Schiller's acquiescence to Peter's request to stay may have been hasty indeed.
True, Spider-Man embodies kindness, bravery, and resolve. Yet simultaneously, Peter exhibits the typical foibles of a youth his age: nocturnal habits, gaming addiction, late nights, and difficulty rising in the mornings.
Perhaps it is a consequence of his spider mutation. Peter has a voracious appetite with a particular penchant for American burgers and fried chicken. Schiller feared if it continues, he might well transform from a spider to a fat crab.
Rapping on the pot's rim, Schiller declares, "Listen, regardless of the energy you've expended training with Steve, no human should eat a large bucket of porridge after consuming five pots of rice."
Lowering his bowl, Peter pats his stomach, "Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine being capable of consuming such quantities. I suspect a black hole resides within my stomach."
Limping in, Matt's wounds are yet to fully heal, prompting Peter to rise swiftly in aid. Matt advises, "He's in the throes of growing, a hearty appetite is fitting. But lad, ensure you exercise post-feast. If ballooning into a spherical shape is undesirable, eschew endless gaming within your quarters."
Lifting Pikachu, Schiller accuses, "I wager you're the corrupting influence on Peter, whether be devouring copious food or relentless gaming..."
In Deadpool's voice, Pikachu retorts, "Blame on me? This sticky sapling is as slender as bean sprouts. Moreover, he plays so suck; every time in playing hot-blooded fighting games, I must handicap myself with a single hand. And in armed assaults, the onions you sliced this morning boast better aim at foes..."
Before Pikachu can finish,Peter clamps a hand over its mouth. Schiller informs, "No rice remains in the clinic, procuring more arrives tomorrow. Hence, tonight's supper is for you to resolve."
At Peter's groan, Schiller, drying his hands, concedes, "The same fate befalls my evening repast."
"Are we dining out?" Peter queries.
"Of course. There exists an excellent establishment, part of the introductory benefits afforded me. Their fare, while modest in flavor, promises to satiate."
"Hmph," Peter scoffs dismissively, "They're yet green if they believe they can conquer my appetite. Now, I fancy I could dispatch ten cattles."
Not far from Manhattan, within a phone booth, lies the entrance to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s International Defense Headquarters. The elevator within embarks upon a labyrinthine journey to an undisclosed location.
With Mist's sensing system,Schiller vaguely discerns they are nearing the suburbs when the conveyance at last ceases its motion.
Out of the elevator, Schiller and Peter are met by Coulson who greets, "As you see, welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s International Reception Center. Purposed for both external consultants and agents in the Shield, it serves as their haven of sustenance and repose."
Checking his watch, Schiller inquires, "You shall uphold the benefits inscribed in the contract upon my enlistment, yes?"
"Yes,the staff canteen is always free, as is coffee, though its quality may disappoint. Should you possess elevated standards for coffee, I'm prepared to report your needs to superiors," Coulson offers with a jovial smile.
"No need," Schiller waves dismissively, "For people who prefer dishwater, my expectations from coffee enthusiasts are fervently limited."
Coulson leads Schiller and Peter through the lobby, then through the living quarters. Contrary to an overtly futuristic aesthetic, the decor favors a minimalist Nordic style, adorned with fabric accents, crafting a welcoming ambiance.
Peter looks around, crestfallen, "I had thought your workplace akin to an extraterrestrial vessel."
"Um... the International Defense Headquarters and some research divisions always embody that vision. Yet, this reception only serves as a mere respite and dining facility for the agents. Would you consider a twenty-four-hour presence aboard an alien craft ideal?"
Peter keeps silent.It is evident the Center does not align with Peter's expectations of S.H.I.E.L.D..
Coulson, astute in perception, suggests, "Enlist with S.H.I.E.L.D., and an opportunity to visit the headquarters awaits - assuredly, you'll find it a staggering experience."
Before Peter can prompt further, they arrive at the cafeteria where a hint of science fiction prevails. Absent are chefs; instead, an array of foods progresses on conveyors, issuing from various portals.
"Self-service, I assume?" inquires Schiller.
"Agents rarely have the luxury of awaiting chefs; thus, self-service is the norm here. Rest assured, world cuisines are at your disposal, all reasonably palatable."
"Perfectly suits my intent," Schiller states.
Peter pats his stomach and Schiller claps him on the shoulder, remarking, "Come on, Peter. I suspect you'll have them regret offering me this privilege of employment."
With a chuckle, Coulson adds, "S.H.I.E.L.D. certainly doesn't reach such destitute straits as to leave its agents famished. Go on, kid. Your eating pace stands no chance against the relentless efficiency of our food assembly lines."
Schiller responds with a subtle smile.
Three hours later, Natasha, with phone in hand, charges through the door berating, "Don't you know that I'm on assignment shadowing Stark? ...And what nonsense are you spouting? When does S.H.I.E.L.D. alter its contracts? What clause can't we provide for? And now you require my immediate return for amendments?!"
While she speaks, she hurries to the cafeteria. Pushing the door open she warns, "Coulson! Dammit, you'd best have a valid excuse, or I'll lodge a formal complaint with the director for disrupting my duties..."
