Marvelous Meditations

Nathaniel stepped out of Phineas' shop, glancing down at his weathered wristwatch. The hands ticked steadily, as reliable as the routine he had built for himself. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and started walking, blending seamlessly into the tide of New York pedestrians.

At the intersection, a traffic mirror caught his eye. He turned slightly, pretending to adjust his collar while studying the reflection.

The city's usual flow of blank, indifferent faces filled the mirror—commuters and tourists too preoccupied with their own destinations to notice him. But one face stood out. A blonde woman in casual wear walked with measured purpose, her gaze flitting to him occasionally, as though she hoped he wouldn't notice.

Nathan allowed himself a faint smile. 'Well, someone's curious.' He turned left, weaving through the bustling crowd without breaking stride.

A short walk brought him to a hot dog stand at the edge of the sidewalk. The vendor, an older man with graying hair tucked under a baseball cap, greeted him with a warm smile.

"¡Nathan! ¿Cómo estás, amigo?" the vendor called out, his voice carrying over the sizzle of the grill.

"Estoy bien, gracias, Luis," Nathan replied smoothly, switching to the man's language with ease. "Un perro caliente, por favor."

(I'm good, thanks, Luis. One hot dog, please.)

Luis grinned and set to work preparing the order. Nathan leaned casually against the counter, letting his gaze wander toward the construction site just behind the stand. "¿Qué están construyendo ahí?" he asked, pointing with his chin.

(When did they start working there?)

Luis paused, arching a bushy eyebrow. "¿Eso? Ha estado en construcción desde hace un mes. Pensé que ya lo sabías."

(That? It's been under construction for a month. I thought you already knew.)

Nathan shrugged lightly, keeping his tone casual. "Supongo que lo olvidé."

(I guess I never really noticed.)

Luis gave him a knowing look, then chuckled. "Hombre, trabajas demasiado. Necesitas descansar de vez en cuando."

(Man, you work too much. You need to take a break every now and then.)

Nathan's eyes flicked subtly toward the reflection in the glass of a nearby shop window. There she was—the blonde woman—still maintaining her distance, her gaze firmly on him. Nathan's smile never faltered. "Tienes razón, Luis," he said, accepting the hot dog as Luis handed it over. "Gracias. Y esto es para ti." He slipped a generous tip into the man's jar.

(You're right, Luis. Thank you. And this is for you.)

Luis shook his head, laughing. "Siempre tan generoso. Cuídate, Nathan."

(Always so generous. Take care, Nathan.)

"Siempre," Nathan replied, giving him a small salute before blending back into the crowd.

(Always.)

He took a bite of the hot dog as he walked, the savory taste grounding him for a moment. Behind him, the woman still followed, her presence now confirmed. Nathan's mind shifted into a calculated calm. 'Let's see how far you're willing to go.'

...

Felicia Hardy cursed softly as she rounded yet another corner, scanning the sea of faces for any trace of her quarry. He was gone. The man who had stolen her score—smooth, methodical, and more dangerous than most of the criminals she crossed paths with—had slipped out of sight like a ghost. Normally, Felicia would have left it at that. Provoking someone like him didn't rank high on her to-do list.

But this wasn't normal.

The Chitauri tech she'd been tracking was gone, and going back empty-handed wasn't an option. Her employer wasn't the forgiving type, and she didn't plan on finding out how far his patience stretched. Gritting her teeth, she quickened her pace, darting past clusters of pedestrians as her eyes scanned every possible nook where her target might have gone.

Her focus cost her.

As she passed the entrance to a narrow alleyway, a strong hand shot out, gripping her jacket and yanking her into the shadows. She spun instinctively, ready to throw a kick, but froze when she felt cold steel press against her stomach.

Her eyes darted downward to the pistol aimed at her, then up to meet her assailant's gaze. Nathan Cross stood before her, his face a mask of calm, unreadable intensity.

"I thought I told you to sit tight and wait for the police, kid," he said, his voice low and steady.

Felicia's heart raced, but she forced herself to relax, drawing on years of experience to slip into a convincing façade. Her expression shifted to one of confusion and fear, her voice trembling as she replied. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. If you want money, you can have it—just let me go."

Nathan's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "The blonde wig's a nice touch," he said, his tone laced with dry amusement. "But I don't forget a face. That little domino mask of yours didn't do much to hide yours."

