Chapter Four
Not long after leaving Naruto in his hotel room—or, more accurately, after admitting defeat in extracting even a single useful answer—Coulson softly knocked on the door of the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s office and waited for permission to enter. When it came, he found Fury standing in front of a massive screen, studying something with his usual permanent scowl.
The moment his most trusted agent crossed the threshold, Fury looked up. Just seconds earlier, he had been reviewing information about a possible active HYDRA remnant in South America. At best, it was a cheap rumor—the kind of story bored operatives traded in a bar. But in Fury's world, even rumors had the annoying habit of turning into real problems. It had happened before. It would happen again.
"Well," he said bluntly, fixing his one good eye on Coulson, "what can you tell me?"
The agent took a deep breath. He was one of the few men capable of meeting Fury's gaze without flinching… though at that moment, he would have preferred to be anywhere else.
"I'm afraid I haven't managed to get much," he admitted honestly. "Our techs are examining the fried equipment we found in the bedroom. So far, we haven't identified the technology he used to neutralize the microphones. We don't even know how he detected them."
It was the truth. He had gotten absolutely nothing useful out of the redhead, and that wasn't something Coulson was accustomed to admitting out loud.
"And his people?" Fury asked, letting each word fall like lead. He was in no mood for jurisdictional disputes, nor for playing diplomat with a foreign power trespassing on his territory. He needed answers: who that man was, who he worked for, and—above all—how the hell they had managed to place their agent at the exact location at the exact moment.
Coulson shook his head slightly.
"We haven't discovered how he communicates with them. He claims he's already contacted them, but we haven't picked up any signal. No cell phone, no radio, nothing through the hotel's phone line. No known channel. Whoever he is—and whoever he works for—they're using completely unknown methods of communication."
He knew perfectly well that with every word, he was only feeding the Director's growing irritation.
And it was understandable. S.H.I.E.L.D. prided itself—rightfully—on possessing the most advanced technology on the planet. That a supposed foreigner had not only bypassed their detection systems, but also seemed better informed and apparently equipped with superior technology… yes, Fury was furious.
And he wouldn't calm down until he had answers. Answers that, for the moment, no one in the organization seemed anywhere close to obtaining.
Fury said nothing at first, but Coulson wasn't surprised when a vein began to stand out at the Director's temple, pulsing like a seismic warning. It was the kind of unmistakable sign that any agent with a survival instinct knew how to read: the Director was making a heroic effort not to lose his temper.
"Then tell me what information you do have," he finally growled, his voice strong enough to make a bear back away. "You're not expecting me to believe we've got nothing. Or am I supposed to accept that our only lead is a man demanding diplomatic immunity in the name of an agency that doesn't even exist in our records?"
Calling it a growl might have been an understatement.
Coulson kept his composure. He was one of the few who could do so without breaking into a sweat.
"We've received preliminary reports from the tech teams at the beach," Coulson began, choosing his words carefully. "Apparently, they detected residual energy in the area where we found the melted sand. There are no new ground markings this time, but the readings show similarities to what we recorded during the previous incident. We can assume that whatever happened, its source is—in some way—similar… and at the same time completely different from the Bifrost."
In truth, the situation was far worse than he was letting on. The equipment S.H.I.E.L.D. had used to analyze the site was suffering a failure rate higher than the cast of a slasher movie: fried circuits, impossible interference, cascading malfunctions. It was as if they had tried to study an energy that human technology simply wasn't designed to process.
That was precisely why Coulson chose not to mention it—at least not yet. Fury's pulsing vein suggested this was not the moment for nuance.
"However," Coulson continued, "the melted patch on the ground has a unique energy signature. Whatever occurred there must have been extremely hot and, most likely, very loud. The techs report that the sand crystallized almost instantly, and they found no trace of accelerants or chemical compounds that could explain the phenomenon. I'm afraid it may have been some kind of failed first contact, but we have no way to confirm that. There are too many unknown variables. For now, sir… it seems our best—and probably only—source of information is the man waiting for contact from his superiors in that hotel room."
With that, Coulson concluded his report.
Fury leaned back in his chair, narrowing his good eye with an intensity that could have melted steel.
"What can you tell me about him?" he asked. "You're good at reading people. Is he a threat?"
Coulson took a second—not because he was uncertain, but because he was trying to find a diplomatic way to express something that, by its nature, wasn't.
"Whatever his training is, it's among the best I've ever seen. He arrived with no luggage and no detectable weapons. He's playing with our best intelligence-gathering methods as if they were toys, and he shows no interest in trying to ingratiate himself. Paradoxically, that tells me he isn't hostile. When someone wants to hurt us, they usually try too hard to look like our friend. He… is simply cooperative up to a point. He reveals nothing, but he doesn't resist either. He hasn't asked for anything, and he complies with everything we tell him without question."
Fury's scowl deepened.
"And?"
Coulson inhaled slowly, like a man who knew he was about to sound a little ridiculous—even to himself.
"Well, sir… when I found him on the beach, he was wearing leather gear. Something like a fire-resistant, bulletproof suit, but made of a material and design I'd never seen before. It was the only thing he had on him. But when I went to pick him up this afternoon, he was wearing something completely different. At the time, I assumed he had arranged a delivery or received clothing from some agency. But now that I think about it… I've received no notification of him leaving his room, nor of anyone entering it."
Fury went completely still. To anyone who knew him, that was the equivalent of a shout.
Coulson continued, carefully, like someone walking across thin ice.
"I'm not sure how he did it, but he appears to have obtained something without using any of the channels we monitor. Is it possible that someone is working on something similar to Jane Foster's research?"
