Agent Hand was like a cold, unyielding sword—tough, sharp, capable of cutting through problems that ordinary people couldn't solve. She was indomitable. Even when facing Nick Fury or Solomon, she stood her ground. A single death had done nothing to change her. Solomon had reforged this blade, equipping her with technology beyond S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reach and granting her unprecedented authority. She had become even sharper, even deadlier. The small brass badge she wore was a symbol of Solomon's absolute trust in her.
In her eyes, Coulson's team was too weak, having let Hydra agents slip through their fingers. This was something she could not tolerate—just as she couldn't tolerate the betrayal that had taken place at the base she once commanded. It was a stain that needed to be cleansed. She didn't know why her new superior valued Coulson's team so highly, but she knew Solomon must have his reasons. Hand was certain of it—because that was how she had been resurrected. Just like Nick Fury.
Victoria Hand felt that Solomon's way of doing things was almost identical to Fury's. Both were complete and utter practitioners of mysticism, and for a fleeting moment, she felt as though she were still in S.H.I.E.L.D.
The compartmentalized authority system and the fieldwork protocols—she had brought them all into the Eternal City. To Solomon, she was more than just an Agent Level 8 or a commander.
She planned to carry out this mission using her own authority.
She knew that by the time her new superior saw the report, the mission would already be completed. By then, not even he could criticize her actions, because Hand was confident in her ability to capture John Garrett perfectly and extract valuable information from him. As for Grant Ward, Hand believed he was better off dead. And she was absolutely certain this wasn't personal.
Now that she was part of a different organization, she had no intention of helping Coulson reclaim the Bus. Instead, she wanted to call in high-tech fighter jets from the Eternal City and launch a direct strike against Hydra. A full-scale bombardment would be even better.
However, neither Leopold Fitz nor Agent Coulson believed this wasn't personal. They wanted Grant Ward alive—at least for now. There was still too much they didn't understand about the Centipede Soldiers. This was the mission they had been assigned before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, and they were still carrying it out. No orders, no authority, always on the verge of being hunted—just like vigilantes.
And that was far from ideal.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s stringent regulations for field agents existed for a reason. Those cold and impersonal rules minimized unnecessary sacrifices and prevented intelligence leaks as much as possible.
In Hand's eyes, Coulson's team had completely abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protocols. Even a seasoned operative like Melinda May had been swayed by Coulson. Hand no longer believed they prioritized the mission.
They were no longer agents.
They were vigilantes. Undisciplined.
That was what Hand thought.
And yet, she also knew that only a team like this could foster unwavering loyalty. For a moment, she didn't know whether to envy them or despise them.
"I'll provide assistance, but not too much," she said, adjusting her glasses as she agreed to Coulson's terms. "There won't be too many casualties, but you must hand CyberTech over to me. I need to present this organization to Congress—of course, after I've cleaned it up. I have a cover identity, and I intend to make full use of it."
"Thank you for your help, Agent Hand." Coulson shook her hand gratefully. "I truly appreciate it. And please, pass my regards to Solomon."
"I will," she said impassively. "Because my new boss likes you a lot."
"I do like Agent Coulson," Solomon said. "Not just because the prophecy says he will save the world, but because I see in him a vibrant humanity and unparalleled loyalty. My dear, you and I both understand how important humanity is for those of us with long lifespans. Time erodes everything, including emotions. If I hadn't met you, I have no idea what kind of person I would have become… Probably a cold-blooded bastard."
"Who knew you could say such sappy things anytime you wanted?" A glint of amusement flashed in Bayonetta's eyes. Years of influence had shaped Solomon into someone she adored. This kind, yet powerful man was exactly the type she loved. Though the Supreme Sorcerer's teachings from his youth still lingered in his mind, the once-hostile young man she had first met had become a gentle fool who no longer kept secrets from her.
She knew about his multiple phones, knew about the peripheral organization he had established for Kamar-Taj, knew about his countless aircraft carriers and fighter jets. But she didn't particularly care about any of that. As she had said herself, she was a thorough homebody.
The life of a witch was already exciting enough. Now that her kind had been wiped out, neither she nor Jeanne had anywhere else they wished to go. Aside from killing angels—mainly to feed the demons and devils bound to their contracts, and to earn a little pay from Kamar-Taj—there wasn't much left for them to do.
"I know I wasn't born naturally. I've accepted that. And because of you all, I haven't lost my humanity. You, Jeanne, the Grandmaster, Athena—everything, all of you, are my anchors in the mortal world. Especially you. We understand each other. This is the best part of marriage—"
"Mmph." Solomon couldn't finish his sentence because Bayonetta had sealed his lips with hers.
"You ate fruit without calling me over," he pretended to grumble. "I can still taste it. That's not how a married couple should behave. We need to be honest with each other."
"You little brat! You care more about the fruit than the kiss?" Bayonetta laughed, patting her lover on the shoulder. "I'm waiting for you in bed. Don't be late. And remember to brush your teeth."
"I promise, I'll be there in ten minutes." Solomon set down the report, moving the parchment away from the hot desk lamp and tucking it into a folder alongside a tire shop advertisement and a New York state lottery ticket. He decided he didn't need to read any further—he trusted Agent Hand to handle things.
He kissed the soft, veil-covered skin of Bayonetta's stomach, feeling like he could drown in this moment.
"Or do you want to do it here?" Bayonetta teased, running her fingers through his hair. "Not exactly our tradition, but hey, it wouldn't be the first time."
"Impatient, aren't you?" she chuckled. "Now, go brush your teeth!"
"I will," Solomon murmured, his voice drifting as if he were sinking into a dream.
Bayonetta gently stroked the magus, feeling his warm breath against her skin.
"Alright, my love," she said. "It looks like you need some proper rest."
Solomon mumbled something incomprehensible, like a small creature drifting into deep sleep.
The witch smirked in satisfaction—she had him wrapped around her little finger. With the boldest love and the softest tenderness, she knew he would never leave her embrace.
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