Felicia's eyes narrowed, her innocent act falling away like a discarded mask. "Well, aren't you perceptive?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Comes with the job." Nathan's pistol didn't waver, but his tone was oddly casual, as though this were just another part of his routine. "Now, why don't you tell me why you're following me? I thought I made it very clear that I wasn't someone you should concern yourself with."

Felicia smiled, her lips curving into a flirtatious smirk as she stepped closer to Nathan, placing a hand lightly on his chest. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and allure. "Maybe I'm not concerned," she purred, her voice dripping with honey, "but impressed instead. The way you took down Fisk's thugs—"

Nathan cut her off with a scoff, his expression unamused. He raised his index finger and pressed it firmly against her forehead, pushing her back a step. "Shouldn't you be in school or something?"

Felicia stumbled slightly, caught off guard. She glared at him, opening her mouth to retort, but Nathan was already ahead of her.

"The taser," he said, pointing his gun at her with a calm yet firm gesture. "Hand it over."

Felicia frowned, crossing her arms. "Are you really going to rob me right now? Again?"

Nathan didn't respond immediately, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "Hand it over," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Felicia sighed, rolling her eyes in theatrical resignation. "Fine. Here," she muttered, pulling a small taser from a concealed holster and slapping it into his waiting hand.

Nathan examined the weapon briefly before his hand dipped into one of her pockets. "Hey!" she protested, but he ignored her, pulling out a driver's license. His brow arched as he read the name on it, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.

"Viola Wimbledon?" he said, his voice tinged with dry humor. "Really?"

Felicia huffed, crossing her arms again. "It's clearly a fake. I'm not that stupid."

Nathan shook his head, chuckling as he pocketed the driver's license. He tucked her handgun into his belt without a second thought. "Congratulations. Still, it won't be hard for me to find the guy who made the fake ID for you. And when I do—if I have to—I'll make him talk."

Felicia frowned, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What about, the weather?"

Nathan let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "I'll leave that to your imagination," he said. "There won't be a third time, kid."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Felicia standing alone in the alley, her expression sour. Her hands curled into fists, but she didn't follow. She had been outmaneuvered—for now.

As Nathan's figure disappeared into the bustle of the city, Felicia let out a frustrated sigh, muttering under her breath, "Smug bastard."

Meanwhile, Nathan weaved through the crowded city streets, his expression unreadable. Yet as he slid a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket, he stopped in his tracks. A faint frown crossed his face as his fingers met empty fabric.

It wasn't the fact that his wallet was gone that caught him off guard—he had fully anticipated Felicia making a move like this. What surprised him was how cleanly she'd pulled it off. He hadn't felt a thing.

"A thief through and through," he muttered to himself, a trace of amusement in his voice as he shook his head.

His eyes flicked back toward the alley where he'd left her, narrowing slightly as he considered doubling back. But after a moment, he dismissed the thought with a shrug. She'd earned her small victory—for now.

With that, Nathan turned away and continued walking, blending back into the flow of the city.

...

The dull hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above the near-empty parking lot as Felicia Hardy leaned casually against a concrete pillar, her arms crossed. Shadows stretched long as the last remnants of daylight disappeared, casting the area in a cold, sterile glow. She perked up slightly as a car rolled into view, its headlights cutting through the gloom before it parked a few spaces away.

The driver's door opened, and a man stepped out. He was older, mid-fifties at least, with graying hair and a face etched with years of stress and suspicion. His sharp eyes scanned the lot before landing on Felicia.

"Well?" he said, his voice gravelly, as he approached. "What's the story?"

Felicia pushed off the pillar with an easy grace, offering a faint, almost mocking smile. "I found the guy who took the Chituri goods."

The man narrowed his eyes, stopping a few feet short of her. "How?"

She tilted her head, feigning disinterest. "The how isn't part of the deal. What matters is that I found him." Her voice carried a hint of defiance, her expression unreadable.

The man didn't look convinced, his gaze scrutinizing her like he was searching for cracks in her story. "This sounds too easy," he finally said, his tone laced with suspicion.

Felicia smirked, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "That's what I thought, too. Overheard him talking with someone outside the warehouse—he mentioned something, and I pieced out where he was going..." She shrugged, her voice dropping slightly. "But if you ask me, he wanted me to hear it. Like he was leading me by the nose."

The man's eyes darkened, his frown deepening as he crossed his arms. "And you didn't think to share that little tidbit earlier?"

