Chapter 21: Too Cool
Bangkok, Sukhumvit Road, 4:00 PM.
As soon as he stepped out of the airport, the heat rushed over him, humid and clinging stubbornly to his skin.
Lynn hailed a tuk-tuk, and the driver sped all the way, weaving frantically through traffic, several times coming dangerously close to a crash before swerving past at the last second.
Holding onto the handrail, Lynn watched the tropical trees and neon signs flashing backward outside the window, enduring it for a moment before finally speaking up:
"Driver, were you a race car driver before?"
The driver didn't understand, flashed a grin, gave a thumbs-up, and rattled off a string of Thai, which probably meant "Don't worry."
Lynn handed over his phone, the screen displaying an address.
The stronghold where the Vulture constantly stationed.
The driver glanced at it, nodded, twisted the throttle, and the tuk-tuk turned into an even narrower alley.
The stronghold was an underground fighting arena, hidden on the second basement level of an old building.
The entrance was an unassuming noodle shop. Lifting the kitchen curtain and heading down two flights of stairs, one could hear human voices, cheers, and the clanging of iron cages, mixed with the stench of cheap beer and sweat, growing thicker the further down they went.
As soon as Lynn stood still at the entrance, a thin, dark-skinned little man scurried over, speaking broken Chinese with a grin that made his eyes disappear:
"Boss! Boss! First time here? Let me show you around, I'm Anu, the most connected local snake in Bangkok!"
"How did you know I'm the boss?"
Lynn looked at him.
"Vibe! That kind of vibe just can't be hidden!"
Anu held up a thumb,
"You look like a big-time businessman at a glance, not like us poor wretches. Boss, what do you want to buy? The goods I have here are the most comprehensive in all of Bangkok!"
Lynn glanced at him, not rushing to answer, took out his wallet, pulled out a few bills, and handed them over.
Anu's eyes lit up, his speed in taking the money faster than anyone's, and he bowed deeply while leading the person inside:
"Boss is generous! Come, come, come, let me take you to see the best goods!"
In the center of the fighting arena was an iron cage, inside which two shirtless men were beating each other until their noses bled profusely, while the people in the stands howled,
banging beer bottles with loud clangs.
Beside the iron cage, a row of tables was set up, on which stood several rows of small glass bottles, the liquid inside gleaming coldly under the lights.
"Power Potion."
Anu lowered his voice, pointing at those small bottles,
"Mr. Vulture's new goods; drink it and your strength doubles, fighting becomes as easy as drinking water. Boss, would you like a couple of bottles? Buy ten get one free, honest to young and old!"
"Buy ten get one free?"
Lynn repeated,
"Your promotional methods are quite down-to-earth."
"That's right! In business, integrity is everything!"
Anu patted his chest,
"Rest assured, anything recommended by Anu is definitely not fake! Fakes get a full refund, genuine ones get exchanged, featuring top-notch after-sales service!"
Lynn ignored his fast talk, his gaze falling on that row of small bottles, then shifting to the two men in the iron cage fighting increasingly fiercely.
Their fighting style wasn't right.
The force of their punches clearly exceeded the scope of ordinary people,
with a single punch smashing into the iron cage bending the bars by a section, triggering a burst of cheers from the stands.
The person who was hit took a punch, the corner of his mouth split open, blood smeared half his face, yet as if feeling nothing, he climbed back up and continued fighting, his eye sockets bloodshot and his gaze blank.
Anu rubbed his hands nearby, smiling ingratiatingly:
"How is it, Boss? You saw the effect yourself, it's the real deal!"
"They—"
Lynn pointed at the two people in the cage,
"How long have they been fighting?"
"This..."
Anu scratched his head,
"It seems they started at noon, fighting for four or five hours already. Both of these guys drank the medicine, don't know tired, and are super energetic!"
Lynn didn't answer.
Staring into the eyes of those two people in the cage, the string in his heart tightened slightly.
Not knowing tiredness, not feeling pain, blank eyes—this wasn't called "enhancement," this was called overdraft.
What they drank was trading their lives for strength.
"Your place here—"
Lynn turned to look at Anu,
"Only cares about selling medicine, not whether people live or die?"
Anu was stunned for a moment, probably not expecting this financial backer to ask that, and gave a ha-ha:
"Boss, you're joking, this is business after all..."
"Business is run quite openly."
Lynn interrupted him,
"Money is earned, but people... well, they aren't your own people anyway."
The smile on Anu's face couldn't quite hold up, and just as he was about to say something, the fighting arena suddenly quieted down.
Behind that row of tables next to the iron cage, an iron door opened, and a middle-aged man walked out.
Short and stocky, bald, with a thick gold chain hanging around his neck, wearing a floral shirt with his cuffs rolled up to his forearms, revealing a fierce-looking tattoo.
He swept a glance across the arena, his gaze pausing on those small glass bottles before falling onto the buyers below the stage, grinning to reveal a mouthful of gold teeth:
"All you bosses, have you seen the goods? Have you seen the effects too?"
He clapped his hands, and a few subordinates carried up an even larger box. Opening it, inside were sealed silver reagent tubes taken out of a freezer, gleaming with a cold light under the lights.
"This is the real good stuff."
Vulture picked up a reagent tube, spinning it between his fingertips,
"The previous medicine was for the bottom-dwellers to drink."
"This batch is prepared for all you bosses. Permanent enhancement, no rebound, everyone who uses it says it's good."
A commotion arose among the crowd below.
Lynn stood behind the crowd, looking at that silver reagent tube and then at the smug smile on Vulture's face, suddenly speaking in a voice that wasn't loud, but just right for the people in front to hear:
"Permanent enhancement? Boss Vulture, do you even believe those words yourself?"
The arena went quiet for a split second.
Vulture's gaze cut through the crowd, landing on Lynn, looking him up and down. The smile on his face didn't change, but his eyes grew half a degree colder:
"This boss looks unfamiliar. Where are you from?"
"Where I'm from doesn't matter."
Lynn said,
"What matters is, if this stuff in your hand is really as miraculous as you say, why don't you try a tube yourself first?"
A few low laughs sounded from the audience.
Vulture's expression sank. He cast a glance to the side, and two thug-like figures closed in on Lynn from both sides of the crowd.
"I'm a man who hates hearing amateurs pointing fingers in my arena most of all."
Vulture said slowly,
"Boss, why don't you go outside and cool off first?"
Lynn stood in place, watching the two thugs walking closer and closer without moving.
"Cooling off is fine."
He said,
"But before I leave, I want to ask one thing: are these 'permanent enhancement' gadgets of yours all from a place called the Power Laboratory?"
Vulture's expression finally changed.
Staring at Lynn, his Adam's apple bobbed. After two seconds, he suddenly laughed, his voice turning cold:
"It seems you're here specifically to pick a fight."
"Not picking a fight."
Lynn said,
"I'm here to settle an account with your boss."
Before his voice had even faded, the two thugs behind him lunged forward.
Lynn sidestepped to dodge the first punch, seized the man's wrist in passing, and pressed down, hearing a crisp "snap" as the man screamed and dropped to his knees.
The second person threw a punch; Lynn tilted his head to avoid it, raised his knee, and drove it into the man's lower abdomen. The man let out a muffled grunt, clutching his stomach and curling into a ball.
In less than three seconds total, both men were down.
Inside the fighting arena, there was absolute silence.
Anu stood aside, his mouth wide enough to stuff an egg into, the money in his hand almost dropping to the floor:
"... Boss, you, what is this—"
"It's nothing."
Lynn dusted off his hands,
"Just comparing notes with their boss."
Vulture stood by the iron door with a livid expression, gripping the silver reagent tube, looking at his two subordinates rolling on the ground and then at Lynn, taking quite a while before squeezing a sentence through his teeth:
"Just who on earth are you?"
Lynn walked up to him, stopped, looked down at the reagent tube in his hand, reached out, gently took it, and spun it between his fingertips.
