JohnnyZ
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[Life is Good] Chapter 44
🕑 Added 2025-02-09 04:22:56 +0000 UTCPhil Coulson… One of my favorite characters in S.H.I.E.L.D.
No, really, I always liked him—charismatic, sharp, level-headed, definitely not an idiot.
Just my opinion, but I always thought he’d have made a much better Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. than a certain one-eyed, baldy. And now here he was, sitting right next to me, thoughtfully sipping his coffee from a paper cup.
"Tobias, let me start by saying that the people I represent operate legally and officially, even if not always openly. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division—S.H.I.E.L.D.—exists to protect both the United States and the world. We’re an international organization, and our primary goal is the safety of humanity." He waited for me to nod before continuing. "Today’s meeting, Mr. Salamander, doesn’t obligate you to anything. I was simply asked to have a conversation with you."
Phil hit me with a smile that, if we were in a real-life RPG, would have landed a "+100 Charisma" buff. "We’re just going to talk about the future, opportunities, possibilities. If you’re okay with that, of course."
"Mmm… Mr. Coulson, I don’t mind per se…" Think, brain, or I swear I’m buying you a hat! Not that I need one—I don’t even get cold! "…but I’ve never heard of this S.H.I.E.L.D. of yours. Would you mind showing me some credentials? It’s just… I’ve had some unpleasant experiences with so-called 'legal and official' organizations before. The army, for example."
Seriously, how was I supposed to know this was legit? Or was this a test—see how gullible I was, or how much information mutants had?
"Of course." Coulson pulled an ID from the inside of his coat and handed it to me. I scrutinized it thoroughly, then shot him a skeptical look, comparing his face to the photo. The guy straightened his expression, stiff as a brick wall, trying to match the serious mugshot, then cracked into a ridiculously charming grin. Friendly bastard. But I wasn’t folding that easily—if we’re playing a game, we’re playing it all the way. I pulled out my phone and, under Coulson’s mildly amused gaze, went to the U.S. government’s database of federal agencies.
"Strategic Homeland…" I muttered as I typed.
"Intervention," Coulson corrected smoothly, then started dictating himself. "Enforcement and Logistics Division. Hyphen right there, yeah. ‘Enforcement’ with an 'E,’ not an 'A.’ There you go."
"Found it," I nodded in satisfaction, clicking on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s barely-there official description. I compared the emblem on the website to the one on his badge, nodded again, and handed it back. Coulson glanced at my screen with genuine curiosity, as if he hadn’t seen it himself before. "And you’re sure talking about Salamander out in the open like this is a good idea?" I gestured vaguely at our very public surroundings.
"It’s fine. No need to worry." Coulson raised his coffee cup with a knowing smile, while tucking his badge back into his coat. "As for privacy—our conversation is secured. We’ve got S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel monitoring the perimeter, ready to step in if anyone tries to interrupt. A little bit of… spycraft, if you will." His smirk was downright amused. "So, we can speak freely, Mr. Salamander. Your recent activities have drawn our attention. In a good way." He smiled again—light, warm, encouraging. "I’ve gone through the reports—excellent work. Simply outstanding. Three high-profile cases, all successful. Minimal casualties, zero collateral damage, objectives fully met. That’s an impressive track record for a fifteen-year-old."
"Thanks, sir, but I was only up against common criminals." I cast my gaze downward, playing it modest, buying myself some time. Needed a minute to pull my thoughts together. I came here expecting to grab a bite with a completely insane woman in spandex, and instead, I got an ultra-smooth operative from a shadowy government agency. "None of my opponents had any real combat training or significant abilities, except Scorpia. And even with her, I just… had the advantage thanks to my powers."
Coulson took another sip of coffee, scanning the area like he was enjoying a casual stroll. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he looked back at me. And damn, the friendliness radiating off him was next-level.
"Tobias, let’s skip the formalities. Call me Phil. We’re both men here, I think we can afford to be a little more… straightforward. Besides, I get the feeling you’re someone who prefers to carve out his own future, same as me." His grin was downright charming. "That sound good to you?"
"Uh… yeah, sure, Phil. Let’s keep it simple. Call me Toby, I’m more used to that." Something about that "let’s keep it casual" line actually gave me a weird confidence boost. "So, since we’re being honest, just lay it out—what’s the real goal of this little ‘casual chat about my future’? And don’t dance around it. Just give it to me straight. Like I said, I’ve had some bad experiences, so your whole ‘you’ve caught our attention’ thing makes me a little… uneasy."
Coulson took a slow sip of coffee and gazed at the sky.
"Yeah, that was a disgraceful situation," he admitted. "You don’t have to believe me, but we weren’t aware of Stryker’s project." That project in particular? What about others? That little thought hit me immediately. "But we’re not interested in you as some test subject. Let’s be honest—any organization is always looking for strong, capable people. If I put it bluntly, you’re exactly the kind of talent we want to recruit. Not today, not tomorrow, but down the line? You’d be an excellent fit for S.H.I.E.L.D." His smirk was knowing. "You’ve already got some fans in our ranks, by the way. I’ve heard it firsthand. And just to be clear—no unethical experiments. Just safe ability assessments, and only if you consent."
