Morning came in through the hotel curtains in a thin, colorless band, the kind of light that made everything look flatter and more honest than it wanted to be.
Felix sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed now, shoes on, jacket folded over the chair. Sharon lay tangled in the sheets behind him, one arm thrown over the pillow, hair loose, face turned toward the window. She breathed slowly, deeply. Not unconscious, heavy with the kind of fatigue that followed grief, alcohol, and a night she would later remember only in fragments.
Sharon stirred. She squinted, groaned softly, and pushed herself upright, dragging the sheet with her. "God," she muttered. "My head feels like it lost a fight."
Felix smiled. "You went pretty hard last night."
She huffed a laugh and reached down for the sealed water bottle in the side-table's drawer. She cranked it open and she drank. Long, grateful swallows. Water spilled down her wrist and onto the sheets.
"Don't judge," Sharon said. "I don't usually—" She paused, frowned, then waved it off. "Whatever. Vacation rules."
Felix waited. Watched her shoulders loosen, the tension draining just a fraction too fast to be natural.
They sat at the small table by the window a few minutes later. Sharon wore his shirt, sleeves rolled up, barefoot, knees tucked beneath her. She cradled the water bottle in both hands like it was anchoring her to the present.
"So," Felix said lightly. "You never really told me why you left your last assignment."
She shrugged. "My grandmother died."
He let the silence do the work.
"She was… well, technically not my grandmother. More like my grandaunt," Sharon continued, voice softer now. "Not like that makes a difference. My family didn't like her. They told stories of her and I liked them." She took another sip. "So I joined SHIELD."
"So you knew she was SHIELD before you joined?"
"Not fully. I was told she was a military specialist and, well, she was in the history books. When I joined SHIELD, I was immediately put under her wing. We were alike. The only difference was that she was born in the wrong era. An unforgiving era that made her…tense." Sharon stared blankly. "Fury signed off on my leave himself."
"Must've been serious, then," Felix said. He was gauging her. He was testing her. See, in every single water bottle in the drawer, Felix had planted the truth-seeking pill. Predicting her throat to be parched was a simple matter, as was making the water bottles appear untouched. Yes, it was all simple and calculated. It was all happening according to his plan.
Sharon nodded. "He said she died in action. Helped stop a coup overseas." Her mouth twisted. "That's what he told me."
"And you believed him?"
She hesitated. The drug tugged gently, smoothing over the instinct to deflect. "I believe Fury tells the truth he needs to tell."
Felix filed that away.
"You worked on a facility before you left," he said, tone casual. "Off the books."
Sharon blinked once. "Yeah."
No denial. Good.
"What was your role?"
"Coordination," Sharon said immediately. "Making sure the right people got in and out without knowing the whole picture. I was an assistant to the Coordination Director. Probably knew more than him." She frowned, as if realizing she was saying more than she meant to.
"Did you oversee transfers?"
"Yes."
"How many levels?"
She closed her eyes briefly, then answered. "The lower half of floors. Floors eight to seventeen. There was another assistant for the lower levels."
'Nice. So you're exactly who I needed.' Felix leaned forward, elbows on the table. 'I do want to see how much of my info is correct.'
"Levels One through Five, who are those for?"
"Failed soldiers or highly trained agents that go rogue," Sharon replied.
"I want names."
"Daniel Whitehall? Nathaniel Malick..."
Who? He sucked in a breath. Okay, maybe this was a pointless line of questioning. "Levels Six through Eight then?"
Sharon's fingers tightened on the bottle. "Many of Spider-Gwen's enemies. Spider-Man too. L-like the Scorpion and Hydro Man. The most well-known prisoner is Francis Castle."
"Who?"
"Francis Castle…" Sharon inhaled sharply and put a hand to her head. "...was a decorated soldier with numerous medals for his active service in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He…took a job with the NYPD and eventually was promoted to Captain of the Special Crimes Task Force; however, when he became obsessed with the investigation into the death of Peter Parker and sought capture of Spider-Woman, SHIELD was forced to take him in."
"So is he a super soldier or just some soldier?"
"He is among the most highly trained men in the world."
"Good to know," Felix murmured. He ended up chuckling a little. To him, that meant he wasn't too much of a threat. "Alright, then Levels Nine to Eleven, how does that whole place work? Who is in there?"