"Who cares who I am."
He said, "You just need to know that at this exact time tomorrow, I'll go take a tour of your 'Power Laboratory'. You'd better tidy the place up a bit."
He tossed the reagent tube into Vulture's arms and turned to walk out.
Passing by Anu, he paused for a second:
"By the way, go back and change that 'honest to young and old' phrase of yours. The goods here of yours bully people and defraud lives."
Anu stood in place, mouth open, unable to close it for a long time.
Lynn lifted the kitchen curtain and walked back into Bangkok's sultry alley.
The roadside barbecue stalls were smoking, the scent of spices mixed with the smell of charcoal rushing at him.
He took out his phone and sent a message to Coulson:
[Vulture's 'Power Laboratory' is in the outskirts of Bangkok, I'll go check it out tomorrow. Also, those 'enhanced humans' of his—what they drink has a problem, it's not enhancement, it's overdrafting human lives.]
A few seconds later, Coulson replied:
[Received. Be careful yourself. We've checked the perimeter of that laboratory, and the security level is very high.]
Lynn glanced at it, put his phone into his pocket, and looked up at Bangkok's grey sky.
"High security level?"
He muttered to himself,
"What a coincidence, I am a man who specializes in curing all kinds of security."
He whistled and plunged deep into the alley.
Behind him, the curtain of that noodle shop stirred, and a thin, dark-skinned little man poked his head out, looking at his back with sparkling eyes, wondering what he was thinking.
Chapter 22 Laboratory
2:00 AM in the outskirts of Bangkok.
An abandoned sugar factory.
The tin roof was rusted through to the sky, and rusted old machinery was piled inside the workshop.
Who would have thought that such a run-down place buried an entire laboratory beneath the ground?
Lynn crouched in the grass outside the factory, the dew on the grass blades soaking the legs of his trousers.
Mosquitoes buzzed in his ears, and he reached out to swat one, but missed.
"Even a mosquito comes with a protagonist halo."
He muttered, hunching over, and skirted around to a rusted-iron door on the side of the factory.
The door lock was electronically controlled, but it couldn't stump him.
The adhesiveness of the Spider-Man template made his fingertips grow suction cups, reaching into the door gap, locating the wiring, and with a gentle flick, the lock popped open with a "click."
Behind the door was a downward-leading staircase, and cold air rolled up along the stairwell.
Lynn walked down the stairs.
The lights were ghastly pale, the walls were painted clean, anti-slip mats covered the floor, and his footsteps were completely absorbed.
He walked hugging the base of the wall, and his Spider-Sense always allowed him to avoid the cameras' rotation angles half a beat in advance.
Walking to the corner, two patrolling guards were leaning against the wall smoking and chatting, speaking in Thai, muttering in a way that sounded like they were talking about soccer.
Lynn walked over, hitting each one once, clean and neat.
The two men collapsed softly, their cigarette butts rolling onto the ground, emitting thin wisps of smoke.
He bent down, picked up the cigarette butts, extinguished them, and threw them into the nearby trash can.
"No smoking in the factory."
He whispered,
"I won't issue you a fine ticket."
Walking further in, the smell of disinfectant grew heavier, mixed with a faint trace of rust.
That kind of smell, Lynn had smelled it in the caves of Afghanistan.
Blood, after soaking for a long time, smelled just like this.
At the end of the corridor was a huge glass wall.
Behind the wall were rows of glass pods.
People were soaking in the pods,
or rather, people who used to be human.
They were naked, plugged into tubes, with their eyes closed, their skin casting an abnormal cyan-gray layer.
The numbers on the instruments jumped, the green lines drawn into straight lines, occasionally jumping violently as if proving they were still alive.
Lynn stood in front of the glass wall, looked for a few seconds, and said nothing.
"Boss, at this hour, no one should be coming in."
A voice sounded from behind.
Lynn turned back and saw a bald man in a lab coat standing at the other end of the corridor, holding a syringe in his hand,
looking at him with little expression on his face, his tone as flat as if he were reporting the weather.
"Are you also a person from the Power Laboratory?"
Lynn asked.
"I am the person in charge here."
The man in the lab coat said,
"You can call me Dr. Marcus. Judging by your appearance, you're not here for a tour."
"Good eyesight."
Lynn said,
"I'm here to dismantle it."
Dr. Marcus sighed, as if finding it a pity:
"Everyone who breaks in says that. But do you know where they all ended up?"
He pointed at the pods behind the glass wall:
"They all went in here. People with good physiques like you make just the right experimental materials."
Before his voice fell, footsteps sounded simultaneously from both ends of the corridor.
A dozen thugs wearing black vests surged out from both sides, carrying retractable batons and stun batons, surrounding Lynn in the middle.
"I advise you,"
Dr. Marcus took two steps back,
"not to make meaningless resistance. If you walk into the pod yourself, you can suffer a little less."
Lynn scanned the surrounding thugs, looked at Dr. Marcusagain, and suddenly smiled:
"This move of yours is called the 'human wave tactic', right?"
"... What?"
"Nothing."
Lynn loosened his wrists, "I just wanted to remind you
that the human wave tactic is built on the premise of being able to outlast the opponent. With so many of you, can you outlast me?"
The thugs looked at each other, not quite understanding, but they all tightened their grips on their weapons.
The first one to rush up was a fierce-looking big guy, who swung his retractable baton in a full circle to smash down on Lynn's head.
Lynn tilted his head, and the baton missed, brushing past his ear. Seizing the momentum, he grabbed the big guy's wrist and twisted it downward. The baton slipped out of his hand, spun twice in mid-air, and landed in Lynn's hand.
With a backhanded swing of the baton, he struck the big guy's back neck. The large and tall brawny man let out a muffled groan and fell flat on his face.
"First."
Lynn said.
The second and third ones pounced forward together.
Lynn sidestepped to dodge the thrust of the stun baton, and with a backhanded palm strike chopped below the second man's Adam's apple. That man clutched his throat, retched, and dropped to his knees; before the third man could figure out what was happening, he was kicked in the lower abdomen by Lynn, sending his entire body flying backward,
smashing into the glass wall with a dull thud.
The corridor fell silent for an instant.
The remaining thugs looked at each other, and no one dared to charge forward again.
"Just this?"
Lynn casually threw the baton aside,
"I thought the security of the Power Laboratory could be a bit more intense."
Dr. Marcus's expression finally changed.
He slammed a red button on the wall, and a harsh alarm sounded through the corridor, with red lights flashing on and off.
"You wait."
He stepped back, his voice carrying a hint of tremor,
"We still have—"
"Still have a trump card?"
Lynn interrupted him,
"That's great, bring them all on together so I don't have to look for them one by one."
Amidst the alarm, the heavy iron door at the end of the corridor slowly opened.
A shadow walked out from behind the door.
Much taller than the previous thugs, bulky like a wall, his skin tinged with an abnormal cyan-gray, his eyes bloodshot, with the whites of his eyes almost invisible. He walked very slowly, stepping heavily with every step, causing the ground to vibrate slightly.
"Is this your so-called trump card?"
Lynn looked at that "person" and clicked his tongue,
"Dr. Marcus, your experimental result doesn't look much like a human either."
Dr. Marcus stood by the iron door, his voice regaining a bit of confidence:
"He is our most successful work. The ultimate enhanced body catalyzed by the Power Potion.
Your fancy little tricks are not worth mentioning in front of him."
The enhanced body let out a low roar and rushed toward Lynn.
That punch carried the sound of wind, fast and heavy.
Lynn didn't take it head-on; he sidestepped to let the punch pass, and it grazed his shoulder to smash into the wall behind him, cracking the concrete wall with spider-web patterns.
"Whoa."
Lynn retreated half a step and loosened his shoulders,
"The strength is there, but the accuracy is a bit lacking. With this level, you dare call it 'ultimate'?"
The enhanced body rushed up again, punch after punch, every punch carrying the wind.
