The infamous Black Widow clearly wasn't the type to take a restaurant owner's threats seriously. Sure, Alvin was tall and well-built—but who cared?
Natasha's expression turned stern as she spoke with authority. "I'm acting on behalf of SHIELD, and I'm ordering you to cooperate with my investigation. Alternatively, I can arrest you for illegal weapons possession, seize your restaurant, and proceed with my mission anyway."
She delivered the ultimatum with absolute conviction, leaving no room for refusal.
Alvin hadn't expected SHIELD agents to operate like this—bullying ordinary citizens with such arrogance. Of course, he wasn't exactly ordinary, and yes, he did possess unregistered weapons.
But this was Hell's Kitchen. Most residents kept something for self-defense against the ever-present dangers lurking in these streets. Even NYPD officers wouldn't bother arresting someone here just for carrying.
For a moment, Alvin just stared, disappointed. So much for the Avengers' heroic image from the movies.
Done with the conversation, Alvin leveled an icy glare at Natasha. "I don't know what SHIELD is, and I don't care. If you want to charge me with anything, call the police or FBI. Oh, and tell them to bring a warrant."
He turned and pushed open the rear door to his restaurant. Before slamming it shut, he added, "This is Hell's Kitchen. My restaurant welcomes paying customers. But if anyone steps foot on the second floor—my home—I'll exercise my right to self-defense."
BANG! The steel door crashed shut behind him.
Natasha's face darkened. This outcome served her purpose, but getting stonewalled by a civilian? That hadn't happened in... she couldn't even remember.
First, Alvin ignored her charms. Now he'd brushed off her threats. The sheer audacity felt like a personal challenge.
Then the mocking voice in her earpiece made it worse: "If you're trying to fail this undercover op, at least make it believable. Coulson's no fool. That restaurant owner might actually help your cover story though. Word is, 'The Clairvoyant' is taking over the investigation into your attack. Clock's ticking."
Natasha muttered a curse. As she strode out of the alley, she passed the unconscious thugs from earlier. One had just started stirring—a black guy groaning as he came to.
Her boot snapped out, cracking against his skull. His head whipped sideways into a dumpster with a hollow **THUD**, knocking him out cold again.
The casual violence seemed to improve her mood. For an elite agent, this minor setback meant nothing.
Her original plan had been simple: infiltrate the restaurant, make contact with the target, and wrap this up fast. No need for prolonged surveillance.
But now? Her intel seemed flawed. The restaurant owner matched his file in name and background, but his personality was completely off-script.
Natasha had assumed a Chinese immigrant would be more... compliant. Sure, surviving Hell's Kitchen and running a business here suggested some capability. But Alvin's outright defiance? That threw her.
Still, the mission required adaptation. She exited the alley and turned right, heading for Alvin's establishment.
The restaurant occupied a converted two-story building. First floor: dining area. Second floor: living quarters. Basement: storage. The only inheritance Alvin's parents had left him in this world.
Above the wooden entrance hung a Chinese sign reading "Peace Restaurant." Red lanterns—classic Chinese decor—flanked the doorway. Beneath each lantern lounged an enormous black canine, standing over 120cm at the shoulder.
Any trained eye would recognize them as monstrously large wolves. Yet locals passing by showed no fear. Kids even hugged their necks, playing without concern.
The wolves indulged them with almost human-like patience, gently pawing the children back toward their parents afterward.
Natasha blinked. It was 10 PM in Hell's Kitchen—a neighborhood where even police cruisers avoided patrolling after midnight.
Yet this street felt like any suburban community. People strolled casually. Unthinkable in the other 24 blocks of this district. Normally by 8 PM, sidewalks emptied.
Streetlights here didn't illuminate drug dealers or pimps. This was the kind of area where even prostitutes refused to walk the streets.
Everything contradicted her intel on Hell's Kitchen. Something was very wrong.
The mission hadn't even started, and already complications piled up. Strangely, Natasha found herself intrigued. What began as a routine assignment now fascinated her—not because of the target, but because of Alvin.
Anyone could see this street's safety revolved around the "Peace Restaurant."
Passersby slowed near its entrance, greeting the wolves even if they weren't dining in. "Hey Thor," "Hey Doom," they'd say.
Meanwhile, anyone resembling gang members crossed to the opposite sidewalk, avoiding the wolves' line of sight entirely.
Amused, Natasha approached and mimicked the greetings. "Hey Thor. Hey Doom."
The wolves sniffed the air. Their lips curled, revealing fangs as low, rumbling growls erupted from their chests.
Natasha didn't fear them—not exactly—but tension coiled through her. She'd come unarmed; her concealed gadgets wouldn't stop creatures this size.
Why did these beasts tolerate everyone else but threaten her? If they attacked, escape wouldn't be guaranteed.
"Miss, I'd step back if I were you. Thor and Doom aren't the forgiving type."
Natasha turned. Two young men stood behind her—a chubby, curly-haired guy with a perpetual smile, and a blind man with a white cane.
The speaker was the cheerful one. While warning Natasha, he enthusiastically greeted the wolves. "Hey Thor! Hey Doom!" He reached to pet them, only to have his hand batted away by massive paws.
After one last glare at Natasha, the wolves gave the guy a friendly paw-slap on the thigh before resuming their posts.
Beaming, the man turned to Natasha. "Strangers in Hell's Kitchen at this hour are rare—especially beautiful ones. You look like you could use help."
He extended a business card. "Foggy Nelson. Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law. At your service!"