Two uneventful days later...

Around 1 p.m., Orion—draped in a dark cloak that practically oozed menace—moved through the city like a shadow with a grudge. His steps didn’t disturb so much as a speck of dust, and the aura he radiated made the air feel like it had dropped ten degrees.

Orion didn’t bother with cars or public transportation today. Why would he, when floating through the air like a gothic vampire was faster and way more dramatic? Besides, blending in was optional when you were the God of Death.

By the time he arrived at the rendezvous, his sharp senses were already in overdrive. Three life signs inside the building. No biggie. The surrounding area, though? Crawling with people who looked like your standard office drones. Orion didn’t buy it for a second. Their energy screamed “special ops” louder than Fury in a bad mood.

He decided to leave them alone—for now. No need to waste energy on minions when the real players were waiting upstairs.

With a ghostly grace, Orion phased through the window of the sixth floor, his cloak billowing like it had been rehearsed. He materialized in the middle of the room, right between Natasha, Fury, and Coulson. The trio froze.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” His voice was colder than the office’s cranked-up AC, slicing through the tense silence like a knife through butter.

Natasha’s hand instinctively darted to her gun, her grip tightening as she tried not to show she was thoroughly unnerved. The guy didn’t just look like death warmed over—he radiated it. She swallowed hard, her usual calm faltering.

Fury’s one good eye narrowed, his expression unreadable but his posture screaming, ‘Don’t mess this up.’ Coulson, ever the professional, had his weapon ready too, but even he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Orion’s presence was overwhelming, like a thundercloud had parked itself in the room. His cloak seemed to drink in the light, his shadow swallowing up everything around him.

Fury, ever the diplomat, stepped forward with a small, disarming smile. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace that somehow still managed to look vaguely threatening. “You must be Mr. Death… I’m Nick Fury. We’ve spoken before. Dark web, encrypted channels—you know the drill. Let’s talk.”

Orion’s eyes flicked to Fury, then back to Natasha and Coulson. With a movement so smooth it bordered on unsettling, he crossed the room and dropped onto the sofa. The cushions didn’t so much as creak under his weight, as though they, too, were scared to offend him.

“This is the first time we’re meeting,” Orion said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of a warning. “So I’ll let the fact that you pointed guns at me slide. But if you do it again, I’ll consider it an act of hostility. And you won’t like what happens next.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension.

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Natasha exchanged a glance with Coulson, who gave the faintest shrug. Fury, unfazed as ever, nodded and took a seat across from Orion. “Fair enough. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get to business.”

Orion’s cold gaze lingered on Fury, his expression unreadable. “This better be worth my time.”

The room felt colder than a Siberian winter after his words. Natasha’s gaze flicked to Coulson, who offered a small, uneasy shrug. Fury, ever the professional, kept his poker face intact, though even he couldn’t hide the subtle shift in his demeanor. He wasn’t smiling anymore—not really.

"We’re not looking for enemies here," Fury said, his voice smooth and diplomatic. He even added one of those not-too-sincere smiles he was so good at. "We just want to have a chat. You know, get on the same page. Friendly conversation and all that."

Orion’s piercing gaze lingered on them, scanning each one like he was deciding if they were worth his time. The silence stretched long enough to make everyone uncomfortable, though he didn’t seem to mind. Finally, he spoke, each word sharp and deliberate.

"Ten million," he said flatly, as though ordering coffee. "Upfront. Non-negotiable. You wouldn’t expect me to entertain you for free, would you?"

Fury didn’t even blink. Natasha and Coulson exchanged another look—a silent conversation of, "Are we really doing this?" and "Do we have a choice?"

Fury nodded at Coulson, who moved to the stack of metal cases off to the side. With practiced efficiency, he popped one open, revealing an eye-watering display of neatly stacked cash. The kind of money that could make any millionaire raise an eyebrow—or at least pretend to. Coulson gestured toward it with a flourish, like a game-show host.

Orion barely spared it a glance. "Good. Now that we’ve gotten the foreplay out of the way, let’s get to the main event." He leaned back slightly, his presence still colder than an Arctic breeze. "So, what’s the job? Assassination? Blackmail? Babysitting? I don’t do kids, by the way."

Fury cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Let me properly introduce myself," he said, slipping back into his polished professional mode. "I’m Nick Fury, Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division—SHIELD, for short."

Orion raised a brow, unimpressed. "Is that supposed to be intimidating? Because I’ve heard snappier names from conspiracy theorists."

Even Fury’s stoicism wavered for a moment as he coughed lightly. "Yeah, it’s a mouthful," he admitted. "We’re working on it."

Natasha suppressed a smirk, while Coulson looked like he was already mentally updating the nameplates.

"Anyway," Fury continued, steering them back on track, "we’re here because there’s more going on in the world than even someone like you might know."

Orion tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "That’s quite the assumption. Care to elaborate?"

Fury didn’t flinch. "Aliens," he said bluntly. "They’re real. They’ve been here before. And one of them nearly turned Earth into their personal playground. We only survived thanks to Captain Marvel. She sent them packing. But they’ll be back."

Orion’s face remained impassive, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest. "Aliens, huh? And here I thought you were going to tell me something exciting." He crossed his arms, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather. "Trust me, I’ve seen weirder things than little green men."

Fury’s brow furrowed. "You don’t seem surprised."

"Why would I be?" Orion replied, his voice calm and cool. "Once you’ve faced beings who can rewrite the rules of reality for fun, aliens are just another Tuesday. Ever hear of the Void Clan? They’re not from around here. They’re worse than anything your imagination could cook up."

Fury’s poker face was starting to crack. The mention of the Void Clan had thrown him, though he wasn’t about to let it show. "That’s... an interesting piece of intel," he said carefully. "But that still leaves one big question unanswered."

He leaned forward slightly, fixing Orion with a penetrating stare. "What are you? Human? Alien? Something else entirely?"