The otaku's apartment spanned over two hundred square meters.
Instead of wallpaper, posters of anime girls covered every inch of the walls, stretching from the entryway all the way to the living room. Every character was smiling with outstretched arms, creating a bizarre, unsettling sensation of being welcomed home by a legion of 2D waifus.
The living room layout was exceptionally simple. Opposite a soft beanbag chair sat a sixty-inch LCD TV connected to a PS6 and an Xbox. The bookshelves were crammed with game discs.
As the agents entered, a distinct odor hit their nostrils. Every one of them, including Coulson, immediately covered their nose and mouth. It was a cocktail of unwashed hair grease, stale body odor, dirty socks, and leftover takeout. There was even a lingering scent of concentrated male hormones wafting from the overflowing trash bin.
It was, by all accounts, the textbook definition of a shut-in's nest. While the smell wasn't technically a biochemical weapon, the expressions on the agents' faces suggested they would have preferred a gas grenade.
"Take a seat. Don't be nervous. I just have a few simple questions."
One agent, playing the "good cop," guided Alex to the sofa while the others moved with practiced silence to search the other rooms. Alex's eyes darted toward the balding agent—Coulson—and the white briefcase he carried.
What's in the box?
"Hey, focus. I'm asking questions now, and I need you to be honest."
Alex snapped back to attention and nodded frantically.
Half an hour later, the interrogation finally ended.
They called them "simple questions," but the agents had been relentless. They asked about his school grades, whether his teachers ever give him punishment, and even the names of the pretty girls in his class.
Through eating, Alex had acquired all of the otaku's memories. If he wanted to, he could list the color of every pair of underwear he'd worn since childhood. But because he had to act the part, the process was exhausting.
He had to calculate which questions required an instant answer, which ones required a hesitant, uncertain response, and which ones he shouldn't know at all. The questioning seemed random, but it was a carefully laid trap.
Fortunately, Alex had some counter-surveillance instincts. He played the role perfectly from start to finish, leaving no obvious trail.
"Alright. Thanks for your cooperation."
The agent shook his hand and stepped out into the hallway. Coulson was leaning against the railing, looking at the view, while another agent stood nearby to report.
"Sir, we've searched every corner of the room. Nothing out of place."
"The computer?"
"Shows signs of heavy use. Initial check shows nothing suspicious."
"Initial check?"
"Yeah. He might be a tech wiz who wiped the data. To be 100% sure, we need to take the rig back to HQ."
"Right," Coulson said. "And the interrogation?"
The first agent replied, "It was perfect. No flaws at all."
Coulson smirked. "Then we have a problem."
Alex was ultimately too inexperienced. How could a socially anxious, shut-in slob pass a SHIELD interrogation with perfect scores?
"There's one more thing," The agent added. "Being close to him, I kept catching a faint scent of blood. It was most noticeable when he spoke. Just a gut feeling, though."
"Those red flags are enough," Coulson said, his harmless face turning cold. "Take him down."
"Understood!"
An agent pulled a tranquilizer pistol from his holster, strode back into the room, and fired three shots at Alex, who was currently mid-sip of a glass of water.
Phut-phut-phut!
Alex didn't even see it coming. Three darts buried themselves in his torso. He dropped the glass, clutching his neck as he stood up in a panic. "Officer? What are you doing?"
The agent sneered. "Drop the act. You left way too many openings."
Alex froze, his mind racing. Openings? Was it my answers? No, that can't be. Is this an FBI test? Should I fall down and act unconscious?
No. Too risky. I can't leave my life in their hands.
Screw it!
In an instant, Alex made his choice. He feigned the effects of the paralysis, staggering blindly.
"Those are veterinary-grade darts," The agent remarked smugly. "Designed to drop a lion or an elephant."
Vet darts? Alex thought. I don't feel a damn thing.
Alex's body exploded forward like a spring.
"Shit—!"
Before the agent could finish his curse, Alex's hand clamped around his throat. In one fluid motion, Alex drew the agent's sidearm and opened fire on the team in the doorway.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Alex was moving with blurring speed, but SHIELD agents weren't amateurs. The moment he went rogue, they dove for cover. The shots missed.
Worse, Alex had focused so much on the other agents that he forgot the man in his grasp wasn't done fighting. The agent didn't bother trying to pry Alex's fingers off his throat; he knew it was futile. Instead, he reached into a pocket, drew a tactical knife, and slashed upward, severing Alex's wrist.
Squelch!
A surge of agony hit Alex. He was momentarily stunned. Since when was the FBI this lethal? This isn't like the memories at all!
In that split second of hesitation, the agent dropped to the floor, and the rest of the team opened up.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire thundered through the apartment. Specially made rounds tore into Alex's body, blooming into red craters. After a full volley, the 250-pound man was missing half his mass, and a pool of blood the size of a slaughterhouse floor spread across the room.
The agents swapped magazines, keeping their sights trained on the bloody figure.
"Hnn..."
A contemptuous grunt proved the target was still alive.
"Good aim. Good moves. Fast reflexes," Alex rasped. "You're definitely not FBI."
"We're SHIELD, you son of a bitch!"
"SHIELD..." Alex tightened his fist. "I don't care what bureau you're from. Handguns won't kill me."
"How about this, then?"
Coulson appeared at the doorway, wielding a high-tech, handheld laser cannon that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.
BOOM!
Before Alex could react, Coulson pulled the trigger. A massive burst of blue energy erupted, blasting Alex through the wall and sending him plummeting toward the street below.
The thick wall collapsed instantly. Coulson looked at the smoking weapon, slightly startled by its power. "Those Hydra weapons really do the job."
Alex hit the cold asphalt hard. A massive hole, fifty centimeters in diameter, was charred through his chest and abdomen. If the beam had been any wider, he would have been blown clean in half.
With a surge of will, his flesh began to writhe and knit together.
Luckily, his recent meals had provided him with a significant amount of biomass. If he had taken a hit like that right after waking up in the hospital, it would have been game over.
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
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500 power stones.
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