Chapter 21: Director Egghead Nick Fury's Apprehension, Top-Secret S-Rank File
"Leave it to me, Officer." Natasha smiled slightly.
Her red hair traced an arc in the dim light.
Her black tactical leather boots stepped onto the carpet without producing even a trace of a rubbing sound.
She turned and walked into the shadow in the corner, the stealth electronic door sliding shut silently.
The Director's office once again became a sealed iron shell.
Fury stood in front of the huge holographic screen.
He did not move.
Only the rough sound of breathing rose and fell in the air.
On the screen in front of him, the footage of the man in White backhanding Green Goblin away was still looping.
One second. Two seconds. Reset.
The footage was very blurry.
This was imagery rescued from an ATM camera at the street corner whose screen had been shattered.
But under the frame-by-frame analysis of military-grade image restoration software,
the moment the man in White waved his hand, the air around his forearm was forcibly squeezed to produce a circle of white Mach rings.
Fury pulled open the leather office chair and sat down.
He picked up the black coffee on the desk.
The liquid had gone completely cold.
Sliding down his throat into his stomach, it was so sour and bitter that it made one want to vomit.
The black leather gloves holding the mug tightened slightly.
The leather squeezed, emitting a muffled creak.
Sixty tons.
This was the conservative starting data calculated by Hilland the technical department last night after staying up for four hours.
With just that casual backhand slap.
If it hit a person, not even a single complete bone fragment would be left behind.
Fury's back began to sweat.
Cold sweat slid down his spine against his shirt, bringing a chilly coldness.
He had seen Bruce Banner go berserk and had seen the blue glow of the Tesseract.
But this kind of pure physical strength that completely lacked energy fluctuations and defied all scientific logic made him feel extremely uneasy.
Fury put down the mug.
His thick index finger rested on the mechanical keyboard in front of him.
On the right side of the screen was Aaron Parker's personal file.
The boy in the photo had ordinary short hair and a lazy look in his eyes.
The security clearance level in the upper right corner of the file was a red letter "B".
Fury hit the backspace key.
The sound of the key pressing was sharply piercing in the quiet office.
The red "B" disappeared.
He heavily pressed the letter "S".
The screen instantly popped up a glaring yellow warning box.
[Insufficient clearance, Director-level biometric authentication required.]
Fury leaned his upper body forward, getting close to the scanning probe at the bottom of the screen.
A red laser beam swept across his intact left eye.
Beep.
[Authentication passed.]
The background color of the file page instantly changed from light blue to pure black, representing top-secret status.
The red "S" characters blinked against the black background.
Aaron Parker.
From this second on, his name completely disappeared from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mainframe.
Except for the Director himself, any Agent searching for this name would only see that the person did not exist.
Fury leaned back against the back of the chair.
He pulled out the encrypted USB flash drive from the computer interface and tucked it into the inner pocket of his trench coat.
The long breath in his chest was finally exhaled.
...
The next day.
New York's morning sunlight pierced through thin clouds, hitting the red brick outer walls of Midtown High School.
The corridor was filled with the banging sounds of iron lockers opening and closing.
The second-year science class classroom was as noisy as a vegetable market.
Aaron sat in the seat by the window in the back row.
He yawned, squeezing out a bit of physiological tears from the corners of his eyes.
Watching a movie until midnight last night, three girls on the leather sofa had a fight because of the plot between the male and female leads.
Mary Jane's popcorn was thrown everywhere.
Aaron could only run to the terrace in the end to hide and find peace.
He reached out and scratched the back of his neck twice.
Although the hoodie's tag had been cut off, the remaining hard thread ends still pricked his skin a bit.
A heavy, sticky sound of blowing noses came from beside him.
Peter Parker was slumped over his desk entirely.
In his hand, he clenched a crumpled ball of toilet paper, tightly pinching his red, frozen nose.
After blowing cold wind in the snow for half the night last night, his severe cold had completely broken out.
"Achoo!"
Peter suddenly sneezed.
The force was so great that the desk shook violently along with it, and the ruler in the pen holder dropped to the ground.
Aaron pushed the neutral pen on the desk toward his own side.
"With your lung capacity, it's a pity you don't go play the alto horn." Aaron propped his chin with one hand.
Peter rubbed his sore eyes, the whites of his eyes full of bloodshot veins.
"Don't mention it."
