Being a SHIELD consultant turned out to be less glamorous and more bureaucratic than I'd imagined.
The first two weeks involved endless paperwork, security briefings, and what Coulson cheerfully called "orientation." I learned SHIELD protocols, reporting procedures, and the seemingly infinite ways the organization categorized threats.
"You're in the Civilian Interface division," Coulson explained during one meeting. "CI handles situations where sending armed agents would escalate tensions. You're the friendly face, the person who can talk someone down without them feeling threatened."
"So I'm the professional nice guy?"
"Essentially, yes. Though your skill set is broader than that. Crisis intervention, information gathering, civilian liaison—think of yourself as a Swiss Army knife of support roles."
My official badge arrived, along with secure communication devices and access to basic SHIELD databases. Nothing classified, but enough to keep me informed about ongoing situations that might require civilian consultants.
The pay was good—$5,000 monthly retainer plus $2,000 per completed assignment—but more valuable was the legitimacy. I was officially part of the system now, with legal protection and resources that regular civilians didn't have.
═══════════════════════════════════════
NEW STATUS: SHIELD Consultant (Level 1)
Benefits Active:
Legal protection for SHIELD-related activities
Access to Level 2 SHIELD databases
Emergency response priority
Medical coverage (enhanced)
Equipment requisition (approved items)
Current Clearance: Level 2 (Civilian Consultant)
Reputation with SHIELD: Positive
Coulson: Approving
Fury: Intrigued
Rushman: Trusting
Note: Your position is primarily support, but you're building credibility. Successful assignments will increase clearance and opportunities.
═══════════════════════════════════════
My first official assignment came three days after Tony's party.
"We have a situation in Queens," Coulson said over my encrypted phone. "A teenager manifested electrical abilities during a stress event at school. Teachers called it in, and now the kid's barricaded in a classroom, terrified and losing control. We need someone to talk him down before he accidentally hurts someone."
"Another one like the Central Park incident?"
"Similar. You handled that well. Can you be there in thirty minutes?"
"On my way."
I grabbed the emergency response kit from my apartment—first aid supplies, some basic tools, my SHIELD badge—and caught a cab to Queens.
The school was cordoned off, police outside, and a familiar black SUV parked near the entrance. Agent Morrison stood beside it, talking into a radio.
"Carter," she acknowledged as I approached. "Kid's name is Miles Warren, fifteen, honors student. No history of trouble until today. Powers manifested during a chemistry test—stress trigger, probably. He's scared, not malicious."
"Anyone hurt?"
"Minor burns on a classmate who tried to grab him. Nothing serious, but enough to panic everyone." She handed me a radio. "We've cleared the building except for him. He's in Room 304, third floor. Try to talk him down. If that fails, we have a specialized team ready to extract him safely."
"Let me try the gentle approach first."
The school was eerily quiet as I walked through empty hallways. Lockers stood open, abandoned backpacks scattered on the floor from the hasty evacuation. I could hear crackling electricity as I approached Room 304.
The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could see a terrified teenager sitting at a desk, electricity arcing between his fingers and jumping to nearby metal objects. Scorch marks covered the walls.
"Miles?" I called out, keeping my voice calm and staying in the doorway where he could see me. "My name is Alex. I'm here to help."
"Stay back!" His voice cracked. "I don't want to hurt anyone!"
"I know you don't. And you won't. Can I come in? Just to talk?"
"The electricity—I can't control it—"
"That's okay. We'll figure it out together." I took a slow step into the room, hands visible and empty. "This happened to you suddenly, right? During the test?"
"I was stressed about the exam, and then my hands started tingling, and then—" He gestured helplessly as another arc of electricity jumped from his fingers. "I don't know what's happening to me!"
