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**Congresswon:**
"It's a pattern, Wolf. For last decade, every ti Ethan Park is sighted, a catastrophe follows. A school collapse in New xico. A hospital fire in Houston. A bridge in Pittsburgh reduced to rubble. We are tracking over a hundred 'coincidences' where Park was at the epicenter of multi-billion dollar property damage and staggering loss of life."
**CONGRESSWOMAN:**
"Look at the Fairview Massacre from just a few months ago. One hundred and thirty-six people are dead, and we still have no idea what truly happened to them because Ethan Park flatly refuses to cooperate with the proper authorities. He was spotted again at Fairview Hospital precisely at the ti of the massacre—not as a savior, mind you."
**WOLF BLITZER:**
"Hmm... but the most damning file in this massive data leak concerns December 26, 2004. The Indian Ocean Tsunami. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s own facial recognition data places Park on the Sumatra coastline just minutes before the initial surge. We are talking about a cataclysm that claid nearly a thousand lives."
***CONGRESSWOMAN WALLACE:**
"Exactly, Wolf. Their own analysts confird that the 9.3 magnitude earthquake wasn't rely a natural shift in tectonic plates. In light of this new information—the fact that Park apparently possesses the power to cause destruction on a planetary scale—the question we must ask is: what is stopping him from doing it again? And more importantly, who is going to stop him if he tries?"
**WOLF BLITZER:**
"Those are so very pointed questions, Congresswoman. Hopefully, we will receive those answers from the White House shortly. Press Secretary Daisy Grant will soon step to the podium to offer the official executive stance on the man at the center of this storm: Ethan Park."
"Now, let's hear from Dr. Henry McCord. You are a professor of theology, so let's start there. I want to read a quote that has been circulating among a minority of people in our republic who support this extre intervention: *'The only way to combat evil—true evil—is with extre violence. Take away the choice to be evil. Make the consequences so unimaginably horrifying that no one has the choice but to be a moral, ethical human being. If a few have to give up their humanity to attain that, there is no greater cause.'* What are your thoughts on that, Dr. McCord?"
**DR. HENRY MCCORD:**
"Who decides the line between legality and actual evil?...Ethan Park? We have to realize that this is the exact reasoning used by authoritarians to justify their rule. A democratic system, where the people are at least sowhat culpable for their actions, cannot sustain such a regi—at least not while remaining a democracy. Once state-sanctioned violence of that magnitude against the population is normalized, there is nothing stopping whoever is at the helm from rewriting every rule and simply suppressing all opposition as 'evil.'"
"Essentially, the fantasy that 'horrible consequences prevent cris' is just that: a fantasy. It disintegrates on contact with reality because it can only exist in a binary world where things are either perfectly lawful or not. In reality, countless people are in jail or paying fines that any half-decent lawyer could have avoided. With that in mind, I have to ask: would you really accept 'unimaginably horrible' consequences being inflicted on people who can never be certain of their guilt? Especially knowing it might be you in their place next ti, simply because you were in the wrong place at the wrong ti?"
**Back in Elizabeth McCord's Office**
"He has a way with words, doesn't he?" Mike B. comnted, watching the broadcast. Russell seed to agree, nodding in silent approval.
"He didn't explicitly disagree with the given quote, yet he presented his own point of view regardless. Your husband has a future as a politician, Elizabeth," Russell added, looking toward Bess.
"You'll have to convince him of that. Close it," Bess said. "It's ti."
The TV was shut off, and on the other terminal, the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo flickered to life. The rest of her staff scattered, leaving only her and Russell remaining in front of the massive screen as Nick Fury appeared.
"Madam Secretary, good evening," Fury started. "Russell, you're here too," he noted.
Russell looked back at her. "What, no 'good evening' for , Nick?" Before even receiving a reply, he stood up and growled at the screen, "We've been waiting for thirty minutes."
"I apologize for the delay. As you already know, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been dissolved. I've been busy picking up the pieces left behind. Regardless, I am here now—so let's get this eting started," Fury added.
Elizabeth sat up straight at his words. "Fury, a new committee has been ford specifically to compel Ethan Park to testify before the U.S. Senate: the Committee on Erging Threats and Capabilities." Seeing the lack of surprise on Fury's face, Russell and Bess exchanged wary glances.
"And we want Ethan Park to respect the sovereignty of this nation and be present to answer for his actions," Russell finished for her.
"Well, if you want my opinion, that is a bad ide—" Fury started, but Bess cut him off.
"I don't. What I want from you is to make sure he is there. You have a way to contact him, yes?" She knew the rumors; Ethan's teleportation kunai were famous in the intelligence community, and as a forr CIA analyst, she knew exactly how he operated.
"Park has refused such subpoenas before," Fury countered. "Even if I tell him... what makes you think he will accept this ti?"
Russell and Elizabeth exchanged one final look. "The whole nation will be made aware of this in a few hours. If Ethan Park doesn't show up before this committee... he will be declared a dostic terrorist and hunted down. You tell him that."
Then the call ended.
In a different ti, a different life, Calvin Broadus Jr. would have chosen the path of hip-hop, christening himself "Snoop Dogg." He would have beco a legendary artist, defining West Coast G-funk with a laid-back, smooth delivery that beca the gold standard of the 1990s.
