You talk too much. Characters: Nick, Tony, Bruce Setting: Early evening of 2/2, Labs in Avengers Mansion Content: Nothing questionable Summary: Nick needs to outsource some work to the ScienceBros
Took about as much time to get through Avenger's Mansion automated security as it did to get through the Helicarrier's, which might have impressed Nick if he wasn't vaguely annoyed and generally distracted. It'd been a rough couple days (months and years, too, but that was beside the point), and whatever assholes had leaked video of the monster-man's escape had really fucked him. Now he was still trying to run a manhunt while dodging the press on that one, and worrying about the wormholes and more fucking monsters, the restless public (like anyone was going to give those motherfuckers S.H.I.E.L.D. grade weapons), plus all the other usual bullshit on his plate. Well, that was the fucking life he'd chosen, so he couldn't be too pissed off about it. Trips to the bar helped with that. At least he had his pet project to fall back on, and that was what brought him to the mansion today. Fury was glad he was getting a chance to ignore the other bullshit to focus on it since, as far as he was concerned, it was the most important thing he could be doing.
Once he got through the mansion's security, Nick stalked along hallways towards the workshop and lab, convinced he'd find Stark or Banner or both there, though preferably together because he might be able to sell his idea better if he could get one or the other clearly on board. At the door to the lab, he yanked the handle and found that it was locked. JARVIS' cool voice asked him to state his name and business and Nick rolled his eye and barked into the intercom panel set in the wall beside the doorframe, "Stark! Banner! Open the fucking door-" The AI calmly informed him that he was being rude and so Nick, scowling, added a reluctant, "Please." Maybe that was not the best way to go about anything, but Fury did not come here to be sassed by a fucking robot voice.