Coulson had already seen the footage.
The monstrous brawl between the Abomination and a three-headed hellhound. The video of a monstrous, Hulk-like Doggo tearing through a New York military base like it was made of cardboard.
And yet, as he looked at the chubby husky currently lounging in the backseat like an overfed house pet, he struggled to connect the dots.
This lazy, chicken-loving, overweight husky?
He just couldn't reconcile the image.
Could they have been mistaken?
Coulson's eyes narrowed with doubt, silently trying to make sense of the contradiction.
But while he stood there hesitating, Natasha was already moving.
She wasn't the type to overanalyze.
They'd found the target's location, there was no time to waste. If they waited for backup, the special forces team would take hours to arrive. And asking the military for help? Not a chance.
Just remembering the mocking looks on their faces when they saw Doggo made her grind her teeth.
They had openly sneered at them, not even bothering to hide their contempt.
Thinking about the smug faces they would make if they were to request their help, her hands balled into fists.
No. Natasha Romanoff was not a generous woman. She wasn't about to let them swoop in and take credit for the rescue.
Moving with purpose, she opened the trunk of the SUV.
Moments later, she returned with a large metal pot cradled in her arms.
Inside was a heaping pile of grilled chicken drumsticks, still steaming under the desert heat.
She knelt in front of Doggo, placed the pot down like a sacred offering, and waved a juicy drumstick in front of his nose.
"You help me save the target," she said, smiling sweetly, "and all of these are yours."
The smell alone was enough to make any dog salivate.
Any normal dog, that is.
But Doggo didn't even blink.
He stared at the pot. Then at her. Then turned away, nose in the air, completely unmoved.
Natasha frowned. Was it not enough?
"Alright, name your price," she muttered. "You want something else? I'll buy it for you after the mission, as much as you want."
She gritted her teeth. "Fine. How about I take you to a pet shop and let you pick a girlfriend?"
Doggo's ear twitched, but only slightly.
Coulson, who had been watching from the side, looked like he'd just witnessed a unicorn doing taxes.
Agent Romanoff, one of the most feared operatives in the world, was now negotiating with a dog. A dog who clearly understood every word.
And somehow, still wasn't satisfied.
Doggo gazed at her with what could only be described as disdain.
It was the same look royalty might give to a jester trying to amuse them with a stick.
Coulson's worldview wavered.
"I can't believe this," he whispered. "He's actually bargaining."
Natasha was quickly losing patience. Her jaw clenched.
"Alright, you spoiled little brat," she snapped. "So you don't want to help? Be careful, I'll go straight back and tell your master!"
At that, Doggo's entire expression shifted.
Gone was the aloof arrogance.
His eyes widened with panic, and he started shaking his head violently.
Before Natasha could even register what was happening, Doggo's body began to ripple and change.
His head expanded. His fur darkened. His form twisted and grew, turning crimson like molten steel.
With a monstrous snarl, he opened his massive mouth, and swallowed the entire pot of drumsticks whole.
Natasha and Coulson leapt back instinctively.
This was no ordinary dog. This was the same monster they had seen in the footage, the one who bit off the Abomination's head like it was a chew toy.
For a moment, the temperature around them spiked. Heat rolled off his body like waves from an open furnace. Natasha could swear her eyebrows had singed.
But just as suddenly as it began, it ended.
Doggo's body shrank back, returning to his plump, comical form. He hopped off the backseat with a loud thud, belly jiggling with each step.
Then, without looking at either of them, he began waddling toward the distant village, paws kicking up dust behind him.
Just before disappearing over a dune, Doggo paused and looked back at Natasha.
His eyes said one thing: Don't forget our deal.
This dog… is not to be underestimated.
A group of terrorists lounged around under the shade of broken rooftops, smoking and chatting in low tones.
It was another dull afternoon in the middle of nowhere.
Then, from around the corner, waddled in a fat husky.
For a second, they thought it was a mirage.
A well-fed dog, with thick fur and a round belly, strolling straight into their territory like he owned the place?
In this barren wasteland, where not even birds shit, a creature this plump was practically a walking feast.
Without hesitation, one of the militants drew his sidearm and leveled it at the dog's head.
The others smirked, already picturing the sizzling meat over an open fire.
None of them paused to question how or why the husky had arrived.
They were a pack of killers, and all they saw was a sumptuous dinner.