"Let's do this right," he said. "No noise. No missteps. If Hydra's this deep, we strip them out, piece by piece."
James glanced back at the bodies on the ground.
"Then it's time to cut them out."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coulson waved his hand. The agents he brought with him moved in without a word.
In seconds, the New York team was disarmed and separated. No protests, no room to maneuver.
The lead Level 5 agent didn't take it quietly. "Agent Coulson, what is this? Yes, there was a conflict between us and Agent Gibson, but that doesn't justify detention. At most, it was a command dispute."
James didn't blink. "Funny. I didn't request your support earlier. The alarm I triggered this afternoon got no response. But now you show up, uninvited, and try to clean the scene before headquarters arrives? That's not a conflict. That's deliberate interference."
The agent scoffed. "You're a Level Four. You don't have the authority to investigate us."
Phil Coulson stepped forward, calm as ever. "He doesn't. But I do. He's under my command, and this investigation is now under my jurisdiction. So yes—you're detained. Comms off. Weapons turned in. You'll be questioned individually."
He didn't wait for a response. "Strip them down. Take everything. Secure them in the security lounge."
His men moved fast. The New York agents were pressed into the apartment's converted breakroom—now an improvised holding bay.
James turned to Coulson. "You want to see how I'll vet them?"
Coulson nodded. "Sure, Whenever you're ready."
"Start with the ambushers. I need to get out of this suit first."
Still clad in the Umbra Sentinel mk1, James launched upward—quick hop through the window and into the elevator shaft. By the time he returned to ground level, he was in plain clothes, armor stored in the internal space.
There would be more fighting tonight. He needed the armor to be on standby.
Inside the head of security's office, two chairs were set up behind the desk. One across from them.
Coulson took the seat beside James. Quiet. Just watching.
The first man brought in was the Level 5 agent who had led the New York team.
He was cuffed and sat across from them, poker-faced.
James opened calmly. "You want to talk? Or do I have to dig it out of you?"
No tricks. No tone. Just a straightforward question.
The agent gave a condescending smile. "Is this your interrogation technique? You think this is going to work?"
James didn't respond. He stood, stepped around the desk, and grabbed the back of the agent's neck. Firm. But not painful. Just unmistakable control.
He bent in close.
"You think I'm bluffing. That I don't know what I'm doing."
Pause.
"There are only two possibilities. One: I don't know how to interrogate. Do you believe that?"
The agent blinked.
James stepped back and released his grip. Returned to his seat.
"I'm giving you a chance. If you want to talk, do it now. Because if you don't, I'll stop giving chances."
Silence.
Then the agent sneered. "You frame colleagues like this, and you think you'll stay clean? I'll file charges. Internal Review doesn't care who your handler is."
James smiled.
"There it is. You're betting that I don't know who you are."
He leaned forward.
"Hail Hydra."
The agent flinched.
A perfect tell.
James didn't blink. "S.H.I.E.L.D. haven't figured it out yet, but I have. You're Hydra embedded. All twelve of you. Tonight was an assassination attempt, authorized by your direct superior—a Level 6."
The agent's face went cold.
Then came the denial.
"I don't know what you're talking about! Hydra doesn't exist!"
"You sure?" James said. "Because you just used the phrase Hydra doesn't exist—which isn't part of any S.H.I.E.L.D. training. You just told on yourself."
The agent sat stiffly.
And James knew he had him.
"It's funny," James said. "You people always think secrecy is strength. But the second you're exposed, you collapse."
"You… You have no evidence," the agent snapped. "Hydra's been buried for decades. No one would know."
"If you don't want others to know, Then don't do it," James replied. "An old saying from a wise man."
The agent stared.
James folded his hands. "You're not the target. You're just the bait. We want your superior. Your network. Your safehouses. Give me something now, and you might walk out with a contribution."
He paused.
"If you don't… Well, I don't really need you to talk. Cause I already know."
The agent's stare faltered.
Because deep down, he could tell—James wasn't guessing, HE KNOWS.