James returned his attention to the screen.
"So, they spent years together," he said. "If someone took the doctor, he's the most likely candidate. When we reach the site, we'll look for confirmation."
"You're sure it's him?" Skye asked.
"I'm not sure of anything," James replied. "He's just the only suspect we have."
He ignored her after that. Although Skye is a beauty, she still has full trust in her boyfriend, James knew better. In field operations and in life, rushing only created mistakes. Patience always paid off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was now night when the entire team had arrived at the scene.
The place was already locked down. Floodlights bathed the highway in white glare, barriers sealing both ends of the road. Medical teams, reconnaissance units, and perimeter security—dozens of personnel moving around to do their work.
Once the six of them were on-site, Phil Coulson and Melinda May split off to question the transport driver. He looked like a worn-out long-haul trucker, but appearances meant nothing. He was a Division agent.
Fitz and Simmons deployed their equipment immediately.
James crouched near the road, eyes scanning the ground for any clues that could have been missed. Skye followed nearby.
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
"Small things can make a high-speed vehicle suddenly fly." James replied. "A vehicle doesn't flip like that without an obstacle to help. Either the attacker was impossibly strong—or something small created a large effect."
He stopped abruptly and caught Skye by the arm.
"Don't move."
She froze.
At his feet lay a metal ring, half-buried in dirt.
James knelt.
"This is it."
"Simmons! Fitz! Come over here."
They rushed in. Simmons slipped on her full-spectrum goggles and activated a static-field scanner.
The moment it powered up, the ring flared.
"Simmons—it's active," James warned. "Find a way to shut it down."
"I—I don't know how," Simmons admitted.
Fitz grabbed the scanner, adjusted the frequency, and held it steady. A sharp spark snapped.
The ring went dead.
James stopped them from touching it further and lifted it himself since he was more highly trained and ready for something unexpected.
"We got evidence," he said.
Skye frowned. "How did I miss that?"
"This is the doctor's original vision. He designed it when he was a student, but it's just a theory. So who do you think is most likely to be obsessed with it?' James replied.
Coulson and May joined them.
"What did you find?" Coulson asked.
James held it up. "A gravity manipulation device. Once energized—even passively—it creates a localized gravitational field. This was Dr. Franklin Hall's early research. A student proposal but never proven."
May's eyes narrowed. "But someone made it work."
"Yes," James said. "And the person most obsessed with that idea would be the one who funded his research."
Fitz's shoulders sagged almost immediately. Whatever he had seen on the readouts clearly bothered him, but James didn't press him for answers.
"Ian Quinn was Dr. Hall's first collaborator," James said instead. "He made his initial fortune off the doctor's work, then pivoted into mining. If anyone had the resources or the incentive to dig something dangerous out of the ground, it's him."
Coulson nodded. "That makes him our primary suspect. We'll head back to the plane and start pulling everything we can on Quinn. Still, we shouldn't ignore the rest of the scene."
THE BUS — EN ROUTE
Everyone boarded the plane again as Phil Coulson began reviewing what little evidence remained — the abandoned excavator, the deliberately sloppy trail. James didn't linger on it.
"They left the machine on purpose," James said calmly. "They're not worried about us following the trail. Ian Quinn was last seen in Malta. You know that territory better than I do."
Coulson nodded. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has limited leverage there. Quinn's secured a citizenship. Any official move will be… restrained."
He glanced at James. "What's your plan?"
"We don't have to play it officially," James replied without hesitation. "I will fly in alone. I hit his villa first, and once I confirm the doctor is there, you follow up with extraction. Fast and clean operation."
Coulson frowned. "That puts us on the back foot."
"As long as we recover the doctor, everything else is irrelevant," James said. "Even if Quinn complains, the worst that can happen is diplomatic irritation. That's an acceptable consequence."
Coulson studied him for a moment. "Walk me through it."
"They'll be moving the doctor to Malta likely today," James said. "Quinn will want to see him as soon as possible. I will intercept them at the villa. With Fitz's upgraded stun gun to reduce casualties and political headaches. I'll be in and out in no time. Everything will be solved once we find the Doctor."
"So… brute force," Coulson said.
"We don't have time to overthink this. Our priority is the Centipede Project. The survivor is nearly healed, and we need to stay ahead of her trail."
Coulson exhaled once, then nodded. "Alright. Let's do it."
He turned and gave the order to the cockpit. The plane lifted off for Malta, the excavator and its false clues left behind without a second glance.
OVER MALTA
High above the sea, the aircraft hovered silently. The rear ramp lowered halfway.
James stepped forward without pause.
Skye gasped. "He didn't bring a parachute—"
The sentence died in her throat.
A sharp crack of displaced air echoed as the Umbra Sentinel deployed mid-fall—dark armor unfolding seamlessly around James before leveling out mere meters above the water.
Fitz stared. "That's… the Umbra Sentinel."
Coulson smiled faintly and moved to the conference station. "Nocturne. Give us a visual feed."
"On your screen," James replied.
His perspective synced instantly.