His voice carried a thick nasal tone, sounding muffled.
"I just came back from the infirmary."
Peter stuffed that ball of toilet paper into his desk drawer.
He grabbed an algebra book to cushion under his chin.
"There's a new school doctor at the school today. Old Smith retired, and they replaced him with a young woman."
Peter lowered his voice, moving his head closer to Aaron's side.
"She's too terrifying."
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't she prescribe you cold medicine?"
"She gave me two aspirins." Peter shuddered and rubbed his arm.
"But she stared at me. That look was like holding a scalpel and looking at a white mouse tied to an experimental table."
Peter swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
"And she was holding a form, flipping through the list of the entire second year of high school."
"She asked me a bunch of inexplicable questions. Whether I've been to any strange places recently, or if I feel any mutations happening to my body."
Saying this, Peter lowered his voice even more.
"I almost thought she knew about me getting bitten by a spider."
"As a result, she changed the subject and specifically asked me what kind of person the new transfer student in our class this semester is like."
Peter pointed at Aaron.
"Meaning you. She asked what you usually like to eat and if you have any weird habits."
Aaron looked at the blackboard.
The duty student in the front row was vigorously wiping off yesterday's writing on the board.
Chalk dust fluttered up and down in the pillars of sunlight.
He didn't speak.
His fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the desk twice.
"She said the Health Department has a new document stating that all transfer students coming from across states must undergo a comprehensive infectious disease screening."
Peter counted on his fingers.
"Blood draw, electrocardiogram, gene slice sampling."
Peter rolled his eyes.
"You tell me, how does a lousy high school infirmary have such advanced equipment? This isn't a physical exam at all, this is a background check."
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s movements were quite fast.
That one-eyed dragon Fury couldn't sit still after all, and sent an Agent to scout out the bottom line.
Aaron felt a little amused.
He wasn't panicked at all.
Blood draw?
With his current Steel Body, his muscle density could even withstand armor-piercing bullets from anti-materiel sniper rifles.
Ordinary medical blood collection needles would just snap into two halves if poked onto him.
As for the electrocardiogram.
As long as he controlled his blood supply a little, the heartbeat displayed on the instrument would be steadier than an eighty-year-old man's.
"I bet she's definitely an old spinster with psychological issues."
Peter was still chattering endlessly beside him.
"Although she looks not bad, the way she wears a white lab coat is just like a cold-blooded prison guard..."
Peter hadn't finished speaking.
Ring-ring—
The warning bell for class rang.
The sharp electric bell pierced through the corridor, drowning out the commotion in the classroom.
Students gathering in the aisle to chat ran quickly back to their seats.
The sound of chairs being pulled rang out in unison.
The ajar wooden board of the front door was pushed open.
The door hinge made a slight creaking sound.
A rhythmic sound of high heels stepped on the terrazzo floor of the classroom.
Clack, clack, clack.
The sound wasn't loud, but it inexplicably carried a sense of oppression.
The classroom gradually quieted down.
A woman walked in.
She was wearing a tight long white lab coat, unbuttoned.
Inside was a black silk shirt, fitting closely against her alluring curves.
A head of wine-red curly hair was casually draped over her shoulders.
Peter's jaw dropped with a clack.
He stared blankly at the podium, not even noticing that his nasal mucus was about to flow past his lips.
The red-haired woman stood by the podium.
She didn't look at the lesson plan.
Instead, she slightly raised her chin and scanned the classroom in a circle.
Finally.
Those deep green eyes crossed four rows of desks and locked onto Aaron sitting by the window in the back row with absolute precision.
Chapter 22: Black Widow Natasha's undercover infiltration, and Aaron's plan to outsmart them
The red-haired woman stood by the podium.
Her green eyes swept past four rows of desks, fixed tightly on Aaron's face.
The entire sophomore science class was dead silent.
The rustling sound of the wind blowing through the leaves outside the window could now be heard clearly.
The boy in the front row hung his mouth open, forgetting to breathe.
The neutral pen in his hand dropped onto the notebook, bleeding out a large patch of black ink.
The woman did not look at anyone else.
She was holding a plastic clipboard in her hand.
Her fingers were slender, and her nails were neatly trimmed and rounded, with no nail polish applied.
This pair of hands looked capable of skillfully wrapping bandages, and equally skillfully dislocating someone's jaw.
"Aaron Parker."
