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Sitting in a café on Hollywood Boulevard, Henry sipped fragrant coffee while reading the Vedas.
The collection, one of the foundational scriptures of Hinduism and Brahmanism, had been given to him by Kingo on one of their meetings, wearing an expression that Henry could only describe as strange.
Naturally, it wasn't a translated edition.
In fact, it wasn't even written in modern Hindi or Sanskrit.
The ancient scripts of the great Eastern civilizations had evolved through various forms over the centuries, but the underlying meanings of the characters generally remained stable. Changes were mostly matters of writing style and convenience.
As a result, modern readers could usually decipher ancient texts without excessive difficulty.
The situation for Sanskrit was very different.
As part of the Indo-European language family, the difference between ancient Sanskrit and its modern descendants resembled the gap between Latin and English.
They were practically different languages.
Add in centuries of competing kingdoms, cultural exchanges, and linguistic evolution, and the complexity increased even further.
Modern India alone possessed nearly fourteen hundred identifiable native languages.
Although Hindi was the official language and English the associate official language, India still recognized twenty-two scheduled languages and six officially designated classical languages.
In other words, deciphering Kingo's gift was almost equivalent to learning an entirely new language.
And like many ancient texts, it suffered from another problem:
Centuries of copying inevitably introduced intentional and unintentional alterations.
Henry had previously compared it with copies of the Vedas preserved in Los Angeles libraries.
As expected, there were numerous discrepancies.
A while ago, he had been busy studying Kree and Skrull languages.
After taking one look at the manuscript and realizing he couldn't make heads or tails of it, he had set it aside.
Only today had he decided to revisit it.
By comparing the text with the library editions he remembered, alongside modern Sanskrit interpretations and English translations, he slowly worked his way through it.
Unfortunately, many translators focused too heavily on elegance and readability.
The most fundamental principle—faithfulness to the original meaning—had often been sacrificed.
And after being translated and retranslated multiple times, the intended meaning inevitably drifted.
From Henry's preliminary analysis, the differences were substantial.
Just as he felt he was finally beginning to understand Kingo's gift, a familiar face sat down across from him.
The waitress, who had already received a generous tip from Henry earlier, was about to come over and ask the newcomer to move elsewhere.
There were plenty of empty seats.
Sharing a table wasn't necessary.
Henry stopped her with a gesture and greeted the man.
"Agent Coulson. Care for a morning coffee?
"Caffeine helps keep the mind sharp. At the very least, it'll keep you thinking clearly until lunchtime.
"I'd also recommend their biscuits. They're surprisingly good."
Phil Coulson wore his usual carefully styled haircut.
Yet the shine on his forehead seemed overshadowed by a dark cloud.
If someone wanted a textbook example of a troubled expression, this was it.
For perhaps the first time in Henry's memory, the normally good-natured agent looked openly angry.
"Mr. Brown," Coulson said, "we received a report this morning. There was a vehicle bombing in Detroit. The driver and the responding police officer both died after reaching the hospital."
"That's unfortunate."
Henry took another sip of coffee.
"Did you come to ask me to adapt their story into a movie?
"Because I've resigned. I'm no longer the CEO of Stark Pictures.
"I'm sure your people already know that."
"The dead driver was one of the key researchers from the former Soviet Siberian Alien Research Institute."
Coulson stared directly at him.
"Would you care to explain that?"
"Certainly."
Henry nodded.
"I admit it was me.
"I planted the bomb.
"I also stabbed Jesus with the Spear of Longinus.
"I helped murder Julius Caesar in front of the Senate.
"Jack the Ripper? Also me.
"Hmm. Let me think. Any other unsolved mysteries you'd like me to confess to while I'm at it?"
At first, Coulson looked disappointed.
Then genuinely furious.
"I'm not joking!"
"A completely innocent police officer is dead."
"And I said that's unfortunate."
Henry shrugged.
"Would you prefer I sounded happy about it?
"I'm not that much of an asshole."
"But you just admitted you did it!"
"How did you do it?"
"I have no idea."
Henry spread his hands.
"Isn't figuring that out supposed to be your job?
"Maybe your first step should be checking airline passenger records to see whether I flew to Detroit and back."
"But you're a Kryptonian!"
"Oh, for the love of..."
Henry removed his glasses and placed them atop the closed book.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sighed in irritation.
Without the glasses, Coulson noticed something surprising.
The text on the pages appeared slightly distorted.
"You have bad eyesight?"
Henry looked at him as if the question were absurd.
"I spent all day staring at tiny computer screens while working at Stark Pictures.
"I'm a programmer.
"Having bad eyesight is normal.
"Not having bad eyesight would make me the weird one."
He put the glasses back on and began packing up his things.