Lynn didn't clash head-on with him, relying on agility to dodge, moving around close to those fists. The enhanced body's speed grew faster and faster, but his breathing also grew heavier and heavier.
His movements began to deform, and flaws became more and more numerous.
"Look,"
Lynn said while dodging,
"the difference between strength gained from popping drugs and strength gained through training is right here.
Once the drug effect wears off, the person is done for. Didn't your master tell you that this stuff overdrafts your life?"
The enhanced body seemed infuriated, pouncing forward with red eyes, grabbing Lynn's collar, swinging his whole body around, and smashing him toward the wall.
Lynn twisted his waist in mid-air, used that momentum, tapped his toes against the wall, and turned to kick the enhanced body in the chest.
The enhanced body retreated two steps, a chunk of its chest collapsed inward, and a mouthful of blood surged from its mouth, yet as if feeling nothing, it pounced forward again.
"Tsk,"
Lynn landed, patted the dust off his collar,
"he really doesn't know pain."
He stopped dodging. Facing the pouncing enhanced body, he sidestepped to let the punch pass while raising his elbow to fiercely smash it against the enhanced body's temple.
Once, twice, three times. The enhanced body's movements grew slower and slower, finally crashing headfirst onto the ground, twitching a few times before going still.
The corridor fell completely silent. Only the alarm continued to ring, along with the electronic sounds of the instruments jumping.
Lynn stood in place, caught his breath, looked down at the motionless enhanced body on the ground, his voice dropping:
"It's not that he doesn't know pain, it's that he has already become numb to it."
He raised his head, looking at Dr. Marcus, who was cowering by the iron door with a pale face.
"These things you created,"
Lynn walked over, "don't you find them creepy yourself when you look at them?"
Dr. Marcus's legs went soft, and he collapsed onto the ground, opening his mouth and unable to speak for a long time.
Lynn walked past him and pushed open the iron door. Behind the door was the core server room of the laboratory, with rows of servers flashing indicator lights, and right in the center, a mainframe with its screen still lit, scrolling dense streams of data endlessly.
He walked over, plugged in the flash drive, and copied all the data away.
Halfway through the copying, a line of small text popped out in the corner of the screen:
An address. North America, Washington, D.C., a certain street in a certain district, followed by a string of numbers. The format looked familiar, resembling the internal code of some agency.
Lynn stared at that line of address, narrowing his eyes.
Washington, D.C.
The internal code format of the agency.
He remembered Coulson's sentence, "Ivy's cash flow overlaps with the private account of a high-ranking official in S.H.I.E.L.D.."
The two things matched up in his mind.
"Interesting."
Lynn unplugged the flash drive and put it into his pocket,
"This muddy water is getting muddier the more it's stirred."
He turned back, glanced at the human figures soaking in the glass pods in the corridor, paused, took out his phone, and made a call.
"Outskirts of Bangkok, abandoned sugar factory, second basement level."
He said,
"The headquarters of the Power Laboratory. I knocked the people down, copied the data away, and for the rest, you S.H.I.E.L.D. can clean up yourselves."
On the other end of the phone, Coulson's voice carried a rare hint of surprise:
"So fast?"
"Otherwise what?"
Lynn looked at the figures behind the glass wall,
"I'm a person of high efficiency, specializing in quick resolutions."
Hanging up the phone, he walked back the way he came. In the stairwell, that mosquito he hadn't managed to swat earlier was still buzzing by his ear.
"Look at you,"
Lynn talked to the mosquito while walking,
"not swatting you just now was leaving you a way out.
Now, go wherever you like, stop following me."
The mosquito buzzed twice and flew away.
Lynn walked out of the sugar factory gate, and the edge of the sky was already tinged with a streak of fish-belly white. The morning breeze in the outskirts of Bangkok, carrying a hint of coolness from grass, trees, and dew, blew away the smell of disinfectant on his body.
He stood by the roadside and glanced back at the rusty factory building.
Chapter 23 High-Altitude Work
The flight from Bangkok to Washington took off at 11:00 PM.
There were not many people in first class, and the lights were dimmed to a yellowish glow.
The airflow blowing out from the air conditioning vents carried a dry scent mixed with airline food and perfume; it wasn't heavy, but it lingered persistently at the tip of the nose.
Lynn sat by the window, with a barely touched glass of champagne in front of him, and dialed Tony's number.
It rang twice before being answered, and Tony's voice carried the hollow echo characteristic of a soundproof laboratory room:
"What time is it over there?"
"Early morning."
Lynn said,
"Are you in the lab?"
"Yeah, working on some stuff."
In the background noise on Tony's end was the buzzing sound of a welding torch,
"The Washington address you asked me to check has some leads. That string of internal codes follows S.H.I.E.L.D.'s format, but it's not from a public department; it's one of their'Special Projects' branches, with a security clearance level so high that even Pepper couldn't check it."
"Guessed as much."
Lynn looked at the pitch-black night sky outside the window,
"There's a rat inside S.H.I.E.L.D."
"A rat?"
Tony's voice paused for a moment,
"You mean—"
"Don't ask what I mean for now."
Lynn interrupted him,
"I'm just asking you, has that one-eyed Director looked for you?"
The other end of the phone fell silent for two seconds, and then Tony let out a short laugh:
"You mean Fury? That Egghead?"
He added,
"Damn it, wearing a black eyepatch every day acting all mysterious, suddenly ran into my lab yesterday and talked to me about how the 'World needs more heroes like this'. I said I wasn't interested, and he left, leaving behind the phrase 'You'll change your mind'."
"He's right."
Lynn said,
"Sooner or later, you'll change your mind."
"Whose side are you on?"
Tony was dissatisfied,
"I'm your biological brother, after all."
"I'm on the side where you stay alive."
Lynn said,
"Tony, that pool of water at S.H.I.E.L.D. is deeper than you think. That Egghead Director holds way more things in his hands than you can imagine. When dealing with him, keep your guard up and don't spill everything out."
Tony fell silent on the other end for a few seconds, and the sound of the welding torch stopped:
"...What you said doesn't sound like you're chatting with me about the Director, but rather cautioning me to be on guard against him."
"It's not being on guard against him."
Lynn said,
"It's being on guard against the things behind him."
"Fine then."
Tony didn't probe further,
"When are you coming back? I have an appointment with that Egghead tomorrow afternoon to meet at his 'headquarters'. If you're free, want to go together?"
"Tomorrow afternoon I should be in Washington."
Lynn glanced at his watch,
"After I finish my business, I'll come find you."
"Alright."
Tony said,
"Then—hanging up?"
"Yeah."
"Right,"
Tony suddenly added, his voice carrying a hint of gossip,
"Is there anyone good-looking on that flight next to you?"
"..."
"Consider I didn't ask." Tony chuckled and hung up.
Lynn looked at the darkened screen, cursed a "psycho", and put away his phone.
Right at this moment, that familiar "ding" sounded in his mind.
[Ding! Wheel King template has completed 'extreme environment' actual combat verification and is officially upgraded!]
[Upgrade direction: 'ultimate stamina' → 'charismatic magnetic field'.]
[New passive: 'Heartthrob', the host's natural attraction to the opposite sex is greatly enhanced, and the initial favorability value is maxed out. Affinity, sense of mystery, and hormone index are comprehensively upgraded.]
[Special rule: This effect has no side effects, no mental control, and does not distort others' wills; it simply makes people more willing to get close to you, and for the rest, it all depends on the host's personal charm.]
[Friendly reminder: With great charm comes great responsibility. Please use it reasonably, host, and don't commit crimes; this system also cares about its reputation.]
"..."
Lynn looked at the pitch-black clouds outside the window and remained silent for two seconds,
"System, for your next upgrade, can you give a heads-up beforehand?"
[A sense of surprise is also part of charm.]
The system said, [This system values a sense of ritual.]
Lynn couldn't be bothered to care, and just as he was about to close his eyes, a fragrant breeze drifted over.