Felicia's smirk widened, unflinching under his hard stare. "You hired me to find him, not explain his mind games. Anyway, I didn't get an address, but the next best thing..."

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out Nathan's wallet, tossing it to him. The man caught it deftly, immediately flipping it open and ignoring the cash inside. He pulled out a driver's license, his eyes narrowing as he read the name.

"John Carpenter," he muttered, a wry twist to his lips.

"Like the movie director," Felicia said, pointing at the ID. "An obvious fake. But if you track down the guy who made it, he might be able to tell you more about our mystery thief."

The man stared at the license for a moment longer before slipping it into his pocket. His sharp gaze returned to her. "If this lead's no good…"

Felicia cut him off, her voice calm but firm. "It's good. You'll find him if you know what you're doing..."

The man gave a curt nod, his voice flat. "Then our business is concluded here. You'll find the payment in the agreed-upon location."

Felicia didn't respond immediately. Instead, she studied him with a hard, scrutinizing look. Something about this man, about the entire setup, stank to high hell. He was too calm, too detached, and his involvement felt larger than what he let on. She considered pressing him for more but decided against it. Whatever game he was playing, it wasn't one she wanted to be dragged into.

"It better be," she finally said, turning sharply on her heel. Her boots clicked against the pavement as she walked away, disappearing into the maze of shadows that stretched through the lot.

The man remained still, waiting until Felicia was completely out of sight. Satisfied, he turned and strode to a dark van parked a few spaces away. He slid the side door open and stepped inside, immediately removing the mask that had concealed his features. The face beneath was unmistakable: dark skin, balding hair, and a single piercing eye beneath an eyepatch. Nick Fury.

Inside the van, a younger man sat hunched over a bank of monitors, typing rapidly. Fury handed him the fake ID.

"All we got is this," Fury said, his tone betraying his irritation.

The technician took the ID, his fingers running over the laminate as he inspected it. "This could've been made by anyone," he said after a moment. "It's not impossible to track down the creator, but it won't be quick enough. I don't think it's worth the effort."

Fury frowned, crossing his arms. "What about the image we pulled from the warehouse cameras? Any luck with that?"

The tech shook his head, his eyes glued to the screen. "Not yet. His face is barely visible in the footage. Poor angles, bad lighting. Honestly, I'm surprised we got anything at all."

Fury's frown deepened. "Then use this," he said, tapping the fake ID. "Scan the picture on the card. Maybe it'll help speed things up."

The man nodded, sliding the ID into a small scanner. "Worth a shot," he said, already initiating the process. As the machine hummed, Fury turned to look out the van's tinted window, his expression hard and calculating.

"We need to know who this guy is," Fury muttered, looking at a particular screen that showed an image standing in the open, looking straight at the camera. "Before he becomes a bigger problem than he already is."

The young technician glanced at the screen displaying Nathan's grainy image, the only clear shot from the compromised warehouse cameras. He couldn't help but chuckle under his breath.

Fury turned sharply, his single eye narrowing into a glare that could sour milk. "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice edged with steel.

The young man shook his head, holding up a hand in defense. "It's just... the cameras at the warehouse were clearly tampered with. None of them worked except for this one," he said, pointing at the still frame of Nathan's face on the screen. "And just as it so happened, the only functioning camera at the time stopped working right after capturing this guy."

Fury's gaze shifted to the screen, his brow furrowing. Then, almost imperceptibly, his lips pressed into a thin line. "He's clearly trying to be noticed," Fury said, his tone measured.

The technician blinked, caught off guard. "Noticed, sir? Why?"

Fury stepped to the van's sliding door, gripping the handle with purpose. "I have no idea," he said, sliding the door open with a muted clatter. He glanced back over his shoulder, his voice low and commanding. "And that's exactly why we need to ID him. I want to know who he is, what he's after, and how soon he'll be a problem. The clock's ticking."

Before the young man could respond, Fury stepped out, closing the door behind him with a firm thud.

Inside the van, the technician scratched his head, muttering to himself. "Noticed, huh? What kind of guy pulls off a stunt like that and wants people to know about it?" He shook his head, cracking his knuckles. "Either way, guess I'd better get to it..."

With a renewed sense of urgency, he turned back to the monitors, his fingers dancing furiously over the keyboard as the fake ID's scanned image began its slow path through their database systems.

...

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