She spoke. Her voice was somewhat deep, carrying a slightly husky magnetism.
Bringing out a faint echo in the empty classroom.
Aaron leaned against the back of his chair.
He did not stand up immediately.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze meeting that pair of green eyes.
Super Hearing instinctively activated at this moment.
The heartbeats and breathing sounds of dozens of high school students in the classroom surged in like a tide.
Aaron skillfully filtered out these noises.
The focal point of his hearing, like an invisible probe, stabbed straight toward the red-haired woman on the podium.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her heartbeat was very slow. Only sixty beats per minute.
As steady as a precision machine with a pre-set program.
This was not the heart rate an ordinary school Doctorshould have. Facing the gaze of dozens of eyes, an ordinary person would always have slight fluctuations.
She had none at all.
Aaron's hearing continued to push inward.
Crossing her breathing, crossing the friction sound of her clothing fabric.
Stopping deep inside her right ear.
Bzzz——
A faint high-frequency noise floor.
That was the current sound of a military-grade micro bone-conduction communicator on standby.
An ordinary person's ear couldn't hear it even pressed against it, but in Aaron's ears, this sound was as clear as a summer mosquito.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s people.
Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff.
Aaron felt that clothing tag on the back of his neck pricking him again.
He reached out and scratched it twice.
There was no expression of surprise on his face.
On the contrary, he found this matter becoming interesting. That old fox Nick Fury couldn't help himself after all.
"I am Aaron."
He stood up.
The legs of the chair scraped a harsh friction sound across the terrazzo floor.
The hem of his hoodie pulled up a bit with his movement, revealing a section of gray cotton inner wear.
Natasha stepped off the podium in high heels.
Tap, tap, tap.
The rhythm of the heels hitting the ground was completely precise.
She carried a faint scent of medical alcohol on her body, underneath which hid a hint of an elusive, chilling fragrance.
She stopped in front of Aaron's desk.
The distance was less than half a meter.
"Infectious disease screening for transfer students from the city health bureau."
Natasha lowered her gaze, looking at Aaron's student-like face.
"Take your student ID and come with me to the infirmary to draw blood. Get a full physical examination."
Peter Parker, sitting nearby, turned his neck stiffly.
His severe cold's nasal congestion seemed to suddenly clear up.
His eyes widened like two copper bells.
He looked at the aloof and glamorous red-haired school Doctor, and then looked at his desk-mate with a casual expression all over his face.
His Adam's apple rolled up and down with difficulty.
Why?
Peter roared in his heart.
When he went to the infirmary, this woman coldly shoved two aspirin pills into his hands like interrogating a prisoner.
When Aaron went to the infirmary, it was a full physical examination? And the school Doctor came to invite him personally?
The huge sense of disparity made the little Spider almost bite his back molars to pieces.
The ball of tissue in his hand was squeezed to pieces, and the paper scraps fell onto his thighs.
His nose started turning sour again, and he fiercely drew in a breath of cold air, holding his runny nose back.
Aaron smiled.
A very ordinary, lazy smile belonging to a high school boy.
"Okay, Doctor."
He fished out his student ID from the desk drawer and stuffed it into his hoodie's pocket.
Going around the desk, he followed behind Natashatoward the front door of the classroom.
Before leaving, Aaron looked back at Peter.
Peter's face was flushed red, and he was randomly wiping his newly running nose with his sleeve.
His pair of eyes was filled with envy, jealousy, and hatred.
The hallway was empty.
During class time, the doors of all classrooms were tightly closed.
Only a few wisps of pale sunlight filtered in through the window at the end.
Natasha walked ahead.
Her pace was not fast.
The hem of her white lab coat swayed slightly as she walked.
Aaron followed two steps behind, hands shoved in his pockets.
He stared at Natasha's back.
This woman's disguise was truly very perfect.
When walking, she deliberately placed her center of gravity on her heels, making her high heels emit a muffled sound. Masking an Agent's instinct of walking on tiptoes and sneaking silently.
But her shoulders were too steady.
Both shoulders had no extra swaying during movement.
This was muscle memory ready to draw a gun or a knife at any time.
"Your physical examination report says that you have a slight anemia."
Natasha spoke suddenly.
She did not turn back. Her voice drifted in the empty hallway.
This was a probe.
Aaron yawned.
"Probably because I like playing video games all night."
He spouted nonsense casually.
