Chapter 207: S.H.I.E.L.D. Level-7 Agent: Tsukasa Kadoya
"Hey, Tsukasa — I think that guy's talking to us," Kaito said, tapping the man with the magenta camera on the shoulder with a grin that suggested he'd already decided today was going to be fun.
Tsukasa Kadoya shrugged the hand off his shoulder with the practiced irritation of someone who'd had this exact conversation before. "It's magenta," he said. "Not pink. Completely different. And he's not talking to us."
Kaito laughed. "Relax. I'm kidding."
Tsukasa's hand went to his jacket pocket reflexively. There was something in it that hadn't been there a moment ago.
He pulled it out. A badge. Standard laminated ID card, but the details on it were specific and apparently accurate to this world's infrastructure.
[ TSUKASA KADOYA ][ LEVEL 7 OPERATIVE ]
He looked at it for a moment, then put it away.
That tracked. Every new world, every new assignment — a new identity manifested to give him something to stand on. He'd been a chef, a delivery driver, a photographer, and more flavors of government operative than he could count. The multiverse had a way of slotting him in wherever he'd fit.
His particular situation was unusual even by crossover standards: he moved through universes following the signal of Kamen Rider power, able to cross any dimensional boundary where Riders existed. He'd been doing it long enough that the mechanics had become routine.
What wasn't routine was what he'd felt on the way through this time. Multiple Rider signatures, already established, already active. And the entity that had blocked his entry on a previous attempt — that enormous presence that had turned him away at the threshold — was notably absent. Either something had changed, or something had happened to it.
He filed both possibilities as interesting.
He also noted, without particular urgency, that the other person they were apparently expecting hadn't materialized. This universe had only been anticipating one arrival.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was already figuring that out. He'd glanced back at his clipboard, frowned, and was running through what should have been a simple one-person check-in.
Then Kaito stepped sideways through a dimensional gate and walked out of the building entirely.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent stared at the space where Kaito had been.
Tsukasa looked faintly resigned.
"Intruder alert!" The agent recovered, reached for his earpiece, drew his weapon. "Don't move!"
Tsukasa didn't move.
He also didn't look particularly concerned.
After a tense moment, the agent lowered his voice slightly. "Who was that? Are you working with him? I'm going to need you to come with me. My supervisor wants to talk to you."
No force, no cuffs. Just the particular authority of someone who expects compliance and is technically capable of escalating if it doesn't arrive.
Tsukasa had no objection. More information was always useful, and talking to whoever ran this operation would tell him more about this universe than standing in a lobby would. He followed.
Kaito, meanwhile, stepped out into a city that somehow managed to be simultaneously medieval in its architecture and aggressively futuristic in everything else, looked around at the skyline with undisguised delight, and began his treasure hunt.
Back in Hell's Kitchen, Ethan had no idea any of this was happening. He was planning to hunt down his own Tony, hand over the dimensional communicator schematics, and keep the channel open for whenever Miguel decided to come collect on the outcome of their wager.
Earth-928. Nueva York.
Miles Morales walked into the Spider-Society headquarters for the first time and immediately lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
"This place is — this place—"
He was surrounded, in every direction, by Spider-Men. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. Swinging on webs between platforms, standing in clusters, arguing over tactical displays, eating. All of them Spider-Man. None of them him.
"This is the main hall," Gwen said, walking beside him, trying to hide how much she enjoyed his reaction. "Welcome to the Spider-Society."
Miles looked up at a Spider-Man swinging between two elevated walkways and nearly walked into a support column.
"Most of them are part-time," Gwen added.
They moved through the hall and into a corridor and eventually arrived at the inner sanctum — and there was Miguel O'Hara, standing with his back to the door, watching footage on a monitor. The footage, Miles noticed with a sinking feeling, was footage of Miles.
Miguel turned slowly.
His expression was not a welcoming one.
"I'm glad to be here," Miles started, pushing through. "I've got a plan for catching the Spot—"
Miguel threw something at him.
"You're worried about the Spot? I'm the one who should be worried!" He started pacing, the way a man paces when he has been doing this for too long and hasn't slept enough. "Do you understand how many black holes have opened in the past week? Every time I think I've got a handle on the situation, another one appears!"
Miles opened his mouth, then closed it. He genuinely couldn't tell what he'd done.
"What did I do?" he asked, quietly.
Gwen glanced at him. She knew. She also didn't know how to say it in a way that would help.
"One after another!" Miguel said, still pacing. "You and — and the other one — both of you just — generating anomalies like it costs you nothing—"
"What other one?" Miles said.
Miguel stopped. Looked at him.
"Someone else," he said, which was technically an answer. "Someone I'm choosing to believe can handle the problems they cause." He pointed. "The question is whether you can."
Miles stood there, not sure where to put his hands.
Gwen tried to formulate something useful to say. Came up empty.
From behind Miles, a voice cut through the tension with the specific ease of someone who has seen a lot of adolescents get yelled at and has decided to intervene.
"Alright. He's still a kid. Blame me — I'm the one who decided to take him on as a student."
Miles turned.
A middle-aged man he vaguely recognized from the hall — the one everyone seemed to give space to, the one with the stroller, the one whose general energy communicated I have survived considerably worse than this — stood in the doorway looking entirely unbothered.
He smiled at Miles.
The stroller-dad Spider-Man had entered the chat.
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