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Robert stacked the last crate of biscuits in the RV, but his eyes weren't on the supplies. They swept every compartment, every locker, desperate for the "mystery tech" S.H.I.E.L.D. believed Austin carried. Nothing. Again.
Sighing, he climbed down, ducked into the backroom of the store, and shoved aside a pile of boxes. A hidden panel, a hatch, and the secure line phone was in his hand.
"This is Robert," he whispered when the line clicked open. "As predicted, Austin came for supplies."
The woman's voice was flat. "Understood. I'll arrive within half a day. Keep him busy. Did you find anything unusual in the RV?"
Robert grimaced. "Director, I've searched it three times. Nothing. Unless I strip it bolt by bolt, I won't find your ghost machine. And half a day? I'm not close enough to him for that."
But the line had already gone dead. Robert shoved the phone away, mask back on by the time he stepped outside. To stall Austin without raising suspicion… how?
His eyes landed on the girl by the steps—Skye, clutching the bobblehead Austin had given her. An idea formed. Risky. But it could work.
Inside the bar, Li Feng nursed his drink. Something was off. Empty was normal for an afternoon, but the smell wasn't. Beneath the bleach… blood.
His brows knit. Bleach, fine. Deep clean. But blood? Hank isn't slaughtering chickens back there. This is America—meat comes plastic-wrapped.
He rapped the counter. "Hank! Customer waiting!"
The kitchen door creaked. Out shuffled a stranger—messy hair, rolled sleeves, red on his collar. Too-bright smile. "Name's Calvin. Hank stepped out. Need me to pass a message?"
Li Feng's gaze sharpened. Calvin's grin twitched, veins bulged along his neck. The kitchen door swung wider—the copper tang thickened.
He brushed his fingers over his eyes. Glyphs shimmered—Mage's Sight. Calvin's soul appeared frayed, jagged. A broken man. And on the floor behind him, Hank's fading soul flickered, then guttered out. Dead.
Li Feng grimaced. Killer with a shattered mind. If I kill him, do I end up in prison?
Calvin chuckled, gesturing toward the kitchen. "What, think I killed someone? It's cow's blood. Hank had me chopping beef. I made a mess. Help me clean up—I'll buy you a drink."
Cow's blood, my ass.
Li Feng smiled politely and rose—but walked for the door. S.H.I.E.L.D. already had him flagged. A killing here, they'd swarm. Better to call in an anonymous tip.
Behind him, Calvin dragged Hank's body into the freezer. Then his gaze drifted across the street to Skye. Fingers twitched at his shirt hem, lips curving into an unsettling smile.
Li Feng had barely stepped outside when Robert rushed up. "Austin, can you watch the shop? Just half a day."
Li Feng waved him off, heading toward a payphone. "Close it down. No one starves in half a day."
Robert's eyes darted to Skye. If he couldn't stall Austin directly… "It's Skye. I can't take her with me. Don't want her left alone."
Li Feng frowned. "Why the rush?"
"My wife's been in a car accident," Robert blurted, face twisting with grief. "They're operating now. Kids don't belong in hospitals if…" His voice broke.
Li Feng hesitated, then nodded. He had time. And Skye was sweet, no trouble. "Fine. But I'm not manning your counter. I'll drive her around."
Robert exhaled relief. "I'll explain to her."
While he crouched to whisper in Skye's ear, Li Feng dialed the police from the payphone, filing a tip about the bar. When he returned, Skye was clutching her bobblehead, nodding dutifully.
"Uncle Austin will take you around," Robert said gently. "Be good. I'll be back by dinner."
She climbed into the RV beside Li Feng.
From the bar window, Calvin watched, veins bulging, fists trembling. When the RV rolled out of sight, he erupted—smashing bottles, tearing chairs apart. Then he stopped, muttering, voice breaking into prayer.
"Daisy… my sweet girl. I'll deal with the ones watching you. Then I'll bring you home."
Knife in hand, he stalked from the bar.
Robert was just sliding into his car when Calvin appeared, smiling too wide. "Hello. Mind helping me with something?"
Robert rolled the window down—never saw the blade. Calvin's hand fisted in his hair, the knife carving deep across his throat. Blood sprayed, Robert choking on an unfinished question.
Calvin shoved him back into the seat, whispering coldly, "I know who you are. You stole my daughter. You ruined my family."
Then his gaze followed the road where the RV had gone. "Daisy… wait for me."
Far above, a sleek quinjet tore through the clouds. Inside, Natasha Romanoff flipped open a dossier. One name stared back at her.
Austin.
This mission was never supposed to touch Natasha Romanoff. But Fury had weighed the board. Li Feng hadn't killed anyone—not yet—and if there was even a sliver of a chance to bring him in alive, Natasha was the only one he trusted to try.