"Besides, the cheese sandwiches in the school cafeteria are too terrible. I'd rather starve."
Natasha's pace did not pause.
"Picky eating is not good for high school students."
Her tone was flat, like a school Doctor who truly cared about students' health.
"Is your usual amount of exercise large? For example, running or playing basketball?"
"Not much." Aaron looked at the graffiti on the hallway wall.
"I usually sit in the stands during PE class."
This was the truth. He indeed only sat in the stands watching Peter get hit by basketballs.
The two turned a hallway corner.
This was the old teaching area of the school.
The wall paint was somewhat peeling, revealing the gray cement inside.
There was a damp musty smell in the air.
The infirmary was arranged at the end of the first floor of this building.
Usually very few students would run here.
Natasha walked to a wooden door painted with white paint.
The doorplate had three faded red characters reading "Infirmary".
She pushed open the door.
Rushing over was a heavy smell of iodophor and bleach water.
The room was not big.
Against the wall were two single iron-frame beds covered with white sheets.
In the middle was a desk.
On the table was a white enamel tray.
Scattered inside were a few medical scissors and tweezers.
Aaron walked in.
The soles of his shoes stepped on the green oilcloth floor, making a slight sticking sound.
The lighting in the room was very good.
Two huge glass windows faced the bushes outside.
Winter's sunlight shone unreservedly on the iron-frame beds.
Natasha followed into the room.
She did not walk towards the desk.
Instead, she stood behind the door.
Her hand grasped the door handle, pulling it back gently.
Click.
The sound of the brass latch popping out was exceptionally crisp in the quiet infirmary.
She locked the door from the inside.
Aaron stood in the center of the room.
He turned around, watching her actions.
On his face was still that casual expression.
"Does a physical exam still need the door locked, Doctor?" Aaron's tone carried a touch of just-right perplexity.
"This is to protect student privacy."
Natasha didn't even turn her head.
She released the door handle and walked straight toward those two bright glass windows.
Her fingers pinched the plastic pull cord of the blinds.
Giving it a hard yank downwards.
Rattle.
The white plastic blades rapidly flipped and closed.
The sunlight was forcibly cut off.
The light in the room instantly dimmed.
Only a few slender light spots leaking through the gaps of the blinds hit the green floor.
The sound of wind blowing leaves outside was also isolated by the thick glass.
The infirmary became a closed iron barrel.
Natasha walked to the desk.
She picked up the stethoscope in that white enamel tray.
The cold metal chestpiece gleamed under the incandescent light.
She wrapped the rubber tubing of the stethoscope around her right-hand fingers.
Turning around.
Facing Aaron.
On that originally serious and cold face, a smile suddenly bloomed.
Carrying a kind of dangerous, meaningful warmth.
Her red lips parted slightly.
Treading in high heels, she approached Aaron step by step.
Chapter 24: Piercing Natasha's Identity, Casually Opening a God-level Prediction Blind Box
Slap.
A dull sound of flesh colliding echoed in the infirmary.
Aaron's right hand was like a heavy-duty hydraulic iron clamp, tightly locking onto Natasha's wrist.
The two slender ulnae were squeezed together.
Natasha's breathing instantly stagnated.
Intense pain.
It felt like a red-hot steel nail had been driven directly into the gaps of her bones.
Her right hand went completely numb, and the miniature silicone scraper hidden in her fingertip dropped onto the floor with a click.
It rolled into the shadow under the desk.
She tried to pull her hand back.
It didn't budge an inch.
Aaron's fingers were like they were welded onto her wrist.
Natasha clenched her back teeth tightly, a strong metallic taste of blood rising in her mouth.
She had bitten the tip of her tongue.
Cold sweat instantly soaked the silk shirt on her back.
The laziness on Aaron's face vanished completely.
That disguise belonging to a high school student was casually torn to shreds by him.
He took a step forward.
The distance between the two shortened to a negative number. Aaron's chest was almost pressed against her white coat.
"Your hand cream smells too pungent."
Aaron lowered his head, his lips moving close to her ear.
His voice was lowered very much, carrying a hint of casual laziness.
"Agent Romanoff."
Natasha's spine suddenly stiffened.
That heart, which had originally been steady as an old dog and beat sixty times a minute, finally missed a huge beat the moment this name slipped out.
Blood surged frantically to her brain, and her ears were filled with the roaring sound of her heart beating wildly.