It was a loaded question. If someone was replicating Bifrost-related technology without Fury's knowledge… then the situation was infinitely more serious than they had assumed.
Fury remained as calm as a man in his position could afford to be—which, by human standards, was still fairly intimidating. In truth, it was information he could use… but the expression on his face made it clear that, while he was considering the possibility, it wasn't something he—the man who knew everything—was aware of.
"It's possible," he admitted, the word coming out with the resistance of someone swallowing glass, "but highly unlikely. If someone had access to technology on that level, why abandon their own agent? Why not retrieve him directly instead of merely sending clothes? And why the hell haven't we detected any other similar transmissions?"
There was something in his tone that suggested each question was less an inquiry directed at Coulson and more an accusation leveled at the universe itself.
"Whoever this individual is," Fury continued, "we can't afford to lose him for even a minute. Contact Romanoff. We may need her to extract information."
Coulson gave a small nod, already reading between the lines.
Fury added, his voice edged with a sharpness that could have cut titanium:
"Keep her on standby… but don't deploy her yet."
"Yes, sir," Coulson replied, though before leaving he remembered one last detail he had forgotten to mention. "Oh—right. I did get something. Not much, but… we have his full name. Naruto Udgard. Facial recognition is still searching for matches, but now that we have a name, our chances should improve."
Fury pinned him with a hard stare for a long second. It was the kind of second that, for those who knew the Director, could feel like a signed and sealed death threat.
"At S.H.I.E.L.D., we don't rely on luck," he finally said, his tone so dry it could have dehydrated a plant. "Get me that information."
"Of course, sir," Coulson answered, wearing the same neutral smile as always—the kind that never revealed whether he was calm or terrified. Then he turned on his heel and left the office.
Fury remained standing, staring at the screen he had ignored throughout the entire conversation. His mind, however, was far from HYDRA, South America, or any other problem of the day.
We'll see, boy, he thought, with an intensity that seemed to thicken the air. We'll get inside your mind.
In a hotel located at the opposite end of the city from where the red-haired individual was staying, a device installed to monitor the energy readings coming from his room suddenly began blaring multiple alarms at once. The noise made the technicians jump to their feet immediately and sent agents rushing out the door, convinced that something had gone very, very wrong.
As for Naruto himself, he had decided to take a short walk.
Not because Malibu was particularly interesting, but because he wanted to look for something he knew was always present—at least in his own world—in the city of New York: a ley line. With a bit of luck, he could connect to the world's magical flow and draw enough energy to return home.
He wasn't entirely sure such a ley line existed in this universe, especially given how little of this world's geography he recognized. But probably… well, no. The truth was simpler: he was bored of being cooped up and wanted to get out for a while.
Of course, he couldn't simply open the door to his room and stroll through the hotel as if nothing were wrong. He was certain that the moment he did, he'd be intercepted by a sizeable number of agents.
So he returned to his room and used an innate Sirenian ability to render his skin translucent, becoming practically invisible to the human eye.
After that, he focused on every reference to New York he knew. Once the image was clear enough in his mind, he vanished from the spot with a rather audible thunderous crack.
Fortunately, when he arrived at his destination, it was in an alleyway—just across from the city's capitol building. He remembered that the ley line he was looking for usually ran somewhere around that area. Once visible again, he used another Sirenian ability to alter his appearance: he went from being a young aristocrat with striking red hair—far too easy to recognize—to looking like an average New Yorker no one would bother giving a second glance.
Unfortunately, after wandering the area for roughly an hour, he was unable to find what he was looking for. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He supposed he should have expected it—nothing involving advanced magic was ever that simple. Still, there wasn't much he could do about it.
Well… nothing, except widen the search area.
With that in mind, he began observing every corner of the city far more carefully than before. At first, he didn't find much; New York, being one of the world's great urban centers, had practically devoured much of the natural magic in its surroundings. But after a while, he finally detected something.
It wasn't much—just a faint trace, so small that in any other context he would have ignored it entirely. Still, he was certain it was leading him toward the heart of the city. So, even without knowing exactly what awaited him, he followed it. And with every step, the sensation grew stronger: the magic became heavier, more tangible, more present.
He didn't know what it was, nor why it seemed to be calling to him, but he recognized the signature of the power. He had only ever felt something like that coming from Milim—and that alone said enough.
When he finally reached the source, the revelation was… completely anticlimactic. There was no dimensional portal, no cosmic pillar, no luminous temple made of pure energy. Just an old building, its façade dominated by a massive circular window shaped like a dome.
The call was still there—persistent, almost vibrating in his bones. So he simply approached the door, determined to find out what the hell was going on.
And that was when the doors opened.
On the other side stood what appeared to be a Tibetan monk—or at least someone dressed like one. The man looked directly into Naruto's eyes, and Naruto was absolutely certain that, somehow, the man could see him as he truly was, beyond tricks, abilities, and disguises.
Whether that was truly the case or not, he would never know. The monk merely nodded and stepped aside, inviting him in. After a brief moment of hesitation, Naruto crossed the threshold without losing his composure… and immediately felt every gram of his being brush against a powerful protective barrier.
Fortunately, he had been allowed entry.
And once inside, his senses were struck by the same overwhelming presence of absolute power he had only ever felt in Milim's presence. He glanced back at the man who had let him in, but the monk was already walking away without sparing him another look.
Naruto assumed he should follow him. And, considering it was poor manners to keep another person's face inside someone else's home, he dismissed his disguise before walking after him.
As he did, a voice echoed from the opposite direction, clearly coming from the second floor.
"Traveler… welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum."
End of Chapter