortana into the city network.
[Accessing municipal surveillance. Encryption minimal.]
James traced Michael Peterson's last known locations—the house, the factory. Cameras came online one by one. He watched the feeds carefully.
He couldn't see Peterson yet, but logic narrowed the options.
Fitz returned again, visibly struggling to speak.
"Any problem?" James asked calmly.
"The… the video timeline doesn't align," Fitz said after a long pause. "Reconstruction's incomplete."
James nodded. "Wait here."
INTERROGATION ROOM
James returned to Skye.
"You were monitoring that lab," he said directly. "Do you have anything else?"
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"We have video, but the timeline's off."
Skye hesitated. "I have an audio recording. It's in my van."
James considered it carefully. "Not yet. If we move now and he loses control, he could detonate—especially with your van parked in the city."
He turned to leave.
BACK TO THE LAB
"Skye has audio that can help you align the timeline," James told Fitz. "But it's too dangerous to retrieve right now. Finish the stun device first."
"Okay," Fitz said quickly, already moving.
James watched him go, rubbing his temple. Stabilizing a team like this was harder than combat.
He returned to the surveillance feed.
James saw Michael Peterson step out of his house.
He frowned. 'A Hospital or the Factory?'
He overlaid routes with Cortana.
'The Factory.'
His unemployment, the pressure of life, and his growing anger. A predictable and dangerous outcome.
James keyed his comm. "Hey Phil…"
LAB — MOMENTS LATER
"How's the stun device?" James asked the instant he entered.
"Umm—almost done," Fitz said, panicking.
James's expression alone was enough to give him anxiety him.
Simmons stepped in immediately. "We modified it. But time was limited. So we only finished one charge."
James nodded. "That's enough. Give it to me."
Coulson arrived at a jog. "What's happening?"
"He's heading to the factory," James said, already securing the device. "If he destabilizes there, we could lose him—and the civilians around him. We must act now."
He turned toward the exit.