"You want to know where the taxpayers' money is going, Miss Hill? I really do wonder. Perhaps it's being spent on maintaining that ridiculously long, laughably bureaucratic title: 'Strategic Homeland Defense, Offensive, and Logistics Bureau.'
It's an administrative expense, not an operational one." Zhou Yi's voice dripped with condescension, leaning back to emphasize his casual dismissal of her entire organization.
The conflict was no longer about policy; it was a furious, personal battle of wills.
"You want to know where we spend our tax money, Mr. Zhou?" Maria Hill countered, her chin lifting defiantly, the coldness in her eyes radiating pure fury.
"I'll tell you precisely. We spend it cleaning up the geopolitical and physical wreckage left behind by arrogant, self-appointed vigilantes like you—the 'superpowered' individuals who believe their subjective moral code supersedes global law and creates more problems than they solve. If you're truly curious about accessible tax returns, I suggest you stick to the public façade of a self-serving womanizer, because you clearly lack the intellectual discipline to comprehend a classified black budget."
The verbal warfare was escalating dangerously, straying far from the purpose of the meeting. Phil Coulson felt a chilling wave of regret wash over him; bringing Hill had been a gamble predicated on her renowned efficiency, but she was now acting as a catastrophic agent of provocation.
The success of Nick Fury's mandate—establishing a working relationship, no matter how tenuous—was being actively sabotaged by his own deputy director.
Coulson knew that the meeting was seconds from imploding into an irrecoverable hostility. He needed to intercede, not with gentle diplomacy, but with the sharp authority of an agent saving the mission.
"Could both of you please get a grip?" Coulson cut in sharply, his amiable smile completely gone, replaced by a steely, disappointed gaze directed squarely at Commander Hill.
Hill had abandoned all pretense of professional negotiation, allowing personal antagonism to dictate agency policy—a grievous error in judgment for an agent of her caliber.
Maria Hill, realizing the severity of her transgression against protocol and the mission's objective, visibly recoiled. Her face remained set, but the silent acknowledgment of her mistake was clear.
Admitting failure to Zhou Yi, however, was a moral impossibility for her. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, remaining rigid and silent, ceding the floor to Coulson.
This was precisely what Coulson needed. Connecting with people, even arrogant billionaires, was his specialty.
"Mr. Zhou," Coulson began, his voice returning to its calm, professional timbre, "I believe my colleague is under considerable stress following the recent operational shifts. With your permission, I will present the remainder of our proposal directly."
"By all means, Agent Coulson," Zhou Yi replied, his expression relaxing slightly. He lifted his teacup, taking a slow, calming sip to mask the lingering adrenaline of the argument. In a strange, unexpected way, Maria Hill had immediately become his most fascinating, and most infuriating, antagonist.
"If we have differences of opinion, we can set them aside," Coulson continued, seamlessly ignoring the entire preceding argument. He opened his briefcase, retrieving a slim, heavily classified document. "We have a plan. We believe it warrants your immediate review."
Zhou Yi accepted the document, noting the classified markings and the unusual lack of a formal codename on the folder. Inside, he reviewed the proposal: a framework for the immediate formation of a highly specialized, extra-departmental tactical unit .
The plan explicitly called for members composed exclusively of individuals with exceptional, non-conventional capabilities—with Zhou Yi's inclusion highlighted as the foundational piece.
This was, unmistakably, the most fundamental and earliest prototype of the Avengers Initiative from his memory. However, in this nascent stage, it was little more than a concept, an organizational skeleton waiting for the necessary muscle and intellect.
"What exactly is this, Agent Coulson?" Zhou Yi asked, a sarcastic curl returning to his lips. "Your 'Super Kid Project'? A project that lacks a basic operational framework, a defined chain of command, or even the names of capable participants?"
Coulson was far more adept at deflecting Zhou Yi's sharp cynicism than Hill. He maintained his composed smile, ignoring the provocative elements of the remark entirely.
"If you accept, you will be our very first named member. And once we secure the appropriate funding and command structure, we anticipate adding other high-value assets very rapidly."
"Are you suggesting I should be the beta tester for your governmental fantasy team?" Zhou Yi asked, his smile strained, a clear indicator that he found the premise absurd.
"I'm not a founding partner; I'm the test subject who gets saddled with training a roster of unknowns. I assure you, Agent, the joke does not land."
"I assure you, I am entirely serious," Coulson insisted, maintaining eye contact.
"And I assure you, I've already stated my non-negotiable position," Zhou Yi said, leaning forward once more. "I will not work for anyone. There is no existing government department capable of paying a salary commensurate with the risks and value I bring."
Zhou Yi's refusal was strategic. He knew the potential of the eventual Avengers, but he also knew the suffocating inefficiency of the current SHIELD structure. He had no intention of being drawn into the bureaucracy until the team was populated by individuals who could force the Agency's hand—until Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were on the roster.
Until then, associating with SHIELD was simply an exposure risk and a distraction. He needed to establish clear, impossibly high preconditions.
"Mr. Zhou, this team is designed to be independent of our department's hierarchy," Coulson quickly countered, pressing his advantage and focusing only on the structure, ignoring the outright refusal.
"We are merely responsible for its foundation. Its day-to-day management and operational deployment would fall to its members, led by its senior operatives—potentially you. Furthermore, we would share our classified intelligence network directly with your team."
SHIELD intelligence was an immense bargaining chip. Since its inception in the ashes of World War II, the Agency had secretly cataloged vast amounts of supernatural, extraterrestrial, and technological secrets. It was a library of global mysteries—a resource Zhou Yi could certainly use to get ahead of threats like the English vampire family.
