Marvel's FBI?

"Can the surveillance footage be restored? If so, how much can we recover, Fitz?"

Dante immediately pushed Skye aside—who was still trying to glue herself to his side—and switched to work mode.

Fitz nodded. "Theoretically, yes. But the data's corrupted—badly. The time code's completely desynced. So we might be able to reconstruct a rough outline of the scene, maybe a partial profile… but don't expect precision."

"No time sync? What if I give you the audio from that moment? I was using a self-built long-tube sound collector to directionally pick up lab audio from nearby. But the static was terrible, so I thought it was junk. Still… for someone like you, scrubbing static should be easy, right?"

Skye, now calm and functional, stepped up with a look to match her tone. "The audio file's in my truck."

Fitz and Simmons instantly entered what could only be described as a nerd trance. A blizzard of science babble followed—half physics, half gibberish. No one else had a clue what they were saying until the two exchanged glances and nodded with synced smiles.

"Thanks a ton."

"Having audio would help a lot."

Coulson watched his team, the air between them smooth and unstrained, and couldn't help but smile.

People like Skye? Recruited every year by the Bureau—same as big tech firms tossing out six-figure offers to any hacker who successfully torches their firewalls.

And at the top of that food chain?

Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff.

Name known worldwide. Face? Ghosted.

As long as you weren't HYDRA, the FBI was happy to play ball with anyone.

That said, Coulson had picked up on something Skye mentioned earlier.

Her truck.

"All your equipment's been stored in your 'broken truck,' just like you said. And, yeah—you were right. We couldn't crack the encryption."

"I'll say it again—that's not a 'broken truck!'" Skye looked genuinely offended. "And it's no surprise you couldn't crack it. Since I'm officially working with you now, I can tell you—the encryption's linked to GPS. It only unlocks once the truck's in the right location."

She sounded very smug about this little trick. And honestly? She'd earned it. Even an agency as advanced as the FBI couldn't crack her encryption.

Dante opened his personal terminal, tapped a few times, and handed it to her.

"FBI agents already drove your truck back to the alley where we found it… Oh, and they also gave it a full interior and exterior cleaning. On the house."

"What! No!!"

Skye wailed at the screen, staring at her old truck—now so spotless it gleamed like a mirror.

"My gritty, sexy, battle-worn body! You monsters! I made it look old on purpose!"

Watching her flip out, Dante scratched his head.

...

In the end, the person who went with Skye to retrieve the audio file from her truck was Dante.

It was supposed to be Coulson and Wade Wilson, but Dante volunteered.

Wade Wilson might be one of the Bureau's top agents, but in Dante's mind, the threat level Mike Peterson posed was closer to "Avengers applicant" than "standard perp."

"So how long are you gonna keep staring at me like that?"

Skye gave him a side-eye. Her infatuation with Dante's whole "mysterious power guy" vibe had finally taken a coffee break.

Clunk.

The truck door swung open, revealing an interior that was... shockingly spacious.

A dozen different monitors and devices blinked away—some new, some retro. The whole place screamed post-apocalyptic punk hacker den.

"You're still technically a Rising Tide plant. We haven't exactly forgiven you yet." Dante rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I shouldn't even be part of this junior squad. The only reason I'm here is because Captain America's vitals normalized after thawing out, but he still hasn't woken up. Otherwise? You'd be dealing with Coulson and Cap right now."

"What!? Captain America!? Like... the Captain America? Nazi-punching, HYDRA-kicking legend!?"

Skye was fully lit up now—but her fingers never left the keyboard. Hacker instincts > fangirl instincts.

"He's actually joining this special task force?"

"In theory, yeah. But come on. He's been in a popsicle state for almost a century. Gonna take some serious mental recalibration before he's combat-ready again."

Dante sighed.

If he were in Cap's boots, waking up in this century would feel like a slow-motion horror movie.

A hundred years of frostbite later, he'd find himself in a world that barely recognized him.

The only ties left to his past?

An old flag, and an older woman—fading fast, body frail, mind frayed.

The same woman he'd once promised everything to.

Just like when a fragile Peggy Carter held Cap's hand and whispered…

"Sometimes, the best choice is to start over."

"We've… been apart too long."

"Too long."

Love doesn't die with time—but it can fossilize into lifelong regret.

Dante wiped a hand across his face. Being sentimental wasn't always a great habit.

"I get it, I get it. Like when I was growing up in the church-run orphanage, the nuns gave me the name 'Mary Sue.' When I finally left and tried to integrate into society, I realized just how cursed that name was."

Skye shut her laptop, pulled the memory card, and turned to Dante with a half-smile.

"But life goes on, right?"

"You done?"

"Everything you need is right here." She held up the memory card. "And I already pinged Mike Peterson… Think you can handle him?"

"You mean handle him how?"

"Handle him in a don't let him explode way." Skye stared him down. "He's a father. He has a kid."

For all her chaotic hacker energy, Skye's heart was still intact.

Growing up an orphan herself, the last thing she wanted was to see another kid dragged into a horror show.

That's why she'd tried to help Mike in the first place.

"Then you picked the only path."

"Great. Now watch out behind you!"

The second Skye looked up, she spotted Mike Peterson already raising a glowing fist behind Dante.

But before the words even left her mouth, Dante—like he'd been waiting for this exact beat—spun around with perfect timing and grabbed Mike by the neck.

Boom.

Straight into the wall. Left a dent.

"Who are you..."

"Hmph hmph hmph! That's the right question!"

Dante smirked and shook his head.

"Urm FBI?!"

"Skye! You betrayed me!? You said you came to help! You said these government suits would hurt us!"

Mike had already been skating on thin mental ice—unemployed, homeless, full of rage.

Now throw in a spliced Extremis knockoff called Centipede, and he was basically a glitching firework.

Skye's "betrayal" was the final straw.

Adrenaline slammed into overdrive. His blood vessels glowed a burning orange-red.

Even a random bystander could tell he was about to go nuclear.

And they'd be right.

Mike Peterson had officially become a living thermobaric bomb.

Then, from the back of the truck, came a small, shaky voice:

"Dad? Daddy?"

That one word hit harder than any punch.

Mike froze.

Dante let out a slow breath and barked at Skye.

"Get the kid out of here! Now!"

Then he turned and shouted at Mike.

"Listen to me, Mike Peterson! Your kid is right there! You want to kill him too!?"

"So calm down! Now! That's the only way I can help you!"

Mike struggled, trembling, but Dante was stronger. Way stronger.

He held him in place.

And slowly… finally… the trembling stopped.

Tears spilled down Mike's cheeks.

An adult's breakdown doesn't always come with screaming.

Sometimes, it's just quiet surrender.

Dante had him locked down.

But now came the real issue.

He could neutralize the explosion—if he killed Mike.

But after seeing that kid?

Dante couldn't do it.

Couldn't end a father's life in front of his son.

And just then, the communicator buzzed.

"Hello, hello! You alive, Dante? It's me—Tony! Coulson said you guys hit a little snag, so I figured… hey, I'm bored, I like attention—let's offer some tech support!"

"Since when are you Coulson's guy?"

(To be continued.)