The extermination of the spiders no longer involved Bella.
After arriving at a hotel in Tucson, she finally took a shower, using up half a bottle of body wash. No matter how hard she scrubbed, she still felt as if spider hairs were clinging to her skin. The sensation made her shiver.
Natasha, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as particular. She rinsed off quickly and moved on. Her attention was now fully on the damaged hard drives, trying to salvage whatever data remained.
Unfortunately, the drives were heavily corrupted. Recovering anything from them required specialized knowledge—something not easily found on the early-2000s internet. After calling out briefly to Bella, who was still in the shower, Natasha slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed straight for Tucson's public library.
Inside, she flipped through book after book on data recovery, jotting down occasional notes.
As she stood to look for another reference, a tall, broad-shouldered figure in black suddenly appeared behind her.
Black leather coat. Black eyepatch. Scars running across his face and neck.
He was sitting exactly where Natasha had been studying earlier, his single eye fixed sharply on her.
"Natasha Romanoff." He tapped a finger against her notebook. "You already know this—your opponent is highly professional. Digging through books like this is slow and inefficient. There's a good chance you won't find anything useful at all."
Natasha didn't flinch. Her gaze sharpened.
"Who are you?"
"A nobody."
"I'll ask again. Who are you?"
"...Looks like you're more forceful than the last recruit I approached. Fine. Nick Fury. You may call me that."
Natasha searched her memory. The name meant nothing to her.
Coldly, she shut him down. "I don't know you. Leave."
Fury shook his head slightly.
"I've read your teachers' evaluations. You're clearly gifted in multiple subjects, yet you deliberately score low. You solve the hardest problems perfectly, then write nonsense on the easiest ones. Why? Showing off?"
"I don't know you. And what I do is none of your business." Natasha's tone was firm.
"You have far more potential than you realize. Most of it is still untouched."
Fury leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers interlaced. His single eye swept across the bookshelves.
"You could learn faster. Better. More precisely. The current education system isn't built for someone like you. Your future should be broader—not... this."
He let the next words fall heavily.
"Not helpless like now—digging through outdated books for answers you'll never find."
Natasha grabbed her bag and turned to leave.
Fury raised his voice.
"What are you afraid of? What are you jealous of? That someone else is stronger? More decisive? Played a bigger role during the crisis—while you were nothing more than dead weight?"
The words struck home. Natasha froze mid-step, anger flashing in her eyes as she turned back.
"You're full of shit."
Fury merely shrugged, his expression like that of an adult reprimanding a stubborn teenager.
"You know exactly whether I'm right. Someone as proud as you should be able to judge your own performance objectively. If you can't even do that... then that's disappointing."
"You know something about the incident? What agency are you with? FBI? CIA?"
"You want the truth behind Prosperity Town? Fine. We can provide resources. Whether you uncover anything depends on your ability."
He paused, then added, "Our full name is a bit long—Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
Natasha stood silent for several seconds. Nick Fury took the opportunity to slide a business card across the table with one finger.
"If you're interested, call this number. Someone will come to train you. Personally, I think you have potential. But if you wash out halfway, we don't take rejects."
He stood, adjusted his leather coat, and turned to leave.
Natasha finally spoke again.
"Why me? Why not her?"
Fury glanced over his shoulder.
"We're not what people call the 'good guys.' And your friend is a traditional good guy. She doesn't fit our criteria. Besides..."
He hesitated for the first time.
"Your friend is walking bad luck. Disaster follows her. Anywhere she goes, trouble isn't far behind. If she stepped into our headquarters, I wouldn't be surprised if an aircraft carrier fell out of the sky onto my head."
"Aircraft carriers don't fly. Basic physics."
"It's a metaphor."
"Achoo!"
Wrapped in a towel, Bella let out a loud sneeze.
She rubbed her nose. Her two-hour shower must have chilled her—felt like she was coming down with a cold.
Seeing that Natasha still hadn't returned, she changed clothes and decided to go out for dinner.
Tucson offered little real assistance. Its stance was simple: Prosperity Town's tragedy was not their problem. Go talk to the state or federal government.
Aside from basic necessities, the refugees were left to fend for themselves.
People with money were fine.
People without money were crowded into relief tents.
Bella had her bank card—convenient. But eating alone felt wrong. She decided to bring Charlie and Samantha along.
The middle-aged "pretty boy" had been useless throughout the entire disaster.
He did have a mine—but it was now a giant spider nest. No amount of money or courage would convince anyone to work there again. Compared to Charlie, the man was completely outclassed.
For a woman, safety meant everything—and in that regard, Charlie won by a landslide. Combined with his good relationship with Bella and Natasha, Samantha finally made her choice.
When Bella walked into the room, the two police officers were discussing their future.
Worry hung heavy in the air.
Samantha was weighed down by it.
Prosperity Town was gone—completely erased.
More than three-quarters of the townspeople were dead. The military had wiped out the town with heavy weapons. Scientists needed to study the mutation. The place was no longer fit for human habitation.
With the mayor dead, Samantha had fulfilled her duty, saving as many people as she could. Rescuing a quarter of the population in that chaos was already a miracle.
But now came the real problem: the town no longer existed—so her job as sheriff was over.
Finding new work?
Hard. Especially at her age.
"Charlie, what about you?" Bella asked carefully, curious about her cheap dad's plans.
"It's possible... but Forks is too small. I'm thinking..." Charlie trailed off.
Thinking what? He didn't say.
If he chose to stay as he was, Forks would be fine. He could bring Samantha over as deputy sheriff. They could run the town together—comfortable, simple, peaceful.
But as a man, he couldn't think only about himself.
He had to think about Samantha's future.
And now... even Natasha's.