"May, there's a video in here—recorded just recently. Take a look."
As he spoke, Coulson handed Melinda a phone.
Melinda took the phone, gave Coulson a doubtful glance, and opened the only video stored on it.
The video showed a tall man in a black cloak and a white youth holding a knife to a middle-aged woman's throat.
The young man shouted something angrily at the cloaked figure—but in the next instant, the black-cloaked man crossed seven or eight meters in a blink, appeared beside the knife-wielding youth, and lightly tapped his shoulder. The young man collapsed instantly.
"This…" Melinda widened her eyes and looked at Coulson in disbelief.
Coulson smiled and gestured for her to keep watching.
After knocking the youth unconscious, the cloaked man rummaged through his pockets, pulled out a few things, stood there for a moment, and then vanished into thin air with a soft "poof."
When Melinda saw clearly what the cloaked man had taken, she couldn't help but laugh. "I didn't expect…"
"Didn't expect that this so-called vigilante would be *that* kind of street hero, huh?" Coulson said, amused.
He'd watched the video countless times already, so he knew exactly what the cloaked man had taken from the unconscious youth.
Yes—just a handful of crumpled spare change.
Melinda and Coulson exchanged a helpless look.
"Maybe our friendly neighborhood hero's really broke," Coulson shrugged. "So… you know."
"Fine," Melinda said, exhaling through her nose. "No wonder this case was classified at Level Five clearance. This 'Cloaked Man' seems like a mutant—but also not quite."
As a field agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., Melinda had seen her fair share of strange incidents over the years, many involving mutants.
Mutants varied widely in power—some barely stronger than ordinary humans, while others were walking disasters. Those unable to control their powers could be extremely dangerous in crowded cities where heavy weapons were off-limits. Melinda knew that firsthand—she had lived through one such tragedy herself.
But the cloaked man's abilities didn't match the typical mutant profile, and that puzzled her.
"I can't be sure," Coulson said after glancing at her. "We'll have to meet him first to find out."
"What's Director Fury's stance on this Patch Mavis—this 'Cloaked Man'?" Melinda asked again.
By now, after reviewing the file and the video, she was convinced that Patch Mavis—the bright, quiet young man—was indeed the mysterious vigilante who had haunted 13th Street for years.
"From what we've seen," Coulson said, "he's demonstrated at least two superpowers—short-range teleportation and… well, let's call it 'instant knockout.'"
He frowned thoughtfully. "And he clearly has good control over his abilities. According to the records, all of his targets were found unconscious and left near police stations. Almost zero reports of serious injury or death."
"That doesn't mean much," Melinda replied. "Maybe he's got powers we don't know about—something more dangerous."
"Which is exactly why Director Fury assigned us to this case," Coulson said calmly. "Our job is to assess Patch Mavis's threat level, report back, and then S.H.I.E.L.D. will decide how to proceed."
"Got it. So now…"
"Now we move in."
Coulson checked the sidearm on his hip, opened the door, and stepped out of the vehicle.
After a moment's pause, Melinda followed, adjusting her gear as she got out.
---
"Thermal scanner shows no life signs inside the room," Melinda reported after placing a high-tech device against the wall of Patch's rundown apartment.
"Maybe our young friend left before we got here," Coulson suggested.
"I checked the street cameras earlier. No sign of him leaving."
Melinda shrugged. "Okay, I'll admit—his teleportation ability is convenient."
"On that, we agree," Coulson said, sighing. "If I had that power, I'd never have to sit through another long flight."
"Or rush hours," Melinda added flatly.
With the thermal scan clear, both agents relaxed a little.
"So, do we break in or…?" Melinda asked, turning to Coulson.
Their mission was to make contact with Patch Mavis—but since he wasn't home, Melinda wasn't sure whether to gather intel inside or just call it a day.
"Let's take a look inside," Coulson said. "Maybe we'll find something useful."
"Fine," Melinda replied. "Step aside, Coulson."
She backed up a few steps, preparing to kick the door open.
"May, no need for that…" Coulson twisted the doorknob and smiled. "Looks like our cloaked vigilante doesn't think anyone would dare break into his place."
He jiggled the handle a few more times. "Yep. It's not even locked."
"…Oh." Melinda blinked, then laughed awkwardly and said, "Old habits. Occupational reflex."
Coulson gave her a knowing smile, turned the handle again, and pushed the door open.
A gust of cold air swept out from inside, sending a chill down both their spines.
Then, when they looked into the apartment—both agents froze on the spot.