I Am a Sorcerer

I Am a Sorcerer

"How did he know?" Coulson and Melinda exchanged a glance. Evenson's certainty only made the two agents less sure of themselves.

The same question remained: how did he know there were only two of them? Coulson began to ponder. Had someone inside S.H.I.E.L.D. leaked information to him? Impossible. This operation required Level Six Clearance, and both he and Melinda were Level Seven Agents. That meant agents below Level Six would not know about the operation, while agents below Level Seven would not know about personnel deployment. The agents who knew the details were at least Level Seven and had all been tested over time. Of course, while the possibility was slim, a leak was still possible. But the price of making those Senior Agents betray secrets was not something a powerless nobody with only a few abilities could afford. Then perhaps he possessed more than just Pyrokinesis—perhaps he also had some sort of detection ability. What could it be? Telepathy, or Area Perception?

After a brief moment of thought, Coulson leaned more toward Evenson possessing Area Perception. After all, if he had Telepathy, then taking a stroll around Las Vegas would have earned him at least a few million. He would not be guarding a shabby little shop like this. The money in his account was pitifully low.

With the answer exposed, there was no point in keeping up the pretense. "Indeed, it's just the two of us. We're not here to eliminate you or recruit you. We only came to learn about the situation and tell you a few things you should know."

Instead, Evenson revealed a disappointed expression. "Is that so? What a pity."

Melinda raised her eyes. "Which part?"

"Obviously, not being recruited. Did you think I was disappointed that you weren't planning to kill me?" Evenson gave her a contemptuous look, as if saying, Your IQ is really worrying, ma'am.

"You want to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Melinda was somewhat surprised, even forgetting about being insulted. Although they had not intended to recruit him this time, if he applied of his own accord, accepting him was not out of the question. After all, his combat strength was quite impressive. More importantly, he was discreet. For S.H.I.E.L.D., which operated in the shadows most of the time, discretion was extremely important.

For example, if they were going to assassinate a Terrorist Leader or some other big shot, an agent trying to get close to him certainly could not show up fully armed with a light machine gun in his arms and a rocket launcher on his back. Usually, they would first disguise themselves as the target's contact or some other person, then conceal blades, poison, Special Pistols, and the like on their bodies before waiting for an opportunity to strike. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s technology might be advanced, and its agents' skills might be refined, but cases of agents being discovered and missions failing still happened constantly. Some targets had bizarre habits: layers upon layers of inspections were not enough. In the end, they even demanded that you strip completely naked, put on a bathrobe they provided, and meet them through Bulletproof Glass with twenty bodyguards present. That was completely insane, wasn't it?

But with an ability user, things were different. Strip him naked if you wanted. You could even steam him in a sauna and scrub his back while you were at it; it would not matter, because the ability user himself was the weapon. When the time came, he could spit out an RPG right in your face. Believe it or not?

So an ability user wanting to join was still quite appealing. Of course, joining S.H.I.E.L.D. was not like joining an American political party, where you filled out a form and stamped it. There would definitely be layers of review and a whole series of training. At the very least, they had to ensure loyalty and control. That was an iron rule that could never be violated.

"Of course I do. I heard Civil Servants are paid pretty well. My shop isn't doing so well, and I was thinking of finding a part-time job." Just as Melinda and Coulson were considering whether they should discuss recruiting him with Nick Fury after returning, Evenson dropped a line that made them want to cough up blood. The bastard was treating S.H.I.E.L.D. like a nightclub and looking for a part-time job?

But the two of them understood now. His so-called desire to join S.H.I.E.L.D. was nothing more than a malicious joke. So Melinda raised her middle finger without the slightest politeness. "Screw you. I really want to blow your brains out."

"Agent, that gesture isn't very ladylike." Evenson teased indifferently.

Melinda leaned forward, staring fiercely into Evenson's eyes. "I'll show you what a lady is."

Evenson shrugged. "Even though you sound like you want to eat me alive, I'm looking forward to it."

"Ahem." Coulson coughed at that moment. Melinda glanced at him, took a deep breath, and adjusted herself. After all, they still had business to handle, not a childish quarrel to continue.

"All right, that's enough joking around." Coulson straightened his clothes. "Mr. Richter, on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., we would like to ask you some questions. You must answer truthfully. This concerns S.H.I.E.L.D.'s future attitude toward you."

"Including whether you'll take me out?" Evenson raised an eyebrow.

Coulson nodded firmly. "Yes, including whether we eliminate you."

"All right. I'll answer truthfully." Evenson put away his smile as well and sat up straight. It could be said that this was the most proper and serious he had looked since Coulson and the others entered the room.

"Very good." Coulson was satisfied with Evenson's cooperation. "Then, Mr. Richter, I won't ask about basic matters such as your social connections. We have detailed files on those. Let's get straight to the point."

Evenson spread his hands to show that he had no objection. If S.H.I.E.L.D. had come looking for him, they had definitely investigated him thoroughly. They probably even knew what color underwear he liked to wear as a child, so it was better not to ask and waste time.

But what followed was not like in a spy movie. Coulson did not pull out a file folder and read questions from it, nor did Melinda take out a notebook to record every word of the conversation. It was not because they lacked rigor. Rather, as trained Senior Agents, they knew that some things were safer stored in their minds than written on paper.

"Good. Then, Mr. Richter, first question: to what extent can you control your special ability?" Coulson asked his first question. "Or rather, is there any possibility of it going out of control?"

"My current power?" Evenson curled his lip. "One hundred percent control. My power absolutely obeys my will."

Although his answer was certain, Coulson clearly did not believe him. Ability users losing control of their powers was nothing unusual. It was hard to say whether any ability user truly understood their own powers, much less controlled them completely. "Please answer truthfully, Mr. Richter. Ability users cannot fully grasp their own powers, and there is even a possibility of losing control. That is practically normal. We will not do anything to you because of it."

"Ability users? Ah-ha, I get it." Evenson put on a look of sudden realization. "You must have taken me for one of those mutated freaks, with power they don't understand and can't control, right?"

"Isn't that what you are?" Coulson looked at Evenson in confusion. "There's no need to feel inferior about it. In some ways, this counts as... this counts as evolution."

"Perhaps. But I'm not." Evenson said with a trace of pride and utter seriousness, "I am a Sorcerer, and the power I use is called Magic."