Nick Fury sat in his office, the sterile silence broken only by the faint, high-tech hum of the Triskelion. He was staring out the reinforced window, not really seeing the Potomac, his mind still mentally composing a rebuttal to the criticisms Tony and Smith Doyle had leveled at him earlier. A sharp, clean knock on his door pulled him from those thoughts.
"Come in."
Coulson entered, a thick folder tucked under his arm. He launched into his report without preamble, his voice a calm monotone as he detailed the chaos the scouters had caused over the past few weeks and the intelligence S.H.I.E.L.D had gained in return. Then his tone shifted, losing a fraction of its procedural flatness.
"Director, there's something else I need to bring to your attention."
That got Fury's full attention. Coulson usually just told him what needed reporting. The formal phrasing meant this was different.
"What is it?"
Coulson pulled a standard A4 sheet from his folder and placed it on Fury's desk. Seven photographs were arranged on it, printed in color. Each showed a smooth, orange sphere with red stars embedded inside. One star, two stars, three stars, all the way up to seven.
"Dragon Balls," Coulson said simply.
Fury's single eye narrowed, his gaze fixed on the images.
"Underground forces have been active again recently," Coulson continued. "These items first appeared in the possession of John Wick, one of Smith Doyle's people."
"John Wick started collecting them during his retirement, right around the time his car was stolen and his dog was killed. The Camorra was involved. They had one Dragon Ball, which they gave to Wick as compensation. They also posted a bounty for anyone who could find more. Two million per ball."
Coulson laid out the chain of evidence methodically. The connections between John Wick and the Fraternity. The underground organizations that had been systematically dismantled last year, with Dragon Balls and the Fraternity's fingerprints all over the wreckage. John Wick's sudden travel spree to Osaka, Hong Kong, and Russia, likely hunting for more balls.
"Recently, Dragon Balls have resurfaced on the dark web. The price has jumped to five million per ball. Multiple parties are showing interest."
Fury leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking faintly. His fingers steepled. After a long moment of silence, he asked, "Do these Dragon Balls have any special function?"
Coulson shook his head. "Unknown. We don't have one to analyze."
"I tried to acquire some through various channels, but the market is flooded with fakes. It's impossible to verify authenticity without proper testing equipment." He paused, his expression perfectly deadpan. "I bought a sack of them."
Fury's eyebrow climbed toward his hairline. "A sack?"
"Ten thousand dollars per bag. I purchased seven different batches from different sellers. Some balls cost tens of dollars to produce, others hundreds or thousands. I'll need reimbursement from the bureau."
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly, but nodded his approval. "Fine. What's your assessment?"
Coulson had clearly prepared for this question. "Two possibilities. First, the Dragon Balls are bait. The Fraternity is using them to trigger another purge of underground criminal elements. Last time they used John Wick to shake things up. This time, it might be someone we haven't identified yet."
"Second possibility," he continued, "the Dragon Balls have some kind of special property we don't understand. That would explain the five million dollar price point. Seven balls at five million each equals thirty-five million total. People only chase that kind of money if the payoff is significantly higher."
Fury drummed his fingers on the desk, considering. "Since this connects to Smith Doyle, we can't ignore it completely."
"Assign a team to investigate. If it's just the Fraternity cleaning house, we observe but don't interfere. But if these things involve anything extraordinary, we handle them according to 084 protocols."
"Yes, Director."
Coulson hesitated, then added, "By the way, Smith Doyle has been asking about access to S.H.I.E.L.D facilities again. He's still pushing that supervisory authority angle."
Fury's jaw tightened. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache building. That insufferable man.
"Did you sign anything when you made the offer?"
"No written contract, just verbal commitment."
"Then it stays verbal. The Avengers Initiative is shelved. He's on probation indefinitely."
Coulson shifted uncomfortably. "Well, he recorded the conversation."
Fury stared at him. Coulson should have been carrying a damn signal jammer.
"Stall him," Fury said, his voice flat. "There's no immediate need for his involvement anyway. Power and responsibility go hand in hand. No responsibility means no authority."
Coulson understood. He knew exactly what to tell Smith Doyle now.
"Director, one more thing. I'd like to request a scouter for the expedition team searching for Captain America. It might help."
S.H.I.E.L.D had recovered the Tesseract and Captain America's shield from the crash site, but they'd never found the body. The search had continued sporadically for years.
Fury almost said that the scouter wouldn't register a corpse, but the quiet, persistent hope in Coulson's expression stopped him. The man idolized Captain America. Let him have this.
"Approved. But don't get your hopes up. It's been seventy years."
Coulson's face brightened, just slightly. "Sir, I'm just doing what I can for a personal hero. Maybe we'll get lucky."
Fury waved him off. S.H.I.E.L.D had purchased plenty of scouters. They could spare a few for a long-shot search operation.
In the vampire archives, Soren stared at the preserved skin bearing Lucian's brand. The air was cold and smelled of dust and ancient, preserved leather. The mark was distinctive, unmistakable. He carefully removed the stiff, leathery fragment from its protective case.
He continued flipping through the heavy, bound file. On the page that should have displayed Lucian's face, someone had torn away the upper half, leaving only the portrait of his body below the neck.
Soren's eyes locked onto the necklace in the portrait. His blood went cold.
It was a crude, heavy-looking pendant. The memory crystallized in his mind, sharp and sudden. The werewolf who had chased him and Michael through the streets today had worn an identical necklace around his neck. The same design. The same pendant.
If his suspicion was correct, this was catastrophic.
Soren immediately slammed the file shut, the sound echoing in the silence. He left the archives, his stride urgent. He needed to find Selene. If Lucian was alive, they had to wake Elder Victor immediately.
Michael trudged through his front door, which hung crookedly on one hinge. He was exhausted, and his body ached. His apartment looked like a war zone. The air smelled of plaster dust and gunpowder. Furniture was overturned, bullet holes pocking the walls, and shattered glass from the window glittered on the floor like toxic frost.
He spent an hour just clearing a path, his movements numb and automatic. He righted the sofa and then collapsed onto it, burying his face in his hands. His hands were shaking. He needed something to calm his nerves, something normal.
Michael reached for the small, carved wooden box on his coffee table. Inside was his collection of interesting stones he'd gathered over the years. One in particular had always been his favorite, a river stone, perfectly round and smooth, almost warm to the touch. Whenever stress got to him, he'd hold it and let his mind settle.
He lifted the lid, his fingers fumbling. He froze.
The stone was gone.
In its place sat an orange sphere. It had a five-pointed star pattern suspended inside it, and it was glowing faintly in the dim light of the wrecked apartment.
Michael frowned, his tired, confused brain struggling to process. Had someone broken in and... swapped it? But why? Why take a worthless rock and leave this strange, beautiful object?
He reached out, his finger hesitant, and touched the strange ball. The moment his skin made contact with its perfectly smooth surface, information flooded into his mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~