═══════════════════════════════════════
[Crisis Management - Active]
[Emotional Support - Active]
[Smooth Talker - Active]
CP Cost: -50 total
Subject Status: Fear
Level: Very High
Control: Minimal
Threat: Low (powers tied to emotional state)
Recommended Approach: Normalize the situation, provide breathing exercises, establish trust quickly
═══════════════════════════════════════
"What's happening is you're manifesting enhanced abilities," I said, keeping my tone matter-of-fact rather than alarmed. "It's rare, but it happens. The good news is that these abilities usually respond to your emotional state. When you're calm, they calm down. When you're panicked, they spike."
"How do you know that?"
"I've seen it before. There was another guy in Central Park a few months ago, similar situation. He learned to control it, and you will too." I pulled over a chair and sat down, deliberately casual. "But first, we need to get you calm. Can you take some deep breaths with me?"
"I don't think—"
"Just try. In through your nose, count of four. Hold it, count of four. Out through your mouth, count of four. Focus on the counting, not the electricity."
He looked skeptical but tried. The first breath was shaky, the electricity still crackling, but with each repetition, the arcs grew smaller.
"That's it. You're doing great, Miles. Again."
We went through the breathing exercise for several minutes. The electricity gradually diminished until it was just occasional sparks at his fingertips.
"Better?" I asked.
"Yeah. Actually, yeah." He looked at his hands with wonder and fear mixed together. "What am I?"
"You're a kid who developed abilities you didn't ask for. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. You're not a monster or a freak—you just need help learning control."
"What happens now? Do I go to jail?"
"No. There's an organization—SHIELD—that helps people like you. They have training programs, resources, people who understand what you're going through. They'll teach you control so this never happens again accidentally."
"And if I don't want their help?"
"Then you get to make that choice when you're eighteen. But until then, your parents need to be involved, and honestly, learning control is in everyone's best interest. Including yours."
Miles was quiet for a moment, electricity still flickering faintly around his hands. "Will they treat me like a lab rat?"
"No. SHIELD has strict protocols about that. You'd have rights, support, counseling. They're not perfect, but they're not evil either. They just want to make sure you don't accidentally hurt yourself or others while you're learning."
"Okay." He stood slowly. "Okay. I'll cooperate. Can... can you come with me? To talk to my parents? I don't know how to explain this to them."
"Of course."
═══════════════════════════════════════
SITUATION RESOLVED
Mission Success:
Subject calmed without violence
No additional injuries
Voluntary cooperation achieved
Trust established
Rewards:
+500 SP
+$2,000 (assignment completion)
SHIELD Reputation +15
EXP +800
LEVEL UP! 9 → 10
New Attribute Points: +5
New Feature Unlocked: Skill Fusion (combine compatible skills)
Achievement: Successfully completed first official SHIELD assignment
═══════════════════════════════════════
Agent Morrison met us outside with a SHIELD counselor and Miles's parents. The reunion was emotional—his parents terrified but relieved, Miles breaking down and apologizing, assurances from the counselor that everything would be okay.
I hung back, letting the professionals handle the family integration part. Coulson appeared beside me, looking pleased.
"Smooth work, Carter. The kid trusts you, which will make the transition easier."
"He's just scared. Once he realizes these abilities can be controlled, he'll be fine."
"Regardless, you handled it perfectly. Fury's going to want you on call for more situations like this." He paused. "There's also another matter. Tony Stark called me this morning. Asked if we had a consultant named Alex Carter on our roster."
I tensed. "Did I mess up at the party?"
"On the contrary. He was impressed. Said you gave him a perspective he needed, and he wanted to thank you properly." Coulson handed me a business card. "He's invited you to the Monaco Grand Prix next week. Private box, all expenses paid, 'as thanks for not being an ass at his birthday party'—his words."
"Monaco? Seriously?"
"Seriously. Agent Rrushman is already going as part of her cover at Stark Industries, so you'd be together. Consider it a working vacation—keep an eye on Tony, make sure he doesn't do anything too reckless, enjoy the racing."