"Anyway, if you're convinced I'm responsible, call the police and have me arrested.
"If you're planning to frame me, at least fabricate evidence that sounds believable.
"Now that I've resigned, Stark Industries' lawyers won't be showing up on my behalf anymore.
"And those kinds of lawyers aren't something money alone can buy.
"The attorneys I can afford probably aren't equipped to deal with people like you.
"So stop doing this kind of disgusting nonsense."
Leaving enough money to cover both the meal and the tip, Henry stood and walked away.
---
Phil Coulson remained seated long after Henry left.
His face had gone pale.
Technically, the staff should have cleared the table and asked the non-paying customer to leave.
But his expression was so dreadful that none of the young waitresses dared approach.
A short while later, another man entered the café.
A Black man.
Without ceremony, he dropped into Henry's former seat.
Nick Fury immediately asked:
"How long have you been watching him today?"
Although still unsettled, Coulson regained his composure quickly.
"From the moment he entered the café.
"One hour and fifty minutes.
"Until he just left."
Fury nodded.
"Hmm.
"Thirty minutes ago, another target in Chicago died in a close-range attack.
"He was in the suburbs.
"Apparently a local gang mistook him for an enemy connected to the Russian mob and stabbed him to death with a butterfly knife."
"He has an accomplice?"
The question came out instinctively.
Nick Fury's brow immediately furrowed.
"I always thought you were the kind of person who believed in innocent until proven guilty."
"But he's the only one with a motive."
"I'll grant you his motive is stronger than most."
Fury folded his arms.
"But the only one?
"That's harder to say.
"Do you know everything those people did inside the Soviet Union?
"Everything they did after arriving in America?"
"So you think it isn't him?"
Coulson asked.
"You think someone else is trying to mislead us?"
Fury shook his head.
"Let me ask you this.
"If it really is him.
"And if he's exactly the kind of Kryptonian you imagine him to be.
"Then what are you planning to do about it?
"Use kryptonite?
"Does Earth even have any?"
"So we just ignore everything?"
Fury tried one final time to steer him back toward reason.
"Stop expecting a real person to behave like a comic-book character.
"We can suspect.
"But in the end, evidence matters.
"If you stay trapped in this mindset, unable to look at things objectively, how are you supposed to shoulder greater responsibilities later?
"Every time something happens, are you going to assume Henry Brown is behind it?"
He paused.
"And don't forget.
"The CIA recovered another body from Central Park.
"The unidentified corpse wearing a belt with an 'S' on it.
"He wasn't wearing red and blue.
"It was yellow and blue.
"But reports say the body's durability was unbelievable.
"The blood samples were unusual too.
"Getting that corpse away from the CIA should be our priority right now.
"Matters like this aren't under their jurisdiction anyway.
"And they don't have domestic authority.
"Unfortunately, none of our contacts know where the body is being kept.
"Apparently even the CIA Director doesn't know."
The Infinity Stones' reality-altering wish had corrected many things.
But the body of the Sentinel—killed by another cosmic force—had remained behind and been recovered by the U.S. government.
Perhaps Sentinel...
Or perhaps the Void...
Wasn't truly dead after all.
Coulson sounded almost pained as he made one final attempt.
"Director...
"If Superman in reality isn't what we imagined...
"Then what about Captain America?
"He was real."
"I don't know."
Fury shrugged.
"I never fought beside him.
"I never even met him."
"Then is there really no way to prove any of this?"
Fury considered the question.
Then answered slowly.
"We can prove that an ordinary man isn't actually ordinary.
"We can prove he's lying.
"We can prove he's hiding things.
"But how do you prove that someone who was never ordinary to begin with is actually extraordinary?
"He never concealed the fact that he was different.
"For years, the agency simply classified him as a mutant.
"The public disclosures everyone once thought were foolish have now become obstacles.
"Because most tests fail against someone with a body like his.
"Unless you're suggesting we ignore his rights as a tax-paying citizen and drag him into a laboratory for experimentation."
Fury's gaze sharpened.
"But if we did that...
"How would we be any different from those former Soviet researchers?
"That wouldn't be justice."
Backed into a corner, Coulson blurted out:
"Maybe we could create an accident near him.
"A major crisis.
"Something an ordinary person couldn't handle.
"See if he has super strength or super speed."
"Are you serious, son?"
Fury stared at him.
"Listen to what you're saying.
"You want to risk innocent lives just to test that man?
"And what if he doesn't have those powers?
"Or what if he simply chooses to ignore what's happening?"
The words finally broke through.
Coulson lowered his head.
"Sorry, Director.
"I... I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore."
Fury sighed.
"He's Henry Brown.
"Not Clark Kent.
"Remember that.
"This is the last time I'm reminding you."
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