Prehistoric humans, Precursors—to Clint Barton, it all sounded like complete fantasy. If not for Nick Fury's dead-serious expression, like someone at a funeral, he would've thought this was some reality TV prank show.
This kind of thing belonged in movies, didn't it? How could it happen in real life—and to him, of all people?
Clint Barton hadn't even finished sixth grade before ending up in juvie. After getting out, he'd just hung around with his buddies, pulling one job after another. His worldview was extremely limited.
He had natural talent but virtually no education. That was actually one reason Nick Fury came to recruit him.
Nick Fury picked up a file folder beside him and flipped through it. "Mr. Clint Barton, you made the hockey team at age nine. Your coaches praised you highly—strong, fast, great instincts. Unfortunately, after puberty, your temper grew increasingly volatile until you were finally kicked off the team. Am I wrong?"
Clint pressed his lips together, saying nothing.
Nick Fury scanned through the file quickly. "Assault, aggravated assault, theft. You told the juvie psychologist you felt like you had a fire burning inside you. Your temper was so explosive you couldn't even control it yourself... Can you still feel that fire now?"
Clint froze. That constant, volatile impulse that had plagued him seemed to have vanished completely. Right now he felt incredibly calm, his mind clearer than ever. Not a trace of losing control.
"Why? What the hell has been tormenting me for over ten years?"
Nick Fury pointed toward the window. "Look over there. Tell me what you see."
What's that supposed to mean? Clint Barton glanced toward the window.
The glass was crystal clear. Evening had fallen, but he could see trees outside. Branches held small birds perched for the night. Was that some kind of sparrow? He could make out individual feathers.
As he kept watching, Clint suddenly realized something. How could he see individual feathers on a sparrow from this distance? He couldn't see them clearly during the day, let alone at twilight!
Nick Fury wore an expression of absolute certainty. "Understand now, Mr. Barton? You're not the same person you were before."
Not the same person? He stared out the window, lost in thought.
Nick Fury placed a business card on his bedside table.
"The moment you leave this room, Boston PD will arrest you on nine charges: robbery, assault, illegal firearms possession, vehicle theft, and more. But if you want to walk a completely new path, call this number. S.H.I.E.L.D. can offer you protection and a way out. Think it over, Mr. Clint Barton."
Nick Fury tapped his own eye, then strode out of the hospital room.
Bella had no idea that a single glance from her had forcibly catalyzed the Isu gene fragments in Clint Barton's body, nearly killing him.
Her nearly 3% Isu bloodline concentration completely crushed his genetic fragments—less than one hundred-thousandth of a percent.
His genes had encountered massive suppression from a higher dimensional plane, jumping from semi-manifestation straight to full manifestation.
One look from her, and Nick Fury picked up a bargain.
Worried about "Bella and Natasha together spell disaster," Nick Fury had followed Natasha to Boston. After observing from the shadows, he'd scooped up Clint Barton, whose Isu genes had awakened enhanced vision.
Bella remained oblivious to what happened behind the scenes. The robbery incident at her book signing barely affected her.
Boston PD assured the organizers they'd identified suspects and were conducting further investigations.
She didn't need to worry about dealing with officials. Both Random House and Chanel had high-level connections. The real heavy hitter was her relationship with the President.
Natasha dragged her out for French cuisine afterward. As a trainee agent with intense physical training, she naturally had a huge appetite. That meal was expensive enough to make even Bella wince.
Afterward, the two went for some post-dinner exercise.
"Take me for a ride on that flying carpet! You promised!"
Bella gaped at her like a confused Psyduck. "What flying carpet? We don't have anything like that. You must be misremembering."
Natasha gave her a sideways look, saying nothing.
Seeing she couldn't weasel out of it, someone finally gave in.
"There are too many people around here..."
Natasha snapped her fingers. "I know the perfect spot. Follow me!"
They headed to an abandoned dam on the outskirts. Not a soul around.
Bella hesitated, then reverse-summoned the magic carpet from the Angels' base.
The carpet floated in midair, rippling gently beneath as if supported by invisible waves.
Natasha's eyes lit up. She reached out to feel the empty space below the carpet.
"There's nothing underneath it at all?!"
Bella's face went dark. Saying something like that in the middle of nowhere at night? Aren't you afraid of attracting perverts?
She had the carpet lower and form into stairs. She stepped on and walked up.
Then she sat cross-legged and extended a hand to Natasha.
"Why sit cross-legged?" her sister asked curiously.
Bella hadn't actually thought about it. In cartoons, people on magic carpets always sat cross-legged, didn't they?
"It's probably a center-of-gravity thing. Standing on this would be unstable..." Natasha concluded with her scientific perspective.
"Enough talk! Get on!" Bella grabbed her hand and imperiously launched into the sky.
"Faster! Faster!"
"This is amazing! Yeah!—"
"Sprint! Sprint! So good!—"
Bella held Natasha tight, afraid she'd fall off. But the girl kept squirming in her arms, shouting increasingly suggestive things that made Bella's face burn...
An hour later, they landed.
Natasha had thoroughly enjoyed herself—she loved thrilling activities, the more intense the better. Still, she pointed out numerous flaws with the carpet, like insufficient speed and lack of protection. Bella ignored her. It was a show-off magic item, not a fighter jet!
They sparred for their usual practice session. They could've gone home then, but Natasha made a new request.
"My willpower is still too weak. Do you have a way to train it?" Natasha asked, holding two short batons.
What's that supposed to mean? If I don't have a method, you'll beat me up?
"Should I start? You'd better be mentally prepared. This is going to be rough."
"Bring it! I won't resist!"
Bella considered for a moment, then extended two fingers. Pale white energy swirled between them.
She gave Natasha a questioning look. Natasha nodded, signaling her to begin.