Substitute the Beam with a Pillar

Pacific Ocean, aboard S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Helicarrier.

A black Airbus descended, blasting rapid jets of air as it dropped vertically, finally settling smoothly on the carrier's deck. The cargo hatch slid backward, and Level Eight S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Phil Coulson stood behind it in a crisp suit, ready to welcome the boarding guests.

Several senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had been waiting on the deck climbed the gangway onto the plane. Victoria Hand, the lead agent with black-rimmed glasses, stepped aboard and said, "You know, Agent Coulson, there's this thing called a 'conference call,' right?"

"Good to see you again, Agent Hand." Coulson offered a slight smile as the hatch closed behind them. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I'll explain everything once we reach fifty thousand feet."

He turned and gestured: "This way, please."

After a brief stop for refueling, the plane quickly took off again. Agent May, at the controls, switched to autopilot as soon as they hit fifty thousand feet, then got up and joined the others in the lounge.

"Cruising altitude reached, ninety degrees above the North Pole." She nodded to Coulson. "We're ready to begin."

"Thanks." Coulson looked around at the senior agents. "Sorry for the secrecy. But it's all about staying ahead of the threat."

"What threat?" asked Agent Sitwell, a bald man in round glasses and a sharp suit.

"The Clairvoyant," Coulson explained. "If he really is a telepath, the farther we are from him when we start, the better."

"Besides, the Northern Lights might mess with his mind-reading signals," added Level Eight Agent John Garrett, shaking a S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle-insignia mug. "The Clairvoyant's been one step ahead of us for a long time. He's hijacked our strategies and caused no end of trouble."

"I'm sure you've all read Agent Garrett's latest report. He believes we're closing in on the truth," Coulson said.

"What truth? His identity?" Agent Hand asked.

"The pool of potential targets has been narrowed to thirteen," Garrett explained. "I've double-checked S.H.I.E.L.D.'s registry of special abilities, especially those we've encountered but never formally cataloged. Some of them might have telepathic capabilities."

"You're saying S.H.I.E.L.D. might have come into contact with the Clairvoyant before?" Sitwell asked.

"Think about how many enhanced-individual cases S.H.I.E.L.D. has reviewed. Not just possible—highly likely," Coulson said.

"Alright, assuming your theory's correct," Hand interrupted, "if we're really dealing with someone with the Clairvoyant's abilities, do you have a plan to counter him?"

"Fragment the information," Garrett said.

Coulson added, "I have a pattern-recognition analyst on my team. She can sift through the data, prioritize Garrett's list, locate them, and then randomly split us into teams so none of us knows the full picture."

He paused, scanning the agents. "So, any questions?"

Silence.

"Good." Coulson nodded. "Let's get to work."

***

The division process was straightforward. Each agent received a phone with a set of coordinates leading to one of the Clairvoyant's suspects. When an agent got within a mile of those coordinates, their partner's phone would receive the suspect's name and file.

But since the number of agents was odd, one team ended up with three members: Phil Coulson, John Garrett, and Grant Ward.

Their coordinates pointed to a location in Indiana, leading them to an abandoned, derelict electronics factory.

"This is weird," John Garrett frowned at his phone. "There's not a soul within two miles of here. What kind of suspect would be in a place like this? Ward, got anything?"

Ward checked his phone. "Nothing yet."

Garrett glanced at Coulson. "Maybe your analyst got the location wrong?"

"No, she didn't." Coulson stood with his hands clasped in front of him, expressionless. "In fact, I tampered with those coordinates—just like I tampered with the random team assignments."

Garrett froze, exchanging a look with Ward. "What do you mean?"

"Let's skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point," Coulson said, his tone flat, as if discussing something trivial. "We both know the Clairvoyant doesn't have any telepathic abilities. He's just a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with high-level clearance. Oh, correction—you're not even a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, are you, Hydra senior agent John Garrett?"

Ward and Garrett both looked stunned, the latter's expression mixing shock with a hint of amusement. "Hold on, Phil, sorry, but even as a joke, that's a lot to take in. You're saying I'm the Clairvoyant and I work for Hydra? An organization that fell apart in World War II?"

Coulson's face remained impassive. "What makes you think I'm actually Agent Phil Coulson?"

This time, his voice changed, clearly different from the real Coulson's. Garrett froze again, his face darkening.

"It's you," he said. "The Black Knight?"

Coulson—actually Michael, disguised with a digital mask—tilted his head. "The Black Knight? So Fury gave me that uncreative nickname? Fits S.H.I.E.L.D.'s style, I guess."

He paused. "Long time no see, John Garrett. And you, Grant Ward. Your lackey?"

Garrett was Ward's handler, the one who brought him into S.H.I.E.L.D., but both were Hydra moles embedded within the organization.

Ward's hand was already on his holster, his eyes darting between the two, unsure what to do.

"I got the message you sent through Randall last time," Garrett said, staring at him as if trying to see through the digital mask. "You're Dr. Norton?"

"To you, yes," Michael replied. "But I abandoned that identity three and a half years ago."

"We've been looking for you for a long time, with no luck. Care to share your secret?"

Michael shrugged. "A little magic."

"So you're not going to be open with me. Can't say I'm surprised." Garrett shook his head.

Hard as it might be for Garrett to believe, Michael was telling the truth. Five years ago, he'd crossed into this world as a Hydra researcher. Three and a half years ago, he'd defected from Hydra and immediately headed to Kathmandu, where he found the legendary magical sanctuary of Kamar-Taj. Magic's protection had hidden his tracks; Hydra's tentacles stretched worldwide, but they couldn't reach into the Sorcerer Supreme's domain.

After leaving Kamar-Taj, Michael crafted an entirely new identity. He used magic to alter his appearance, hacked into U.S. immigration and federal databases, and seamlessly forged the persona of Michael Passo—a fresh start.

"You play the part well," Garrett said, sizing him up. "When did you replace the real Coulson?"

"Right around the time you drew lots for teams. The real Agent Coulson is probably napping in the Airbus's storage compartment right now, but he'll wake up in about twenty minutes."

"So you went through all this trouble to get face-to-face and expose me as the Clairvoyant?"

"Reason one is to have recorded our conversation just now, so I'll have less work to do proving you two are Hydra spies." Michael said calmly, his gaze sweeping over Garrett and the breathless, alert Agent Ward. "Reason two—you might already know I'm gearing up for an all-out war against Hydra. I'm happy to let Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. do the grunt work, like taking out a few bases or neutralizing some superhumans. But when it comes to cutting off Hydra's head, I'd rather watch you two draw your last breaths myself."

Garrett squinted at him for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter.

"You're a genius in research, Dr. Norton—I'll give you that." He chuckled. "But you do realize there are two top-tier field agents here with elite combat skills, and you're alone without that fancy armor of yours, right?"

Ward drew his pistol from its holster, clicked off the safety, and aimed it at Michael's head.

Michael didn't flinch.

"You can try."

(Thanks to reader He Bu Sui Yi Yi Dian casual for the 500 Qidian coins, and readers Xue Yan Fen Shi Shi I and Yun Tu Cheng Bao for the 100 Qidian coins!)