"You..."
She had just spat out a single word when she was interrupted by Aaron.
"Shh."
Aaron's breath beat against her auricle, feeling somewhat feverish.
"Your heart rate has exceeded one hundred twenty, Doctor. This certainly doesn't match your professionalism."
Natasha's left hand groped in the pocket of her white coat.
A high-concentration neurotoxin spray was hidden there.
Before her fingers could touch the metal cylinder.
Aaron's words were like a sharp scalpel, directly cutting open the secret she had hidden deep down.
"Didn't the Red Room teach you how to deal with men whose strength exceeds yours?"
Aaron watched the cold sweat seeping from her temples.
"Or, when you were dancing ballet in the snow of Stalingrad, did you freeze your brain?"
Natasha's entire body muscles completely stiffened.
In those aggressive green eyes, a genuine fear welled up for the first time.
Red Room.
Ballet.
Stalingrad.
These words were like bloody knives.
This was her darkest, most top-secret past before she was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D.
Even Nick Fury couldn't possibly know it in such detail. The files had long been destroyed in the fire in Siberia.
This high school student, this boy who was spouting nonsense about aliens selling shampoo a second ago.
actually stripped away her background completely clean, just like reading a newspaper.
A strong sense of detachment made her feel suffocated.
Her disguise was torn to shreds, and her psychological defense line collapsed with a crash.
At this very second when Natasha's brain fell into a brief crash.
Hum.
Deep within Aaron's mind, a crisp mechanical synthesized sound erupted.
[Ding!]
[Host detected to have completely shattered Black Widow's psychological defense line, drastically altering the character's mission destiny line.]
[World causality has deflected.]
[God-level Prediction blind box has been issued. Do you wish to open it?]
Aaron looked at the golden light screen popping up in front of his retina.
Suspended in the center of the light screen was a pure white blind box, its surface entwined with red and blue alternating spiderweb patterns.
"Open."
The white blind box did not explode.
It turned into countless fine nerve fibers, rushing directly into Aaron's glabella.
Piercing into the cerebral cortex.
[Reward acquired: God-level Prediction (Spider-Sense Ultimate Evolution Version).]
Buzz.
A strong sense of electric current rushed straight to his crown along his spine.
Aaron closed his eyes.
Deep within his brain, it felt as though a rusted iron door was violently blown open.
Massive amounts of information poured backward like a waterfall.
The World has changed.
When Aaron opened his eyes again, everything in the infirmary had slowed down.
In the column of light leaking through the gaps of the blinds, dust was floating slowly.
He could clearly see the falling trajectory of every single grain of dust.
Not only that.
He looked toward the white enamel tray on the desk.
A few pale red dashed lines automatically extended within his vision.
That was the trajectory of the tray's edge losing balance and about to slide off.
Three seconds later, the tray would fall to the ground.
He turned his head again to look at Natasha before him.
Because of intense pain and fear, the female Agent's shoulder muscles were experiencing minor spasms.
On Aaron's retina, three red phantom images immediately appeared.
The phantoms predicted Natasha's next three action options.
Left leg knee strike, lowering her head to bite her wrist, or... cutting off the tail to survive.
This wasn't the Spider-Man kind of spider-sense that could only perceive danger.
This was God-level Prediction.
As long as it was within the field of view, all physical movements and muscle exertions would be instantly calculated by the brain for their future trajectories.
He could even clearly see the future images from five seconds later.
This feeling of controlling everything was even more intoxicating than pure physical strength.
Aaron's fingers loosened by half a millimeter.
It was this half-millimeter gap.
Natasha's survival instinct as a top-tier Agent overrode the brain's fear.
She didn't go to touch the toxin spray in her pocket.
The red phantoms perfectly overlapped with her movements in Aaron's eyes.
Natasha clenched her teeth tightly.
Her right wrist suddenly flipped inward.
Facing Aaron's clamp-like grip, she forcibly twisted her own joints.
Snap.
A crisp sound of bone dislocation echoed in the infirmary.
In order to break free from the restraint, she unhesitatingly dislocated the base of her right thumb.
The intense pain caused the veins on her forehead to bulge.
The moment the bone deformed, the circumference of her wrist shrank by a circle.
Carrying full hands of cold sweat, she slipped out of Aaron's palm like a loach.
Her high heels slammed against the green oiled-core floor.
Natasha's whole person violently retreated backward.