"Sir, would you like a refill?"
Lynn looked up. A flight attendant was standing by the aisle, pushing a service cart and looking at him with a slight bend at the waist.
Black uniform, hair bunned up, facial features not breathtaking, but winning in a neat temperament, eyes curved when smiling, carrying a just-right friendliness.
The name tag read: Mia.
When she bent down to pour the wine, her movements were very professional, but the gleam in the depths of her eyes couldn't be hidden. She took an extra look at him, as if hooked by something, and before she even realized it, her gaze lingered on his face for an extra second.
"I can have another glass of champagne."
Lynn said.
"Just a moment."
Mia's technique was steady; opening the bottle and pouring the wine was done in one smooth motion. She handed the cup over, her fingertips brushing against the back of his hand, lingering for a moment.
A very light touch, as if unintentional, yet seemingly deliberate.
Lynn raised his eyes to look at her. Her face still wore that professional smile, but her heartbeat had sped up by two beats, something she probably hadn't even noticed herself.
"Mia."
Lynn took the glass, whispered her name once,
"How long have you been flying this route?"
"Three years."
She straightened up, reverting to a strictly business look,
"If the sir has any other needs, feel free to press the call button."
"Where is the restroom?"
Lynn asked.
"At the tail of the plane, turn left."
Mia pointed the direction,
"At this hour, nobody should be using it."
She pushed the cart and continued walking forward. After taking a few steps, she turned back to look once more. That glance carried an indescribable meaning, as if she was struggling with herself, and in the end she still couldn't hold back.
Lynn held his champagne, watched her retreating figure, slowly finished the wine in his cup, stood up, and walked towards the tail of the plane.
The restroom at the tail had its door half-open.
Just as Lynn walked up to the door, it opened a crack from the inside, and a hand reached out, grabbed his collar, and yanked him inside.
The door locked behind him with a "click".
The restroom was very narrow; the two people squeezed inside could touch the walls on both sides with their elbows.
In the mirror above the sink, the closely pressed figures of the two were reflected.
The light overhead was yellowish and buzzing, and the roar of the engines outside came muffled through a thin layer of metal plate, like some distant drumbeat.
Mia pressed him against the door, looked up at him, her breathing somewhat disordered:
"I know you noticed me."
"You noticed me too."
Lynn looked down at her,
"In a place like this, aren't you afraid?"
"Afraid of what?"
She reached out, unbuttoned the collar of her uniform, her voice dropping lower,
"In these three years, having flown this route hundreds of times, this is the first time I've encountered a passenger like you."
"A passenger like me, what kind?"
"Hard to say." She stood on tiptoe, kissed him, and vaguely added,
"It's just... inexplicably wanting to get close to you, like I've been put under a spell."
Her kiss carried a hint of clumsy urgency, but her hands were more honest than her mouth, already going to undo the buttons of his shirt.
Lynn was pressed into the cramped space, his back resting against the edge of the sink, yet he didn't dodge; he reached out to clasp her waist, pulling her into his embrace.
Inside the restroom, that tiny space was only enough for two people to press against each other; any slightly larger movement would cause them to bump into the walls.
She bit his shoulder, suppressing her voice, her breathing rapid and chaotic, while the engine roar outside became the best cover.
"You..."
She panted, saying in his ear,
"How can a person like you..."
"How what?"
"How can you be so enduring."
She said in a hoarse voice,
"I thought... in a place like this, it would be very fast."
"Very fast?"
Lynn chuckled, "Then you just haven't met me yet."
The Wheel King's ability was displayed to the fullest in such a cramped and narrow space.
No matter how intense the movements were, his physical strength remained a smooth, steady straight line, while she was pushed to the crest of the waves over and over again, falling back down, only to be pushed back up again—over and over, seemingly without end.
Her nails sank into his back, her lips bitten pale, and no matter how low she suppressed her voice, she couldn't hide that trembling:
"...You, what did you grow up eating?"
"Drinking dew."
Lynn's voice pressed against her earlobe,
"Do you want to taste it?"
"...Shut up." She buried her face into the crook of his neck, her entire body trembling,
"If you keep going like this, I'm really going to—"
Before she could finish her sentence, a broadcast suddenly came from outside, with a flight attendant announcing the upcoming arrival information in standard English.
Mia's body stiffened for a second, then softened again, cursing in a suppressed voice:
"...Damn it."
"Don't worry."
Lynn's voice carried a hint of a smile,
"At this hour, nobody is coming to use the restroom."
She didn't speak anymore, only burying her face deeper, her fingertips tightening on his back, as if wanting to stretch this period of time out a bit longer, and then a bit longer.
[(Omitted here.)]
When she finally recovered, the mirror reflected her reddish eye corners and disheveled hair strands.
She leaned against the sink, panting for a long while, before finding her voice again, hoarse beyond recognition:
"You... really are..."
"Well, I am the Wheel King."
Lynn reached out and helped her tidy up her messed-up hair,
"Once it starts spinning, it can't stop."
"...Who gave you that nickname?"
"I bestowed it upon myself."
She was choked up by him for a moment, lowered her head to tidy her uniform, buttoning it up piece by piece with movements much more nimble than when unbuttoning,
showing the recovery resilience trained by her profession. After finishing tidying up, she smoothed her hair in front of the mirror,
and reverted to that professional flight attendant look, though the corners of her eyes still carried a lingering flush.
"I should go back."
She pulled the door open, poked her head out to look outside, confirmed nobody was there, and looked back at him,
"You..."
"Hmm?"
"You..."
She paused, and inexplicably added,
"I will remember you."
The door closed, and the footsteps faded away.
Lynn leaned against the edge of the sink, listening to the roar of the engines, and recovered for a while.
In his mind, that annoying "ding" of the system sounded again.
[Warm reminder: The 'Heartthrob' passive has taken effect. The host's actual combat data just now has been faithfully recorded by this system—the other party's favorability has been boosted from 'love at first sight' to 'unforgettable'.]
"...You monitor even this?"
Lynn looked at the ceiling,
"Are you that idle?"
[This system focuses on data closed-loop.]
The system said,
[In addition, a friendly reminder—although a charismatic magnetic field is great, if the other party is sincere, please... weigh it yourself, host.]
Lynn didn't reply.
The plane pierced through the clouds, the night sky outside the window brightened little by little, and a trace of white appeared on the distant horizon.
Washington was almost here.
He walked back to his seat, glanced out the window, and lowered his head to check his phone.
On the screen was a message sent by Tony:
[Tomorrow afternoon, Washington, S.H.I.E.L.D.headquarters. I've arranged it with Egghead to bring you along. Don't be late.]
Lynn looked at that message, glanced once more at the increasingly close horizon in the distance, and put his phone into his pocket.
Washington D.C., S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, DirectorEgghead, and that uncheckable special project code.
Chapter 23: See You Again, Hill
Washington, S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Level B1 Reception Room.
Nick Fury sat at the head of the long table, his single eye inscrutable in the dim light.
A person stood beside him.
Short hair, dark suit, standing straight like a shadow.
Maria Hill.
When Lynn entered, his gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second.
Hill saw him too, with little expression on her face, save for her fingers resting at her sides curling ever so slightly.
Fury raised his eyes, swept a glance over him and then at Tony, and spoke:
"Sit."
The two sat down.
Fury didn't beat around the bush and got straight to the point:
"Leon Stark. Rescuing people in Afghanistan, the Singapore docks, the Bangkok laboratory—"
"You've done more in three months than one of my field teams does in a year. S.H.I.E.L.D. needs people like you."
"Are you here to hand out an offer?"
Lynn leaned back against the back of his chair.
"You could put it that way."
Fury said, "You don't need to join the roster; just occasionally run some errands for me. Name your price."
"Then I'll be direct."
Lynn sat straight up, "First, tell me: what does that untraceable special project branch of S.H.I.E.L.D. do?"
Fury's single eye stared at him for a few seconds.
