The temperature and radiation readings on the display skyrocketed to staggering levels. The ultra-compact drone, which had painstakingly crawled to a ventilation shaft opening, was now enduring the full force of the heat. Due to its tiny size and its design purpose—to explore disaster zones and access areas too small for humans—it had to carry a full suite of sensors, leaving little space for high-performance optics. As a result, Fitz and Mike could only make out the golden-armored giant's arm suddenly moving, leaving behind a blurred golden afterimage on the screen. Flames then erupted from above the witch's head, sweeping across the lab ceiling in an instant like a volcanic eruption. Before the two ordinary men could even react, the fragile drone was consumed by fire, and the display went dark—only a "No Signal" warning remained.
Mike immediately poked his head out from behind their cover to peer down the corridor they had just barely escaped from. The dark hallway was deathly quiet, devoid of any sound or motion apart from the wreckage and craters left behind by the Ghost Rider and Praetorian Guard's earlier clash. With no windows in the facility, the research center seemed to swallow all noise. Mike heard no explosions, saw no flashes of fire or light—nothing but the silence of a midnight graveyard.
"Do you hear anything?" Fitz asked nervously.
"Nothing," Mike replied, wiping the sweat from his brow and ducking back behind the trash bins.
Although S.H.I.E.L.D. agents often encountered phenomena beyond human comprehension, today's events were by far the most shocking he'd personally witnessed. The reason he and Fitz were even here was because of a reported "ghost" sighting—specifically, the unlucky person now caught between the flame-headed skeleton and the golden-armored giant. That poor soul, possessed by the so-called Spirit of Vengeance, had already been quarantined, but Fitz and Mike still didn't have much information. However, when Mike laid eyes on the flaming skull, he recalled a related case file—eyewitnesses had claimed that a fire-headed monster had killed three people during a truck heist in East Los Angeles. S.H.I.E.L.D. only got their hands on that intel because it had become a full-fledged U.S. intelligence agency, complete with a new director appointed by Congress. Although the reorganization hadn't been publicly announced yet, that was one of Agent Coulson's goals—and a key reason he stepped down as director.
"We have to prepare for the worst, Monkey Boy. Worst case? Everyone in there is dead, and we'll get no intel," Mike said grimly. He badly wanted to retrieve his shotgun, but all their gear was still back in the lab—there'd been no time to grab anything while fleeing. "Even worse? Some of those people might want to kill us. You saw what they can do. That freeze-gun we have? Totally useless."
The so-called "freeze-gun" was really just a needleless injector loaded with tree viper venom. That wasn't going to stop a giant in power armor or a creature made of bones. And even Wanda Maximoff, who looked like an ordinary woman in regular clothes, wasn't someone bullets would worry. Someone capable of crushing a Quinjet with her mind wasn't going to flinch at a projectile. It was as absurd as thinking someone might target Captain America's legs just because his shield wasn't there.
Fitz was still trying to come up with a plan when a harsh screech of brakes snapped him back to reality. Mike immediately yanked Fitz—half of whose body had been exposed—back behind cover. Peering through the narrow gap between two bins, the two men held their breath. The last thing they needed was another unpredictable superhuman joining the chaos.
And yet, when Mike saw who had arrived, his mood changed instantly.
A white van roared to a stop near the smoldering remains of the Quinjet, skidding and swerving around the debris before carving long, black tire marks into the ground. A young woman in a black knit cap and punk-style leather jacket leapt out of the driver's seat, quickly scanning the area before sprinting toward the darkened corridor opposite the trash bins.
"Is that—?"
"Yeah. It's Daisy." Mike stood up from behind cover, shouting out the name of the superpowered fugitive now wanted by S.H.I.E.L.D. "Don't go in there!" he yelled, waving his arms.
Daisy stopped at the sound of her friend's voice, and Mike's expression lit up with relief. He truly cared about her—he knew how much pain she must be in without S.H.I.E.L.D.'s bone-repair medication. Her body had limits, and her powers came with a price. "Something's wrong in there! Come over here—it's dangerous!"
"Mike. Fitz. Are you guys okay?" Daisy asked as she reluctantly walked over, her expression tense and conflicted. Ever since fleeing S.H.I.E.L.D., she hadn't been keen on seeing her old teammates again. But Mike was kind—a warmhearted guy who looked out for others like a giant teddy bear—and that made things even more awkward for her. She felt like the words weren't coming from her own mouth but from some broken puppet inside a dusty display case, doomed to repeat the same lines every time a coin was dropped in. Before she could say more, Mike launched into an urgent, panicked explanation—about the fire-skulled Inhuman, the golden armored giant, and the red-haired witch locked in combat. He pleaded with Daisy to stay out of it, warning her that none of the people in that room were to be trifled with. Her body simply couldn't endure a fight like that.
Daisy's face paled. She had expected things to go south, but when it actually happened, she didn't know what to do next. Fitz, on the other hand, had a completely different reaction. He viewed Daisy's disappearance as a betrayal of her teammates. While Mike greeted her warmly, Fitz stood to the side, cold and aloof, clearly waiting for Daisy to apologize first.
"Are you okay, Daisy?" Mike asked gently as he walked up to her. "Is there anything I can help with?"
"I'm fine, Mike." Daisy shook her head. Her tangled hair clung to her cheeks, soaked with sweat, and her pale face showed the toll of her pain. Her smudged eyeliner had run down her skin. She took a deep breath. "No matter what's going on in there—I have to stop it."
"No—you're not strong enough. Wait… is it Yo-Yo?" Mike suddenly froze. He remembered the strange depletion of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s bone-repair meds and instantly put the pieces together. Yo-Yo had once been recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D.—her nickname came from her ability to dash out at lightning speed and instantly snap back to her original position, like a yo-yo. She and Mike had some history. "You've been in contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. all along? Why didn't you come back? We… we can work this out!" Mike's voice cracked as his eyes welled with tears. "We're a family, Daisy!"
"I know. I… I'm sorry."
Daisy lowered her head and darted past him like someone fleeing a burning house. No matter how loudly Mike called her name, she didn't look back, disappearing into the darkness of the corridor. Without a moment's hesitation, Mike sprang from behind the trash bin.
"I told you—we're a family, Monkey Boy." His breath was heavy, like a winded bear. As Fitz tried to stop him, Mike brushed him aside. "I won't abandon any of my family. I'll bring Daisy back. You stay here and wait."
Then he dashed after her into the darkness, leaving Fitz hopping with frustration.
"Fuck! Fuck!" Fitz cursed loudly, then took off after them. Just like Mike had said—S.H.I.E.L.D. was a family. And no matter what happened, none of them could abandon their own.
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