At first, she'd been irritated. An arrest? Really? S.H.I.E.L.D. has agents stacked floor to ceiling. Why me?
Then she read the file. Austin—reported abilities: hypnosis. Access to some kind of wormhole device. Suddenly it made sense. Ordinary agents would be compromised before they even drew their guns. Tranqs? Useless. Too light, and he'd vanish through a wormhole. Too heavy, and they'd kill him outright. Fury didn't want a corpse—he wanted a recruit.
Natasha was the only play: spy-trained against mental manipulation, body enhanced, clearance high enough to know about wormhole tech. If anyone could stand in front of Austin without folding, it was her.
Now, aboard the quinjet, Natasha flipped through his dossier. Her eyes lingered on the detail: an RV parked on a barren stretch of rocky beach.
"Antisocial? Or hiding out so he doesn't hypnotize innocents by accident?" she muttered.
Another page. She snorted. "Drifter in a motorhome. Probably a loner who can't function in normal society. Personalities like that… one nudge, and they break bad. And the wormhole thing—no Earth lab has that. Unless it's his power. But I've never heard of an enhanced with more than one ability."
She closed the file, rubbing her temple. One certainty: Austin wouldn't come quietly.
Back in town, Li Feng eased the RV to a stop, Skye sitting quietly in the passenger seat. He yawned, dug out a bag of chips, and tossed it to her. Stretching the fold-out bed, he asked casually, "You nap? Or not your thing?"
Skye's eyes flicked to the mattress. A nervous shiver crossed her face. She shook her head quickly. "No, thank you. I don't want to sleep."
Catching her unease, Li Feng shrugged and handed over a handheld game console. "Suit yourself. I'm tired. I'll nap. Snacks are in the cupboard. Treat this place like home. Just don't tear it down."
He didn't realize the weight of the word home. For Skye, shuffled through foster care her whole life, it was a dream she never thought she'd touch. A place no one could rip away. Her fingers tightened on the console as she stole glances at him—snoring lightly in his own "home."
She wandered the RV, brushing her hands across shelves, imagining. If I had this… no one could throw me out again.
Li Feng had no idea his offhand kindness would echo years later—that Quake would one day drive a battered motorhome across the country and call it hers.
On the outskirts, Natasha's quinjet touched down. Civilian clothes, casual stride—she moved like a tourist. But the flashing police cruisers outside Robert's store stiffened her instincts. She ducked into a café, ordered coffee, and tilted her collar toward the young waiter.
"What's going on? I came here to relax, not walk into trouble."
The boy puffed up, lowering his voice. "Word is, psycho killer loose. Bar owner and the guy from the convenience store—both got their throats cut. Sick stuff. Don't worry—I could protect you." He flexed an arm.
Natasha gave a polite smile, then slipped out. She already had her answer.
In an alley, she pulled her phone. Fury's voice came after a beat.
"Sir," she said crisply, "Robert's dead. Do we continue the mission?"
Keyboard clacks filled the pause. Fury's voice came clipped, uneasy. "Mission updated. Priority one: secure Robert's foster girl. Ensure her safety. If you need help, bring Austin in on it. Tell him you're with me."
Natasha frowned. "Foster girl? Not his daughter? Sir… is there something special about her?"
Fury stared at the classified file glowing on his monitor—one that shouldn't exist in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s system. He inhaled slowly. "Romanoff… sometimes it's better not to know."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "Fine. New orders: protect the girl."
Phone snapped shut, she strode toward the police tape. Flashing credentials, she asked bluntly, "Did anyone see a child? Little girl?"
One officer nodded. "Robert's foster kid. Witnesses say she left in a motorhome. With that weirdo drifter who lives by the rocks."
Natasha blinked. Motorhome weirdo? Then it clicked. Austin.
Her jaw tightened. "Are you sure he wasn't the killer?"
The officer shook his head, chuckling grimly. "Murder's on tape. Same blade, both victims. Not the RV guy. And if he did it, he wouldn't be parading through town with a kid in broad daylight. Killers don't hang around after."
Natasha exhaled. Not him. Not this time.
Still, she forwarded the video to Fury. His reply was swift, cold: Ignore the killer. Get the girl into custody. Continue contact with Austin.
Natasha's eyes narrowed. Fury knew more than he'd admit.
She melted into the crowd, patient, waiting. Austin would bring the girl back. She'd be there.
But the prickle at her neck told her someone else was watching.
Far across the street, Calvin lowered his binoculars. Their eyes locked even at that distance. She'd spotted him.
No hesitation. He turned, vanishing into the alleys with his bag slung over his shoulder. Unstable, yes. But not stupid. The red-haired woman was far too dangerous. Better to wait, bide time, reclaim his daughter another day.
Clutching his bloodstained shirt, Calvin muttered, "Patience. Daisy won't see me like this. Not until I bring her home."
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