"And what exactly is S.H.I.E.L.D. offering?"
"The same thing every agency like us does. Full benefits package, insurance for every situation, a solid paycheck. And most importantly—security for your loved ones. Surveillance to ensure their safety, emergency evacuations if needed, even full identity changes if things go south. Kind of like witness protection, but with way more resources and options. On top of that, our people can provide assistance in…" He waved a hand vaguely. "Various complicated situations, if you catch my meaning. Anything from smoothing over minor legal issues to offering high-quality medical aid for your family."
Ah, there it is—the real bait. I didn’t even try to hide my interest, my eyes locking onto Phil.
"Would that include high-end prosthetics for my mother? Not just a hook or some useless chunk of metal—an actual, functional prosthetic she could use like a real hand."
"It would." Coulson nodded without hesitation.
"The price? How much is this gonna cost me?"
"Right now, I can't say," Coulson replied smoothly. "I simply don’t have the necessary information." Yeah, sure, buddy. Swear to God, he’s lying like he breathes. There’s no way in hell he walked into this "casual chat" unprepared, and my mom’s condition? The perfect bait to hook a young guy like me. "It’s possible we could arrange things in such a way that your mother’s prosthetic wouldn’t cost you anything at all." Aaand there it is. The metaphorical carrot, dangling right in front of my nose.
Whatever goodwill I had for Phil? Instantly gone. Look, I get it. It’s not like they wouldn’t try to play this card, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth. They’re banking on me getting worked up, stressing about my mom, desperate to help her—then, just when I’m at my limit from the uncertainty, they’ll swoop in like, bam! Wearing white, all noble and righteous, helping a poor, struggling teenager… just gotta sign right here—and, oh yeah, here—and, uh, a quick drop of blood here…
Yeah, fuck that.
I nodded to myself, lost in thought. Coulson must’ve misread it as actual concern because he gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder and even winked at me like some wise, benevolent mentor.
"Can I think about it?"
"Of course, Toby. And relax—no one’s gonna drag you into this against your will. Like I said, we’re just talking. I just wanted to lay out some possibilities for the future." He smiled that disarming, casual smile of his. "For now, keep doing what you're doing. And on our end, I can promise you that S.H.I.E.L.D. won’t interfere with your Salamander activities. In fact, we’ll help facilitate things when it comes to dealing with bureaucracy. Your collaboration with the police? Great idea. Solid experience-building. We do have our own academy, which you’d probably have to go through, but real combat experience? That’s invaluable. And even if you decide not to join us, having a superpowered officer in law enforcement wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world." He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to me. "Here’s my contact info. In case you ever run into trouble. And, you know…" He hesitated briefly. "If you happen to see, say, an actual alien spaceship or a zombie army? Call me immediately."
Yeah. Only in Marvel does an official government agent say something like that with a completely straight face.
Coulson tossed his empty cup in the trash, gave me a final nod, and strolled toward the park exit, leaving me sitting there, staring after him, trying to process… everything. On the surface, it wasn’t a bad conversation. I basically got an unofficial thumbs-up from S.H.I.E.L.D. to keep doing my thing, and some bureaucratic support would actually be helpful. But still… there was a slimy aftertaste left by the way they dangled my mom’s health like a prize to be won. I get it. It’s all business. It’s a negotiation. But damn, did they really have to be so textbook about it?
And let’s be real—just because Coulson walked away didn’t mean they’d stop watching. If anything, they’d probably crank up the surveillance now, trying to gauge my reaction. So I kept my expression neutral, serious, thoughtful. Everything had gone more or less how I expected, though I figured they'd wait a bit longer before making their move. Still, they weren’t trying to shove me straight into the Avengers—Coulson mentioned an academy, which meant they were thinking long-term. That was actually kind of a relief. It meant they weren’t looking to toss me into some suicide mission next week. And knowing for sure that S.H.I.E.L.D. was positively inclined toward me? That was useful information. Plus, them making my police collaboration easier? Definite win.
My train of thought derailed when I sensed a group of familiar signatures heading straight for me. Looking up, I saw a small squad of four girls making a beeline in my direction—one of them being Flash Thompson. Oh, right. The other three were her usual girl gang. Holy shit, I actually missed Flash. Hell, I missed all my school friends.
A huge grin spread across my face as I jumped off the bench, heading toward them. Flash was grinning just as wide.
We met in the middle, laughing, immediately launching into a mess of half-shouted greetings like, "Flash, I missed you, you busty dropout!" and "Toby, long time no see, you little shit!"
"Hey! Who you calling little, you overgrown giraffe?! I’m practically your height now!" Seriously, I’d shot up. Guess all that training worked—or maybe it was the energy absorption thing.
