Nick Fury slowly came to. Though his consciousness had returned, everything still felt hazy, leaving him in a state somewhere between waking and dreaming.
But he still keenly judged his surroundings. He was sitting on an old single-seater sofa. The air smelled of mildew and dust. This should be that shabby little shop—his destination. It seemed he had already gotten inside.
But just as he was about to open his eyes, he heard footsteps. Someone had apparently walked up in front of him, followed by... glug glug... pfft!
Pah!
Nick Fury was fully awake now. He wiped the mixture of saliva and tap water from his face, picked the tea stems out of his mouth, and then saw a pitch-black figure dash behind the counter across from him, sit down, and switch on a small desk lamp.
Nick Fury looked up. The light only revealed the lower half of the man's face and his upper body, but just from the effeminate lines of that half-visible face, Nick Fury could identify him. He flicked the droplets hanging from his beard away and said irritably, "I was already about to wake up. You didn't need to spray me. And... I was supposed to be the one sitting over there."
Originally, Nick Fury had come here alone. According to his plan, he was supposed to enter the little shop first, call Evenson over, then make use of his racial talent to hide somewhere dark. Once Evenson arrived and the tension reached its peak, he would switch on the lights and suddenly appear.
Fortunately, he had failed. Otherwise, a Chaos Bolt would have hit him right in the head. Of course, it was not as if he absolutely had to do that. It was just an occupational habit built up over many years, and