The words are scarcely out of her mouth before she beholds a mountainous pile of plates in the center of the room.
This is no hyperbole, but plain truth. The substantial circular cafeteria, sprawling several thousand square meters, is now thoroughly blocked at its core, a colossal stack of plates reaching to the ceiling, forming a veritable pyramid.
This heap stands as tall as three men and is so wide that dozens cannot encircle it with outstretched hands. Yet, the prolific feeding is seemingly far from end.
Natasha steps over the remnants of meals, tapping a smoke-emitting service robot and exclaims, "What on earth has happened? Has Nick Fury finally decided to harbor dinosaurs in S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Coulson, somewhat deflated, leans on the bar, lamenting, "The clause concerning staff meal benefits within our contract is long overdue for revision…"
Natasha surveys the overwhelming array of dishes, remarking, "As I recall, employees are not permitted to bring guests, right? How many has he brought along? There can't possibly be an entire platoon."
Coulson simply points, and as Natasha navigates past the dish-mountain, she discovers three figures: two large, one small.
Peter has succumbed to defeat, slumped in his chair, dozing. Pikachu appears somewhat deflated but continues to add plates to the summit of the pile.
Only Schiller keeps going, immune to the concerns of consuming such vast quantities of food. Rather, he seems to simply deposit it into Mist, disassembling it without truly partaking.
In plain terms, he is here not to eat, but to stock up.
Naturally, Mist relishes its meal as well. Schiller indulges it with several kilograms of delicacies featuring chocolate, syrup, and pickled fruits. He even allows it a tiny sip of concentrated fear gas. Now, it joyfully cycles a catchy tune inside Schiller's mind, something it has picked up from television.
Natasha blinks, momentarily at a loss for words.
"Hey, is the cafeteria still open? I've just finished my run, is anything with basil and beef tonight?"
Captain America has just entered, and he too is taken aback. "I should've known. Nick mentioned decades ago his desire to care for an elephant. But never did I entertain that he'd realize it now..."
Without speaking, Coulson simply covers his face and gestures with his arm. Captain America joins the circumvention of the dish pile, witnessing for himself the three resting diners.
"Hmm..." Captain America purses his lips, hesitating before saying to Natasha, "Please don't tell me they've consumed all the food in the cafeteria."
With a forced grin, Natasha smacks the top of a nearby service robot, ejecting a panel.
After examining it, she declares, "Excellent. We're now at liberty to choose which restaurant for dinner, and where we might have tomorrow's breakfast and lunch."
Schiller, as composed as ever, rises to his feet, "Thank you for the hospitality, I daresay the staff benefits here are quite exceptional. Alas, time presses upon me, as a friend awaits nourishment. I believe it's time to package some provisions for him, and thus conclude our luncheon."
Natasha bars his way, chiding, "Though S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't really impoverished as to be incapable of affording these meals, your three has run out of our inventory. A resupply will surely take time, during which other agents will be starved. Could you bear to see your colleagues hunger?"
Steve interjects, "Can't you see? His heart can endure it. He'd even let a friend starve. I had my heart set on a hefty steak, and now it appears not even a fry is within reach."
With a snap of his fingers, Schiller watches Pikachu discard the last beef patty. Leaping onto Schiller's shoulder, Schiller offers with a smile, "I can recommend a fine place for you, another side benefit from a different vocation of mine. Although the cuisine pales in comparison, satisfaction is guaranteed."
Natasha and Steve narrow their eyes in suspicion.
Another five hours later, Stark stands amidst the mountainous piles of plates in the employee cafeteria, speechless.
Jarvis, ever helpful at his side, advises, "I surmise the detailed tally of lost provisions is of little interest at present,sir. However, it must be noted that, unless replenishments arrive by 10 A.M., tomorrow will find the company staff facing an unprecedented famine."
Stark inhales deeply, envisioning Pepper's ire as she storms through a mass of complaints the next day.
With his armor, he clanks through the sea of dishes to the group sprawled in defeat, declaring, "Very well. You've precipitated Stark Industries' first food shortage in a century. If Pepper gets mad at me tomorrow, each of you shall receive a knock from me."
Schiller quips, "Don't worry; we shall simply procure more."
"It's nearly 9 P.M. Where shall the procurement team turn at this hour,? Moreover, with our transport vehicles idle, how shall we convey the goods?"
"Oh, come now! A Captain America, two super agents, one Spider-Man, and an Iron Man cannot possibly transport a bit of produce, can they?"
Two hours later, they all fly back, heavily laden.
Stark could have never imagined that the superhero crew's first mission would be to go to the nearest supermarket, buying an abundance of groceries and flying back with lots of shopping bags.
As he flies, Stark grumbles, "Damn, this must remain hidden from my fans. Hey,what am I, a nanny bot?Or a domestic rice cooker?"
No sooner has he finished than flashes of light surge.
The next day, New York Times' front page is Iron Man festooned with several shopping bags, with two figures darting between skyscrapers behind him, burdened with familial food parcels as well.
Meanwhile, Pepper, on the pinnacle of Stark Tower, screams at Stark, "You insufferable fool! The high-gluten flour you've bought has rendered all the bread and cakes in the employee cafeterias rubbery and tough!"