There were no stars in the New York night, no moon—only lights, and more lights, scattered across the sky. They brightened the darkness, keeping the city from falling into complete blackness, and gave a sense of safety to anyone walking the streets late at night.
But the night in New York was never peaceful—especially in the Marvel universe.
New York was indeed a paradise for the wealthy, but its nights were equally a paradise for criminals.
Every night, criminals roamed this bustling metropolis. In every shadowy corner, you could hear suppressed voices and the muffled echo of gunshots hidden between tall buildings.
But no one truly cared. This was New York at night—this was the criminals' playground.
Tonight, however, was different. Someone decided to step in.
A black SUV slid through the streets like a ghost, speeding through the city.
Then, as if noticing something, the SUV screeched to a halt, turned around, and drove into a dark alleyway.
Screech!
The vehicle stopped in the alley.
Its headlights cut through the darkness, revealing two figures.
A white man dressed in a black leather jacket and a hippie-style outfit was holding a knife, facing off against a terrified woman.
The moment the car arrived, the woman seemed to regain hope. Relief washed over her, and she nearly screamed.
Bang!
The car door opened and closed. Coulson stepped out.
"Stay out of this!" the hippie-looking man warned, gesturing with the knife.
"Relax, man! I don't want trouble. Just give me back my friend, and I'll leave right away." Coulson raised his hands and walked forward.
Some things couldn't be ignored once witnessed. Coulson might be an agent, but he was still a decent man. He intended to resolve the situation.
And just like that, he did.
"Stop! Don't come any closer!" The man panicked, refusing to let Coulson approach.
"You said she's your friend?"
"That's right! That's right—Amy!"
The last sentence was directed toward the woman.
She wasn't stupid. She knew Coulson was helping her. She didn't dare speak, but gratitude filled her eyes as she nodded desperately.
"Since we're friends, I can help you out. But you gotta pay me, or else…" The man waved his arm again, trying to appear threatening, his knife flickering under the headlights.
"Of course."
Coulson reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet.
The man's eyes lit up. He had expected trouble, not a windfall. He assumed that since Coulson was approaching so calmly, he must be a pushover.
But before he could react, a dark shape flew toward him. In the bright headlights he couldn't see clearly, but judging from its shape, it was a wallet—just moving much too fast.
Bang!
The wallet smacked into his face. Before he could process what happened, a sharp pain shot through the arm holding the knife.
Clang!
The knife dropped to the ground. He doubled over, pinned against the wall by a sudden force.
Only then did he feel a hand twisting his arm, pressing him down.
"Miss, are you okay?" Coulson asked.
"I'm fine, thank you, sir!"
"No problem. If you can, leave quickly—go straight home."
Hearing this, the woman nodded repeatedly, thanked him again and again, and hurried away, her high heels clicking rapidly as she disappeared.
"Coulson, how long are you going to take? Deal with him already. We need to go!" Natasha's voice came from inside the car.
Coulson scratched his head awkwardly.
"Man, I'm just a thief! Don't kill me, just hand me to the cops! Bro, don't do anything rash!"
Hearing Natasha say "deal with him," the man almost fainted from fear, convinced she meant to kill him. Her tone didn't help.
Coulson and Natasha were stunned speechless. Yes, they'd killed people—but only during missions. They didn't go around murdering civilians.Yet this guy clearly saw them as ruthless killers who would murder over the slightest disagreement.
Natasha didn't bother explaining. He wasn't worth the effort. She leaned back, raised her cup, and waited for Coulson to finish up.
Coulson sighed, grabbed the man's head, and slammed it lightly against the wall—just enough to knock him out. Then he took the man's phone and called the police.
They were agents, not cops. It was fine to help out of a sense of justice, but handling petty criminals themselves was unnecessary—crossing the line into meddling.
Better to leave it to the police.
After laying the man down, Coulson returned to the SUV. He gave Natasha an apologetic smile, started the engine, and drove away.
The delay wasn't long, but it was still wasted time—and they had no time to spare.
The SUV once again became a dark phantom streaking across New York, weaving through buildings and streets until finally stopping at their destination.
"It's already eleven. He might be asleep. Maybe we shouldn't go in right now," Coulson said, checking his watch.
"No—we're going in. We're already here, and we can't leave empty-handed. Besides, he might still be awake."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For advanced chapter visit my patreon:
patreon.com/fatimasoomro123
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~