First, regarding the Dragon Bone.
If Madame Gao couldn't dig it up, could S.H.I.E.L.D. really manage it?
The answer is no.
That seal is an ancient secret technique of Kunlun; without the "Qi" of the Iron Fist as a key, even if S.H.I.E.L.D. brought the most high-tech drill, it would only break the drill bit. As for the current Iron Fist, Danny Rand, he's still playing in the mud on Kunlun Mountain.
He won't be back for several years.
But once this intel is thrown out, the effect will be immediate.
S.H.I.E.L.D. will immediately designate this area as a top-level exclusion zone and send heavy troops to guard it.
This is equivalent to S.H.I.E.L.D. acting as free security for Su Modie.
By securing this piece of land, Madame Gao's hopes will be completely crushed. When S.H.I.E.L.D. finds they can't open the seal, they won't suspect the intel is fake; they'll just think this "Mysterious Eastern Power" is too profound.
Thus, they will rely even more on Makima, the supernatural expert who knows the ropes.
As for The Hand's strongholds?
Speaking of which, they are quite unlucky; those ground rats have always been low-key and hidden.
Yet they happened to run into Su Modie, a Marvel fan with a full-map perspective.
They likely won't even have time to react before Su Modie strips them of everything they have.
Handing these stronghold locations over to S.H.I.E.L.D. gives Nick Fury, that suspicious Braised Egg, a taste of success, uses S.H.I.E.L.D.'s power to clear out the trash, and indirectly helps Fisk sweep away obstacles to unifying the New York underworld.
After all, the current S.H.I.E.L.D. is still quite a deterrent.
Now that the Russian gang is nearly wiped out and The Hand has been scared into a frantic retreat, Fisk has never had things go so smoothly.
His fear of Makima is also subtly turning into genuine worship.
Indeed, as long as one follows the right person, life is as easy as turning over a hand.
As for what happens later?
Once Makima climbs to a high position within S.H.I.E.L.D...
Won't this project, strictly protected by S.H.I.E.L.D., still end up back in their hands?
The meat will rot in the pot, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is the one willingly carrying that pot.
Finally, this credit will be recorded under Makima's name, becoming a stepping stone for her promotion.
It's truly killing three birds with one stone.
Inside the car, Makima was facing the mirror on the sun visor, carefully checking those light green contact lenses.
Those heart-stopping golden ringed eyes were perfectly covered.
At this moment, she looked like a capable, cold, and elegant career woman who was still within the bounds of a normal human.
"Have you memorized all the background information, Miss Makima?"
Agent Sitwell, who was driving, glanced at the rearview mirror. His tone carried awe, but out of professional habit, he still asked.
"Of course."
Makima's slender fingers gently flipped through a dossier on her lap, which contained her "first half of life."
This was a perfect lie woven by HYDRA using S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal administrative resources.
The file showed—
Makima, no surname, an independent intelligence broker active in Eastern Europe and Central Asia, had served multiple private military companies, specializing in criminal psychological profiling, negotiation, and handling certain "non-traditional security threats."
Which meant supernatural events.
To make the resume more authentic, Sitwell had thoughtfully forged several records of her assisting Interpol in cracking cult sacrifice cases.
A very clever resume.
Professional enough, and because her activity area was in war zones, it would be extremely difficult to fully verify.
This is the advantage of HYDRA infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D.
They are like parasites within the body of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Whenever they want, they can open a backdoor in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s immune system to introduce more parasites.
"We're here." Sitwell slowly parked the car in the underground garage of the Triskelion.
"The background check is just a formality; our people are in charge of stamping it, so no one will look too closely at the vague details."
Sitwell unbuckled his seatbelt, his expression turning serious: "But there's one hurdle that absolutely can't be bypassed, and it's the only place where things might go wrong."
"The psychological evaluation."
"The one in charge of evaluating newcomers lately is Agent Harold. He's a notorious mad dog in the agency, specialized in breaking down a newcomer's psychological defenses before they join to test their stress resistance."
Sitwell paused and cautioned carefully, "He might be... quite aggressive."
Makima closed the dossier, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly.
"Aggressive... is he?"
Leaving the parking lot, the magnificent Triskelion came into view, standing right on the banks of the Potomac River.
The massive S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle emblem shone brightly in the sunlight.
Su Modie's heart beat a little faster. Although she had seen it many times in movies and comics, standing before the power center of this Marvel Universe—and even about to walk inside—a sense of excitement akin to a holy pilgrimage welled up.
Makima didn't have as many filters as Su Modie. She pushed open the car door, wearing the green contacts Su Modie had specifically chosen, her eyes calm and unperturbed as she straightened her collar, a standard, impeccable smile on her lips that hinted at a subtle aloofness.
A kind smile; at a glance, she looks like a hardworking woman who respects her colleagues and superiors.
"Let's go. Take me to meet my new colleagues."
After all, Makima was originally someone from a public institution.
In the World of "chainsaw man," Tokyo Public Safety's Special Division 4 and S.H.I.E.L.D. were actually quite similar in nature.
Joining S.H.I.E.L.D. now was like returning to her old profession, but with a bit less power in her hands, so naturally, there were no ripples in Makima's heart... The psychological evaluation room.
The furnishings in the room were monotonous and oppressive, with only a steel table, two chairs, and a deathly pale incandescent light overhead.
The air was a mix of stale tobacco and instant coffee, along with something only Makima could smell—the scent of "anxiety."
*Slap!*
A thick file was slammed heavily onto the steel table with a loud bang.
Sitting opposite was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and deep bags under his eyes.
He was Agent Harold, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s legendary "Newcomer Killer."
At this moment, he was staring intently at the red-haired woman before him, who had maintained an elegant posture since entering, with the gaze of someone scrutinizing a criminal.
"Makima? Hmph, sounds like some stage name from a cheap bar."
Harold pushed up his heavy black-rimmed glasses and leaned forward, staring at Makima aggressively: "Your resume is quite pretty. An independent intelligence broker from Eastern Europe? Even handled a curse murder case in Kyrgyzstan?"
He sneered, poking the forged dossier forcefully with his finger: "Don't think I don't know the background of you so-called experts. You're either frauds or well-connected hires pushed in by some higher-ups."
"Tell me, what is that Sitwell who recommended you to you? Did he take your money? Or have you two slept together?"
This crude and offensive questioning was Harold's usual trick.
Provoke the other person, humiliate them, and then, at the moment they lose emotional control, capture their truest reaction.
Previous newcomers, when asked this, would either argue until they were red in the face or tremble with fear, but Makima did not.
She didn't even move an eyebrow.
She just watched Harold quietly, those light green eyes as still as a mirror, reflecting Harold's distorted face.
This silence lasted for five seconds.
Harold's originally arrogant aura actually lessened by half for some inexplicable reason in this eerie silence.
He felt like a Joker roaring at a mirror.
"Are you finished cursing, Agent Harold?"
Makima finally spoke, her voice gentle without a hint of anger, instead carrying a... hair-raising concern.
A look of caring for the mentally disabled.
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