"No one."
…pardon?
"What do you mean no one?" Felix asked. "You built those floors for a reason. You can't just have no one."
Her stare was blank as she turned. "Each level is a unit on its own and intended for a specific threat in the future. Agents will be designated specifically. Level Nine is for the Hulk. Level Ten is for Spider-Man. And Level Eleven…is for the Devil."
"...!" Felix nearly pounced on her. "So you know who he is!? The Devil!?"
"...no. I do not."
"Then who does?"
"The psychologists that worked at the previous facility," Sharon answered, "Director Fury and Coordinator Director Anne Weaver."
"The psychologists…" He narrowed his eyes. "Give me a second."
"Sure…"
Sharon's eyes dimmed. Dammit, he was not a medical student and he hadn't tested the drug too much. Sharon's inner conscience was probably fighting. He was going to have to let her catch her breath, relax some more, and re-ask questions.
'Herbie, anything on the psychologists that worked at the old SHIELD facility?'
'WE ALREADY INVESTIGATED THIS BEFORE, MASTER FAETH.' Felix slipped off the table to go to the couch. Sharon massaged her forehead, breathing slowly. 'OUT OF THE FIVE PSYCHOLOGISTS THAT WORKED AT THE OLD SHIELD FACILITY…'
Ah. Right. His memory rumbled. He remembered.
'ALL FIVE OF THEM HAVE DIED.'
Felix was massaging his forehead now. 'Right, right, I remember now. Two car accidents, two suicides, and one had a stroke. The Devil is wiping away evidence of his existence.'
'CORRECT.'
Felix had investigated the old facility as much as he could. Aside from the Hammerhead documents, there wasn't much. The only fact was that the Devil was there with Cindy Moon, Matt Murdock…
'Maybe even Gwen Stacy…'
But there was nothing really on him. It was weird. Like everybody wanted to forget him. And visiting the facility was impossible now because it was demolished for this new location. In other words, only a select few at the facility had the information he needed. Some random schmuck, he suspected, was likely not aware of the Devil. Whoever he was, whatever he was, it was top-top secret.
Felix returned to the table by the window and sat next to Sharon. She seemed to be looking worse. 'Looks like I'll have to wrap this up soon.'
"Hey, you alright?"
"Yeah, just…feeling under the weather…" Sharon grunted. "Sorry…"
"Right, right. I hope it's not too much trouble but do you remember Cindy Moon?" That name slipped out like an afterthought.
"The bitch." Sharon didn't hesitate. "Level Thirteen, Unit C-14. State of the art Vibranium-mixed material to contain her was built. Medical monitoring was also built into the walls."
"C-14? What does that look like?"
"For Levels Twelve and Thirteen which require black-level clearance, there are four units. A, B, C, D. Each is its own hallway. Think of it…as a compass. C would be the southern hallway."
That clarified things. He smiled.
"Who authorized her placement?"
"Coordination Director Anne Weaver," Sharon said. "Final sign-off always went through her."
"What about access badges?" Felix asked. "You mentioned black-level clearance. What does that mean?"
Herbie had a good guess but it was better to get straight from a source.
"It's like…karate belts." She opened her mouth, then stopped. Her brow furrowed. "I—" A shake of her head. "I don't have mine anymore. They took it when I went on leave."
He didn't ask that. Shit, the serum was wearing off.
"But I assume you have something for you to get back in, right?"
"I…yeah. A black card." Her breathing hitched. The drug was really reaching its limit. "Felix," she said slowly, suspicion bleeding back into her eyes. "Why are you asking me this?"
He stood.
"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it in the narrow, useless way apologies sometimes existed.
Before she could react, he stepped in close and struck the side of her neck. She went limp in his arms without a sound.
Felix laid her back on the bed, gentle again. He placed a second pill on her tongue and tipped her chin until she swallowed. Same procedure with Pepper, it was a memory suppressant. Short-term. She'd wake with a headache, a vague sense of warmth, and a nameless, hung man.
"But a black card…"
He searched her place. Under the bed first, then her coat. "Hm, nothing…" He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Black card…come on, think."
There was the SHIELD ID card, but frankly, he already had that in his disposal because of Herbie. It was easily replicable. But this black card? Never heard of it. He searched and searched…
"Ah, this must be it…!"
