Natasha Romanoff leaned back in her chair, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The shadows of the dimly lit S.H.I.E.L.D. office stretched across the floor, flickering with the soft hum of the monitors behind her. Her voice was calm but carried a note of disbelief.
"I really thought I was saving him," she said with a half-hearted chuckle, "but it turns out… he didn't need saving at all. He handled those enemies like they were nothing—people even I would've had trouble with."
Across the table, Nick Fury—known within the agency by the codename "Black Egg" in internal files—narrowed his one good eye. His brow creased deeper, signaling he was processing far more than Natasha's words.
"You gave up your information… for him?" His voice was low, measured, dangerous. "Without hesitation?"
Natasha nodded without flinching. "Yes."
That only made Fury frown harder. "That intel was crucial. We were tracking multiple HYDRA transaction points based on it. Losing that… it wasn't just a setback. That kind of exposure could've crippled them."
He stood up and paced slowly. The room was silent except for the faint buzz of overhead lights. His tone turned grim.
"HYDRA's already taken a massive hit thanks to the Avengers. Another blow like that—especially targeting their supply and trade routes—would leave them in shambles."
"But instead of recovering the intel," he said, almost to himself, "they went after that man."
He stopped and looked directly at Natasha.
"That means to HYDRA, this one guy is more valuable than the entire data packet you had."
He let that hang in the air.
"Who is he?"
Natasha didn't have an answer. She hadn't since the moment she first saw him. The man who moved like a professional combat operative, with reflexes she'd only seen in elite strike teams.
"He looked like just some random Asian guy. Handsome, sure. But his abilities? He was better than most trained field agents. His shooting was precise. His hand-to-hand techniques were seamless. Physically, he's built like a damn super-soldier."
"Maybe he is one," Fury muttered. "Could be a secret HYDRA operative. Or worse… someone from an organization we haven't identified yet."
He crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze at her. "You're sure you've never seen him before?"
Natasha shook her head. "I have a photographic memory for faces. I've never seen him, never even heard of him. If I had, I'd remember."
Fury considered this. "Could be a disguise. Start by drawing him. We'll run it through the database."
Without missing a beat, Natasha grabbed a pencil and paper from his desk. Her hands moved quickly, sketching with the precision of someone trained in far more than espionage. In just a few minutes, a detailed, lifelike image emerged: a young man's face, sharp eyes, a calm yet unreadable expression.
It was Nathan.
Fury stared at the sketch. It meant nothing to him at first. "Never seen him," he said, though his gut told him there was more beneath the surface. "Let's scan it."
He grabbed a nearby scanner and ran it over the portrait. The image popped up on the large monitor behind him, and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database began its work.
Lines of data flickered on the screen as facial recognition software engaged.
One by one, faces flashed and were rejected. The tension in the room grew with each passing second.
Then—a match.
A photo appeared on screen. The resemblance was unmistakable. The same man, slightly different lighting, but undeniably him.
Fury blinked. "What the hell..." he whispered. "He's in our database?"
Natasha leaned in and read aloud. "Nathan Carter. Bachelor's degree in Bioengineering. University of Pennsylvania graduate."
She scrolled down.
"Career path: normal. Studied hard, graduated. Nothing outstanding. Two years ago, recruited by a pharmaceutical firm—apparently a front for HYDRA."
Fury raised an eyebrow. "So he is one of theirs."
Natasha continued, now frowning. "Position: junior researcher. Assigned to peripheral biology projects. Evaluation: average intelligence, limited physical fitness, no field training."
She looked at Fury in disbelief. "This guy? An ordinary technician?"
Fury scoffed. "You're telling me the same guy who disarmed a squad in under ten seconds is supposed to be a desk jockey?"
Natasha stared at the monitor, still in disbelief. "There's no way. His reflexes were instantaneous. His aim was precise. That kind of skill doesn't come from working in a lab. That's years of combat training."
Fury tapped his fingers on the desk, his thoughts racing. "Are you absolutely sure the man you met is the same as this Nathan Carter?"
She nodded. "No doubt. It was him."
Fury pulled up the full personnel file.
Academic scores: above average.
Athletic history: none.
Combat experience: none.
Recognition: none.
Absolutely unremarkable.
Fury exhaled sharply. "So either HYDRA forged this profile—or Nathan Carter is something else entirely."
Natasha speculated, "What if he's part of a black ops enhancement program? Like the Winter Soldier?"
Fury shook his head. "Even Bucky Barnes wouldn't be prioritized over that intel. No way HYDRA ditches a trade network just to catch a runaway soldier. There's more to this."
He leaned over the desk, locking eyes with her. "What the hell makes this guy so special?"
She stared at the photo again, her voice quiet. "HYDRA's been moving weird lately. That sudden mobilization in Chicago, the encrypted broadcasts, the hush-hush raids. It's all been about him."
Nathan Carter.
On paper? A nobody.
But HYDRA's movements told a different story.
And now Fury had to find out what it was.
After a long pause, he finally said, "Whatever HYDRA is after, we're not letting them get to it first."
"If they want him that badly, we want him even more."
Natasha nodded. "I'll sweep the surveillance grid. Start with surrounding counties. If he's still on the move, maybe we'll get a trace."
One day later.
Evening.
A motorcycle sped down an empty highway, engine humming deep and steady. The sky overhead was a canvas of gray and gold as the sun dipped behind the horizon.
The rider wore a black jacket, helmet hiding his face. But beneath the gear, it was Nathan.
The tires skidded slightly as he turned off the main road and pulled through a rusted iron gate.
Ahead of him stood an abandoned factory complex—shadows clinging to broken windows and corroded metal.
Nathan killed the engine and stepped off.
He stared up at the main building, whispering to himself, "Finally... Wolverine should be here."
Inside his jacket, he carried nothing but a backpack and a sidearm. But his mind was racing.
If HYDRA had already marked him, he had to move quickly. Find allies. Stay hidden. Learn why he was so important.
Because even he didn't know the whole truth.
But one thing was clear:
HYDRA was afraid of him.
And now, so was S.H.I.E.L.D.
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