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S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reinforcements weren't anything like they were in the movies, where help arrived within minutes.
After all, their current location was one to two hours' drive from Los Angeles. Even if S.H.I.E.L.D. had mobilized immediately upon receiving Nick Fury's message and sped the whole way, the trip would still take at least an hour.
At this point in time, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't yet have luxurious rides like the Quinjet, allowing agents to fly wherever they pleased. Even the experimental model—the Quadjet—was still stationed inside the very air force base they were dealing with.
So Henry had plenty of time to finish roasting the deer legs and eat most of them. Then, together with the leftovers Katie didn't finish, he dug a pit some distance away and buried everything. After that, he put out the fire and restored the surroundings to their original state.
Of course, Henry didn't go to professional extremes—just a simple cleanup, leaving behind a few inconspicuous traces. If someone came to look, it wouldn't seem too unnatural.
Only after all that did the tardy S.H.I.E.L.D. reinforcements finally arrive.
If the two people inside the base had been calling for help in a life-or-death situation, then at this response speed, they'd already be dead to the point their bones could be used as drums.
Perhaps because S.H.I.E.L.D.'s vehicles were so uniform—all black SUVs instead of colorful UN-style ones—Barbara spotted the approaching convoy from afar. She stepped to the roadside and waved.
Henry whistled once, signaling Katie to get into the back seat of the stolen old car and wait there, so she wouldn't frighten anyone. Then he stood beside Barbara.
But the way those vehicles stopped was anything but friendly. They subtly blocked off possible escape routes, forming a loose encirclement around Barbara and Henry rather than simply pulling over.
Since this wasn't a military unit, there were no crisp salutes. Barbara simply greeted the first agent to step out—a refined-looking, bespectacled senior agent with graying hair.
"Sir. I'm intern agent Barbara Morse. Agent Fury instructed me to wait here."
Unfortunately, what Barbara thought was a show of loyalty was met instead with agents exiting their vehicles one after another, guns raised and aimed. Most remained silent, but one shouted loudly:
"Hands up! Don't move!"
"Sir, what is this about?" Barbara demanded in shock.
By contrast, Henry cooperatively raised his hands. Otherwise, the muzzles were practically about to poke his nose.
The senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent adjusted his glasses and said calmly,
"Barbara, you are suspected of colluding with a criminal and conspiring to flee. The evidence is standing right beside you.
"For now, I'm placing you both in restraints and detaining you here. Once we rescue Nicholas, we'll take you both away together. Someone, cuff them together."
With guns trained on them, Barbara had no choice but to submit. Her arms were wrenched behind her back, and she and Henry were handcuffed together, back to back, with steel cuffs.
They were then forced to sit down on the spot. The position wasn't completely immobilizing, but any movement would restrain the other person, making quick actions nearly impossible.
The commanding agent pointed at two people.
"You two stay behind and guard them. If they make any unusual moves, you are authorized to shoot on sight. The rest of you, get back in the cars—we still have to reinforce the base."
"Yes, sir," several voices responded as the agents boarded their vehicles. The replies weren't perfectly synchronized, but their movements were swift and decisive.
Soon, only two armed agents remained, one in front of and one behind Barbara and Henry, guarding them as they sat on the ground.
As the vehicles sped away, dust filled the air. The most disgruntled was Barbara. Spitting grit from her mouth, she cursed,
"Fuck, fuck! Fury, that idiot—what kind of goddamn reinforcements are these?!"
"Calm down, intern agent," said the younger guard facing her. Perhaps being more tolerant toward a pretty woman, he tried to advise her.
"If you maintain a good attitude, the superiors might go easy on you. Acting like this won't help."
"Fuck!" Barbara snapped. "I'm still an intern and already screwed up this badly. Do you think I still have any chance of staying in?"
Bang!
A sudden gunshot rang out. The young agent who'd been awkwardly chatting with Barbara stared in disbelief at the hole that had just opened in his body. Blood gushed like a fountain, unstoppable even as he pressed his hand against it. He collapsed, lifeless.
"No, you won't," said the agent who'd fired the shot—from Henry's side.
He gestured with his gun, ordering the two captives to stand up.
No matter how stunned she was, Barbara didn't dare challenge someone holding a gun. The man had just killed one of his own—would he hesitate to kill her?
Henry followed along, rising back to back with Barbara, struggling to his feet.
"So what now?" Henry asked calmly. "Going to kill us?"
"No. You're free to go," the agent replied, waving his gun dismissively, as if shooing away stray dogs. He made no move to remove their handcuffs—just told them to leave.
"What the—!"
Both Henry and Barbara weren't stupid.
Even in her shaken state, Barbara's mind worked fast—one of the reasons she'd later achieve such high standing.
Neither of them needed to think hard to understand the outcome of simply leaving. Whoever survived would get to define what "really happened" here.
Henry had already been hunted by S.H.I.E.L.D. for some inexplicable reason. If he actually fled now, that vague accusation would instantly become solid proof of guilt.
There was no way Henry would leave.
Barbara felt the same. If she were framed for murder and fleeing, even returning to school to work with her professor would become an impossible dream.
She bitterly regretted ever joining this damned organization—let alone trying to pull a man she liked into it, dreaming of working together inside S.H.I.E.L.D.
What the hell was I thinking?!
Barbara, overwhelmed by self-loathing, didn't notice that Henry behind her had already broken free of the handcuffs.
Done with pretending, Henry rolled his wrists as he walked toward the unconscious S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on the ground—still breathing, but likely doomed from massive blood loss.
The armed agent barked nervously,
"What are you doing?"
Though it sounded like a question, he didn't wait for an answer.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots struck Henry squarely—tearing through his clothes, but failing to harm him in the slightest.
Now the shooter knew something was very wrong. He muttered under his breath,
"Fuckin' Kryptonian…"
He swung his gun around, intending to deal with Barbara first.
But before he could act, Henry had already grabbed the fallen agent's weapon.
Two shots to the body. One to the head.
The would-be framer dropped dead.
The agent Henry killed reverted to his true form—a bald, green-skinned, pointy-eared creature, unmistakably nonhuman.
Barbara, who had witnessed everything, stood there utterly stunned
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