Her back heavily crashed into the edge of the desk.
The white enamel tray was knocked over by her.
Clatter.
Medical scissors and tweezers scattered all over the floor, not differing by a fraction from the trajectory Aaron had predicted two seconds ago.
Natasha didn't look at the things on the ground.
Her left hand suddenly lifted the hem of her white coat.
A black tactical holster was strapped to the outside of her thigh.
Drawing the gun.
Chambering a round.
Raising her arm.
The whole movement took less than half a second.
This was muscle memory honed from countless brushes with life and death.
A black Glock 19 pistol was steadily held in her left hand.
The pitch-black muzzle lifted.
Directly crossing the half-meter distance.
With a bang, it tightly pressed against the pure white T-shirt at Aaron's heart position.
The barrel, carrying the lingering warmth of body temperature, pressed against his chest through the fabric.
Natasha held the gun with both hands.
Her dislocated right hand trembled as it rested on her left hand, assisting in stabilizing the gun body.
Her index finger hooked tightly onto the trigger, pressing down the first stage.
Her chest heaved violently, her breathing in complete disarray.
Wine-red curly hair was scattered across her forehead, soaked by cold sweat.
Her green eyes were filled with bloodshot veins.
Like a maddened female leopard.
The infirmary was filled with a strong smell of gunpowder and iodine.
The wall clock made ticking sounds.
Sunlight was blocked outside by the blinds.
Only a patch of light hit the black slide of the Glock pistol.
Natasha's fingers were trembling.
Not only because of the intense pain of her right thumb dislocation.
But even more because the young man in front of her was too bizarre.
She had already pressed the gun against the opponent's heart.
With a nine-millimeter bullet, as long as she pulled the trigger, she could blast the heart into a mass of rotten meat.
But Aaron didn't dodge.
He didn't even raise his hands.
He still maintained that lazy standing posture.
Both hands were tucked back into the pockets of his hoodie.
Lowering his head to look at the gun pressed against his chest.
His line of sight followed the barrel, slowly moving to Natasha's face covered in cold sweat.
Within his field of view.
The action structure of that Glock pistol turned into transparent blueprints.
The state of the firing pin, the arrangement of the bullets, were crystal clear.
The brain of God-level Prediction was frantically processing this information.
"Take your hands out."
Seeing him tucking his hands into his pockets, Natasha's nerves stretched to the absolute limit.
The muzzle pushed forward hard.
The T-shirt was pressed into a deep indentation.
"Doctor."
Aaron spoke up.
His voice sounded particularly clear in the enclosed infirmary.
"This is a school."
He looked at Natasha's whitening knuckles.
"The safety switch of the bolt isn't engaged. If you do this, it's very easy to misfire."
Natasha bit her lip hard.
"Answer my question," she barked sternly.
"Who sent you? HYDRA? Or the remnants of the KGB?"
Countless names of hostile organizations flashed through her mind.
Being able to check her past so clearly was definitely not something an ordinary person could accomplish.
Aaron chuckled softly.
He pulled his left hand out of his pocket.
Sticking out an index finger.
Slowly approaching the gun barrel in front of his chest.
"Don't move!" Natasha roared.
Her index finger continued to tighten, and the trigger had been pressed to the critical point.
The firing pin could strike at any moment.
Aaron's index finger rested on the black barrel.
The cold metal touch came over.
"Not only is your thumb dislocated."
Aaron looked at her.
"Your left hand holding the gun—your index finger suffered a penetrating injury three years ago. The nerves weren't sutured well."
The passive analysis of God-level Prediction stripped Natasha's physical state completely bare.
"Your trigger-pulling speed is slower by zero point one five seconds compared to your prime."
Natasha's breathing stagnated once again.
Even old injuries were known?
This was fundamentally not something an intelligence network could check.
"Who on earth are you..."
Natasha's voice finally couldn't help but carry a hint of a tremor.
She considered herself the best spy in the World.
But in front of Aaron, she felt like a naked baby.
Aaron's finger tapped lightly on the barrel.
"I'm just a high school student."
He withdrew his hand and patted the crease pressed into his chest by the barrel.
The class-ending bell outside the blinds suddenly rang.
The shrill electric bell pierced through the thick glass.
Messy footsteps and chatting sounds of students came from the corridor.
The dead silence in the infirmary was broken.
