Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1676 The Arrangement of the Outcast

The pale fluorescent lights were already covered with a thin layer of dust. Boxes of paper files were being moved from hand-cranked filing cabinets, and the white tiled floor was covered with gray-black dust and shoe prints. The pungent smell of old, dusty books was unpleasant. This was one step in the White House's review of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s past documents. Politicians were trying to find evidence here, while researchers from the Pentagon and defense contractors were trying to find technology. Their actions only made Nick Fury want to laugh, because he knew that others would find nothing here. He had bet on the fact that his past work was thorough enough and that the base chief couldn't complete the task, and he was right.

He had already thoroughly cleaned the archives, deleting recruitment records and flight logs for a certain female pilot, Howard Stark's preliminary research on the Cosmic Cube, and so on. All that remained were some whimsical notes, densely packed ledgers, the management manual for Project Pegasus, and perplexing experimental data. He came here because he remembered he might have missed some information—information that would help him understand the target's motives, some "conjectures" about hyperspace travel that were considered fantastical at the time.

As agreed, two soldiers would guard the archives room. Nick Fury would have to find something among the yellowed papers that would satisfy the Pentagon’s generals who had never been on the battlefield and the greedy politicians in Congress. His reward would be the ability to take some inspected documents with him.

"I suspect it wouldn't be surprising if they pointed a gun at me the moment I submitted the documents." Nick Fury, expressionless, cranked the filing cabinet handle, finding Dr. Wendy Lawson's belongings. He walked into the deep, oppressive filing cabinet aisle, using his fingers to push aside the tightly pressed folder labels as he pondered what would happen next. "If I didn't know his treacherous nature, I would suspect he was Hydra," he thought. "Perhaps it's better to remain suspicious. I hope Bruce Banner can play his part."

"I suggest you don't think like that." The voice was like cool water poured on hot coals; the obstruction of memory and the heat in his brain rose with steam and smoke. Names, memories, and a torrent of emotions surged like water eroding and then drying up in a carbonate canyon. Nick Fury almost bit the name off his tongue. "Look up, third row from the left, Dr. Wendy Lawson's diary, once thought to be some kind of code or doodle notebook." The man stood at the exit of the filing cabinet, light illuminating him from above. "If you can't read Kree writing, then that notebook is meaningless to you."

"What are you doing here? Did you bribe the commander here?" Nick Fury instinctively reached for his holster, then remembered his weapon had been confiscated, a wave of despair washing over him. He stared at the person on the other end with his single eye, his tall figure casting a long shadow. "You couldn't possibly know I was here. You have no reason, no motive."

"You're right, so I'm not here." The person pointed to their head. "I'm here, inside your head. This is a psionic communication. I need to leave Earth temporarily, so I must arrange my next course of action before I leave."

"So you're wearing an evening suit and holding a glass of champagne?"

“That’s right,” he said. “This is how I look now, and I’m speaking English. This is my secular identity.”

"I don't like other people to stay in my head; I'd rather talk to them face-to-face, even in a family restaurant."

"No need. I don't remember the last time you bought me coffee."

“Never. You don’t like coffee.” Nick Fury stood on tiptoe, laboriously pulling the filing cabinet out above his head. He pulled out a small brown notebook, his only eye still stinging from the dust. “I thought you’d rather stay in your little kingdom, after all, it’s one of the conditions for foreign aid.” He opened the notebook, confirming it was filled with Kree script. Nick Fury wasn’t surprised that Salomon knew about this document; he was incapable of surprise from this man anymore. “Why did you want to see me, Salomon? Isn’t it your wish to sit on a throne, clad in golden armor, sword in hand?”

"There's no need to deliberately distort my intentions, Nick Fury. You know that won't anger me, and you know my ambition isn't world domination." Salomon extended his hand. "Need me to decipher it for you?"