"When you say 'don't do anything too reckless,' what exactly are you expecting?"
Coulson smiled. "With Tony Stark? Anything. But you've proven capable of handling his particular brand of chaos. Just... try to keep him alive."
That evening, I met Natasha at her apartment to discuss the Monaco trip.
"Tony invited you?" She looked amused. "He must have really liked you. He doesn't usually invite random people to his European adventures."
"I'm not sure 'liked' is the right word. More like 'found me tolerable' maybe."
"For Tony, that's practically love." She pulled up information on her tablet. "Monaco Grand Prix is in five days. We'll fly out Thursday, race is Sunday, back Monday. Officially, I'm going as his assistant. You're going as... his new friend, apparently."
"Coulson said it's a working vacation. Keep an eye on Tony."
"It will be. But we can also enjoy it. Monaco's beautiful, the racing is exciting, and it'll be nice to have you there." She smiled. "Plus, I can write off the whole trip as a work expense."
"The perks of being a spy."
"Consultant," she corrected with a smirk. "We're both consultants now. Just in different capacities."
I pulled her close. "So we're working together officially now."
"Looks like it. Think you can handle that?"
"I think I can manage."
She kissed me, slow and sweet. "Good. Because having you in my professional world makes things easier. I don't have to split myself between work and personal life as much."
"No more secrets?"
"Well, some secrets. Clearance levels are still a thing. But fewer secrets." She rested her forehead against mine. "I like this. Us working together. Feels right."
"It does."
The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation.
I completed my daily quests, continued training with Sarah (who was thrilled that I'd landed a "real job" with SHIELD), and tried to research what I might encounter in Monaco.
I knew the broad strokes—Ivan Vanko would attack Tony during the race, there would be a fight, and eventually Tony would create the new element and solve his palladium problem. But knowing what happened in a movie was different from preparing for it in reality.
Vanko was enhanced by his own arc reactor technology and wielded electrified whips that could cut through cars like butter. He was also legitimately skilled in combat and motivated by revenge.
I couldn't fight him directly. That would be suicide. But maybe I could help in other ways.
I spent some time in the SHIELD equipment requisition system, looking at what was available to consultants.
═══════════════════════════════════════
SHIELD EQUIPMENT AVAILABLE (Level 2 Clearance)
Defensive Options:
Ballistic Vest (concealed) - Approved
Emergency Shield Generator (single use) - Requires justification
Smoke Grenades (non-lethal) - Approved
Communication:
Enhanced Earpiece (encrypted) - Standard issue
Emergency Beacon - Standard issue
Tactical Glasses (HUD display) - Requires Level 3
Medical:
Advanced First Aid Kit - Already issued
Emergency Stim Pack - Requires medical certification
Note: Additional equipment requires mission-specific approval from handler (Coulson)
═══════════════════════════════════════
I requisitioned a concealed ballistic vest and smoke grenades, citing "potential civil unrest at large public events" as justification. Coulson approved without comment.
I also distributed my new attribute points from leveling up:
Attribute Points Allocated:
AGI +2 (for better reflexes)
END +1 (for stamina)
INT +1 (for tactical thinking)
CHA +1 (for continued social effectiveness)
Updated Stats:
STR (Strength) : 48/100
AGI (Agility) : 53/100
END (Endurance) : 50/100
INT (Intelligence) : 43/100
CHA (Charisma) : 57/100
LCK (Luck) : 38/100
CHARM : 64/100
Combat Prowess: 78/100
I was approaching the upper end of peak human capability. Not Captain America level, but definitely well above normal. Between my training and the system's enhancements, I could hold my own in most situations.
Thursday arrived, and Natasha and I boarded a private SHIELD jet to Monaco. Tony was flying separately with Pepper and Happy, maintaining the appearance that Natasha was just a Stark Industries employee.
The flight was comfortable—SHIELD didn't skimp on their transport—and gave us time to go over the plan.
