"Keep watching."
Hill's tone made it clear she wasn't going to explain yet. Fury wanted answers immediately, but years of fieldwork had taught him patience. He turned back to the screen.
On the surveillance footage, the Savage Gang's leader was shouting something at the young man with the trident. The young man replied with what looked like two words.
Even without audio or lip-reading skills, Fury could piece together the conversation from context and body language.
The gang leader: "What the hell just happened? What did you do?"
The young man's response, based on Hill's earlier comment and the brevity of his mouth movements: "Illusion."
Just two syllables. Simple, concise.
But that was impossible, wasn't it?
Fury's eye widened, his breathing quickening despite himself.
Yes, illusions could deceive the five senses—sight, sound, touch, even smell and taste if the user was skilled enough.
But they were watching surveillance footage. Recorded video from a camera.
Illusions could fool people, but could they fool machines? Electronic equipment?
Had he misread the lip movements? Or was the young man lying to the gang leader?
Because if neither of those things were true—if the young man's illusions could actually deceive cameras and recording devices—then how the hell were they supposed to deal with him?
S.H.I.E.L.D. existed to handle supernatural threats on Earth. When they discovered enhanced individuals, anomalous objects, or unexplained phenomena, the protocol was always the same: make contact, then attempt to recruit, control, contain, or—if absolutely necessary—eliminate.
This young man was part of a mafia organization, an underworld criminal enterprise. If they had evidence of serious crimes, containment or elimination would be on the table.
But S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have many enhanced operatives. And they certainly didn't have anyone who specialized in illusions or psychic manipulation.
Their standard approach to enhanced threats relied heavily on technology—specialized weapons, surveillance equipment, containment cells.
But if this guy could fool cameras, then all their other equipment was probably vulnerable too.
So how were they supposed to counter him?
"There are three possibilities," Hill said, already working through the problem analytically. "One: the young man lied. This isn't actually an illusion—it's some other ability. Two: he didn't lie, but the illusion doesn't directly affect electronic equipment. Instead, it affects the viewers watching the footage. Three: he didn't lie, and his illusions can actually manipulate inanimate objects like cameras and recording devices. There's also a fourth option—we misread his lips entirely and he said something else." She paused. "General recommendation if he becomes a hostile target: long-range sniper elimination. Don't engage at close range."
"Right. He's not invincible."
Hill's breakdown helped Fury regain his composure. He sat back down in his chair, leaning against the headrest as he thought through their options.
"Get the think tank on this," he ordered. "I want a full psychological profile based on his expressions and micro-movements. I want an analysis of potential weaknesses based on the abilities he's demonstrated. And I want everything we can find on these people."
Hill's expression shifted to something almost apologetic.
"There's nothing to find."
"What?"
Fury stared at her. "What do you mean, nothing?"
"I ran a full background check before coming here," Hill explained. "Every database we have access to—criminal records, birth certificates, social security, immigration, facial recognition, financial records, everything. I found absolutely nothing on any of them. Just like with Mr. Quinn, there's no past, no history, no paper trail. Not even a trace that they existed before today. It's like they materialized out of thin air."
"Not again."
Fury's expression darkened considerably.
Hill didn't know about the Ghosts yet—Fury had kept that classified—so she didn't fully understand how serious this was. But even without that context, over three hundred people with zero background information was a massive red flag.
Even if someone was powerful enough to falsify records and scrub databases, they couldn't erase everything. They couldn't kill every person who'd ever met them. They couldn't eliminate every photograph, every casual interaction, every mundane trace of a normal life.
But these people had somehow done exactly that.
No records. No history. Nothing.
As if they'd simply appeared out of nowhere.
"Mr. Quinn and those Ghosts have one thing in common," Fury muttered, more to himself than to Hill. "Maybe they know something. We might be able to get information from them."
But he didn't elaborate on that thought out loud.
He'd already sent people to test Mr. Quinn. Once that operation concluded, he'd decide on next steps based on the results.
And the Ghosts—he'd assigned Coulson to investigate them personally.
Better to wait for solid intelligence before making any moves.
"Continue the video."
Having made his decision, Fury focused back on the screen.
The Vongola Family subdued the Savage Gang without much difficulty. After the leader said something to the defeated gang members, they dispersed, leaving only the Vongola members waiting in place on the street.
About an hour later, another group appeared.
Roughly six hundred people, all armed, approaching aggressively from the opposite end of the street. Two leaders walked at the front—clearly the remaining gang bosses Hill had mentioned.
One of the Vongola's core members—a young man with distinctive silver-white hair—said something to the leader and stepped forward.
He was going to handle this one.
"So all the core members have abilities," Fury observed, his earlier theory confirmed.
But then something unexpected happened.
From the third row of the Vongola formation, a middle-aged man with a scarred, vicious-looking face pushed forward. He had two pistols holstered at his waist. He completely ignored the silver-haired core member's objections, drew both guns, and walked toward the enemy gang with casual confidence.
"Are the third-row members enhanced too?" Fury wondered aloud. "Or is it everyone who's not carrying modern firearms?"
He leaned forward, studying the interaction more carefully.
"And look at that—the third-row member and the second-row member are clearly arguing, but the leader doesn't intervene or show any disapproval. The rest of the Family members don't seem bothered either. Some of them even look amused." Fury's analytical mind was already drawing conclusions. "This isn't a typical gang hierarchy maintained through fear and violence. There's something else binding them together. Something deeper."
From this brief exchange alone, Fury had extracted multiple important details. The Vongola Family had just jumped several levels higher on his threat assessment scale.
Then the scene changed again.
The young man with the trident—his red eye suddenly burst into purple-blue flames, and the number visible in his iris shifted from six (六) to one (一).
Immediately, every Vongola member except the scarred man with the pistols began to fade like ghosts, becoming translucent before vanishing entirely.
"Those aren't cosmetic contacts," Fury muttered.
"What do the flames represent?"
"And the number change—what does six mean? What does one mean?"
"If there's a six and a one, do the numbers in between exist too? Two, three, four, five?"
"What system is he using? What do these numbers represent?"
Questions multiplied in Fury's mind faster than he could process them, each one spawning two more.
But he didn't have time to think them through.
Because the battle had started.
The sudden disappearance of the Vongola members clearly shocked both enemy gangs—the Cottonmouth's crew and what looked like another group. They froze, confused and unnerved.
That moment of hesitation was all the scarred man needed.
One man. Two guns. No backup. No fear.
He raised both pistols—and orange flames erupted around the barrels, the same color Fury had seen on the leader earlier—and opened fire.
He walked forward steadily, laughing like a maniac, and the Dying Will Flame bullets poured out like a horizontal rainstorm. The sheer volume of fire instantly covered the entire width of the street in a devastating barrage.
"What the..."
Fury sat frozen, stunned.
That kind of firepower was comparable to a fully-equipped military unit.
Even the Punisher couldn't match that level of sustained fire.