Mr. Reese sat in the driver's seat, his face filled with a mixture of resignation and frustration. In the passenger seat, Solomon Damonet was carefully inspecting a firearm with a comically oversized caliber. The accompanying ammunition was equally absurd in size.
The former CIA operative silently marveled at the weapon. It was clearly not designed for human use. The gun lacked a rear grip or stock, and firing it would generate recoil strong enough to tear a normal person's wrist apart.
But Solomon wasn't a normal person.
Noticing Reese's gaze, Solomon smirked and held the weapon up for him to see. The intricate engravings on the gun's surface hinted at its custom craftsmanship. "This is a prototype of an explosive projectile weapon," Solomon explained. "I commissioned the best craftsman I know to design it. Just stabilizing this weapon and finalizing its design took nearly a month. The designer isn't human, and the materials are magical metals. Mr. Reese, as you know, the threats you face and the threats I face are worlds apart."
"I imagine this could punch clean through a Chitauri's skull," Reese remarked quietly. Since Harold Finch—his enigmatic employer—had recruited him, every time "the Machine" spit out a social security number, Reese had to intervene in someone's life. That person might be a victim—or a perpetrator—and Reese's job was to prevent bloodshed at all costs.
"The people we'll be dealing with are ordinary humans. Your weaponry is overkill," Reese continued. "Our goal isn't to kill but to solve your problem."
"I appreciate the warning you and your partner gave me," Solomon replied with a shrug, "but I handle my problems my own way. You won't let me bring a longsword—"
"I still think that's worse than the gun," Finch muttered through Reese's earpiece.
"—so this is the next best thing. One shot will be enough to show them they've picked the wrong person to mess with. And don't worry about magic; I won't use it in front of these people. Oh, and Mr. Reese, don't forget you owe me a new magic carpet."
The former CIA agent sighed deeply, turning his attention back to the decrepit bar across the street. Even in the dim light of night, he could clearly make out the figures inside.
There was no denying Solomon had trouble brewing, but his threats came from ordinary humans. Harold's Machine couldn't differentiate wizards from normal people; otherwise, it wouldn't have flagged Solomon Damonet's social security number. At first glance, Solomon didn't appear to need help, but Reese hoped to resolve the situation without unnecessary casualties.
By "casualties," Reese meant the gang members. He was certain that neither Solomon nor his oversized, rocket-propelled firearm was at risk.
"Finch, how much do you think a magic carpet is worth?"
"I have no idea," Finch replied, "but even if Mr. Damonet accepts dollars, the price would undoubtedly be astronomical."
Reese sighed again, his mind drifting back to how things had spiraled into this mess in the first place.
After opening the metal briefcase and carefully reviewing its contents, Solomon had finally given Grant Ward his answer.
"I accept Agent Coulson's terms," Solomon said, signaling his android, Diana, to remove Ward's restraints. "I'll contact him if necessary."
"And what about this guy?" Ward asked, rubbing his wrists as he glanced at Reese, still tied to a chair. "I can tell he's a professional—he's like me. Need me to deal with him for you?"
Reese didn't react to Ward's threat. His focus was on the android girl—Diana. Her presence wasn't mentioned in any of the files Finch had pulled. Solomon Damonet's ability to attract women seemed extraordinary.
More importantly, Solomon's connections to S.H.I.E.L.D. were deep, which explained why Reese couldn't access Solomon's phone remotely. That was what had forced him to break into the apartment in the first place—and land in his current predicament.
Perhaps the Machine had flagged Solomon's number precisely because of his ties to the intelligence agency. Reese knew he'd stumbled into something far bigger than he anticipated.
"No need, Agent Ward," Solomon said, dismissing the suggestion. "I'll handle this myself. Also, before you leave, take a bag of cookies—our housemaid's specialty. They're a must-try."
He handed Ward his confiscated earpiece. "Call Agent Coulson now and tell him to pass a message to Nick Fury: Withdraw your surveillance teams immediately, or prepare to go diving in the Pacific to find them. I won't be giving your agents life preservers."
Ward gave Solomon a skeptical look but complied. After the call, Ward nodded to confirm the request had been fulfilled. Once Diana escorted the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent out, Solomon turned his attention to the suited man still seated before him.
"There are plenty of beings that want me dead, but none of them are human. You don't seem to be connected to the magical world, so why are you here? And yes, I'm asking your partner as well," Solomon said, gesturing toward Reese's earpiece.
"We believe your life is in danger, Mr. Damonet," Finch's voice replied. "We're here to help, though it seems you don't need assistance. Please, release my partner—I'll explain everything."
"Very well," Solomon said, casting a detection spell to verify Reese's intentions. Confirming there was no malice, he removed the restraints and returned the earpiece. "I'm waiting for your explanation—it'll determine what happens next."
After a brief introduction, Solomon began to understand the nature of Reese and Finch's work.
"Saving innocent lives is a noble cause," Solomon admitted. "Though I don't know how you learned about me, I'm certain no one paid you to do this."
He gestured for Diana to pour Reese a cup of tea. "I've taken many lives—but only those of dark magical creatures. Well, except for the first time… but I haven't taken an innocent life since. I should probably stop before I say too much."
Reese remained expressionless, silently evaluating the teenager's words. His instincts as an operative told him not to trust so easily—he'd made that mistake far too many times before.
"John, most of the surveillance agents have pulled out," Finch reported via the earpiece. "Only a few remain. I suspect they're the reason the Machine flagged Solomon's number. I've contacted Detective Carter to help investigate those individuals. Though I already have an idea—they're likely our old friends. Apologies, but I still can't access his phone. Its security is impenetrable."
"I understand," Reese replied, glancing at his phone. "Looks like our honor student has tangled with the wrong crowd. Solomon Damonet, do you have ties to illegal activity?"
"Why ask? I don't need crime to make money," Solomon lied with a straight face, as if he'd never stolen cash from a bank. "The only criminal-related thing I've done is breaking the legs of a few thugs trying to sell cocaine near my building. Well… maybe more than a few. I've cleaned up all the local dealers."
"This is a high-end apartment complex—lots of wealthy residents…"
"I think I see where his trouble's coming from," Reese muttered, setting down his tea. "He disrupted the drug market in a high-end neighborhood. I'll need to warn those gangsters before they get themselves killed. Solomon's not a victim—he's the aggressor. I need to figure out how to distance myself from him."
"I don't think those criminals will take your warning, John," Finch said. "They'll assume you're working with him. Solomon Damonet has left many of those thugs permanently disabled. Their medical bills alone are astronomical."
"All the more reason to keep them away…"
"You do realize I can hear everything you're saying, right?" Solomon interjected, pointing to his ears. "Whether you call it magic or something else, I heard your entire conversation."
Reese stared at him, and Solomon continued, "The gang leaders—the ones who sent those thugs—will come for me sooner or later, just like you did. Don't worry; I won't kill them. My actions are bound by rules—unless…"
He smirked slightly. "Finch, I think I can handle this myself. In the meantime, I'd like to meet you in person. You'll both need to sign a magical confidentiality agreement, or I'll have to alter your memories. Reese, you first."
Finch sighed audibly through the earpiece.
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