As if he had no patience for those lousy bosses who only talk big but never do a damn thing themselves—working their subordinates to death—Jack casually finished issuing his orders and began handling the affairs of the S.H.I.E.L.D. branch.
Once everything was properly arranged, Jack finally noticed something that caught his interest:
"To think Maria Hill actually led that bald bastard from the black ops faction to escape and then disappeared."
He clicked into the details and carefully reviewed the relevant reports.
In the surveillance footage, Hill was leading Hawkeye and more than a dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in a large-scale operation to rescue the leader of that black ops faction.
Judging from the site layout and operational details, Jack could tell at a glance that this group had clearly been preparing for this for a long time.
Especially that massive iron block weighing over twenty tons, specifically used to suppress Nick Fury—it had only been installed with the help of a helicopter.
The people at S.H.I.E.L.D. really had some balls. Even under these conditions, they still managed to pull off a surprise.
They had actually researched and developed new technology specifically for this operation.
Several agents were holding oddly shaped devices emitting a strange glow. They pressed them against the massive iron block and, with a forceful lift, slowly raised the absurdly heavy slab.
Next, Hawkeye carried the leader of the black ops faction on his back while Hill provided cover.
As for the unlucky bastards doing the heavy lifting, they stayed behind in the forest to cover the escape of the three.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk… what a waste," Jack muttered as he looked at the corpse of a S.H.I.E.L.D. female agent on the screen—now considerably heavier thanks to the newly arrived S.H.I.E.L.D. reinforcements. He couldn't help feeling a bit of regret.
"Tsk. Such a pretty, cute girl, and she just had to choose S.H.I.E.L.D.," he sighed. "What a way to throw your life away."
Afterward, according to HYDRA's powerful intelligence network, it was no surprise that the three escapees vanished without a trace.
"Tsk. That black guy really knows how to hide. Those safe houses weren't built for nothing."
Picking up the phone, Jack prepared to call Jasper Sitwell, the current head of the S.H.I.E.L.D. branch.
The phone was answered after just one ring.
"Commander, what are your orders?" Sitwell asked eagerly.
"For the next few days, reinforce the armory's defenses. One man every ten steps, a sentry every five. Rotate shifts every two hours so no one collapses from exhaustion."
"Everyone must show their face for a facial scan during handover. Only after confirmation can they fuck off and rest."
Sitwell replied immediately, "Yes, Commander."
Jack thought for a moment, then continued, "Are there two people named Fitz and Simmons in S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Commander, please wait a moment."
"Someone, check on Fitz and Simmons."
Soon, Sitwell replied.
"Commander, I've located them. Both are Level 3 agents, fairly new. They're currently conducting research at a S.H.I.E.L.D. research branch. Do you need—"
"No," Jack cut him off. "Capture them alive. Ignore everyone else. Just those two."
"And be careful. After you get them, strip them. Every damn stitch."
Sitwell nodded. "Understood. A woman will handle Simmons' clothes."
"Send them directly to me in Sokovia."
"Understood, Commander."
After hearing the dial tone, Sitwell lowered the phone and immediately barked orders.
"Prepare for a capture operation. Deploy fifty men—no, make it a hundred."
Soon, more than a hundred fully armed HYDRA elites boarded several quinjets and flew toward the distant research branch where Fitz and Simmons were stationed.
Completely unaware of what was coming, the two were preparing to head out with several colleagues for a late-night meal.
"Simmons, this Chinese restaurant is amazing," said Hank, the team lead. "You're way too thin. Keep skipping meals and you'll pass out mid-research."
Simmons shook her head. "I don't really have much appetite. Some nutritional supplements should be enough."
Fitz stood beside her, frowning at the menu written entirely in Chinese.
"Fitz, want a picture menu?" a colleague joked, handing him one. "You don't even know Chinese."
Fitz stubbornly refused. "No, Hank. I've already deciphered these two characters."
"I traced them back to their ancient forms and translated them."
"Look, I like fish, so I'll order this."
Hank looked awkwardly at the fish-flavored shredded pork Fitz was pointing at, resisting the urge to explain that there wasn't a single fucking fish in it.
But since Fitz kept rambling on with his analysis, Hank decided to let him learn the hard way.
"You see, you trace it like this, then this, then this—boom, that's 'fish.' And this third character means meat related to fish."
The other two female colleagues clapped, though they quietly ordered different dishes.
When the food arrived, the waiter placed the fish-flavored shredded pork in front of Fitz.
"Hank," Fitz asked, confused, "why did you give me this pile of red vegetables and shredded meat? And shouldn't the dishes be shared?"
With a smug grin, Hank replied, "This is the 'fish meat' you ordered."
Fitz stared at the plate. "The only thing this has in common with fish is that it came out of the same kitchen."
"Chinese culture is profound and extensive," Hank laughed. "Hahaha."
Fitz could only sit there, completely crushed, looking like someone had just metaphorically cut his cock off.
After the brief interlude, the final dish—Tomato Beef Brisket—was served, and everyone prepared to eat.
Simmons, who usually didn't care much about food, had wanted to taste the dishes as they arrived, but Hank had insisted on waiting.
"Alright, everyone, dig in," Hank said. "Take your food and move your chopsticks away—don't drag the whole plate in front of you." He pointed at one of the girls. "I'm talking to you, Meina. Put down the braised pork belly."
Meina reluctantly set the large bowl down.
Everyone began eating—those who could use chopsticks did, and the rest used cutlery.
"Bang!"
A sound every American grows up hearing echoed through the restaurant.
The group exchanged looks for less than half a second before instinctively preparing to run.
Then despair set in.
A large group of fully armed men stormed in through the front door, the back door, and even the kitchen.
What truly crushed them was the realization that these men were clearly here for them—and definitely not for the Asian international students eating next door.
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