Beside him, Hill's gaze also fell on Lynn's face with an indescribable meaning.
"There's a string of internal S.H.I.E.L.D. codes in the data drive from the Bangkok laboratory."
Lynn added, "The security clearance level is frighteningly high. I had someone verify the format."
Fury was silent for a few seconds, stood up, pressed a button on the wall, and an encrypted file popped up on the large screen.
A blurred silhouette of a person in the photo, with a line of text: Codename—Winter Soldier.
"This is the winter soldier program."
Fury said, "The technical source of the laboratory you wiped out, traced back three generations, can be traced right back to its roots.
I've been investigating this project for ten years. Ten years ago, the clues broke once, and the place where they broke points to the inside of Stark Industries."
In the reception room, the air froze.
Tony's hand holding his coffee stopped mid-air.
Hill's gaze shifted from the screen back to Lynn's face.
"What did you say?"
Tony's voice sank.
"The last piece of research data your father, Howard Stark, contacted before his death is highly consistent with the technical route of the winter soldier program."
Fury said, "As for what the truth is, it depends on whether you are willing to keep digging."
Lynn didn't answer, looked at Fury, glanced at Hill beside him, and slowly stood up:
"What if I'm not willing?"
"Up to you."
Fury said.
"Who is the person in charge of that special project branch?"
"Alexander Pierce."
Fury's voice was flat, "Former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D."
Lynn turned and walked out.
When he reached the door, he stopped without looking back:
"Tony, you chat first. I'll have a quick word with Deputy Commander Hill."
Tony looked at him, then at Hill, opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing and walked out first.
The door closed.
There were only three people left in the reception room.
Fury's single eye circled between Lynn and Hill, looking as if he understood something.
For once, he didn't speak, but simply picked up the folder on the table, stood up, walked toward the side door, and left a sentence:
"You guys chat. The coffee machine downstairs is not bad, and by the way, Hill, see him out."
The side door closed.
The reception room fell quiet.
Hill stood in place, looked at him, and spoke after a few seconds:
"You've got some nerve, asking out the Director's deputy right in front of him."
"I didn't ask you out," Lynn said, "I said 'have a quick word'."
"What is there to talk about?"
"About you."
Lynn stepped closer, "Last time at 1608, you said 'let's settle accounts again'. Where do we stand on that account?"
Hill's eyelashes fluttered, and the touch of official detachment on her face cracked a seam:
"...Can't you ever talk like a normal person?"
"I've always been direct."
Lynn looked down at her, "What about you? Are you free tonight?"
Hill looked at him for a few seconds, suddenly turned her head away, her voice lowering a bit:
"Wait for me downstairs. Twenty minutes after I hand over what's on my hands."
"Alright."
Lynn turned to walk out, stopped at the door, turned back and added, "Right, I don't like your Director's coffee. Could you bring me a bottle of whiskey on your way up?"
"...Do you think this is your house?"
"Pretty much."
Lynn pulled open the door, and the cold air from the corridor poured in.
"As for me, wherever I go is home."
An hour later, the top floor of a hotel in Washington.
The room's curtains were undrawn, and the city lights outside covered the entire expanse.
Hill stood by the window, holding a glass of whiskey, the ice cubes clinking against the glass rim.
She had already changed into casual clothes, her short hair neat.
Having shed that suit, she looked much more relaxed overall.
"You brought me here," she didn't turn back, "just to look at the night view?"
"What else?"
Lynn leaned against the foot of the bed, "I thought you wanted to continue settling accounts."
Hill turned around, leaned against the windowsill, looked at him, and suddenly smiled:
"Fine. Then tonight—"
She put down her glass, walked over, hooked her fingertips into his collar, her voice lowering:
"You said last time that you are the type who fears a war of attrition the least. Tonight, I want to test how much of that statement is true."
"Go ahead and try."
Lynn looked down at her, "Anyway, I'm not losing out."
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, with a hint of petulance.
The two tumbled clumsily into the bed, pressing messy wrinkles into the sheets.
Her movements were more open than that night at the Four Seasons Hotel, as if all the emotions she had bottled up along the way were poured out all at once.
Lynn's fingertips slid down her spine, able to feel every inch of her body's response.
He suddenly remembered something: after the Wheel Kingupgraded, the system had prompted a new passive, which he hadn't had time to test yet.
"...Don't move."
He suddenly whispered in her ear.
"What is it?"
She was kissing his Adam's apple, and gave a vague response.
"Testing a new move."
Lynn's voice carried a hint of a smile, "The system just taught me."
"What new—"
Before she could finish her sentence, her whole body suddenly stiffened, and a short, irrepressible gasp spilled from her throat.
Then she slammed her grip onto his shoulders, her voice trembling beyond recognition:
"You... what did you just—"
"Took a turn."
Lynn's voice carried an innocent naughtiness, "Taught by the system, specializing in catching people off guard."
"...You guy—"
She was panting heavily, her fingers tightening on his back, "Just how many messy tricks like this do you have?"
"Plenty."
He chuckled softly, "Tonight, you can test them slowly."
The lights outside the window streaked into blurred blurs of light across the glass.
Time and again he pushed her to the crest of the waves, and time and again he led her turning in unexpected directions.
Every time she thought she had figured out the pattern, the next moment she would run into a brand new turn.
By the end, she was almost drained of strength, buried her face in the pillow, and cursed him with a hoarse voice:
"If you're going to drive, why are you drifting?"
"As an experienced driver," Lynn's voice pressed against her earlobe, "it's all about cornering technique. Mount Akina, ever heard of it?"
"...Shut up."
She pressed the pillow against her face, her voice muffled, "If you take another turn, I'm going to get mad at you—"
"Then should I turn or not?"
"...Turn."
She muttered a muffled curse, "Turn away, I admit defeat."
(Omitted here.)
In the latter half of the night, she was completely out of energy, lying on her side with her back to him, her breathing still uneven.
Lynn leaned against the head of the bed, watching the lights outside gradually fade into silence, his fingertips absentmindedly twisting the corner of the quilt.
In his mind, that punchable "ding" of the system rang out again.
[Detected that the Wheel King's new passive 'Autonomous Cornering' has completed its debut—data recorded, satisfaction rate 100%.]
[Also: Detected that the host's current emotional fluctuation value is relatively high, suspected of triggering the 'moral crisis' mechanism. This system kindly suggests: initiating the'Since I've been reborn, I want it all' plan.]
"...You even manage this?"
Lynn cursed inwardly.
[This system specializes in psychological counseling.]
The system said, [Besides, Host, there are already four women around you. At this rate, you'll run into each other on some occasion sooner or later, and how do you plan to handle it?]
Lynn didn't answer.
He was indeed thinking about this matter.
Hill, Natasha, Ivy, Mia... Four women spanning S.H.I.E.L.D., the modeling circle, and civil aviation.
Hill and Natasha are both in the S.H.I.E.L.D. system, one a deputy Commander, the other a top Agent. If they happen to run into each other on a mission one day and start chatting—
"That picture is too beautiful, I dare not imagine it."
He muttered in a low voice.
[So, what does the Host plan to do?] the system asked.
Lynn was silent for a few seconds, looking at the pitch-black night sky outside the window, and suddenly smiled:
"Why think so much about it?"
"Since I've been reborn, why still agonize over this?"
"I want it all."
[Alrighty.]
The system said, ['Scumbag' achievement unlocked, one badge awarded.]
"Get lost."
He closed his eyes and was about to sleep when Hill's voice suddenly drifted over from beside him, heavy with sleep and slurred:
"...What were you muttering to yourself just now?"
"Chanting scriptures."
Lynn said, "Achieving transcendence for myself."
"Psycho."
She rolled over, leaned closer to his side, her voice growing lighter and lighter, "...Remember to wake me up tomorrow. I have a meeting at eight."
"Mn."
"And," she paused, her voice barely audible, "that cornering thing... let's try it again sometime."
