"You sabotaged our director's office, incapacitated over thirty S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and now you want me to serve you tea?"
Maria Hill's voice was tight, her glare fixed on Heisenberg. The man—or whatever he truly was—floated inches above the ground, completely unbothered by her accusation.
He chuckled, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.
"I also took three hundred rounds to the chest. I'd say I've earned a drink... Maybe wine?"
"Shameless. Even if I dropped dead right here, I wouldn't lift a finger to serve you." Hill snapped.
Before another word could be exchanged, the lounge doors burst open.
Nick Fury entered, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. He strode between them with urgency, his gaze settling first on Hill, then locking with Heisenberg's emotionless stare. Fury hesitated for a split second before exhaling slowly.
"It's good to see you again, Mr. Heisenberg. After last night, I wasn't sure Earth could hold you."
Fury motioned to the couch to Heisenberg's left and sank into it. His movements were calm, diplomatic—but there was tension in his shoulders.
"Thank you for choosing to return. We... appreciate your interest in our world. Sure, there were some 'minor misunderstandings,' but I'm confident we can make your stay a pleasant one."
He snapped his fingers without turning.
"Hill, drinks for our guest. And me. I still owe him that glass."
The air thickened with silence.
"Pfft—ha ha ha ha!" Heisenberg burst out laughing, utterly shameless.
"Eh?!" Hill twitched.
A vein visibly bulged on her forehead. Even Heisenberg tilted his head slightly in mock concern.
"Don't pop a vessel, Hill."
Fury arched an eyebrow.
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing," she muttered stiffly, turning to fetch the drinks. Each step away radiated reluctance and indignation.
"Thank you, Agent Hill!" Heisenberg called after her, smirking. "Such professionalism!"
Hill's departing posture said professional was the last thing she wanted to be.
Heisenberg hovered lazily through the air and settled down beside Fury, so close their elbows nearly touched. His tone dropped slightly as he leaned in.
"Nick... while it's just the two of us, let me tell you something serious."
Fury nodded, cautious.
"Last night, I circled the Earth... over 7,000 times. Just flying. Watching. Listening."
Fury wiped his brow again.
"And?"
"And I've decided—I like America." Heisenberg said with a grin. "Not for your ideals. For your indulgence. The wealth. The luxuries. The excess."
He rubbed his fingers together—thumb, forefinger, and middle—an old gesture for money.
"Money, women, fast cars, expensive watches... Things I never had. Never needed. But now? I think I deserve them. Because I've suffered, Nick. Locked away for eons. Alone. Buried in a tomb of silence. And now? Now I want to live."
Snap! Heisenberg clapped Fury on the shoulder, startling him slightly.
"But I'm no warlord, Nick. I'm too old for that. I'm not going to fight the world to get what I want. I don't want chaos—I want comfort."
He clapped him again, gentler this time.
"So the question is: who do I talk to... to get what I want without breaking everything?"
Fury didn't hesitate.
"You talk to me." He extended a hand. "I'm the man who makes deals. And I never break my word."
"S.H.I.E.L.D., operating under the authority of the United Nations Security Council, receives a substantial annual budget in the trillions," Nick Fury said calmly, adjusting his coat. "Believe me, there's no organization on Earth with greater resources than ours. Whatever you need, we can deliver."
He paused, then added with a smirk, "Within reason, of course."
"Haha, that sounds good to me," Heisenberg replied, crossing his arms. "First things first—can you arrange a place for me to stay?"
"Of course. What kind of environment do you prefer?" Fury asked without missing a beat.
He continued like a practiced salesman. "If you enjoy ocean breezes, we could arrange a villa near the Strait of Malacca. Prefer snow and solitude? We have facilities in Antarctica and northern Canada. Want a place surrounded by blooming nature? Norway's forests in the spring are breathtaking. Or perhaps the warm colors of an autumn harvest? The Canadian maple forests are truly something else."
"I..."
To be honest, Heisenberg was a little stunned.
Is this really the legendary Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.? he thought. Or did he moonlight as a tour guide in another life?
That whole speech had to be prepared in advance—it was too polished!
For a moment, Heisenberg found himself picturing the scenes Fury described, each vivid and enticing. They were the kinds of places he never got to see before... before the time travel.
But then, something clicked in his head.
Wait a second...
He furrowed his brow. "You're not just trying to send me somewhere remote and out of the way, are you?"
"What? Of course not!" Fury said quickly, raising his hands in mock innocence. "I'm simply offering options. But if you have a specific request, go ahead."
"Alright then... how about a bar? I like the atmosphere of a good bar."
"No problem," Fury said with a nod. "Any city in mind? New York, perhaps?"
"New York's perfect. Set it up near the border between Queens and Hell's Kitchen."
"I'll have a team on it immediately. You'll have your bar by tonight."
Fury's tone dimmed just slightly as he continued. "However..."
He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat.
"I do have a small favor to ask. Nothing serious—I was hoping you'd agree to a basic physical assessment. Just some simple strength and speed metrics. If you're comfortable with it, we also have advanced equipment that can scan for... unique attributes."
Heisenberg raised an eyebrow. His grip around Fury's shoulder hadn't loosened since the conversation started—and the director knew just how easily Heisenberg had crushed through reinforced glass earlier.
But instead of reacting harshly, Heisenberg just sighed.
"A simple physical test? Fine."
He smirked. "Let's call it our first trade. You get me that bar—fully stocked, rooftop included—and I'll humor your tests."
"Perfect! And just for the record, we're not trying to control you. We're trying to understand."
Fury smiled reassuringly. "You're our guest, and hopefully—our friend. That's why we're doing this over drinks, right?"
"Heh. Sure, whatever you say. Just don't forget the rooftop bar."
"Already on it."
Just then, Agent Maria Hill entered, holding a tray.
Both men turned to look at her. Her eyes twitched in annoyance at their synchronized glance.
"Didn't know what you'd prefer, so I brought bourbon," she said flatly, setting it down.
Heisenberg casually picked up the bottle, poured himself a glass, then handed the rest directly to Fury.
He raised his glass. "Cheers, Director."
Fury, slightly annoyed, lifted the bottle in response.
"Cheers."
He downed it—somehow managing to finish the rest of the bourbon.
The moment the bottle left his lips, his face twisted slightly. Clearly, he wasn't enjoying this nearly as much as Heisenberg was.
"Shall we begin the tests?" Fury asked.
"Lead the way," Heisenberg replied.
Hill followed silently as they moved through the Triskelion, exiting the Three Curved Wing and boarding a transport across the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound.
Eventually, they arrived at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, the training facility where recruits and agents sharpened their skills.
As they walked into the underground levels of the Academy, students whispered curiously, some even pulling out their S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued tablets to try and identify Heisenberg.
Finally, they entered a massive underground training arena. Despite being built below ground, the chamber was nearly the size of three football fields, with nine-meter-high ceilings.
Only one person was present, pummeling a reinforced sandbag with incredible force and precision.
Boom!
Bam, bam, bam!
Jabs, hooks, low kicks, knees, a powerful throw—his movements were fluid, military, and unmistakably experienced.
The sandbag wobbled like a rag doll under his strikes, held only by high-tensile chains.
The man didn't stop even as they entered, until he completed another set of strikes and finally turned around.
With a casual nod to Fury, he said:
"These sandbags hold up a lot better than the ones we had during my time. One combo like that would've torn the old ones to shreds."
Then, his eyes fell on Heisenberg.
"Nick. Agent Hill. Long time no see. And this..."
He gestured toward Heisenberg.
"Name?"
"Heisenberg."
The man extended a hand. "Steve Rogers. Good to meet you."