Chapter 21: The Crimson Shadow
Adam stared at the screen, a digital mission log glowing in the darkness of his safe house. The words, [Main Mission: Infiltrate the Crimson Shadow. Reward: ???], pulsed with an ominous green light, a color he was starting to associate with "this is probably going to get me killed." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he'd perfected in a previous life as a nervous kid in high school. The multiverse was a chaotic place, full of magic, super-soldiers, and a surprising number of people who thought a good villain name was just two adjectives slapped together. "The Crimson Shadow"? Really? That was like a villain from a '90s cartoon. It didn't even make sense. Was it a shadow that was crimson? Or was it a crimson-colored person who was shadowy? The possibilities were endless, and equally ridiculous.
"So, what do we know about this 'Crimson Shadow'?" Skye asked, her fingers flying across her keyboard, a blur of motion and efficiency. She was a natural hacker, a tech genius who could probably have run a major corporation if she wasn't so busy saving the world with a bunch of misfits. She was also, to his unending internal agony, a total knockout. He had a crush so bad he was pretty sure it was visible from space.
"Not a lot," Adam admitted, leaning back in his chair. "I did a quick deep dive on the dark web, ran a few cross-references with some old S.H.I.E.L.D. files I 'borrowed,' and came up with… bupkis. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. It's like they don't exist."
Frank Castle grunted from his corner, where he was sharpening a combat knife with the kind of zen focus usually reserved for Buddhist monks. "That means they're good. Or they're ghosts."
"Or they're just really, really bad at social media," Luis chimed in, leaning over the table. "I mean, who doesn't have a 'Crimson Shadow' Instagram account? 'Just took over a small shipping port, #crimsonshadow #bosslife #nomoreheros.' See? It's easy."
Scott Lang, meanwhile, was meticulously cleaning his Ant-Man suit, a task he took very seriously. "Luis, I don't think bad guys use hashtags."
"Dude, have you seen the news? The bad guys are social media. You think Tony Stark wasn't showing off on Twitter every five minutes? It's a whole thing," Luis retorted, waving his hands for emphasis. "But my Clarity Gu tells me this isn't about social media. It's about a lack of information so perfect, it's a pattern. A negative space. Like, you know how a magician makes a lady disappear from a box? It's not magic, it's the lack of lady. It's the same thing here. We're looking at the empty box."
Adam nodded slowly, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Luis is right. For once. This isn't an organization that's good at hiding. It's an organization that was never meant to be found by conventional means. This isn't a job for our usual methods. No smashing things. No tech-hacking. This is a job for… a little bit of old-school sleuthing."
"So, what's the plan, boss?" Frank asked, his eyes meeting Adam's. Frank's trust was a hard-won thing, forged in fire and a shared understanding of a harsh reality. He was the kind of guy who didn't give compliments, but when he looked at you like that, you knew you had his respect. It was a hell of a feeling.
"We go to the source. The whispers. We hit the streets," Adam said, a sudden rush of adrenaline making his voice more confident. "We find the people who knew the Hydra agent we took down, the one who was our last mission. He might have been a small-time crook, but he was connected. I'll use my... well, I'll use my wit and charm. And Luis's gift for gab. And Frank's... very convincing glare."
"And what about us?" Scott asked, gesturing to himself and Skye.
"You two," Adam said, a plan forming in his mind, "are our backup. Our eyes and ears. We're going to put our money where our mouth is. Or rather, our Gu where our mouths are. Skye, I need you to create a fake identity for Luis and me. Something that screams 'we're shady but not too shady.' Luis, you're the face. You talk, I'll listen. Frank… you're the shadow. You watch, you wait. Be our safety net."
This is a bad idea. I know it's a bad idea. Every single movie I've ever seen about a 'stealth mission' ends with a firefight. It's a trope for a reason. And yet, here I am, about to walk into the belly of the beast, with a guy who can talk his way out of a traffic ticket and a man who is essentially a walking tank. What could possibly go wrong? My Plot Armor Gu is humming a low, anxious tune in my soul, which is either a sign that I'm in mortal danger or that I need to find a better soundtrack for my life. Probably both.
Skye's fingers blurred across the keyboard. A green loading bar filled the screen, and with a soft chime, a new identity was born. "Adam Stiels, meet… 'Tony Montana's less successful but more caffeinated nephew,' Adam Stinson. And Luis, you are now… 'Enrique, the guy who knows a guy.' The names are terrible, but the backstories are airtight. I've given you a fake criminal record, some bank accounts with just enough cash to look legit, and a few contacts in the criminal underworld who won't ask too many questions."
Luis grinned, adjusting a fake mustache Skye had given him for the disguise. "Enrique, huh? I like it. Has a ring to it. 'Hey, want a guy who knows a guy? I'm your guy. And I know a guy who knows another guy.' It's perfect."
