Coulson yawned a big yawn, his mouth open wide like a toad swallowing an egg, almost dislocating his jaw.
"Damn it, I might really die suddenly."
He imagined the scene—the priest reading in a sorrowful tone: "Phil Coulson was a man free from low tastes, a great man, concerned with the comfort of all humanity, and at the same time, he was a good friend, a good colleague. He died from overwork; Coulson used his life to shout: Don't stay up late, staying up late is bad for your health, especially your kidney function…"
Below, suppressed laughter, "puffs" and "puffs," rose and fell, continuous, like a large-scale chain of farts.
The scene was too beautiful; just imagining it was enough to cause internal bleeding.
"Damn it, no, no, absolutely not! This will definitely make me the shame of Agents."
Coulson's face was contorted, causing the other Agents around him to instinctively back away.
"He's crazy, definitely crazy!"
"Mental breakdown."
"I heard he doesn't have a girlfriend, suppressed…"
The above were the guesses of the other Agents.
Grant was also there; he observed the surroundings, separated by a wire fence, not far away was the Guadalajara Airport. Their car was hidden in the green belt across the road.
"It's really strange. There's no combat objective, no combat plan, which isn't Coulson's style, and yet such a rough operation was approved in seconds. It must be related to that Mike. Who exactly is he?" If before it was the sensitivity of a HYDRA spy, now it was purely personal curiosity. He just didn't know the saying, "Curiosity killed the cat."
At this moment, the eavesdropping device monitoring the airport control tower transmitted voices; a private plane was requesting to land.
"Check this plane," Coulson instructed his subordinate.
The results quickly came out: the plane belonged to a prince from a certain oil-rich country. The application and materials looked fine on the surface, making it seem like a rich and bored prince coming for a vacation to experience the charm of U.S. beauties.
"Check equipment!"
The clicking sounds of guns being checked in the car rose and fell. After checking, a group of people had solemn expressions, ready to act at any moment, and then Coulson said: "Everyone, stand by. No matter what happens, no matter what strange phenomena you see, you are not allowed to act without my command, understand?"
Coulson's tone was extremely solemn, indicating the seriousness of the order, and it would have been perfect if he hadn't yawned after speaking.
…There was something he wanted to say, but he didn't know if he should; he'd even taken off his pants, and this is what he got?
"Understood!"
If there were objections, they could be raised on the spot. Otherwise, no matter what they thought, they were not allowed to be disobedient in action.
So, if you don't have a protagonist's halo and strength, it's best not to act like a lone hero, otherwise, you'll only ruin others' carefully prepared operations and kill your teammates.
As for the "strange phenomena" Coulson mentioned, no one asked. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s own duty was to investigate and resolve supernatural events. Most of the people had encountered things that science couldn't explain, so they wouldn't be as surprised as ordinary people.
Fifteen minutes later, a medium-sized private plane landed on the runway.
There were about twenty people on the plane, all fully armed, as if they wanted to hang two grenades under their crotches. Only the leader wore a men's suit and shirt.
Why emphasize men's?
Because the leader was a woman, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with short hair, and a look of ascetic coldness. She called herself Ares, an "Arbiter" of the High Table.
Ares was not tall, two heads shorter than the average height of the big men, but no one dared to disrespect her. The Arbiter represented the authority of the organization, responsible for dealing with internal traitors and external targets who violated the rules of the Continental Hotel.
As for the other armed personnel, they were divided into two small groups: Mutants and normal humans. They weren't hostile, but there was no communication between them throughout.
The other armed personnel looked at the two Mutants with displeasure.
It was normal.
Most of these armed personnel had been trained since childhood, experienced life and death on the battlefield, and endured countless hardships to develop their combat skills, and then… what did the Mutants do? They awakened with a whoosh and gained superpowers.
It was like modern martial artists' aversion to hot weapons: "I trained hard for ten years, through summer heat and winter cold, and then I get shot down by someone."
So annoying.
Ares turned a blind eye to the situation of both sides. She wasn't a community worker; she didn't care if they got along or not, as long as they completed the mission.
The crew opened the cabin door, and the elites protected Ares as she walked down the gangway.
"Something's wrong," Ares was very vigilant.
Logically, people from the North American branch of the Continental Hotel should have been at the airport to greet them and provide sufficient transportation.
Before she finished speaking, the armed personnel next to her raised their rifles, standing or half-crouching, aiming at the surroundings.
Ares looked at the luxury SUVs parked not far away, which should be the cars prepared by the North American branch.
Ares said to Bower, one of the Mutants: "Check the situation."
A blue glow immediately covered Bower's eyes, and he said: "People are in the cars, unconscious."
"Where are the enemies?"
"Didn't see them," Bower shook his head.
According to the intelligence provided by Winston, Bower's superpower was X-ray vision, with a range of within fifty meters.
So S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hiding place in the green belt was about a hundred meters from the airport. As for Mike… Bower's X-ray vision wasn't the Byakugan of the main family; he could only see through things, without a 360-degree view. Mike only needed to hide in Bower's blind spot.
"Something's wrong."
Grant, not far away, said the same thing as Ares. From his perspective, Ares and her group inexplicably became vigilant, as if there were invisible enemies around them.
At some point, a faint white mist appeared at the airport.
This mist was clearly not right either, Grant was certain, because the mist only enveloped Ares and her group. He just wasn't sure if the mist was created by Ares and her group, or if it came from an unknown enemy.
Grant glanced at his colleagues and found that they had the same confusion in their eyes, only Coulson was calm and collected, as if everything was under control.
Clearly, Coulson knew what was happening.
Grant thought of Mike.
In the blink of an eye, the faint white mist became extremely dense; people outside couldn't see inside, and people inside couldn't see their companions a meter away.
In one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s vehicles, the excited voices of a man and a woman suddenly came.
"Fitz, Fitz, calm down, please calm down, okay?" Coulson coaxed him like a child, "Simmons, make Fitz calm down, don't mess things up."
"Oh my God!" Jemma Simmons exclaimed: "There's special energy in the mist, with very high activity, it's almost like an extension of the human body."
…It seemed Coulson wasn't the only one who wasn't calm.
Fitz excitedly said: "Thermal detection, infrared, ultraviolet, ultrasound, X-rays, and all other detection methods are affected to varying degrees."
"Can it image?" Coulson asked.
"Yes."
"That's good," Coulson breathed a sigh of relief, indicating that there were ways to counteract this vision-interfering mist.