"Stop thinking you're human, Salomon. I know what happened in Peru and the Kuiper Belt. Don't think that just because you shot down all the S.H.I.E.L.D. satellites, you're blind. I know what kind of disaster you prevented." The King of Agents sneered, putting his notebook into the inside pocket of his trench coat. "But I won't thank you, and the world won't thank you either. The nobler your purpose, the heavier the disaster you bring."

"New insights."

Salomon walked over.

Although he wore leather shoes, there was no sound of footsteps; even the dust particles floating in the air seemed to pass through his phantom-like body with each breath. "It's an illusion," Nick Fury thought. "Is he really in my head?"

"I'd like to hear it," Salomon said.

"You are an anomaly. Your current empathy for humanity is merely a subconscious disguise for your so-called human identity. Your social interactions with others are simply to avoid appearing so out of place. But sooner or later, you will lose the ability to empathize with humanity, because others will not possess your power, your prophecies, your lifespan, or your values. But if you still consider yourself human, then who else can you consider human as well?" Nick Fury sneered. "A shepherd only loves wool and mutton. Who are the lambs you see? I have already seen those you consider lambs. The ethnic conflicts in the Balkans are not the Gordian knot, and you are not Alexander the Great. You have suppressed all rebellions and discords with blood, but you cannot change the minds of those fanatical populists. They will inspire more people to fight against your rule with their lives."

Nick Fury recalled the man's actions: from Agent Coulson's pursuit of Colin, to the brazen attack on the UN headquarters, to threatening the world with orbital missiles and nuclear warheads—each act more outrageous than the last, almost every one challenging the world's existing order and values. Vampires, magic, demons from another dimension—the cold-bloodedness he displayed in resolving these incidents was astonishing; even highly trained agents couldn't be as composed. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s criminal psychology and profiling experts proposed a theory: the sole cause of this antisocial personality disorder is that the perpetrator only sees a small percentage of people (including himself) as human—a kind of superhuman psychological illness.

"You hate humanity. To be precise, you hate humanity in a broad sense, which is why you try to modify them. Only then can you explain those three-meter-tall super soldiers around you," Nick Fury said. "You are not human, and you refuse to have a clear sense of self. That's the conclusion."

"If you paid a psychologist for this one thing just to insult me, you've succeeded." Salomon shook his head. "I suggest you fire those guys and save some money. Agent Coulson and his team aren't living the good life they used to; they almost ran out of fuel for their planes."

"You don't care about Agent Coulson at all." Nick Fury looked at him. "You don't care about anyone, otherwise you wouldn't have imprisoned them in the Lighthouse base."

"Don't always try to predict my behavior with your assumptions. I care about Agent Coulson and his team. Don't keep provoking me. For the sake of our past relationship, you can't die yet." Salomon's tone was light. "I wouldn't mind helping you leave this base, or even telling you the answers you're looking for here."

"You're not that kind. What are the conditions?"

"Talos, I want Talos, the leader of the Skrull wanderers."

Salomon stretched out a hand. The hand seemed to emerge from the depths of underwater space, its fingertips piercing the dimensional tension of the material universe as it reached towards Nick Fury. Ripples, almost incandescent, spread through the air, spreading to the wrist. This was a real wrist, not a figment of the mind. "I have completely wiped out the Skrull settlements in North America and Southern Europe, but I know many Skrulls are still hiding on Earth." The hand held a fully loaded pistol and a magazine. "An M1911A1, a military-grade suppressor from the Immortal City, with an extended magazine, specially made subsonic ammunition, a total of 16 rounds. Enough for you to leave this base. I want Talos, Nick Fury. I don't care what you thought in the past, but the Skrulls cannot live. Will you tell me Talos's disguised identity, or will my regent reveal the existence of the Skrulls to the world?"

If the five permanent members of the UN Security Council were aware of the existence of the Skrulls, their first reaction would undoubtedly be to investigate whether any officials within the system had been replaced by these shapeshifters. If the public were aware of the Skrulls' existence, panic and violence would begin to spread, and the trust among humanity would be completely shattered due to the Skrulls' shapeshifting abilities. Everyone would suspect that the people they encountered were actually aliens in disguise. Even if reliable and rapid detection methods were widely adopted, even if these methods were as simple as measuring body temperature, this suspicion would not completely disappear. Therefore, Nick Fury knew what the bargaining chip was in front of him.