They found their first lead in a dingy bar in the city's less-than-reputable underbelly. The kind of place where the air was a thick mix of stale beer and desperation. A man named "Slick" Sam, a former Hydra goon who'd been 'reformed' by a few well-placed beatings from a guy named Frank, was their target.
Luis, with his fake identity and his Clarity Gu working overtime, sauntered up to Slick Sam. He started talking, a whirlwind of words, anecdotes, and half-truths that was mesmerizing to watch. The Clarity Gu allowed him to see the subconscious tells, the micro-expressions that revealed what Slick Sam really wanted.
"…and so I told him, I said, 'look, my guy, Enrique, he's a connoisseur. He doesn't want just any stolen antique. He wants the good stuff. The stuff that has a story. Like a story about a shadowy group of people who are so quiet, they're like… well, like a shadow,'" Luis said, gesturing to Adam, who was trying his best to look intimidating and failing miserably. He felt like he was playing a very serious game of make-believe, and he was the only one who didn't get the rules.
Slick Sam squinted at Adam. "Never seen you before."
Adam just gave him a slow, appraising look, trying to channel his inner Frank Castle. "That's the point," he said, his voice low.
Luis jumped in before Slick Sam could respond. "Exactly! My guy here, Adam, he's a ghost. He doesn't show up on radar, you know? He's the guy you want for the jobs you don't want to talk about. The quiet jobs. The shadowy jobs. Like, you ever hear of a group called the Crimson Shadow?"
Slick Sam's eyes widened just a fraction of an inch. A tiny, almost imperceptible flinch.
Gotcha. Luis's Gu is working. That little flinch? That's all we need. This guy knows something. Now we just need to get him to talk without Frank having to break his kneecaps. Which, believe me, is an option that is currently being considered by Frank, who I can see out of the corner of my eye, lurking in a dark booth and radiating pure, unadulterated menace. He's like a walking 'no loitering' sign, but for bad guys.
Luis kept talking, his monologue flowing like a river. "So we're looking for them, you know, just for a little gig. Nothing big. Maybe a retrieval mission, a little data hack… you know the kind of stuff. And I heard… and this is just a whisper on the wind, you know, a rumor… that they used a warehouse down by the old docks. The one with the big red shipping container. I mean, what kind of criminal puts a big red shipping container in a warehouse they want to keep secret? That's like a neon sign that says 'stolen goods here.' It's a plan so dumb, it's brilliant. Like a sandwich with no meat."
Slick Sam's flinch this time was more pronounced. He glanced around the bar, his eyes darting to the big front window where Skye was sitting in a car, pretending to read a newspaper while her Techno Gu was probably listening to every word. Frank was still in the booth, a statue of quiet violence. Slick Sam swallowed hard.
"I… I don't know nothin' about that," he stammered, but his voice was trembling.
Luis gave a sad, theatrical sigh. "See, that's what I told my boss. I said, 'Slick Sam, he's a good guy. He's got a big heart, but he's not in the loop anymore.' A real shame. We were gonna offer a big reward, too."
He winked at Adam, and Adam, taking his cue, let his gaze harden. He looked at Slick Sam, his eyes boring into him. "I'm a very patient man," Adam said, his voice a low rumble. "I can wait. I can wait here, in this bar, for as long as it takes. Or I can find you at your house. With your… family. Your little… dog. Your car."
It was a bluff. Adam would never do that. But the man didn't know that. Slick Sam's face went pale. He broke.
"Okay, okay! I heard whispers, alright? About a warehouse. Not a data center. Not a base. A prison. A storage locker for something… or someone. And the people who run it… they're not called the Crimson Shadow. That's what they call the thing inside."
He slid a napkin with a scribbled address on it across the table. Luis expertly palmed it and slid it into his pocket. "Pleasure doing business with you, Sam," Luis said, his demeanor instantly shifting back to friendly.
As they walked out, Adam heard a new chime in his head.
[Side Mission: Discover the purpose of the Crimson Shadow. Complete! Reward: 50 Coins, New Gu blueprint.]
[Gu Blueprint Acquired: Information Broker Gu. Rank 1: Gu provides the user with an innate ability to read social cues and manipulate conversations to gain information. It can also enhance the user's memory for specific details.]
Adam felt a grin spread across his face. "Alright, boys. We've got a lead. And a new toy for Luis to play with."
As they got into the car, Skye looked at Adam, a serious expression on her face. "You know, threatening his family was a little… dark, even for you."
Adam just shrugged. "I've seen enough cop shows to know that the best way to get a guy to talk is to make him think you're Frank Castle. Sometimes you have to fake it 'til you make it. Besides," he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, "he doesn't have a dog. I checked the S.H.I.E.L.D. file."
Turns out, being a good guy in a bad-guy world is all about knowing when to act like a bad guy, and when to just be a lovable, sarcastic nerd. And in this case, I'd say I nailed it. Now, about that prison… I have a really, really bad feeling about this.
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