"I'M BACK, BABY!"
BANG!
The office door flew open with a kick so violent the hinges probably filed for retirement.
Behind the desk, Nick Fury didn't even flinch. He just sighed, the faintest twitch of his one good eyebrow betraying deep, eternal regret. He was long past the point of being surprised by Darren's entrances.
His gaze swept over the man standing before him , still in his ridiculous Asgardian outfit, half cloak, half armor, all nonsense.
"Agent Darren," Fury said, voice flat as a desert road. "You've been off the grid for days. Coulson reported you missing. Care to explain where you've been?"
"Oh, that! I was in Asgard," Darren said, as if announcing a grocery trip. "Coulson told me to keep an eye on Thor, so… I followed him there. For surveillance. And maybe a little sightseeing."
He grinned. "The two are basically the same thing."
Nick's face darkened a full shade. He was absolutely going to say 'played for a few days,' wasn't he?
With the patience of a saint, Fury gestured for him to continue.
So Darren did , giving a brief but animated retelling of everything: Loki's schemes, the Destroyer fight, the Rainbow Bridge exploding, and Thor's dramatic lightning-fueled fashion show.
By the time he finished, Fury had one hand pressed firmly against his temple, like he was trying to physically hold his sanity in place.
"So," he said slowly, "after all that… the world-shaking event was just an interstellar family dispute?"
Darren nodded cheerfully. "Pretty much, yeah."
Fury inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his teeth. "Fine. Whatever. You're staying in New York for now."
He waved a hand, already done with life. "Coulson can handle the rest."
According to Coulson's report, the battle between Darren's mech and the Destroyer had leveled half a small town. S.H.I.E.L.D. now owed millions in reparations, which would absolutely obliterate their already bleeding budget.
Fury wasn't sure if he wanted to fire Darren or just send him to space permanently.
Ping.
[Mission "Support Coulson" Completed!]
[Rewards: +1000 EXP, +20 S.H.I.E.L.D. Reputation, Items: "Hydrofluoric Acid", "Protein Energy Block"]
[Hydrofluoric Acid , A must-have tool for clean-up. Pro tip: do NOT pour it in your bathtub.]
[Protein Energy Block , The Snowpiercer delicacy, boasting ten times the protein of beef. Don't ask where it comes from.]
Before Fury could speak again, Darren perked up. "By the way, something wrong, boss? You look like a man who's about to give me bad news."
He wasn't wrong.
Fury leaned forward. "Do you remember your promotion mission , the one involving The Hand?"
"Yeah?"
"They've been sniffing around for you," Fury said grimly. "They even posted a bounty on the dark web , a very generous one."
Darren's brows shot up. "A bounty? On me? How much?"
"Two million dollars."
"...What?" Darren froze for a second , then slammed his hands on the desk. "Two million? That's IT?"
Fury blinked.
"You mean you're not upset someone's trying to kill you?"
"I'm upset they undervalued me!" Darren barked. "Two million? Are you kidding? That's pocket change! I should be worth at least ten times that! Twenty!"
Nick Fury just stared at him for a long moment. Then muttered, "You're unbelievable."
"Director," Darren said, turning to leave, "don't worry. I'll handle this personally. No need to interfere."
And before Fury could stop him, he was gone.
A silence fell over the room. Fury slowly looked down at the funding report on his desk , and, for the first time that day, smiled.
"At least now I've got an excuse to ask the World Council for more budget again."
...
That night, Darren accessed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal database using his Level 6 clearance. Sure enough, the bounty post was right there.
Target: "Unidentified individual known as Darren."
Reward:
$100,000–$500,000 for credible leads.
$1,000,000 for verified location.
$2,000,000 for successful capture.
Most people, upon learning they'd been targeted by a deadly assassin network, would start laying low, maybe grow a beard, move to a cabin, and panic for the next six months.
Darren just frowned.
Two million. That's insulting.
Monkey D. Luffy had billions on his head. Two million barely bought a decent sports car.
Then, suddenly, a light flicked on behind his eyes.
"Wait a second," he murmured. "If there's money on me… why let someone else take it?"
His grin turned positively wicked. "Might as well collect it myself."
...
Hell's Kitchen, late night.
Inside a derelict factory, shadows gathered. The stale air reeked of rust and cigarette smoke. Around a flickering bulb stood over a dozen figures, their silhouettes half-hidden by the dark.
In the center, a man in a sleek black suit , Murakami , stood beside an old woman draped in crimson robes. Her face was wrinkled like aged parchment, her voice rasping like dry leaves.
"Murakami," she said slowly, "I hear your apprentice lost our ledger… and a valuable operative. Alexandra is displeased."
Murakami's expression darkened. "Madame Gao, I've already begun investigating the incident. Two intruders were involved , one appears to be the vigilante known as Daredevil. The other's identity is still unknown. But I've issued a bounty for him on the dark web."
He paused, allowing himself a thin smile. "And just now, I received word , that unknown man has been captured. He'll be brought here shortly."
Gao nodded approvingly. "Good. There's an old saying from the East , kill the chicken to scare the monkeys. Tonight, we make an example of this foolish chicken."
Her Chinese, however, came out twisted and clumsy, like a language half-remembered.
Murakami couldn't help but wince. Still showing off that broken Chinese, huh?
Just then, heavy footsteps echoed through the factory.
A masked man entered, dragging a bound prisoner behind him , Darren, hands tied, head lowered, seemingly unconscious.
The bounty hunter stopped before Murakami. "Your target," he said curtly. "Confirm the catch."
Murakami looked Darren up and down, smirked. "Yes. That's him."
He turned to the bounty hunter. "Tell me , how did you manage to find this man? Even The Hand couldn't trace him."
The masked man's voice was cool. "We're professionals. We have our methods. You don't need to know them. Now , payment."
Murakami's eyes narrowed. He didn't like the man's tone. He was The Hand's high-ranking commander, not someone to be talked down to by a mercenary.
He lifted a hand, and his men stepped forward, katana gleaming in the dim light.
"Surely," he said softly, "a professional like you understands , sometimes clients prefer… other methods of compensation."
The masked man sighed. "I strongly advise against that."
Murakami sneered. "And why is that?"
The answer came in the form of a clap.
The masked man snapped his fingers , and the factory doors burst open.
A dozen more masked figures poured in, fully armed and armored, moving with military precision. The muzzles of assault rifles gleamed. One of them hefted an RPG launcher onto his shoulder.
Murakami froze.
Madame Gao blinked.
Even the shadows seemed to hesitate.
The lead mercenary's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "You wanted a demonstration of professionalism? This, is a professional team."
Murakami's jaw tightened. "..."
Madame Gao whispered in disbelief, "This… is not the chicken I expected."
The air grew thick.
And behind the mask, Darren grinned.