She was in her fifties, skinny as a dry stick, like all the fluid had been sucked out of her. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight her face wa... permanently stuck in a scowl. She was like a vulture, always hovering at the edges, waiting to swoop in and devour a dying animal."Ms. Shelly, this is work, not a coffee social," she snottily said, looking down at me over her long nose. "Stop flirting with Mr. Upton and do your work. I need those Medicare invoices." I wasn't flirting, Mrs.. Itwas hanging over my head like an ominous cloud. Were these people withthe CIA or FBI? Or something else? An institution perhaps. Military orindustrial. Was it S.H.E.I.L.D.? I never really did trust Nick Fury.Oscorp? That would be bad. Trask Industries? I just didn't know.After lunch I went to the gymnasium and, watching the time, did aboutthree hours of exercise. I as at human level strength now. It worriedme that it wasn't coming back to superhuman levels. I looked at thetime. Whilst they. More

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