He was in the bathroom, checking the mirror, when he saw the edge of a black card. The mirror was situated just enough for a card to slip in. He took it and checked it out. There didn't seem to be anything special….
'Guess I'll check this out at the cafe.'
He straightened, smoothed the sheets, and erased himself from the room as best he could.
***
Back at the cafe, Felix confirmed a couple things. One, the black card did indeed have a chip inside it for security reasons. He had it scanned like a printer and could officially make duplicates if he wanted.
Two, the identity of the project manager was confirmed.
Felix sat alone in the back room of the café, the portable work light switched off now, leaving only the gray spill of daylight filtering through the boarded windows. The place felt hollow without Felicia. Yep, she was gone. The name of the project manager was given after all. He hadn't managed to ask Sharon about it but the others did. M'Baku and Yelena were successful.
The tablet in his hands glowed softly.
"Herman Schultz, huh? So you're the project manager…"
The name sat there, plain and unassuming, which almost annoyed him more than if it had been something grand. He was the primary project manager specializing in logistics and integration. The man who made sure the engineers never saw the full picture, who translated Fury's intent into timelines, materials, and budgets without ever writing anything down that could come back to haunt him.
Felix exhaled through his nose.
Schultz had been careful. He'd rotated cities every few years, always on "consulting contracts." No digital trail that screamed SHIELD, just enough overlap that, once you knew what you were looking for, it snapped into place.
He closed the file and leaned back, chair creaking faintly beneath him. His comms chimed softly in his ear.
"Felix?" Felicia's voice came through, light and unmistakably pleased. "Hey. You alive?"
"Very," he said. "And it went great."
Felicia laughed. "Well, a pretty girl is a pretty girl. Can't say I'd sound different."
"I meant the mission went well," he said dryly. "Already chasing Herman Schultz?"
"Mhm."
He rolled over to the laptop. He crossed his arms and Herbie already pulled up Felicia's location. He had been informed during sex, but obviously couldn't act then. Not to mention Felicia was just doing what she was being told. In other words, going according to plan.
Herman's cottage sat outside Richmond, Virginia—just over four hours inland. Ungated property tucked against a stretch of old-growth forest, far enough from the city to be private, close enough to be convenient. Two floors above ground, one below. Private security, but nothing flashy. The kind of place built to look respectable, not defensive.
"Schultz lives modestly," Felix murmured.
"Of course he does," Felicia said. "Middlemen always do. Nobody ever looks too hard at them."
"What's the plan?" Felix asked, though he already suspected the answer. "The closest SHIELD agent is at a gas station one kilometer away."
"Ah, an opening!"
"Yeah, though the cottage is probably wire-tapped."
"Ha." Felicia didn't disappoint. "I'm going in tonight."
There it was.
"No response?" Felicia replied cheerfully through comms. "Relax. I'll be fine. Luck powers, remember?"
Felix hesitated, then nodded to himself even though she couldn't see it. "Get what you can. Names, procedures, anything he remembers." Compared to the other two, Felicia was…something. M'Baku was a literal revolutionary. Yelena was raised as an assassin. He was confident in Felicia being able to infiltrate, but interrogate? He was admittedly a little nervous about it.
'Not that I'd be that much better…'
"Oh, I plan to," Felicia said.
The line clicked off.
Felix sat there for a moment longer, listening to the distant cry of gulls outside, and then stared at the laptop. "Herbie, are the cottage cameras hackable?"
"YES."
Cue him pulling up every single camera in the cottage. Hell, Herbie went ahead and showed where the assigned SHIELD agent was. The agent was a whole kilometer away. He suspected that in order to maintain secrecy, the agent hardly went closer. Lei Ling lived in a busy city and thus it was easier to camouflage closer. For Walter Newell, the agent was slightly further. And here, the agent was even further.
'Just how spy work is, I suppose.'
Miles away, dusk settled over the Virginia countryside as Felicia Hardy crouched at the edge of a tree line, the Schultz cottage rising pale and quiet. It wasn't some massive thing. It looked homely and ordinary. The green rooftop, the Christmas decorations on the lawn, and the rather curt size was cute even. Security cameras swept back and forth in slow arcs, all already hacked by Herbie.
Felicia smiled to herself and flexed her fingers once.
Luck had a way of opening doors.