"Once a shorty, always a shorty," Flash smirked, ruffling my hair before pausing and gasping dramatically. "Tobi, where the hell is your fancy-ass hairstyle? What, you enlisting?"
"Decided to change it up. Thinking about going full military-style, actually. You know, blank fatigues, combat boots with the fur—"
"Why the hell fur?"
"Because it gets reactions like that!" I cackled. "But seriously, what about you guys? Still skipping class? Feels like a lifetime since I last saw you, but some things never change!"
I could see it in their faces—even without words, their expressions said it all. Genuine happiness. Real excitement. Well, except for one. One of the girls stood slightly apart, face scrunched like she’d just bitten into a whole lemon. But that was normal. Carla was a hardcore, no-compromise, ultraconservative feminist. In her worldview, all men were just walking dicks whose sole purpose was to sit at home and bang their wives. According to Flash, she was actually a decent person—just a total asshole to guys. Flash had even decked her once over it, and they’d been in a month-long cold war afterward. Since then, she mostly ignored me and Harry, expressing her distaste through sheer facial expression.
Did I care? Nope. Neutral ignorance all the way. Honestly, there was one moment that made me cut her some slack—a schoolyard brawl where she’d jumped in alongside the rest of us. And during that fight, she actually covered me a couple of times. So, yeah. Could’ve been worse.
"Same old, same old," Flash sighed, hands on her hips. "Studying, sports… skipping class, yeah." Her expression shifted into something weirdly soft. "Harry’s gonna nag me about it later, of course, but he’s so cute when he complains." Her squad immediately burst into giggles. "So cute." Flash herself had a dumb, happy smile, and the other girls had zero shame laughing at her over it. "What about you? How’s the new school?"
I exhaled. "How do you think? It’s a closed boarding school with full-time residence. I live there. Barely ever get to leave. But the education’s top-tier. I’m planning to graduate early. Good people there, too. I do miss you guys, though. But, hey—I’m actually getting some free time soon!" I remembered Yuriko’s promise. "I’ll post in the chat. We have to get everyone together. Penny’s visiting for the week, so we should definitely go out and do something!"
"Now that is a plan," Flash declared, grinning. "Flash Thompson never turns down a good party! But what about right now? What are you doing here all alone?"
"Got a meeting. Waiting on a friend." I checked my watch—almost time. "She should be here any minute now…"
"Alright then, Toby, we won’t keep you." Flash, catching onto my brief hesitation, smirked and gave me another firm hug. I keep telling you—she’s not stupid. "We’ll head out now. Hit me up when you figure out the date! Have a good one!"
"Have a great day, Flash, girls!" I grinned at all of them, getting a chorus of "Later, shorty!" and various cheeky farewells in return. Even Carla muttered something that wasn’t an insult and managed a half-assed smile.
They walked off, chatting excitedly, and just as they were about to disappear from earshot, I caught a gem of a comment: "Damn, our little guy’s grown up. Wonder if he’s grown everywhere?" That was immediately followed by an explosion of laughter and a solid smack to the back of the head. "Thompson, you’re out of line, you big-titted dumbass!" I actually snorted.
There it was—the unseen hand of the Emperor at work. Someone tried to ruin my mood, so he sent me a good friend—maybe even a real friend—who, despite it being a fleeting meeting, still managed to cheer me up. I was cracking up at the thought, imagining some cosmic deity with nothing better to do than send girls my way to lift my spirits. Whatever the case, I felt lighter.
Sipping the last of my coffee, I turned my attention to the woman approaching me. A slight sense of exhaustion crept in—I could already tell she was probably about to start hitting on me. Oh well, nothing new. I’d just let her know I was busy and not in the mood for small talk.
That being said… she wasn’t bad at all. Light makeup, a refined, delicate face with a straight nose and lips just a little on the thin side. Blue eyes framed by rectangular glasses, blonde hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her outfit was sharp—a pencil skirt that perfectly highlighted a pair of long, toned legs encased in simple, sheer black tights. The tailored blazer over her figure did wonders for some very inviting curves. It was that classic hot teacher look—the kind that makes every guy in class sigh longingly. Damn. Damn. I actually liked this style. Hell, I bet half the dudes in the world shared that opinion.
For a split second, I regretted that I was busy. This was definitely someone worth getting to know… maybe even someone who could tutor me a little… in geometry, of course. Yes, geometry! I had a weakness for it. I could already picture it: this woman locking the classroom door, walking slowly toward me, her voice husky and teasing—"Well, Tobi… it’s just you, me… and geometry." Mmmm—cough cough—okay, hold up, maybe I got a little too into that fantasy, because suddenly, her smile looked way too pleased, and her hips had an extra bounce to them as she walked. Shit. Did I let my face slip for a second?
"Hey, Tobi," came Wanda Wilson’s unmistakable voice, full of playful energy as she flashed me a dazzling grin. "Been waiting long?"