"Officially, we're just attending the race," Natasha said, reviewing files on her tablet. "Unofficially, Fury wants intelligence on Justin Hammer. He's supposed to be there, and he's been making moves in the defense sector. Anything we can learn about his plans would be useful."
"Justin Hammer? The guy who makes inferior weapons?"
"The very same. He's got government contracts, an ego problem, and a desperation to compete with Tony. Dangerous combination." She looked up from her tablet. "You've got good instincts. If you notice anything off about him or his people, let me know."
"Will do."
Monaco was everything you'd expect—beautiful, expensive, and full of rich people pretending to care about racing. Our hotel was ridiculous, all marble and gold accents, with a view of the harbor where yachts worth more than most houses bobbed gently.
"SHIELD pays for this?" I asked, looking around the suite.
"Tony pays for this. We're his guests, remember? SHIELD just... observes." Natasha unpacked efficiently. "There's a party tonight at the hotel. Tony will be there, Hammer might show up, good opportunity for intelligence gathering."
"So we schmooze and eavesdrop?"
"Basically. Welcome to spy work—it's ninety percent boring social events and ten percent actual excitement."
"Sounds like dating."
She threw a pillow at me.
The party that evening was predictably lavish. Tony held court near the bar, Pepper at his side looking both fond and exasperated. Happy stood nearby in a suit that looked uncomfortable. And across the room, I spotted Justin Hammer—slick suit, over-styled hair, desperately trying to project confidence.
"That's Hammer?" I asked Natasha quietly.
"That's him. Watch."
We observed as Hammer approached Tony, all fake smiles and forced camaraderie. Even from a distance, you could see Tony's disdain. The conversation lasted maybe two minutes before Tony dismissed him with a wave, turning back to more interesting company.
Hammer's expression flickered—embarrassment, anger, wounded pride—before the fake smile returned. He retreated to a corner, immediately on his phone, speaking urgently to someone.
"That looked tense," I observed.
"Hammer hates Tony. Sees him as the enemy, the reason Hammer Industries can't compete." Natasha sipped her champagne, eyes tracking Hammer's movements. "But he's up to something. Look at his body language—that's not a man who just got socially dismissed. That's a man with a plan."
"Should we get closer?"
"Not yet. Too obvious. We'll—"
She was cut off by Tony spotting us and waving us over.
"Carter! Rushman! Come drink expensive champagne and help me ignore the parasites!"
We approached, and Tony pulled me into an unexpected one-armed hug. "How's the consultant life treating you?"
"Interesting so far."
"Good. You deserve interesting." He was wearing his trademark sunglasses indoors, probably hiding the bloodshot eyes from continued palladium poisoning. "I've been working on that thing we discussed. The theoretical element? Making progress. Might not die after all."
"That's great, Tony."
"Yeah, well, don't jinx it. Still have to synthesize the damn thing." He looked at Natasha. "And you, Ms. Rushman. Still pretending to be my assistant while spying on me for Fury?"
"I prefer 'administrative observer,'" Natasha said smoothly.
"Sure you do." Tony laughed. "I like you two. You're honest about being dishonest. It's refreshing." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Fair warning—tomorrow's race might get interesting. I'm driving."
Natasha's expression didn't change, but I felt her tense beside me. "Tony, that's not a good idea."
"Probably not. Doing it anyway. Got to live while I'm still alive, right?" He clinked his glass against mine. "Just thought you should know. In case your handlers want to have a stroke about it."
He wandered off before we could respond, leaving us to process that information.
"He's driving in the race," Natasha said flatly. "He's literally dying from palladium poisoning, and he's going to drive a Formula One car at 200 miles per hour."
"Very on-brand for him."
"Fury's going to kill me."
"Fury's going to have to get in line behind Pepper."
Despite the stress, I saw her lips twitch in an almost-smile. "Come on. Let's enjoy the party. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
She wasn't wrong.