The relative importance of the Skrulls versus the stability of human society was irrelevant, and he had no intention of adhering strictly to verbal agreements. "Where's Agent Coulson?" the King of Agents expertly inspected his weapons, his only bargaining chip for escaping alive. "What do you want them to do?"

"You have no idea what you've been hoarding at the lighthouse base, do you?" Salomon said with a laugh. "I have a mission for them. They're going to conduct an unprecedented observation in human history, and I'm part of the project too. Only they can complete this mission, because it's destiny."

"What are you talking about, dear? Wasn't my father going to introduce you to the Supreme Court Justice of the Conservative Party after the dinner?"

Stephanie Malik, beaming, took his arm and casually patted his waist. In this banquet, most of the lights were on the hostess on stage, so her movement went unnoticed. A slight shift of the gaze revealed Pepper Potts of Stark Industries talking to a man in military uniform; sitting on Pepper Potts' other side was a lower-ranking member of the Morgan family in line to the throne.

"Your gun is missing. Who took it?"

"I gave the gun to someone else, who isn't in DC (Washington, D.C.)."

Salomon handed the champagne to Stephanie Malik, then removed the woman's hand, which lingered on his abdomen and kept caressing him. His clothes and accessories were all provided by Stephanie, a customary practice for his secular activities in America, and the Malik family seemed quite pleased with it. After all, this secular identity was that of an Oxford graduate, the founder of a renowned biotechnology company (famous for its anti-aging technology), a wealthy man whose resume was shrouded in mystery, making his origins easy to speculate about.

"Come on, we need to talk to the Supreme Court Justice and that nearly 90-year-old Democratic Party leader. We need their help to fill the power vacuum left by S.H.I.E.L.D., even if the sphere of influence is reduced to the United States and NATO territory, it will be extremely beneficial to our future development."

"Although the World Security Council has disbanded, its members wield considerable power within their respective countries, which can help us expand the company. The entire world craves your technology, and they would be happy to assist you." Stephanie Malik narrowed her eyes. "My father resigned to pay the price for the Council's inflated ambitions; those people owe him a huge favor." Expanding S.H.I.E.L.D.'s power through a small-scale nuclear bombing, while simultaneously enhancing the World Security Council's authority, was a high-stakes gamble. The result was that the bomb fell into Salomon's hands, Gideon Malik resigned, Stephanie Malik became his second-in-command, and Hydra was firmly in his grasp. A thousand years of faith were unveiled, revealing the truth. "We can build a new S.H.I.E.L.D., my lord. Those radical families can also become our tools, especially the 'Countess' and the 'Banker.' My father believed it was necessary for us to continue consolidating our power."

"There's no need to become S.H.I.E.L.D. I know how much the US government craves super soldiers, which is why I wanted the Malik family to arrange our product launch." Salomon picked up his glass. "This company is yours, and you know I'm always generous to loyalists. But don't forget, we only provide security services, not direct bio-product services. We have nothing to do with politics; we're just businessmen, just super soldiers hired as mercenaries."

"Even if the US government knew your identity, I doubt they would still continue doing business with you," Stephanie said with a smile, moving closer to Salomon in an extremely intimate manner. This attracted a lot of attention, given the Malik family's significant political influence in the United States; others suspected this was yet another typical political-business marriage. "My lord, shall we leave tonight?"

“No. I have things to do,” he said. “Let’s finish this boring dinner quickly and order all the burgers from Mr. Beast. There’s not enough food here. If the Regent calls, just say I’m not here.”

"I will arrange dinner at the manor, my lord." Stephanie smiled broadly, seemingly having forgotten the previous grudge from being sent to America on business. "Could my father also attend?"

(End of this chapter)