Lynn couldn't help but chuckle.
Chapter 24 Anyway, It's Already Late
6:00 AM, Washington, top floor.
Hill was sleeping soundly, lying on her side with half her face buried in the pillow, breathing evenly, her whole body sinking into the mattress without the slightest sign of waking up.
Lynn woke up, turned his head sideways, and watched her for a moment.
The sleeping Hill was a completely different person from the capable and efficient S.H.I.E.L.D. Deputy Commanderduring the day.
Her brows were relaxed, and the corners of her mouth still carried a slightly uncurled angle, as if she were having a not-so-bad dream.
The quilt slipped down to her waist, exposing half of her shoulder.
He leaned closer, pressing against her back without waking her.
Hill slept heavily without any reaction, her breathing remaining just as even.
Then he moved.
A very slight movement.
She frowned slightly, and a muffled, dream-like nasal sound spilled from her throat, as if she had bumped into something in her sleep, her body responding before her consciousness did.
She still didn't wake up.
Her eyes were closed, but her breathing became erratic, changing from even to intermittent, and a faint flush rose on her cheeks.
Her fingers unconsciously gripped the corner of the pillow, her fingertips slowly tightening, then relaxing, then tightening again.
Lynn didn't stop.
Hill frowned in her sleep, letting out a low, husky, and confused hum.
It was as if an unfamiliar feeling surged up within her body, dragging her deeper into the dream, or as if someone was calling her in her dream, making her want to wake up yet reluctant to do so.
Her consciousness floated between sleep and wakefulness, like a leaf falling into deep water, sinking a section, then being lifted up by something, over and over again.
"...Mm..."
She let out another muffled sound, her brows furrowing tighter, as if trying to distinguish something but unable to.
Then, she probably found an explanation for herself in her dream.
Her brows gradually relaxed, the flush on her cheeks deepened, her breathing became rapid and chaotic, and her whole body unconsciously leaned closer to him,
as if chasing something even in her sleep.
Lynn lowered his head, looking at her sleeping profile, his voice dropping very low:
"Having a good dream?"
Hill didn't answer.
She gave a soft "Mm" in her sleep, as if responding to his words,
or perhaps just an unconscious moan.
Her eyelashes trembled, as if about to wake up, yet dragged down deeper by something.
She probably thought all of this was a dream.
A long, chaotic, and breathless wet dream.
Her body was more honest than when she was awake.
In the dream, she had no defenses, no airs of a Deputy Commander, and no concept of time regarding "having a meeting tomorrow," leaving only the most instinctive reactions.
She clutched the corner of the pillow, her voice suppressed in her throat, spilling out intermittently, her brows frowning and relaxing, as if struggling in the dream, or sinking into it.
Lynn's hand slid down her waistline, his voice close to her earlobe with a hint of mischief:
"Wake up? Or keep sleeping?"
Hill gave a vague "Mm," not knowing whether she was answering or hadn't heard at all.
She shrank into his arms, sleeping heavily yet restlessly, her brows furrowing and relaxing by turns, as if being chased by someone in her dream, or chasing someone else in her dream.
Halfway through, she sleepily turned over to face him directly, her eyes still closed, her lips slightly parted, her breathing rapid and hot.
Her fingers unconsciously clutched his arm, like a drowning person grasping a piece of driftwood.
Seeing her like this, Lynn couldn't help chuckling, lowering his voice even further:
"Are you... thinking you're dreaming?"
Hill didn't answer.
She gave another "Mm" in her sleep, this time with a hint of a cry, as if she had been bullied too hard in the dream,
wanting to wake up but unable to, wanting to hide but unable to escape.
Right at this moment, she finally woke up.
She opened her eyes abruptly—her eyes still filled with lingering sleepiness and confusion, as if forcibly dragged up from deep water, her entire mind blank.
She looked at the ceiling, blinked once, blinked again, and slowly realized what had happened.
Her pupils shrank violently.
"...You—"
Her voice was terribly hoarse, but she was already completely awake,
"When did you—"
"While I was asleep, you..."
"You were asleep,"
Lynn said,
"I was afraid of waking you up and disturbing your sleep."
"...Bullshit!"
She glared at him, furious and annoyed, a lingering flush still on her face,
"Just now you—"
"I dreamed—"
"And it turned out to be real!"
"What did you dream about?"
Lynn asked with an innocent face.
"None of your business what I dreamed about!"
Midway through her scolding, her voice changed pitch again, the rest of her words stuck in her throat, and only a short, hurried muffled grunt squeezed out from her nasal cavity.
She bit her lip, trying to prop up her body, but her arms turned weak, collapsing halfway back down, and she could only turn her head to glare at him, her eyes moist with water, furious yet helpless against him.
"You wait,"
she panted as she made a fierce threat,
"When I recover, I'm not letting you off!"
"Fine."
Lynn said,
"I'll wait. Anyway, before you recover, I can still make a few more rounds."
"...You!"
She was completely awake, and her body was completely let go.
Everything that followed unfolded chaotically amidst her curses of "I'm not letting you off" and her irrepressible gasps.
The daylight outside the window grew brighter bit by bit.
The sheets were rubbed into a mess, and her breathing went from suppressed to out of control, then from out of control to exhaustion, cycling through several rounds.
Midway, she reached out with difficulty to grab the phone on the nightstand, checked the time, and her voice went out of pitch:
"...It's 7:40."
"Mm."
Lynn said,
"There's still time."
"Time my ass!"
She panted,
"If I wash up, change clothes, and rush to headquarters, the fastest it will take is—"
"Then don't go."
Lynn said.
"...What did you say?"
"I said, don't go."
He lowered his head to look at her. "Anyway, you're already late. What's the difference between being late for a bit longer and being late for the whole morning?"
Hill glared at him for a long while, then suddenly cursed:
"..., you're right."
She reached out, threw the phone back onto the nightstand, turned over, and lay flat again with a reckless attitude:
"Whatever, I'm not going. Let it be what it will be."
"That's right."
Lynn said, "Work can be late, but happiness cannot be missed."
"...You rhyme pretty well."
"That's for sure."
This round, without the concept of time weighing her down, she completely let go.
She figured out his rhythm more or less, and began learning to anticipate, exerting force ahead of time when he was about to turn, pressing him back down, and smiling triumphantly:
"I've caught you this time, haven't I?"
"You've got me."
Lynn let her press him down, his voice carrying a smile,
"So what's next?"
She was stunned for a moment.
She had been so focused on "catching him" that she hadn't really thought about what to do after catching him.
"...I don't know."
She said,
"Anyway, I won't let you move."
"Alright."
Lynn said leisurely,
"Then you come. Let me see how long you can last."
As a result, she lasted less than five minutes before being pressed back down by him with a counter-maneuver.
Furious, she bit his shoulder, couldn't help laughing, half-laughing and half-panting, until finally only intermittent curses and muffled sounds stuck in her throat remained.
The Sun climbed higher, and the light through the curtain gap changed from grayish-white to golden.
When she finally had no strength left, collapsed on the bed, and felt too tired to even move a finger, it was almost 11:00.
Lying prone on the bed with her face buried in the pillow, her voice was hoarsely unrecognizable:
"...What time is it?"
"Eleven."
Lynn leaned against the head of the bed, glanced at his phone,
"Still early."
"Early my ass."
She cursed muffledly,
"My meeting was at eight, and now it's eleven."
"Do I count as being truant or late?"
"Count it as taking leave due to physical malaise."
"...You ask for leave on my behalf? Who do you think you are?"
"Your man."
Lynn said,
"You have a man now, do you still need a reason to ask for leave?"
Hill was choked by this sentence and didn't speak for a long time, finally burying her face into the pillow and cursing muffledly:
"Pervert."
After a while, as if she had finally recovered a bit, she turned over, lay on her side to look at him, and suddenly asked:
"Just now—"
"When I was asleep, did you..."
"Yes."
Lynn admitted it very readily.
