22: Chapter 22 Eavesdropping Devices

Peter moved. Before his brain could even react, his body had already flipped and launched itself forward. He kicked straight into the opponent's chest. The man blocked and grabbed his ankle, but couldn't stop the impact, and was shoved against the wall. Peter seized the opportunity to grab the stapler from the desk, jumped over, pinned the man's neck, and pressed the stapler hard against his bald head.

Only then did he see the man's face clearly. Black eye patch, bald head, a face that made one's spine chill. Nick Fury. The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Damn.

"Very impressive," Fury actually smiled. "Can you loosen your grip? I can't breathe."

Peter slowly released the pressure, his mind racing. This man was the top Agent on Earth; there was no reason for a high school student to know him, let alone know his name. So, he chose to play dumb.

"Who are you? How did you get in?" he asked in a deep voice.

"My name is Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're an Agent?"

"That's right."

"Since you're an Agent, why are you in my bedroom?" He pressed the stapler a bit further.

"Are you really planning to threaten me with a stapler?"

"I could staple your eyes shut. Want to try?"

"No, I don't think you will."

Click. Cold metal pressed against Peter's ribs. He looked down and saw a gun. When did he pull that out? Dammit, a rookie mistake.

His Spider-Sense didn't go off, which meant Fury didn't intend to shoot. But the feeling of being held at gunpoint still made his hair stand on end.

"Now, can we talk like civilized people?" Fury asked with a smile.

"Breaking into my house, and you have the nerve to talk to me about being civilized?" Peter gritted his teeth, but backed away slowly, never taking his eyes off the muzzle.

Fury holstered his gun, making no other moves. He just stood there, eyeing Peter with a scrutinizing gaze. "Now, let's talk about the Avengers initiative."

Peter kept his facial muscles perfectly under control, but his mind was exploding with fireworks. Avengers? Me? What kind of joke is this?

"What is the Avengers?" He put on his most innocent expression.

"A special operations team. Dedicated to dealing with threats beyond the scope of ordinary people and conventional forces."

"Then why are you looking for a high school student? To join your secret club?" Peter asked, feigning ignorance.

"Stop pretending, Peter. Do we really have to keep up the act that you're just an ordinary kid?" Fury raised an eyebrow. He was really annoying when he made that expression.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't, Peter... or should I say, Spider-Man."

Peter's expression changed instantly. "You're crazy. Get out of my house, or I'm calling the police." He knew this tactic was useless, but he had to play the part.

"Calling the police? Then I'll tell them about your long-term illegal trespassing and vigilante activities."

"Where's the proof?"

"We have video footage of you changing your suit, and high-definition photos of you lifting a steel beam at the abandoned train yard."

Peter sneered. "So S.H.I.E.L.D. installed so many cameras in Queens? Wait, no. You illegally hacked into the surveillance system to steal evidence, didn't you? That kind of evidence wouldn't stand up in court."

Fury smiled. "You're smart, I like that. True, we can't actually put you in prison. But if we take you to court, your identity will be exposed to the whole World. Do you want to see that happen?"

Peter went silent.

"So that's it?" he said, lowering his voice. "Either I join you, or you expose me to the public? Blackmail, thy name is Fury."

"You didn't give me much choice, kid," Fury said with a calm tone. "But you won't regret joining us. Top-tier training, the best equipment. We will make you stronger and smarter. We'll build the ultimate Spider-Man."

Peter had long expected Fury to play this card. He was dealing with that friendless, approval-starved poor kid, Peter Parker. But that Peter was already gone.

"The proposal is tempting. I refuse," Peter said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "I already have everything I need."

"Learning combat at a dojo in Chinatown won't do you much good. We can arrange for the top instructors, real experts."

"And the return?"

"The return is that you work for us. We will assign you missions."

"Like killing people?"

"We don't do that sort of thing."

"Then what do you do?"

"Infiltrating drug cartels, terrorist organizations, identifying and neutralizing national security threats," Fury said.

"Sorry, Fury, I don't have time to be an international Agent. I have a job, I have family to take care of. And most importantly, I have a city to protect."

"You think you're the only spandex-wearing superhero in the World?" Fury narrowed his eyes. "Every night there are new faces popping up to fight for justice. This city existed before you, and it will continue to exist without you."

Peter met his gaze. "What about school? What about my job?"

"We both know that your so-called job at the Baxter Building is just a cover. As for school, we can find a way for you to balance both. You won't miss any dances."

Peter was silent for a long time. He was testing Fury's bottom line, wanting to see how this man would react if provoked. Then, he spoke up.

"Tell me, Fury. Do you have other child soldiers under your command? Or am I the only one?"

Fury's expression darkened. A genuine crack finally appeared on that face that had always been so composed. It wasn't anger, but a deeper kind of exhaustion.

"You think I want to do this?" His voice was very low. "If I had any other choice, you wouldn't even get near a battlefield. But you're growing too fast. Fast enough that people are already noticing you. If you keep operating solo like this, people will target you—target you hard."

He paused. "I'm giving you a less terrible option. I suggest you accept it."

Peter didn't speak. After a long while, he finally said, "Can you give me some time to think about it?"

"Sure. One week."

Fury pulled a folder from the inside of his trench coat and placed it on Peter's desk.

"Everything you need to know is in here. Good night, Peter."

He turned and walked out of the bedroom door. Peter pricked up his ears and listened for a long time; there were no footsteps. None at all. It was as if the man had vanished into thin air in the hallway.

Only then did he let out a long breath. Then he quickly scanned the room. No, the whole house might be bugged.

Peter picked up the homemade EMP gun on the desk, lowered the output power, connected it to his phone, and switched the electromagnetic pulse to short-range pulse scanning mode. Starting from the bedroom, he went room by room, scanning with his phone.

He found five in the first room. He tuned the wave frequency to the precise burn-out band and destroyed them one by one.

Then, he scanned upstairs and downstairs, back and forth, three times. The final tally: twenty-five bugging devices.

Peter shoved them all into a brown paper bag, walked out to the porch, and threw the bag on the steps. He grabbed a sticky note from inside the house, scribbled a line, and slapped it onto the bag: If you put more bugs in my house, I'll shove them all up your ass, Fury.

He went back inside and upstairs. He looked at the porch one more time; the paper bag was gone.

Peter snorted. Better to learn his lesson.

He picked up the folder on the bed and flipped through it. Very basic content, detailed introductions and terms packed tightly, but he was too tired to read a single word.

Things were changing too fast, so fast that he didn't have the energy to process it all.

Lying on the bed, Peter closed his eyes. His mind was filled with drone wreckage, the Arc Reactor, Tony's armor, and Fury's words: You are growing too fast.

He would pick out the most interesting threads from this tangled mess to pull on.

He could guarantee that the days to come would absolutely be a spectacular adventure.