"I am Mephisto. Satan. The Devil. My name changes like the wind, and I have as many names as mortals have ways to die. Humanity has called me the embodiment of hatred, the creator of bargains and contracts."
Mephisto sat comfortably on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, a book resting casually in his hand.
"I am the devil of eternal negation. Anything that comes into being must, by its very nature, eventually be destroyed. Therefore, it would be better if nothing existed at all. You call this destruction. Crime. In simple terms, evil. That is the essence of what I am."
He finished reading and turned the book around, presenting the cover to Evenson and Nick Fury. He tapped the author’s name with one finger.
Faust.
"Honestly, Goethe did an excellent job." Mephisto gave the book an approving little wave before closing it. "The atmosphere, the characterization, the whole thing is beautifully done. And his introduction of me in particular? Very classy. So I made sure he got a rather comfortable room in Hell."
Nick Fury stared at him with a deeply unimpressed expression.
Are all supernatural beings this ridiculous?
Beside him, Evenson was having much the same thought.
Who brought a book along just to introduce themselves?
Then again, Evenson had to admit he wasn’t exactly in a position to criticize. He had done plenty of strange things himself.
"So you approve of the book?" Evenson asked. "Should I take it as your autobiography?"
"Absolutely not." Mephisto rejected the idea immediately. "I’m saying it’s a well-written piece of literature. As for the actual content, it contains a great deal of fabrication, misinformation, and prejudice."
"Really?" Evenson scratched his head. "I’ve never actually read the whole thing, but from what I know of your character in it, I’d say the description seems pretty accurate."
"All right."
Mephisto waved a hand and began defending himself.
"In that particular era, I did make a bargain with a mortal. He wanted women, so I helped him with women. He wanted power, so I gave him influence. Whatever he wanted, I provided. I take my reputation for keeping my word very seriously."
"I don’t even need to read the book to guess how that ended," Evenson said with a grin, glancing at Fury. "Tragedy. That’s your usual trick. You find people who think they’re clever and let them walk straight into the trap."
Fury shot him a flat look.
So this is why you dumped the Devil on my desk and told me to negotiate with him?
"You can’t look at it that way!" Mephisto protested, sounding genuinely offended. "I gave a man beauty, fame, and power. I let him experience everything the world had to offer. Then I allowed all of it to collapse before his eyes."
"And?" Evenson asked.
Wasn’t that the definition of torture?
"He should have realized that everything in this world is temporary!" Mephisto spread his hands, his expression almost pleading. "He should have awakened to the truth and understood the impermanence of worldly desires. It was supposed to be the story of a divine being enlightening a lost soul and saving him from his own ignorance!"
He looked personally wounded.
"How did that become a story about arrogance and destruction?"
Finally, Mephisto turned toward Fury.
"This is clearly discrimination. Discrimination against my kind. I’m sure you agree with me."
"I don’t know whether you’ve been discriminated against," Fury said dryly, "but I do know I’m feeling pretty discriminated against right now."
He leaned back.
"Mephisto. Lord of Hell. Why are you here?"
"Excellent attitude."
Mephisto pointed approvingly at Fury before turning back toward Evenson with a smile.
"Most mortals who discover my true identity react with fear, excitement, worship, or outrage. Someone with as little emotional reaction as you is remarkably uncommon."
"He’s been through a lot lately," Evenson said, rolling his eyes. "At this point, nothing surprises him anymore."
He ticked the recent disasters off mentally.
Thor. Sif. The Destroyer. The Tesseract. The Chitauri.
Fury had seen enough insanity to last several lifetimes.
"Seriously," Evenson continued, "if God himself suddenly showed up in the middle of this office, Fury would probably ask for his identification, employment history, and proof of residence before he started panicking."
"All right."
Mephisto seemed slightly disappointed by the lack of reaction, so he finally answered Fury’s question.
"I’ve been terribly busy in Hell lately. So I decided to take a vacation. Ten years or so. Perhaps a little longer. I thought I’d come to Earth and relax."
Mephisto conveniently skipped over the reasons he had become so eager to leave Hell.
Being the ruler of Hell and getting pushed out of your own territory wasn’t exactly something you advertised.
Fury didn’t seem particularly interested in asking, either. He merely nodded.
What mattered was what Mephisto intended to do while he was on Earth.
"But why come to me for a visa?"
"I’d rather not bother you with something so trivial," Mephisto said with a sigh. "There is technically a U.S. embassy in Hell, but unfortunately, they don’t offer this particular service."
He glanced toward Evenson.
"Fortunately, this young man informed me that your organization specializes in dealing with unusual matters. So I came to you."
Fury slowly turned his one good eye toward Evenson.
The look said everything.
You.
You keep bringing me problems.
Evenson wisely said nothing.
"What I’m more curious about," Fury said, "is why you think you need a visa in the first place."
Quite a few aliens had arrived on Earth recently.
Friendly or hostile, none of them had bothered to inform Fury in advance.
Yet here was Mephisto, one of the most notorious supernatural entities imaginable, apparently determined to follow immigration procedures.
It was almost unsettlingly responsible.
"I’m here on vacation," Mephisto explained. "I intend to enjoy everything the mortal world has to offer. Fine wine, good food, beautiful women..."
He paused.
"Beautiful men wouldn’t hurt either."
Evenson immediately shifted his chair backward.
Mephisto noticed.
His smile widened.
Evenson moved another inch.
"Anyway," Mephisto continued, "I want relaxation, not trouble. Unfortunately, given my reputation and identity, there are quite a few people who won’t be particularly fond of me."
He spread his hands.
"So I need someone with enough authority to vouch for me."
"In that case, what you want is a tourist visa," Fury said, adopting the solemn expression of an actual immigration officer.
Then he paused thoughtfully.
"But given the length of your vacation, I think what you really need is permanent residency."
Evenson’s eyebrows rose.
Since when did Fury start handing out benefits?
A tourist visa would have been the obvious choice. Why was Fury voluntarily offering something better?
Then Evenson understood.
A tourist visa had an expiration date.
That meant Mephisto’s obligations on Earth would only be enforceable for the duration of the visa. Once it expired, Mephisto could return to Hell as agreed.
And if he later slipped back onto Earth illegally, there would be no reason to assume he would still be bound by the same arrangement.
There was certainly no guarantee his next visit would be another vacation.
Permanent residency was different.
Permanent meant exactly that.
As long as Mephisto remained alive and on Earth, the conditions they negotiated would continue to apply to him. No expiration date. No loophole created simply by waiting long enough.
Evenson couldn’t help being impressed.
A permanent solution.
No wonder Fury was the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
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