Watson finally unleashed his fury on the remaining enemies, leaving the battlefield in silence. His experience leveled up, locking him at Level 4 (100/200).
Just as order was starting to return, the chaos was interrupted by the arrival of Manhattan's finest. Coulson stepped forward, raising his hands to calm the tension. "Everyone! Drop your weapons! This is the Manhattan Central Police Department! Hands on your head, now!"
While shouting commands, Coulson discreetly sent a quick update to Nick Fury. Clint Barton, better known to some as Hawkeye, walked over to him, his usual calm demeanor intact. "Send him back to the branch. I've got the rest handled here."
Coulson gave a quick nod before turning to Watson, his face softening with gratitude. "You've done good work, Watson. You've got friends here now, for the long hour." He handed Watson a sleek, minimalist business card with "S.H.I.E.L.D." embossed in bold letters. "Call me if you need backup—or if you just need to talk."
Clint joined the moment, flashing a rare smile. "Hey, I owe you one, buddy. When this mission wraps up, drinks are on me. Seriously, your gear? Top-notch."
Watson chuckled, pocketing Clint's number and accepting his offer. With a quick goodbye, he headed back toward home, the weight of the night starting to settle in.
As he neared a convenience store, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Through the flames of a raging fire, he spotted a terrified mother clutching her child, trapped inside. Without hesitation, Watson activated his fire dragon suit, its advanced features humming to life. He charged into the inferno, his hunter instincts guiding him through the smoke.
Dodging falling debris, Watson found the pair huddled in a corner. He took a moment to assess the best way out before wrapping them in the protective folds of his suit, its flame-resistant technology shielding them as he smashed through the door in a single, powerful kick.
Outside, a gathered crowd erupted into applause and cheers as the trio emerged safely. Amidst the chaos, Coulson appeared again, grinning like he'd just won a bet. "Nice work, man. So, what do you think tomorrow's headlines will read? 'The Fireproof Savior'?"
Watson shook his head, brushing off the praise. "I just did what anyone would do. And seriously, these nicknames? You've gotta try harder."
As he made his way home, a sense of quiet pride settled over him. Saving lives, especially the vulnerable, felt more rewarding than any fight he'd ever been in.
When Watson finally stepped into his house, he was greeted by the familiar sound of the evening news. Uncle Polk and Aunt Liya were glued to the TV, watching footage of Watson emerging heroically from the flames.
Uncle Polk erupted into a belly laugh, slapping his knee. "Kid, that was pure gold! You've got the same flair as your Uncle Rocco!"
Watson let out a soft sigh, caught between pride and exhaustion. The night had made one thing clear: fame was fast, but responsibility was even faster.