To Be An Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D (Marvel)(MCU)

Eight shots in Fourteen point Four seconds—each one precise, methodical, and lethal.

Most people couldn't even control the recoil of the Barrett M82A1's .50 caliber rounds. But James wasn't most people. His enhanced body absorbed the recoil like an absolute tank.

"Sixteen confirmed kills," James said over comms. "You two are moving too slow. Also, make sure to destroy the heads. Leave nothing behind."

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"What? Sixteen? Already?" Tony stared in disbelief. "Are you sure you didn't miscount?"

James replied with assurance, "One shot, one kill. I told you—this is easy work."

"Did they just stand still for you, huh? That must be nice," Tony grumbled.

"They didn't stand still. I was just faster. They fired, but I shot down their shells with my skills. Before they could fully adjust to shoot at you, I dropped all 8 of them with sniper rounds in about Fifteen seconds. Come on, Tony—give me some credit. That's called efficiency."

"I'd like to see you try it mid-air like me," Tony shot back. "I'll show you later."

"Less talking, more clearing," James said. "And remember—destroy their heads."

"Why target the heads?" Rhodes asked over the comms.

"In case someone rigged them with explosives. Classic fallback tactic."

"Good point. Tony, let's finish the job," Rhodes said.

The two teamed up, clearing out the remaining drones and ensuring their antennas were destroyed. But before they could regroup, a new figure entered the fray.

"James," Tony said over the radio, "we've got a new contact. Can you get a shot?"

James raised his binoculars. "Different from the rest. Custom armor. That armor might be too strong for standard rounds. Land and fight on the ground. That will give me a shot."

"Rhodes, Let's head to the central garden," Tony ordered.

"Central garden? Where's that?"

"Follow me." Tony flew straight into the Expo Center's globe—a concealed ecological dome.

James grunted. "Of course you'd go to the one place I can't see."

He relocated from the rooftop, jumped into his Chevy, and repositioned near the garden. Climbing up onto a nearby structure, as he realigns the Barrett and looks down on the fight.

Vanko had arrived in his own armor—more menacing, more rugged, and wielding plasma whips like before, but thicker and more juiced up. James locked in.

"Grab the whips. Pull him apart. Turn his back toward the northeast. That's my angle," James instructed over comms.

"Could've picked an easier job," Rhodes muttered, but both men complied.

They each grabbed a whip flailing at them. Sparks flew as plasma met reinforced suit plating.

Bang! James fired, then cycled the bolt. Bang! As the second shot hit. Both bullets slammed into the plasma tubes at Vanko's shoulders.

The whips fizzled instantly, losing power.

Without pausing, James shifted aim to the back of Vanko's knee—where armor was the weakest. He fired again. The shot hit true, shattering a support bolt.

Now left with an empty magazine.

"You sure you're not mistaking that for an assault rifle?" Tony asked, half-laughing from how fast and accurate he fired.

James didn't reply. He was focused—and frustrated.

His current weapons weren't enough. SHIELD had nothing that could truly challenge high-level threats. What he did today worked against machines, but against supervillains? He needed more.

Vanko's suit was falling apart, joints locking up. But the man was relentless—he activated self-destruct. Red lights flared from his chest. The remaining drones were already out of commission, with antennas gone. He had no more cards left.

"Rhodes, Tony, pull out!" James shouted.

Tony and Rhodes took off. The explosion was contained, with not enough to do serious damage. The Expo grounds took a light hit. Justin Hammer, however, was not so lucky—arrested on the spot.

"James, you ever think about joining the special forces?" Rhodes said, half-joking. "Your aim's ridiculous."

James gave a dry laugh. "Not funny."

Tony chimed in. "You want to recruit a billionaire SHIELD asset? Come on, Rhodey—he's out of your league."

"Don't be like that, Tony. There are still real wars going on. We need guys like him."

"Yeah? For what? Foreign skirmishes no one cares about? You know as well as I do, half those battles are just politics wrapped in ammo."

James cut in. "Drop it. I'm not joining the military. Tony's right—most foreign operations are a mess. Full of generals acting like politicians and backed by weapons manufacturers. Whatever threat they claim is out there? None of them are coming for the U.S."

Tony nodded. "Exactly why I stopped making weapons. You know what League Games is worth now? We just hit a ten-billion-dollar valuation. In three months. Venture Capitalist's are lining up with cash, and we're not even answering their calls."

He wasn't exaggerating. League of Legends and the Samira messaging app were dominating the market. User counts surged daily. The American instant communication space was theirs for the taking.

"Alright, you two rich boys," Rhodes groaned. "I'll stop trying to reason with you. I'm heading out."

"You can keep the suit," Tony said. "Just remember—property rights stay with me. You use it yourself, or I take it back."

"Appreciate it, brother," Rhodes said, then departed.

Tony turned to James. "What now?"

"I'm heading home. You should check in with Pepper. How's that going by the way?"

"No issues. I'll go find her now." Tony flew off in a flash of repulsor fire.

James packed up and returned home. Carlos was watching the news when he walked in.

"Nice shooting," Carlos said, nodding as James set his gear down.

"It was good. But not enough. My weapons are limiting me. We need to talk about upgrades—soon."