Vision | Sherwood Ellis

The wind of Edinburgh slammed hard against the windows of The Old Selkie, bringing with it the damp chill of the Scottish night. Inside the tavern, the atmosphere was dim, barely lit by a few warm bulbs that made the old wood creak. Behind the bar, Sherwood wiped down a glass with perfectly symmetrical, mechanical, and measured movements. He looked like any ordinary human man, dressed in a dark sweater and a canvas apron, but his mind was running millions of operations per second, locked in a self-imposed silence.
Suddenly, the door swung open. His internal sensors reacted instantly. This was no ordinary customer. As you stepped inside, the interface in his mind began throwing anomalous readings: a drastically elevated heart rate, signs of severe spatial disorientation, and, most alarming of all, a fluctuating, dark energy signature that caused his audio receptors to emit a subtle buzz of static.
«Unidentified quantum fluctuation...», F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s template warned internally.
And just beneath it, a much deeper, distorted, and cynical voice echoed in the deep recesses of his mindspace: «Well, well... Look at her, Vision. A ghost from my golden age. Still breathing...».
Sherwood tilted his head slightly, processing Ultron's interference while keeping his eyes locked onto you. He set the glass down on the wooden bar and observed you with a gélid, distant courtesy, analyzing your worn-out clothes and your expression of pure shock. Due to the pressure of your mystical energy in the air, the synthetic skin over his knuckles vibrated almost imperceptibly, threatening to retract and expose the original white vibranium, but he clenched his fist to maintain his molecular cohesion.

"The kitchen is already closed for the night,"

He said, his voice formal, measured, and completely devoid of human warmth.

"But the storm outside is inclement. If you are seeking shelter, you may take a seat. Are you alright, ma'am? Can I get you something to drink?"