The Marvel Prophet: I Publish Marvel Comics

Sleep time is always fast, and soon, the night had passed. Early the next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of movement outside my bedroom. My eyes snapped open, and I scowled. I had been disturbed by Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, last night, and now someone else was intruding early in the morning.

After dressing quickly, I walked to the living room, where I found a prominent black man already sitting on the sofa. His presence radiated authority and a no-nonsense demeanor.

"Don't you guys in S.H.I.E.L.D. know how to knock on doors?" I snapped. In less than 24 hours, three uninvited guests had come to my house, and my patience was wearing thin.

Nick Fury's single remaining eye stared at me. He spread his hands, as if to placate me. "I'm sorry if it brings inconvenience to your life," he said, though his face showed no trace of genuine apology.

I glanced at my watch, barely containing my irritation. "What do you want to ask? Do it quickly. I still have a lot of work."

Nick seemed to appreciate my directness. He cut straight to the point. "Who the hell are you? From some secret organization? Or a sect?"

Given my recent performances—knowing secrets about Captain America, Natasha Romanoff's past, and S.H.I.E.L.D.—Nick had concluded that I must be part of some hidden force. My skills, which had allowed me to easily defeat Natasha, only reinforced his theory.

"None of those," I replied with a shake of my head. "In fact, you can think of me as a prophet."

Nick's expression froze. "What?" he asked, stunned.

I stared back at him, calm and unflinching. "I'm a prophet. Or you can call me a seer."

Nick's disbelief was palpable. He scrutinized my face, searching for any sign of deceit. "Mr. Walker, your joke is so ridiculous that I can't believe it."

I walked over to the window and looked out at the sky. "What you don't know doesn't mean it doesn't exist," I said. "Like a frog at the bottom of a well, you can only see the sky as big as the well."

Nick's face twisted with a mix of emotions. He was being metaphorically mocked, and the vividness of my metaphor only heightened his irritation. Still, he couldn't entirely dismiss the notion. Legends of prophets did exist, particularly in the ancient East, where tales of seers who could predict the future abounded.

But this was the 21st century. Could such things really be credible?

"Mr. Walker, let's talk frankly," Nick said, shaking off his doubts. "I can't accept something as far-fetched as a prophet."

I smiled, unbothered by his skepticism. "I'm telling the truth. It's just that your vision is too narrow. The eyes of ordinary people are closed by dust; you can only perceive what's right in front of you."

Nick's frustration grew, but he tried to mask it. "And what makes you so different?"

I walked back to him and sat down. "I can see everything about Steve Rogers—from joining the army, to injecting the serum, to fighting Red Skull, to his apparent death on the cliff. Not only did he not die, but he was also frozen and survived."

Nick's expression changed as he grasped the implications of my words. "Steve is still alive?" he asked, disbelief and hope mingling in his voice.

"Yes," I replied. "He didn't die. He was frozen in a deep valley. And that place is..." I trailed off intentionally.

"Where?" Nick leaned forward, unable to hide his eagerness.

I paused, letting the tension build. "It's in my next comic, Iron Man. You can buy a copy if you're interested."

Nick stared at me, dumbfounded. This entire conversation was absurd, and yet... he couldn't entirely dismiss it. The possibility that I was telling the truth gnawed at him.

"What is Iron Man?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation back to something tangible.

"A battle armor beyond recognition that will appear in the future. You'll see it when you see it. Well, it's getting late, and I have to go to work. You can leave now."

I issued the expulsion order calmly, turning my attention back to my morning routine.

"Okay," Nick said reluctantly. "Can I take the equipment you seized from our agent?"

"Sure," I replied. The equipment was of no use to me, and I didn't need it cluttering my home. I had stripped the agents and let them run naked to disarm S.H.I.E.L.D., but if Nick wanted to take it back, that was fine by me.

With a final glance, Nick stood and headed for the door. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Mr. Walker," he said.

I nodded, unfazed. "Do whatever you need to. Just don't forget to knock next time."