Natasha panted heavily, her fingers holding the gun too stiff to move.
The pitch-black muzzle still tightly pressed against Aaron's heart.
"Who on earth sent you?"
Chapter 25: The Widow Breaks Down, This Kid's Intelligence Network is Stronger than S.H.I.E.L.D.'s
"Who on earth sent you?"
Natasha's voice squeezed out from between her teeth.
The pitch-black muzzle pressed against Aaron's left chest.
The front sight of the 9mm Glock pistol pressed a deep depression into the White T-shirt.
The class-ending bell in the hallway was still ringing.
The banging sounds of students slapping the sheet-metal lockers passed through the wooden door into the infirmary.
Aaron didn't even blink an eyelid.
Lowering his head, his gaze penetrated the black polymer gun body.
The vision of God-level Prediction fully unfolded on his retina.
The internal structure of the firearm turned into a blue translucent wireframe diagram.
The recoil spring was compressed.
The firing pin was in the ready-to-fire state.
The brass bullets in the magazine were neatly stacked on the spring.
"Fifteen rounds."
Aaron spoke.
His voice, mixed in with the commotion of the hallway, was very calm.
Natasha's breathing paused for a second.
Her left hand holding the gun froze in mid-air.
"Full magazine."
Aaron's gaze swept down along the blue wireframe diagram.
"However, the primer of the topmost Parabellum bullet is a bit damp."
He raised his eyelids, looking at Natasha's face covered in cold sweat.
"Did your gun fall into the sink when you went out this morning? Or did S.H.I.E.L.D.'s armory leak?"
A chill suddenly surged up Natasha's back.
This Glock 19 was just checked out by her from the equipment department of the Triskelion headquarters two hours ago.
When she was disguising and changing clothes in the restroom, she did accidentally drop the magazine onto the wet sink.
She wiped the surface dry and shoved it straight back into the grip.
No one saw it.
It was absolutely impossible for anyone to see it.
This kid could even see through the damp primer inside the metal chamber?
A drop of cold sweat slid down Natasha's forehead.
Flowing into her left eye, making her eyeball sting with pain.
She didn't dare to blink.
"Cut out this psychological warfare."
She pushed the muzzle forward forcefully, tightening her finger on the trigger.
"No matter who you are, your flesh cannot stop a 9mm armor-piercing round."
In Aaron's eyes, a dazzling red dotted line extended from the barrel.
The dotted line passed through his T-shirt.
And hit the skin of his chest.
Then it bent at a thirty-five-degree acute angle, bounced back, and pointed straight at Natasha's right collarbone.
"You can try."
Aaron shifted his weight to his left foot, standing a little more comfortably.
"If the bullet hits me, it will bounce back at a thirty-five-degree angle."
He reached out and pointed at Natasha's shoulder.
"It will just shatter your right collarbone. Your dislocated thumb hasn't been set back yet; if you lose another arm, you'll only be able to use your left hand to hold chopsticks in the future."
Natasha's stomach felt like it had been stuffed with a piece of ice.
This madman spoke of being shot as if calculating the reflection angle of billiards.
He wasn't afraid of death.
Or rather, he didn't regard this gun as a weapon at all.
Right at this moment.
A faint current background noise sounded in Natasha's right ear.
The miniature bone-conduction earpiece connected.
Far away in Washington at the Triskelion building,
Nick Fury stared intently at Aaron on the screen through the stealth camera on Natasha's chest.
"Natasha! Don't listen to his nonsense!"
Fury's deep, rough roar traveled into her eardrum along the radio waves.
"Shoot! Hit his thigh! The technical department needs his blood sample for genetic comparison! Shoot immediately!"
Natasha took a deep breath.
Her left index finger suddenly pressed down on the trigger.
Before she could pull it all the way down,
Aaron touched his chin.
He turned his head sideways, his gaze crossing over Natasha's shoulder, as if looking at an invisible person.
"Stop shouting, Director Fury."
Natasha's fingers instantly stiffened.
The trigger stopped at the final millimeter before firing.
"The microphone background noise on your end is too loud."
Aaron looked at the air by Natasha's right ear.
"And you shouted too loudly, making my ears hurt from the vibration."
Inside the office,
The mug in Nick Fury's hand dropped onto the desktop with a clatter.
Black coffee spilled all over the desk and dripped onto the carpet along the edge of the table.
His single eye widened as if it was about to split open.
