In the satellite footage, Mike was seen sprinting along the sidewalk.
Fury casually asked, "How long has this kid been running?"
Fitz replied seriously, "Twelve minutes and forty-five seconds."
Mike's running speed remained stable at five to six seconds per hundred meters, which for ordinary people would be like flying. However, this is the Marvel Universe, where there are so many non-ordinary people that news often reports individuals chasing after cars.
So Fury only complained, "This kid is really persistent."
"Yeah." Coulson looked melancholic and turned to glance at Clint.
Why are you looking at me? I'm also very persistent, alright... Hawkeye was entering middle age, a sensitive period, and Coulson's sympathetic glance almost made him explode.
Simmons, skilled in biochemistry, with Fitz as the main person doing things on-site, was there to do odd jobs and keep Fitz from being too nervous. Thus, she had the energy to pay attention to the conversations of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s core members.
"Is this how these legendary figures usually interact?" Simmons scratched her cheek, seemingly finding it different from what she imagined. But then she thought, if they really tried to be as cool as in novels and comics, would they even be able to live their lives?
At this moment, Fury suddenly asked Fitz, "This kid, Mike, isn't just running aimlessly, is he? Where is his destination, or rather, where is the battlefield he chose?"
Fitz brought up a map showing Mike's route.
"Central Park?" Fury guessed, being an expert in strategy and tactics himself.
"Yes, Director. From the movement analysis, it's 96.7% Central Park." If it were anyone else, they would probably be showering him with flattery like "Director's divine foresight, brilliant and mighty." Flattery might not always be useful, but it's cheap, so it's worth a try, as long as you don't mess up.
Fury, however, gave Fitz another look; 96% was fine, but how did he get the .7 after the decimal point?
This kid isn't trying to fool me, is he?
Fury blurted out, "Why choose Central Park? Is Corona Park not prestigious enough?"
Coulson said, "I think it's just closer."
Central Park is in downtown Manhattan, while Corona Park is in Flushing, Queens.
It was rush hour, and the traffic downtown was so jammed it was like ten days of constipation, with a whole bottle of laxative proving useless. The Black driver, however, was relatively calm; he turned up the stereo, cranked the volume, swayed to the rhythm, his Rap soul burning brightly.
"Look!" A Black taxi driver with dreadlocks suddenly pointed to the sidewalk, "Look quickly, someone's running incredibly fast, like they're flying, it's so cool~! I have to film this."
He took out his phone, and then saw a burly man in sunglasses suddenly dart out fifty meters ahead of the runner. He knelt on the ground, an RPG on his shoulder.
"Oh my God, this is insane." The Black man watched the Rocket propelled grenade with its fiery tail flying towards the runner, "Is it because he was speeding on the sidewalk?"
Thinking of this, the Black man felt a pang of guilt; today he had not only sped but also run a red light. Would there be a "Patriot" missile waiting for him ahead?
Boom!
A violent explosion occurred on the sidewalk. The Black man filmed the explosion scene, "This is great, my follower count will definitely exceed a thousand now." The earlier guilt vanished, and there was no panic in the face of the explosion.
In fact, apart from the drivers near the explosion, most other people nearby were calm. Some directly abandoned their cars to find cover, while others simply observed from inside their vehicles.
"Where's that cool guy?" The Black man didn't see the runner. "He didn't get blown to pieces, did he? How pitiful... Wait!"
The Black man rubbed his eyes and noticed something amiss—the burly man with the RPG was still kneeling on the ground, motionless. His chest was facing him, but why was he seeing the back of the man's head?
"His neck was twisted 180 degrees by someone?"
The Black man's blood ran cold, and he caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing at the end of the street.
Compared to the shoulder-mounted miniature missiles produced by Stark, the burly man's RPG was crudely made, of inferior material, exuding a cheap feel. The grenade it fired had an incredibly slow initial velocity; it would be a miracle if it hit Mike.
With a sudden dash, Mike dodged the grenade and simultaneously punched the burly man in the face with such force that his neck twisted 180 degrees.
The assassins initially ambushed near the supermarket were actually shaken off; it was too congested. The assassins who arrived later bought intelligence from a certain information broker and thus simply ambushed Mike along his route.
The RPG was just a minor interlude on Mike's path. Namo Gatling Bodhisattva, high-explosive grenades, flamethrowers... Mike experienced all of these firsthand. Regular weapons like rifles and pistols were hardly worth mentioning.
"Finally here." At an entrance to Central Park, Mike looked up at the starry sky. His Observation Haki wasn't enough to sense satellites, but he knew there must be military-grade satellites pointed at him, recording.
"I've been circling for so long, the evacuation should be mostly done by now."
Central Park's open hours are from 10 AM to 4 PM - 5:30 PM. At this time, apart from staff, there should be no idle people. However, in reality, many couples and influencers often sneak in to save on room fees and seek thrills, and there are also many homeless people. Mike lingered in the vicinity for half an hour, giving S.H.I.E.L.D. time to evacuate the park.
"Damn it!" Fury cursed, "If he had told us it was Central Park from the beginning, how could we possibly clear a park of over three hundred hectares in half an hour?"
Coulson said, "Mike seems to have a dislike for S.H.I.E.L.D."
Hawkeye: "Same here."
Fury roared, "Why? Did you withhold his mom's pension when she retired from the Bureau?"
Right, Mike's mom was a former S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, and she retired because she was tired of it, with the Bureau's approval and a large pension. So why does Mike dislike S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Fury glanced at Black Widow, "Mike is a playboy, you know?"
Black Widow showed no shame, "Can this mission reimburse my hotel expenses?"
To this, Fury was very generous, "Get lost!"
Isn't being satisfied enough?
Asking for more...
Too much!
"Is this... a polar bear?" Mike entered the park and came to the Arctic Circle exhibit at the zoo. The enclosure was quiet, with only Mike present. He and the polar bear stared at each other.
"Hello there." It was Mike's first time seeing a polar bear. Next time, he should come with Skye and Chloe. Chloe would surely like cute little penguins.
The polar bear slowly walked to the safety glass, stood on its hind legs, and pressed its front paws against the glass.
Suddenly, a human-like intelligence flashed in the polar bear's eyes, and its paw slammed violently against the safety glass, striking twice.
The first strike caused spiderweb-like cracks in the glass.
The second strike shattered the glass completely.
The polar bear dropped to all fours and charged at Mike, moving incredibly fast, contrary to its seemingly clumsy size.
What does it feel like to have a polar bear pounce on you from the front?
Mike wanted to say, the pressure was immense.