The order had changed.
He listened to the cold voice coming through his helmet. After a complex decryption and identity verification process within the helmet, he confirmed that the command came from his master. He paid no attention to why the mission target had changed—such matters were irrelevant to him. He took a deep breath and carefully disengaged the electromagnetic adhesion gloves wrapped around his palms. As the Quinjet passed over the target zone, he leapt down lightly, landing silently between the low buildings of Tangier's old quarter. He was a battle-hardened warrior. Beneath the blood-red lenses of his visor, the tiny black insignia of a winged sword on his eyelid and the starlike tattoos around his eyes marked his distinguished record.
The assassin moved between the rooftops.
Even in broad daylight, he flickered past blind spots in the onlookers' sight like a ghost beneath the scorching sun. He swiftly located a suitable position, detached his sniper rifle from the magnetic clasp on his back, and froze completely. His cloaking cape activated upon entering this motionless state—not only did it blur his form entirely, but it also adjusted his surface temperature to match the surrounding surfaces, preventing detection by infrared scanners when he fired.
Daisy Johnson sprinted past an overturned street stall.
As expected, she had messed things up again. For a field agent, this wasn't unusual. Every agent had to create a general plan and consider how to proceed when things went sideways. If they could still complete the mission and meet the essential objectives, they were qualified field agents—even if every operation involved mishaps. Daisy Johnson was striving toward that standard. She had to solve this herself.
The low buildings, narrow alleys, and sunshades in the old quarter of Tangier made it difficult for Melinda May to offer support. She couldn't use the Quinjet's powerful weaponry—firing the cannons here would certainly injure innocent civilians, something Agent Coulson would never allow. Joseph Haddad's familiarity with the terrain further frustrated May, an expert pilot who now found herself at a disadvantage.
Daisy Johnson had to solve it herself. Even though she'd just taken out nearly ten armed gangsters, she had to bring down one more.
"Stop!" she shouted as a formality, knowing full well that anyone being chased never obeyed. A few years ago, back when she was still a high school dropout and a young hacker, this kind of chase would've left her completely winded, collapsed and tongue-out on the ground.
"I'm unarmed!"
Hearing this, Joseph Haddad ran faster. Ten minutes ago, when this woman had burst in saying those exact words, he'd planned to point a gun at her and negotiate. He had seen the outcome of that mistake.
"Force him left," said Melinda May, watching the target flee through the alleyways from above. "Left leads to the Free Port's cargo dock. I'll intercept him there."
"Got it!" Daisy chased Joseph Haddad to a forked junction. She extended her hand and released her power, shattering the sandy path on his right. As expected, Haddad veered left toward the cargo dock. A victorious smile crept onto Daisy's face. If she could just block him from behind, she could capture him alive and get the intel she needed.
"He's climbing the rooftops, trying to jump into the side alley!" May shouted. "Don't lose him!"
Daisy Johnson ran after him, using the same wooden crate he had used to leap onto the roof. She was starting to tire. As a local, Haddad always found a shortcut; all she could do was pursue relentlessly. She couldn't let him slip into an alley, or she'd never catch him.
Then she felt a warm droplet splash on her face.
Normally, a hyper-alert Daisy wouldn't notice something so minor, but that warm droplet came with a mangled lower leg. Shock disrupted her breathing, and she had to slow down to process what she saw—Joseph Haddad's lower leg had vanished. It happened so quickly he hadn't even realized it. He collapsed involuntarily, and pain flooded his nervous system like a tsunami. Haddad fell to the ground, wailing, as blood gushed across the rooftop at Daisy's feet.
"May…" Daisy groaned in confusion.
"Down! There's a sniper!" Melinda May dove the Quinjet, using the fuselage to shield both Daisy and the target. The hot wind whipped up clouds of dust that stung Daisy's eyes. "Stop the bleeding!"
"Who?" Daisy asked while pulling a tourniquet from her waist and wrapping the screaming Joseph Haddad. He was drowning in panic, and it took her considerable effort to restrain him.
"No idea." May knew her maneuver was risky. She had no clue about the sniper's weapon or location. Judging by the blood spray direction, she had made the only choice possible to protect Daisy and the target. She pressed a button on the console and opened the side hatch. Her intention was clear—Daisy needed to bring Haddad aboard. They'd regroup and plan their next move.
"We need to abort the mission—there's someone else in this operation!"
"We can't abort!" Daisy dragged the freshly stabilized Haddad across the rooftop, leaving a trail of blood. Once aboard, she tossed him onto the alloy floor and rushed to the cockpit. "If we want to save Fitz and Simmons, we need the intel Fitz gave us! We must get the code to that case now. Cover me—quick in and out."
Melinda May gave her a look.
"Stabilize the target. He's in hypovolemic shock," she said coldly. "Inject him with a high dose of adrenaline. Chest cavity."
"Mission complete," the assassin reported through his earpiece. Blood-red data flickered across the lenses of his alloy skull mask. Wind speed, bullet trajectory, lighting, humidity—all variables that could impact the shot were calculated and optimized by the onboard computer. All the assassin had to do was control his body to match the result. He had to perfectly regulate every muscle, breath, and heartbeat, becoming as motionless as the dead, minimizing any influence he might have on the shot. He could do it. His enhanced bones and muscles allowed him to make this superhuman precision second nature. Upon emerging from the lab's incubation chamber, the first thing he was taught was about his abilities—and who he must use them for.
"Mission complete," Stephanie confirmed.
Solomon, sitting inside the assault dropship, nodded. He had already stationed a squad near the S.H.I.E.L.D. base. The dropship carried two bunker-busting bombs. If the clean-up work on that planet hadn't gone perfectly, these nuclear warheads would finish the job.
As for the astronaut named Will, he was still under quarantine. Stephanie had already transferred him to a facility built by the Immortal City for surveillance. Solomon intended to speak with the astronaut personally. He planned to compensate Will for the years he spent exiled on that planet—compensate him for the time he lost. After all, back when NASA selected astronauts, they hadn't yet adopted today's standards of political correctness. Astronauts had to be trained and educated, not just some random transgender Black obese homosexual MSL. And considering that Will had survived alone on an alien planet for so long, as long as he wasn't infected, Solomon was willing to recruit him.
(End of Chapter)
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