But that was another life. In this tiline, his younger days led him on a pilgrimage to Vatican City, where he found a higher calling.
Now, he stood before a massive audience in St. Peter's Square. Father Broadus preached with his signature rhythmic cadence, offering the Church's perspective on the "Day of the Falling Star," as the world had co to call Ethan Park's intervention.
Father Broadus adjusted his silk vestnts, the Vatican sun reflecting off his shades as he leaned into the mic with that unmistakable, rhythmic drawl.
"Aight, check it, nephew. Yeah... let lay it out for ya, real smooth-like. You hear people talkin' 'bout who wrote the Good Book, sayin' it's just so random cats with pens. Nah, man, let drop so knowledge on who really put it down.
We talkin' 'bout forty different G's, ya dig? Thirty-nine Jews and one Gentile. And check the tiline—they were operatin' over a span of fifteen hundred years. That ans so of 'em were puffin' on that holy spirit centuries before the others even touched the scene. They never had a chance to link up, never had a group chat, nothin'. They were spread out across three different continents, speakin' three different languages.
But check the play: from Genesis all the way to Revelation, there's a singular unity of thought. A straight line, no tangles."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, lodic hum that vibrated through the square.
"That's a mathematical impossibility, for real, unless you got the Big Boss upstairs—the God Almighty—providin' the inspiration. You can't even get twenty people in a room today to write a paragraph 'bout the sa topic without sobody catchin' an attitude and disagreein'. Yet this Book stands as one. It's the ultimate collaboration, orchestrated from the highest level. Preach."
Father Broadus smoothed out his white and gold robe, leaning into the gold-plated microphone with a heavy, solemn gaze that swept across the thousands gathered in the square.
"But we ain't gathered here today for the usual Sunday service, now are we? Nah, nephew. You know exactly why we're standin' on this holy ground. We talkin' 'bout that 'Falling Star.' Ring a bell? Yeah, I thought so."
He paused as a low, anxious murmur rippled through the crowd like a bassline. He nodded slowly, his voice dropping into a deep, velvety growl.
"The Devil has touched down on the green Earth once again, ya dig? This Ethan Park... he just showed the whole world that if you ain't on his level, you're straight-up powerless. You're just dust in the wind when he decides to flip the script. Now, so of you smart cats out there, you done read those files they leaked. You seen the receipts. There ain't no doubt about it—we talkin' 'bout a cold-blooded serial killer.
This man been out here braggin' 'bout takin' lives like it's a ga, loud and proud with it. He ain't just hidin' in the shadows, nah—he's *professed* it. He's *confessed* it. When he made the star fall, He looked the world in the eye and told us he was a demon. And when a man tells you who he is... you better believe him the first ti."
"Now, speakin' of serial killers, y'all know about Rosalind Dyer, right?" The crowd hollered back in agreent.
"In December of 2013—just last year, for real—I got a request for a lil' dip in the holy water from the Chowchilla Won's Facility. Rosalind Dyer wanted that baptism, tryna keep her soul from that eternal barbecue down below." The congregation gave a big "An" to that.
"When I t her, I asked her straight up if she did all those cold-blooded things, 'cause I was feelin' beyond disgusted. She was shook, nephew; real talk, she was. She started lookin' for the exit real quick-like. I had to block the lane... And in the end, I looked her in the eye while I baptized her. I truly believed if she found the Big Guy upstairs, she could be saved..." Father Brodus paused, lookin' at the crowd with solemly.
"But do y'all know what happened to her? She got done dirty, butchered like so animal—nah, worse than that. And Did y'all know the folks from S.H.I.E.L.D., the ones who leaked those files... and I'm usin' **their** lingo now... were '100% certain it was Park' who took her off the board. Like I told you... He is *that* bruh, if he wanted you out of there, he is gonna do it himself, on feet a straight-up demon. "
The congregation shouted back, clinging to Father's each word.
"I'm tellin' you, , I will be so relieved for the community, Man, Once this demon is sent back to hell 'cause he is over here torturing people on the regular. I ain't gonna lie to you, man... sothing is seriously wrong with him... 'cause that right there? That's not human, man. You are not a regular man. You are the devil himself. So from what I hear, those files prove every bit of it to be true... he is a serial killer...and he is a demon in human form."
Sermons and proclamations like these, though less eccentric, echoed across the globe. There were those who had been personally restored to health by Ethan, and others saved by his hand from the terror of Curses, yet they remained a silent minority.
Their gratitude was easily drowned out by the dense fog of outrage that surged following the White House's official stance against Park.
**Los Angeles:**
Inside a luxury penthouse situated directly above the high-end nightclub *Lux*, the space was an expansive testant to opulence, featuring a grand piano, a private bar, a vast library, and a balcony overlooking the sprawling city lights.
A man clad only in an expensive silk red robe stood before a 65-inch flat-screen television, intently watching a news of the "Day of the Falling Star."
"Oh, My, ," he murmured aloud, a playful glint in his eyes.
"Humans like you haven't been born in ten millennia." He brought his hand close to the screen, tracing the displayed image of Ethan's face.
"What is it you truly desire, Ethan Park?"
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A/N: So how was the chapter?
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