"This is the documentation we found from the local government of Gloucestershire. It's listed as a heritage site restoration project, no named owner, and the work supposedly began a year ago. But the ink on this paper isn't even dry." Melinda May flipped open the case file, her face full of disdain. Unlike the other files, which were all layered with a fine coating of dust, this one stood out. It was clear how slack the local government had been—property development barely factored into the area's economy. May and Coulson had used fake credentials to infiltrate the records office. Even if MI5 was incompetent, the local government had no reason to turn them away. Still, the office's inefficiency meant it took them two full days to find the file S.H.I.E.L.D. was looking for.
They had already visited the castle Professor Randolph had identified, only to find it surrounded by a construction crew working around the clock. That night, Coulson and May had to sleep in the Quinjet, and the next day they sifted through the construction site's waste pile for clues. Aside from weathered stone and steel debris, they found nothing. That was the reality of life as a field agent. The cool, sunglasses-wearing, suit-clad agent who could flash a badge and solve problems only existed in Daisy Johnson's dreams—dreams she had before becoming an agent.
Left with no better options, May had gone ahead to search the local records office. "We're not here to investigate corruption," she grumbled, "but this level of forgery is pathetic. S.H.I.E.L.D. pencil-pushers could out-forge these people in their sleep."
"You're suggesting someone anticipated our move and erased the evidence ahead of time?" Coulson said, an uneasy feeling bubbling up.
"It's just political donations and campaign contributions—perfectly legal. And donors often don't even use their names. Sometimes it's filtered through local businesses as corporate giving," May replied. "And we don't even need to dig. I could guess who's behind this with my eyes closed."
Coulson nodded grimly. "How bad is it?"
"Worst-case scenario? Since the Hydra uprising, Solomon's completely out of control." May didn't hide that she'd been in touch with Nick Fury during that period. "They've pulled back for now, but if they ever decide to attack, our tech has no hope of tracking a helicarrier. You've seen what they're capable of—they're nuclear-armed zealots. Even Deathlok agents wouldn't stand a chance if they went all out."
"In that case, Solomon influencing my mind and making me call for his help doesn't seem so bad. At least he didn't storm a S.H.I.E.L.D. base and seize the monolith outright. We still don't know what makes that monolith so important, and Solomon has his own portals. That thing must hold a secret," Coulson said grimly. "If he wants it, we should give it to him."
"You trust him with something that dangerous?"
"Yes," Coulson replied honestly. "He hasn't caused any major disasters so far. His methods are… aggressive, sure, but he does seem to be solving problems. Kind of like how S.H.I.E.L.D. used to operate."
"Remember the East Coast quake?" May rolled her eyes. Solomon's track record might be clean, but not spotless—and definitely not in line with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s current zero-casualty philosophy. "As long as he refuses to give us the access codes to the isolation chamber holding Fitz and Simmons, we're going to keep digging. If he never releases them, are we just supposed to watch and wait?"
"Ahem… You know," Coulson changed the subject to try to sway her, "Nick Fury originally assigned Solomon's psychological profiling to Dr. Garner, not Steve Rogers."
"Andrew?" May wasn't sure why Coulson would bring up her ex-husband. It made her uncomfortable, especially in front of Coulson, who had once been very close to her. Things hadn't worked out between them for complicated reasons.
"What does Andrew—Dr. Garner—have to do with this?"
"He's one of the few experts who's seen S.H.I.E.L.D.'s full psychological profile and intel analysis on Solomon. While Solomon never attended any sessions, Dr. Garner has read the internal reports. He might be the only person, other than Fury, who understands Solomon's psychology. Maybe it's time we got his take."
Meanwhile, back at dinner, Solomon answered a phone call, not expecting both Wanda and the witch to stop their quiet chatting and turn to stare at him. The sorcerer darted his eyes nervously and made another call, issuing instructions to someone on the other end. The mood at the table soured. Solomon regretted refusing Bayonetta's earlier suggestion to let Constantine join them—sure, the Royal Guard's dietary needs were too specialized for a shared meal, and his food could be toxic to ordinary people. But at least his presence might've provided some cover for this awkward moment.
After hanging up, Jeanne snapped, "We agreed—no business during personal time."
"Apologies. The MP from Gloucestershire called. The castle renovation project there is now under investigation by MI5, and I need to look into what's going on," Solomon shrugged. "Don't worry—it's only MI5. Stephanie can handle it."
"Stephanie again? How many times a day do you need her to come here?" Jeanne rolled her eyes. "I hate that woman. She smells like trickery."
"I didn't know you turned into a dog, Jeanne."
The dining knife flew at blinding speed, screaming through the air and causing the crystal chandelier above to rattle and chime. But just as it seemed on course to hit Solomon's throat, the knife veered inexplicably. Wanda sensed the flow of magic, but before she could process it, Jeanne had vanished from her seat and reappeared next to Solomon, the juice-coated blade mere inches from his neck.
All of this happened before Wanda could even blink. She wasn't sure whether she should intervene—Jeanne didn't look like she was joking.
Solomon had arrived at the witch's penthouse with an invitation card—technically carried by Constantine, tucked in a compartment in his armor. After settling her in, Solomon had given her all the keys. Aside from teaching duties, he rarely visited. Wanda had been thrilled to invite him for dinner to show off her latest cooking experiments—until she saw that invitation card.
Bayonetta smiled slyly at the bewildered witch, then stood up and drew two pistols, pointing one at Jeanne and the other at Solomon.
"It's dinnertime, you little troublemakers," she said cheerfully. "So, are we eating steak… or lead?"
(End of Chapter)
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