"While the offer of intelligence sharing is… intriguing, it is insufficient to secure my commitment," Zhou Yi replied, softening his stance slightly. His previous refusals were tests; now, he began the actual negotiation, seeking to establish the most difficult preconditions possible.
"The world faces too many dangers, and I cannot afford to simply sever ties with a necessary entity. However, your current offer is an empty shell."
Coulson saw the opening. The hard 'No' had become a qualified 'Maybe.' "Could you be more specific, Mr. Zhou? What is your definition of 'sufficient bargaining chips' in this context?"
"It is quite simple," Zhou Yi explained, his gaze hardening. "I cannot be convinced to commit to an empty operational shell. If you want me to join such an organization, you must, at minimum, guarantee that the team's initial roster—excluding myself—will contain individuals of proven, world-class capabilities. I am not a glorified nanny, nor will I be tasked with training your department's untested recruits. The collective power of the team must guarantee that my personal effectiveness is amplified—that the result is greater than the sum of its currently proposed parts."
"If that condition cannot be met, there is no strategic utility in my participation."
"I understand," Coulson stated, processing the request. Zhou Yi was demanding that SHIELD deliver operational excellence before he would even consider signing on.
This was a massive hurdle, but crucially, it was a resource problem, not a relational one. The door had not been slammed shut. SHIELD had established contact and received the conditions for future cooperation.
"We will undoubtedly make further progress on this specialized team shortly," Coulson confirmed, subtly closing the file on the "Avengers" prototype. "And I hope we can continue discussions with Mr. Zhou Yi at that point."
"Let's discuss that when the roster merits the conversation," Zhou Yi concurred.
With the first point tabled, Coulson moved swiftly to the next, sensing his window was closing. "Very well. Since we are discussing operational exchange, Mr. Zhou, would you be open to an immediate business transaction?"
"A deal, you say?" Zhou Yi's eyes lit up, the innate businessman rising to the surface, replacing the cold persona of the Knight. "Please, elaborate."
"We are profoundly interested in the Dawn Armor technology—the suit's systems, its kinetic dampeners, and its power source," Coulson stated directly . "We are prepared to acquire either the complete technological schematics, the finished product, or both."
SHIELD's analysts, despite correctly identifying Zhou Yi as a meta-human with innate psychic capabilities, still believed the armor was the key to his extreme durability and flight capacity. If the suit could reliably enhance the abilities of a normal operative, it would represent a breakthrough far exceeding the Super-Soldier program.
For high-ranking officials within SHIELD, the Dawn Armor's technological secrets surpassed even the immediate importance of the Knight himself. Furthermore, understanding the armor's weaknesses would give the Agency a crucial operational advantage should Zhou Yi ever become uncontrollable.
Zhou Yi, having anticipated this overture since his first public appearance, was entirely unconcerned. In his eyes, the Dawn Armor was merely a beautifully engineered holographic misdirection designed to conceal the true source of his power.
It was an elaborate stage prop. The real Iron Man wasn't Tony Stark; the real Dawn Armor was his own mind. This technological deception was his greatest asset.
"You are interested in the Dawn Armor?" Zhou Yi asked, feigning thoughtful hesitation, his merchant's mind running a rapid cost-benefit analysis. "My asking price for that particular item is… exorbitant."
"Mr. Zhou, I assure you, our budget for investment in tactical development will prove more than adequate for this venture," Coulson responded with a sincere, hearty chuckle, trusting the black-budget authority delegated to him by Fury. He was negotiating for the Agency, and financial risk was not his personal concern.
"First, I must state definitively: I will not sell the technology or the schematics," Zhou Yi declared, cutting off any hope of reverse engineering.
"I will only consider selling the finished product. Secondly, any finished product sold will be explicitly labeled as a previous generation model, with absolutely no performance guarantees or service contracts."
Zhou Yi was making his terms clear: he would sell a carefully engineered, outdated piece of technology, ensuring the Agency always remained behind the curve.
Coulson quickly put on his headset, his gaze briefly meeting Hill's before he spoke into the microphone. A procurement of this magnitude and with these unusual terms was beyond a Level 8 Agent's purview; it required immediate clearance from Fury and the shadowy Council.
The internal consultation was swift. The imperative to acquire something tangible outweighed the risk of acquiring outdated tech. A short minute later, Coulson removed his headset, smiling easily.
"Absolutely no problem, Mr. Zhou. We agree to the terms: finished, previous-generation products only, with no schematics. What are your remaining requirements?"
"Excellent," Zhou Yi said, leaning back, the sharpest tool in his box finally being presented. "I have no need for conventional currency. Therefore, this transaction must be conducted via a resource exchange. You will need to provide me with the highly specific materials required for the continued development of my own projects."
"Such as?"
Zhou Yi paused, letting the name of the resource hang heavy in the air, a demand that would instantly challenge the security, politics, and military might of the global establishment.
"I require access to large quantities of Adamantium, or the primary, source Vibranium."
The silence that followed was absolute. Coulson's practiced smile froze on his face. Maria Hill's eyes, previously narrowed in anger, widened in genuine, professional shock.
Zhou Yi had not asked for money; he had demanded control of the world's two rarest, most restricted, and most politically explosive strategic metals.
Coulson was already reaching for his headset, knowing that this demand required clearance not just from Fury, but from the World Security Council itself. This was no longer a negotiation; it was a demand for sovereignty.