[ He doesn't miss Johnson's change in stance, her rigid expression. He's had to quickly get used to it — the existence and capability of people around him to react to what he is. What he's become. Over the past week or so, he's begun to get a handle on the distorted spacetime of this particular universe, but the loss of control still sends a wave of aggravation through him – a spike of familiar, ugly rage.

He worked for this power. Earned it. He–

The anger deflates as quickly as it arose. No. Despite his supremacy over the writhing souls inside him, it's not the first time they've asserted their will on his skin.

He sighs, shakes out his tentacled hand at the wrist. The tendrils straighten, reabsorb into pale, bony fingers. He flexes them, then meets Johnson's gaze.

She hasn't run in the other direction. Special agent or not, that's got to take some grit. ]

Can get there myself, but I have a feeling it's not me you're worried about. [ The tone isn't antagonistic – just an observation. He gestures an invitation to walk with him, then ambles out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. ] I'd also ask about the running percentage of Hydra in your particular SHIELD, but that seems kinda rude.

[ Deflection? Him? Never. ]