"...Aren't you afraid I'd wake up in the middle of the night and kick you out of bed?"
"You didn't wake up, did you."
Lynn said,
"Sleeping like a little pig, never woke up the whole time."
Hill glared at him for a long while, cursing between anger and amusement:
"...You just wait, this isn't over."
As she spoke, she reached out to grab the phone on the nightstand, turned it on, and the screen lit up with a bunch of missed calls and messages.
She glanced at it, turned it off without changing her expression, and threw it back:
"Alright, time for a nap."
"You're not going back this afternoon?"
"We'll talk about the afternoon later."
She wrapped herself tightly in the quilt, closed her eyes,
"Anyway, I'm already truant, a little while longer doesn't matter."
The room quieted down.
Lynn lay for a while, seeing that she had fallen soundly asleep, then picked up his own phone, walked to the window, and dialed Tony's number.
It rang twice and connected. Tony's voice carried a bit of muddle, as if he had just woken up:
"...Damn it, early in the morning—"
"It's noon."
Lynn said,
"Did you stay up late again last night?"
"Working on that Winter Soldier file until four in the morning."
Tony yawned,
"I'm telling you, this thing is a bit spooky."
"I had someone dig deep into it; the research data your dad had back then isn't just simply matching the technological route of the 'winter soldier program'."
"Inside it, there's a repeatedly encrypted note that took me half the night to decode."
"What did the note say?"
"A single sentence."
"'If something happens to me one day, don't investigate. Some accounts cannot be settled in the open.'"
The hand holding the phone tightened slightly.
"And."
Tony continued,
"That text message you received yesterday said that on December 16, 1991, someone deleted Dad's file."
"I checked further down this thread—"
"The person who deleted the file wasn't an outsider."
"Then who is it?"
"It's an insider from Stark Industries."
Tony said,
"They used our own permissions and went through our own backdoor."
"In other words—"
"In the month after Dad died, someone took the key to Stark Industries, entered the server, deleted his file, and then retreated unscathed without leaving any trace."
Lynn didn't reply. The sunlight outside the window fell on the windowsill, glaringly white.
"Lynn?"
Tony's voice carried a bit of worry,
"Are you listening?"
"Listening."
Lynn said,
"Did you check that deletion record and finally locate which account it was?"
"Checked it."
Tony said,
"But that account was deregistered even cleaner than the file."
"I only found one name:"
"An old employee who retired long ago, named William Strauss."
"William Strauss."
Lynn repeated the name,
"Where is he now?"
"After retirement, he moved to California, living out his old age in Santa Monica."
Tony said,
"What, you're going to find him?"
"Mm."
Lynn said,
"I'll go meet him."
"You're going alone?"
Tony's voice carried a bit of unease,
"How about I go with you—"
"You stay in Washington."
Lynn interrupted him,
"Keep an eye on S.H.I.E.L.D. On Dad's side, I'll investigate."
The other end of the phone fell silent for a few seconds, Tony's voice sounding a bit complicated:
"...Alright. Then be careful. Call me if anything happens."
"Mm."
"Right."
Tony suddenly added,
"How come your side sounds so quiet? Are you alone?"
"Mm."
Lynn replied with an unblinking face,
"Alone."
"You expect a ghost to believe that."
Tony said,
"I heard a woman turning over on your side."
"..."
"Fine, fine, fine, pretend I didn't ask."
Tony chuckled,
"Hang up, take care of yourself—don't overwork yourself."
The phone hung up.
Looking at the darkened screen, Lynn cursed "This old fox,"
put the phone into his pocket, and looked back at the bed.
Hill turned over, the quilt slipped to her waist, sleeping heavily with steady breathing.
He walked over, pulled the quilt up for her, covering her shoulders.
The sunlight outside the window was just right.
California, Santa Monica.
William Strauss.
Standing by the window, he looked at the Washingtonskyline and narrowed his eyes.
Chapter 25 Retirement Life in Santa Monica
Landing in Los Angeles, Lynn rented a car at the airport.
The car rental clerk glanced at his driver's license, then at his face, and was overly enthusiastic:
"Sir, would you consider upgrading to a convertible? This is California, after all; not getting a convertible is like never having been here."
"A convertible is fine."
Lynn said, "But I have a question."
"Is the navigation system here reliable?"
"Reliable, standard equipment, real-time traffic conditions."
"That'll do."
He drove that convertible and got stuck in traffic on the Los Angeles highway for forty minutes.
The navigation was a sweet female voice with a standard Californian accent, and she didn't stop all the way: "Congestion ahead, estimated travel time..."
"...probably, maybe, possibly, fifteen minutes."
"..."
Lynn patted the center console screen,
"Are you playing Schrödinger's fifteen minutes with me here? If you keep this up, I'll get out and run over myself."
The navigation ignored him.
Santa Monica, a seaside town.
William Strauss's retirement home,
an old man wearing a floral shirt and a straw hat was squatting and watering plants. Hearing the sound of the car, he straightened his waist and squinted over.
"Who are you looking for?"
His tone was indifferent.
"William Strauss?"
Lynn got out of the car,
"I am Leon Stark."
The old man's hand holding the watering can paused for a moment.
"...Stark."
He repeated the surname, his eyes changing slightly before quickly returning to that Sun-drenched, lazy look,
"Howard's son? You've grown up so much. Come in and sit, it's too sunny at the door."
The room smelled of old furniture and Sun-baked cotton cloth, and a few yellowed old photos hung on the wall.
Strauss poured him a glass of lemonade, sat down in his rocking chair, and rocked slowly, not speaking for a long time.
Lynn wasn't in a hurry to speak either. He picked up the lemonade, took a sip, put it down, and got straight to the point:
"On December 16, 1991, someone used Stark Industries' authority to delete my father's files."
"I investigated for three days, and in the end, that account traced back to you."
The rocking chair stopped for a moment.
Strauss looked out the window. After a long time, he spoke, his voice a few shades heavier than before:
"Are you here to call me to account?"
"No."
Lynn said,
"I am here to get some clarity."
"Clarity on what?"
"What exactly was my father doing back then?"
Strauss fell silent. The room was so quiet that the ticking of the wall clock could be heard, and the shadows of the bougainvillea outside the window fell on the floor, swaying in the wind.
"Your father,"
Strauss finally spoke, his voice lowering,
"is the smartest person I've ever seen. Smart to the point that... there are some things he shouldn't have touched once he saw them."
"What things?"
"winter soldier program."
Strauss said,
"Back in 1991, a department approached him and said they wanted to collaborate on a project."
"Your father went a few times, and after he came back, he was a completely changed man."
"He started moving materials home, locked them in the Underground Room, and wouldn't let anyone touch them."
"And then?"
"Later, he got into that car accident."
Strauss's voice was very flat,
"The day after the car accident, someone found me and asked me to delete those materials, saying it was 'for the safety of the Stark Family'. I believed them."
"Who found you?"
Strauss's hand clenched on his knees, then loosened:
"A man in a black suit who spoke very officially. He didn't leave a name. But I remember his eyes—"
He paused, lowering his voice even further, "That eye... was so cold it didn't seem human."
One-eyed.
Lynn's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't show it on his face, and continued to ask:
"What else did he say?"
"[Delete it clean, just pretend it never happened.]"
He said,
Strauss swallowed,
"[Otherwise, the next person to get into a car accident will be you.]"
The room fell silent again.
Right at this moment, Lynn's phone buzzed.
He looked down and saw a message from his assistant:
[Boss, there are people on the perimeter of the address you pinned. Three cars have been parked for an hour. Nobody got out, but the windows are rolled down, and there are cameras.]
Someone was watching Strauss.
Lynn put his phone back into his pocket, keeping a calm expression, and stood up:
"Mr. Strauss, over all these years, have you ever felt like you were being watched?"
Strauss was stunned for a moment, then gave a bitter smile:
"Not really. I'm just a retired old man, why would anyone watch me?"