That high school student in the screen revealed a punchable smiling face directly towards the camera's direction.
"Impossible." Fury roared into the microphone.
"Natasha! Do you have a bug on you? Self-check immediately!"
Inside the infirmary,
Natasha's face was paler than the white lab coat.
There was no bug.
Before entering the door, she had just scanned her whole body with a miniature scanner, and even this room had undergone anti-surveillance treatment.
This kid didn't even carry a cell phone on him.
How did he hear it?
Mind reading? Or some kind of high-frequency signal interception mutant ability?
Aaron's Super Hearing captured the sound in the earpiece crystal clear.
Not only Fury's roar,
He even heard the sound of the coffee cup tipping over on Fury's side, as well as the anxious sound of fingers tapping on the desktop.
"Wipe it up quickly if the coffee spilled, Director."
Aaron put his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie.
"Your table-tapping frequency is twice as fast as just now."
He shook his head, his tone carrying thick mockery.
"With this kind of blood pressure skyrocketing speed, aren't you afraid of dying from a cerebral hemorrhage at your desk?"
The Glock pistol in Natasha's hand began to shake violently.
The black barrel rubbed against Aaron's T-shirt, making a soft rustling sound.
Her psychological defense line finally collapsed.
With a boom, not even a crumb was left.
In front of this high school student,
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s proud S-Rank encrypted communications, top Agent's infiltration skills, and even the impregnable walls of the Washington headquarters
all became mere decorations.
They became a transparent, laughable bad joke.
The opponent could not only see through her past,
but also, without any electronic equipment, span several hundred kilometers and hear every movement in the Director's office crystal clear.
This was no longer a matter of an intelligence network.
This was like a god looking down at a group of ants rolling in the mud.
Her proud combat skills and interrogation methods appeared incomparably childish in front of this boy.
"You..." Natasha swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
Her throat was dry and painful.
She found that she couldn't even piece together a complete sentence.
Her left hand holding the gun was as soft as noodles, and the muzzle uncontrollably drooped downward.
Aaron felt it was getting boring.
He extended an index finger and casually pushed aside the barrel pressed against his chest.
The movement was as light as brushing away a flying insect from his clothes.
The moment the metal barrel was pushed aside, Natasha's arm was pulled crookedly to the side, almost failing to hold the gun steady.
"Alright."
Aaron lowered his head, straightening the White T-shirt wrinkled by the barrel.
He pulled up the zipper of his hoodie a little bit.
He turned around and walked toward the locked wooden door of the infirmary.
His leather shoes stepped on the green oil-cloth floor, making steady footsteps.
Natasha stood in place like a statue drained of its soul.
She didn't even have the courage to raise the gun again.
A purplish swelling had risen on her dislocated right hand.
Aaron walked to the side of the door.
He reached out and grasped the brass door handle.
Click.
The latch sprang open.
The sunlight in the hallway squeezed through the crack of the door into the dim infirmary.
The outside commotion instantly magnified several times.
Aaron pulled open the door and stepped out with one foot.
He stopped and turned his face halfway.
His peripheral vision glanced at the red-haired woman still frozen in front of the desk.
"Go back and tell that one-eyed dragon."
Aaron's voice was not loud, just enough to pierce through the noise of the hallway.
"Keep your Washington in order. In this territory of New York, I call the shots."
He paused, a sneer pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Also, don't send rookies to bother me anymore. Next time, I'll go straight to the Triskelion building to find him for coffee."
The door wasn't fully closed.
Aaron's figure disappeared at the end of the hallway.
The sunlight drew a long bright spot on the floor.
Clang.
That Glock 19 loaded with fifteen rounds slipped from Natasha's hand.
It hit the side of the White porcelain tray, making a crisp metal impact sound.
Natasha's legs went soft.
She collapsed into the folding iron chair beside the desk.
The chair emitted an overburdened creaking sound.
Cold sweat dripped down her chin onto the black silk shirt, wetting a large patch.
She raised her intact left hand.
With trembling fingers, she pressed the miniature bone-conduction earpiece in her right ear.
Her chest heaving violently, she breathed heavily the turbid air in the infirmary.
"Director..."
Natasha's voice was trembling out of shape.
She looked at the pistol on the ground and the medical instruments scattered all over the floor.
"We've been seen through."
She bit her lower lip, tasting a strong bloody flavor.
"Completely."