The Umbra Sentinel skimmed the waves at low altitude, guided by Cortana, radar profile flattened to near-zero.
[Flight path optimized. Defensive systems passive.]
James cleared the outer laser grid surrounding Quinn's villa and touched down silently.
The armor folded away, disappearing into space storage.
The feed is then cut.
Simmons swallowed. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine," Coulson said calmly. Then, into the comm: "James—don't forget to wear the glasses I gave you."
A brief pause.
"…On it."
QUINN'S VILLA
James reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of high-tech sunglasses.
Wearing tactical eyewear in the middle of the night was unusual—but he put them on anyway.
A soft tap along the frame.
The interior feed of the aircraft appeared in the corner of his vision, showing Fitz finishing a last inspection of the stun pistol.
James was now wearing a fitted S.H.I.E.L.D. combat suit, close-cut and flexible. He didn't know the full material composition, but it was insulated, breathable, and resistant to small-arms fire. From his storage, he drew his belt and fastened it around his waist. Leather pouches held spare magazines and standard agent tools. A reinforced holster ran along his right thigh—designed specifically for Fitz's new stun weapon.
The second-generation stun pistol had been redesigned into a sidearm configuration. .45 caliber with an eight-round magazine. Three spare magazines total.
That was all Fitz and Simmons had managed in a week, it was enough.
With preparations complete, James moved forward.
The villa sprawled across the coastline, wide and luxurious. The outer defenses were respectable—but only the perimeter laser grid posed any real inconvenience.
Palm trees, lawn lighting, and a pool reflecting moonlight.
James felt a flicker of irritation.
He was wealthy too… yet somehow still living in a high-rise apartment and not a villa. Nothing can be done when all they want is more of a simple life and not of luxury.
He reached for the stun pistol and finally realized that there seemed to be no silencer.
"Fitz," he murmured, "this thing doesn't have a suppressor."
The reply came sharp and indignant. "Time was too tight for me to make one. Besides, you didn't even ask for one."
"I'm just informing you," James replied calmly. "Not criticizing."
He reholstered the weapon and crossed the lawn low and fast, hugging the villa's outer wall. Skye's typing echoed faintly over comms.
"I pulled the records," she said quickly. "Former Prime Minister's villa with a large underground extension. Sending schematics now."
James pulled his phone, synchronized it with the satellite feed, and overlaid the floor plan.
Right on cue, Ian Quinn entered the villa with a phone to his ear—accompanied by a woman James tagged as an assistant.
"Timing's perfect," James said. "Stand by."
He stowed the phone and moved.
A single guard stood near the side entrance.
Within three meters, James launched forward.
The guard barely had time to turn before a controlled strike dropped him. James caught the man before he hit the ground and lowered him slowly to not make noise.
Inside, the foyer was empty.
James slipped through, followed the schematics, and moved toward the basement.
As he passed the living room, the woman from earlier sat alone on the sofa, glass in hand.
This woman had just entered the villa with Ian Quinn, but it seemed that she could not come into contact with any secrets. James dropped to the ground and carefully crawled forward until he was behind the sofa. Then he got up and knocked her out with a swift branchial stun. He was aching to try it out and succeeded.
Quinn's real security wasn't inside.
It was outside.
Most of his manpower guarded around the laser perimeter—all mercenaries, not professionals—which left the interior almost bare.
James had exploited that during his infiltration.
Thrusters had been pulsed in short bursts—activated once every hundred meters, then cut. Final descent was silent, rolling to disperse impact.
The sea had masked everything.
At the basement door, two guards stood watch.
James stopped caring about subtlety.
He drew the stun pistol, stepped into view, and fired twice.
Both men dropped before either could speak.
The basement itself was massive—an engine chamber humming with power. James took it in with a brief, amused exhale.
'So much for a small lab.'
He advanced, weapon raised, crossed the engine room, and reached the inner door. The fans drowned out all sound.
James kicked it open.
Inside were three people.
Ian Quinn, Dr. Franklin Hall, and one remaining bodyguard.
James fired once and the guard went down.
He leveled the pistol at Quinn.
Quinn froze—then laughed. "S.H.I.E.L.D.?" His eyes flicked to the insignia. "You do realize this is Malta."
"So what?" James replied evenly. "Dr. Hall is here. That makes you a kidnapper. International law works when someone enforces it."
Quinn smirked. "So naive."
James didn't bother responding.
Dr. Hall, however, looked anything but relieved.
He set his glass aside and turned his body away from James, one hand reaching for the bottle. James was now on guard against him. This mad scientist might not cooperate with the rescue. James had noticed his hand reaching for the bottle.
The Doctor turned around and hid the bottle behind him. James wanted to laugh. Did he really think he was blind for making such a big move?
However, James first shot Ian Quinn, knocking him out. Then he put away his gun and went up to talk to the Doctor.
"Doctor, we're leaving—"
The doctor directly swung the bottle at James.
James caught Hall's wrist mid-strike.
"Looks like you leaked your own itinerary," James said dryly.