"That's good."
Lynn said,
"I came today just to confirm one thing—"
"That file you deleted, did you secretly keep a backup afterward?"
Strauss's eyelids twitched.
"...How did you know?"
He lowered his voice,
"I kept one. Before deleting it, I secretly copied one and hid it in my late wife's old safe. The key—"
Before he finished speaking, a harsh screech of brakes came from outside.
Immediately followed by the sound of car doors opening and closing. More than one car.
Lynn's Spider-Sense pierced into the back of his head like a needle.
He turned his head to look out the window.
Three black SUVs were parked at the entrance, and seven or eight people in black suits were walking towards this side.
The leader was carrying a briefcase, looking like he was here to talk business.
"Mr. Strauss,"
Lynn said in a low voice,
"What you said just now is probably about to come true."
Strauss's face turned pale in a flash.
"That safe, where is the key?"
"...My wife's dresser, the second drawer."
"Go get it."
Lynn said,
"Once you get it, leave through the back door and don't look back."
"You alone?"
"What's wrong with being alone?"
Lynn looked at the figures walking closer and closer outside the window,
"Specializing in soloing."
"There are several of them—"
"Then it's one against eight."
Lynn turned back and grinned at him,
"Rest assured, I am best at defeating the many with the few. Too cool, you get it?"
Strauss:
"..."
Outside the door, a knock sounded.
Very polite, three knocks, neither light nor heavy.
Lynn opened the door.
The leading man outside the door, dressed in a sharp suit, wore a professional smile on his face:
"Hello, we are looking for Mr. William Strauss, to talk about—"
"He's not here."
Lynn interrupted him,
"I'm here to water the plants. By the way, let me pass along a message for you."
He paused,
"[Delete it clean, just pretend it never happened]—which of you taught them to say that?"
The leading man's smile froze for a split second.
"...Who are you?"
"Who I am is not important."
Lynn stepped forward,
"What's important is—"
"That 'the next person to get into a car accident will be you' line is fine for scaring a retired old man. Trying to scare me? Not quite enough."
The leading man's face sank completely, and he gave a look behind him.
Several men in black stepped forward simultaneously, some already reaching for their backsides.
Lynn pulled the door shut with a backhand motion and walked out to meet them.
The first punch took down the closest person.
The second person threw a punch; he sidestepped to let it pass, grabbed the opponent's wrist with a backhand, gave it a twist, and the person dropped to their knees.
The third just drew a pistol when Lynn was already in front of him, chopping down on his wrist with the edge of his hand. The gun flew out of his hand, spun twice in mid-air, was caught by Lynn, and was pressed against the man's chest.
"Pulling a gun?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow,
"Now this is getting boring."
The leading man stepped back two paces, pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket, and shouted something into it.
Before his voice fell, two more cars turned the corner, engines roaring, tires crushing the lawn as they rushed over, smashing directly through the courtyard gate.
Lynn looked at those two cars and tutted:
"You even brought reinforcements? This array of yours is enough to throw me a welcome party."
The car doors opened, and more people poured out.
Lynn stood in place, watching the gathering shadows, stretched his neck slightly, and spoke unhurriedly:
"Everyone, let me say this in advance—"
"As for me, I don't have many other advantages, except that my physical stamina is exceptionally good."
"Long-lasting, understand? With you coming in waves like this, I'm not scared at all; instead, I'm afraid you guys will collapse from exhaustion first."
"...What the fuck did you say?"
The leading man thought he was bluffing.
"I said,"
Lynn stepped forward,
"You can take turns coming up, or come together. Anyway, in the end, the ones lying down will definitely be you."
"As for me, I specialize in 'you sing your part, I take the stage, and I never leave the arena'."
The leader's face turned green, and he waved his hand:
"Get him!"
The ensuing scene looked like it had been pressed on fast-forward.
Lynn's body possessed the physique of Captain America—
peak human physical fitness, full neurological reflexes, coupled with Spider-Man's ultimate agility and Spider-Sense.
The siege of seven or eight people was all in slow motion in his eyes:
Whose fist arrived first, where whose leg would kick, who was going to draw a gun, who was backing up and wanting to run—
Everything was seen crystal clear, dodging half a beat ahead of time.
He took people down like tightening screws on an assembly line, one after another, crisp and neat.
Someone made a sneak attack from behind; he delivered a back elbow, and the person clutched his stomach and curled up.
Someone tried to grab his legs; he lifted his knee and drove it into the man's chin. Someone finally pulled out a gun, but before he had time to aim, his wrist was caught and twisted, the gun dropped, and he dropped to his knees.
The entire process was ridiculously fast, and ridiculously clean.
In less than two minutes, a crowd of people lay all over the courtyard entrance, groans rising one after another.
Only the leading man remained standing in place, his face pale, his briefcase dropped to the ground without him even knowing when.
Lynn rolled his wrists, standing amidst the fallen figures, and looked down at his watch:
"Two minutes and eleven seconds. A bit slower than I thought."
"The quality of you lot is frankly mediocre."
He walked over, bent down, picked up the briefcase from the leading man's feet, and opened it.
Inside were a stack of documents and a voice recorder. He flipped through them, put them back as they were, and patted the man's face:
"I say, your boss sent you to silence me, and you didn't even bring a decent action plan? Just relying on sheer numbers to charge blindly?"
He paused,
"I would call this—"
"Large quantity, filling portions, but questionable quality."
The leading man stood in place, looking at his subordinates lying all over the yard, then looking at Lynn, his Adam's apple moving as he couldn't say a single word.
"Take your people and get lost."
Lynn shoved the briefcase back into his arms,
"By the way, go back and tell your boss—"
"This old tree of William Strauss, from today on, is under my protection. If anyone dares to touch him again, I don't mind visiting in person to chat with him about those four words: 'the winter soldier program'."
The leading man stood in place, his face turning from blue to white, ultimately not daring to move again. He gritted his teeth, turned around, and waved his hand.
The cars drove away dejectedly.
Lynn stood at the courtyard gate, watching the taillights disappear around the street corner, let out a breath, and turned around. Strauss was peering through the gap in the back door, sticking half his head out with a ghostly expression.
"...You,"
The old man opened his mouth,
"You alone, took them all—"
"Took all what?"
Lynn walked back,
"Just stretched my muscles a bit. As for me, I have great stamina and can handle a toss-around."
"You call that stretching your muscles?"
Strauss swallowed,
"In the blink of an eye, a whole bunch of people were lying on the ground."
"Exaggerating."
Lynn said,
"At most, it counts as being pretty good at fighting."
Strauss didn't answer, just looked at him with a "you think I'm blind" look. After a long while, he turned and walked back into the house, muttering as he walked:
"...How did Howard's son turn out to be such a freak."
The backup in the safe was an old hard drive.
When Strauss handed the hard drive to Lynn, his hands were still shaking:
"This is the only copy. Inside, not only are your father's files, but also the cooperation documents submitted by that department back then—"
"And the signer is none other than—"
"Who is it?"
Strauss fell silent for a moment, as if rolling the name over his lips several times before finally spitting it out:
"Alexander Pierce."
Lynn grasped the hard drive, his fingertips tightening slightly.
Pierce.
The "former Director" in Fury's mouth.
The winter soldier program, Howard's death, the deleted files, the one-eyed man's threats... All the threads converged on this name for the first time.
"Mr. Strauss,"
Lynn put away the hard drive and looked at him, "Thank you. From now on, you are safe."
The old man waved his hand, didn't speak, and turned into the house, his back hunched,
as if the burden of half a lifetime had finally been lifted a little bit.
Lynn stood at the courtyard gate, the sea breeze blowing over carrying the fragrance of bougainvillea.
He looked down at the hard drive in his hand, then looked up into the distance.
Pierce.
Washington, S.H.I.E.L.D., former Director.
"Interesting."
He said in a low voice,
"This game of chess... is getting bigger and bigger."