Chapter Eight: The Lich King Stands Above S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Three minutes. I want every piece of information you have on these two men—everything." Holding the miniature camera in his hand, Coulson swept it over Peter Parker and Roald, issuing his order to the intelligence division with the authority of a corporate magnate.

The massive intelligence apparatus of S.H.I.E.L.D. whirred into action. In no time, detailed reports on Peter Parker and Roald were delivered to Coulson and Natasha, and although some details were lacking, the sheer efficiency was nothing short of remarkable.

"This enthusiastic and elegant gentleman—there's nothing remarkable in his background. He inherited this shop from his parents, holds a regular identity card, standard insurance, and boasts twenty-two years of unblemished medical records. Even his parents’ files are perfectly ordinary," Natasha remarked as she flipped through Roald's dossier, scrutinizing it from every angle, growing more convinced of his normalcy with each page.

Yet, for an agent, the absence of suspicion is the greatest suspicion of all.

Whenever she thought of Roald, something indefinable stirred in the depths of her mind: shadowed alleyways, the dim glow of streetlights, the colossal silhouette of a spider, the blush-inducing bonds of webbing, a chill of blue frost, and the ceaseless murmurs of lost souls. But whenever she tried to bring these fragments into focus, they slipped away, maddeningly vague.

This blurred boundary between reality and illusion gnawed at her sanity.

"Guess what I found?" Unlike Natasha, who was at a loss, Coulson lifted Peter Parker's file with the air of a man discovering a new continent.

Both Natasha and Hawkeye turned to him, curiosity piqued.

"Peter Parker—an orphan, like our enthusiastic citizen here, his parents lost in his early childhood. He was taken in by his aunt and uncle in Forest Hills, Queens, and raised as their own," Coulson paused, adding pointedly, "His father was Richard Parker."

He produced another document. "Richard Parker's former partner, Dr. Curt Connors, now works at Oscorp under Norman Osborn. Connors is an expert in reptilian regenerative systems, a biologist specializing in all things reptilian, and the research he once shared with Peter's father focused on spiders."

"Let’s use a little lateral thinking and see what connections we can draw here."

With a few deft commands and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s (or Hydra's) formidable resources, Peter Parker’s secrets began to surface.

Moments later, Coulson and Natasha stared, astonished, at the footage on their phones. Though Peter Parker had tried to stay hidden, several frames had been captured, and with his conspicuous acts of heroism, S.H.I.E.L.D. had little difficulty identifying this reporter, dressed in red and swinging through New York's skyscrapers on webs, like a modern-day Tarzan.

"What is this—a Spider-Man?" Natasha gasped, unable to conceal her surprise.

She knew the world harbored extraordinary individuals—she herself had stepped beyond human limits after a few injections—but discovering Peter Parker’s spider-like abilities still shook her.

"My friend, you should call him Spider-Man now. Compared to our refined good samaritan, Peter is truly New York’s upstanding citizen," Coulson quipped, his mood briefly lightening before he became serious again.

"I think we've found a lead on our giant spider. It’s time to focus on Oscorp, Peter Parker, or perhaps Dr. Curt Connors."

"I agree," Natasha replied gravely.

The spider was an enduring shadow in her heart, one that left her restless and uneasy. Then, as if remembering something, she added, "Coulson, if you’re right, we should start monitoring Peter Parker. He’s either a mutant or possesses some special ability. Whatever the case, we need to be prepared."

After all, mutation meant the unknown—an unprecedented force, and such people always possessed unique talents.

"Of course, Ms. Romanoff." Coulson straightened his suit in the car window, preparing to make a good impression. "Judging by Peter’s actions, if we can approach him peacefully, I hope we can resolve this matter amicably—whether through surveillance, regular checkups, or perhaps even recruiting him."

He voiced his thoughts, then added, "Of course, the Director must be consulted first."

"Who would've thought a senior agent like you could still be so idealistic?"

Mutants were an extraordinary phenomenon in this world. A small portion of humanity possessed genetic mutations, often triggered by a range of factors, granting them special powers. Such powers could be terrifyingly strong, sometimes leading to disastrous consequences—people overwhelmed by their new abilities, endangering society and shattering the peace of ordinary citizens.

Coulson shook his head. "Mutants pose a grave threat to ordinary people. If we can’t bring them under control, they’re like a nuclear bomb hidden among the masses, liable to explode at any time."

He shrugged. "But in this world, someone always has to play the villain—just as someone must always make selfless sacrifices."

With those words, Coulson picked up his hat, set it atop his head, and stepped out of the car.

"Wait—"

But Natasha’s protest was cut short; Coulson was already gone.

He tidied his collar, smoothed the wrinkles from his suit, and donned his most polished smile. Approaching Roald and Peter Parker, who were deep in cheerful conversation, he carried himself with impeccable courtesy.

His expression conveyed sincere apologies for interrupting, and he spread his hands to show he meant no harm.

"I’m Phil Coulson. I hope I’m not intruding," he said, lowering his hands behind his back. At that signal, agents hidden among the crowd subtly repositioned themselves, blocking the line of sight and preventing anyone from drawing near, ensuring Coulson’s conversation would proceed undisturbed.

"If I’m interrupting, I sincerely apologize. But have you ever heard of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division?"

"What?" Roald and Peter Parker, who had been debating whether apple pie should be eaten with ketchup, stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the unexpected visitor.

Roald glanced at Peter, who appeared equally baffled—clearly, Peter knew nothing about this so-called S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Um…sir, could you slow down? What did you say—something about a conservation bureau?"

"It’s the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," Coulson replied smoothly, as if reciting a well-rehearsed line, "though you can just call us S.H.I.E.L.D."

He wasn’t even winded—obviously, this wasn’t his first time.

"Sorry, never heard of it. Goodbye. And to be honest, I’m not too comfortable with strangers talking to me without a mask," Roald replied, playing the part of an elderly man squinting at his phone.