I'm Not Pretending Anymore, I'm Laying My Cards on the Table

"Boss, I need to report a defection."

Allen immediately found Karpov, reporting Wilson's defection to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Karpov held several positions and spent two days a week at the Weapons Development Bureau.

"Who?"

Karpov frowned and asked.

Treason was a serious crime, and with the current tense international situation, internal problems were the biggest concern. Any discovery would be immediately purged.

"The traitor is Wilson. I heard him arranging to depart with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for tomorrow night at nine o'clock," Allen said indignantly. "I can't believe he's that kind of person. The country gave him so much, yet he's still greedy for wealth. Unlike me, I'm content just sweeping trash."

"..."

Karpov didn't believe him at all.

Wilson had just been given an important position and had a bright future. Was he out of his mind to decide to defect to another country?

"I'll have someone interrogate him immediately," Karpov replied perfunctorily.

He even wondered if he should fire Allen. This mentally unstable person playing the game of framing others might do something crazy in the future.

As for Wilson, he trusted him unconditionally.

"Don't act rashly."

Allen closed the door and then the window, lowering his voice. "This is my chance, Allen, to serve the country."

"You serve the country?"

Karpov's expression was strained, and he said earnestly, "It's good that you have such high ideological awareness, but you must do things within your capabilities."

"Thank you for your appreciation, boss. I'll just state my plan."

Allen didn't grasp the underlying meaning of Karpov's words and poured out his ideas. "Boss, Wilson is going to defect tomorrow night. I'll follow him, infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D., and transmit intelligence back to the country."

You damned kid, why don't you listen? You're still thinking of being a spy. Please don't lower the professional standards of the spy industry.

"Very good. What kind of cooperation do you need?"

Karpov went along with him verbally while considering how to find an opportunity to get rid of him.

Allen clenched his fists, exuding Haki. "Everything is under control. I can finally be useful, like a piece of toilet paper."

"..."

The next day, nine o'clock at night.

A speedboat docked by a river on the outskirts.

Wilson, carrying two suitcases, shivered in the woods.

The Soviet Union was known as the "Winter Country," with winters arriving early and lasting long. Some regions experienced temperatures below minus thirty degrees Celsius, and every year, drunkards would go out and never return, only to be found frozen stiff the next day.

"Doctor Duke, we can depart now."

The middle-aged man pointed at the speedboat and reminded him.

"Then let's go."

Wilson glanced back in the direction of the capital, feeling a trace of guilt.

The two walked towards the shore under the cover of night, preparing to board the boat and leave Soviet territory.

"Wee-woo... wee-woo... wee-woo..."

At this moment, a strange sound caused the people on the speedboat to raise their weapons.

Allen, who was making the noise, ran from the other side of the woods, shouting, "You're under arrest! Take off your pants immediately and lick my ass with your tongue."

Click.

The safety was released on the firearms, and the reception personnel prepared to deal with Allen.

"Don't shoot."

Wilson recognized Allen at a glance. Considering the life-saving grace, he naturally couldn't watch him die on the spot.

"Allen, stop messing around. It's very dangerous here, leave immediately," Wilson urged.

"If you're afraid of death, don't be a Soviet citizen."

Allen made a gun shape with his hands, blew on his fingertips, and said proudly, "But I'm afraid of death."

"..."

Being afraid of death is something to be proud of?

"Arsen, precisely because I'm afraid of death, I want to go with you."

Allen placed a hand on Wilson's shoulder. "Everyone in the bureau knows our relationship is ambiguous. If you leave, I'll be the first one to suffer."

"You're just a cleaner; they won't make things difficult for you."

You're not just a cleaner, you're also mentally unstable. Who would be bored enough to target you?

"You scoundrel, enjoying wealth and honor all by yourself and then turning your back on me, right?"

Allen tried hard to squeeze out tears, wanting to act like someone who had been used and abandoned. "Ultimately, I was wrong about them."

"What are you doing?"

Wilson ran his hands through his hair in annoyance, completely unable to figure out what Allen was planning.

Allen turned serious. "Let's wander the world together, a couple of crazy lovebirds."

"If you want to go together, I'll have to ask them."

Time was of the essence; any second more could lead to complications. Wilson turned to ask the reception personnel.

He received an affirmative answer.

When they came, they had considered that Wilson might have family with him, so they prepared for three people.

Allen, full of joy, boarded the speedboat and headed straight for the sea area to meet the waiting cargo ship.

Gazing out at the vast, boundless, pitch-black sea.

"I, the first generation of Caribbean pirates, will eventually become the man who becomes the Pirate King."

Allen stood at the bow of the ship, mouth wide open, facing the cold sea breeze.

"Aaaalllaaalllaaa..."

The sea breeze rushed into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks.

After a long while, Allen said with satisfaction, "Drinking the northwest wind really fills you up. It tastes a bit salty, but it's been added to Allen's luxurious private cuisine."

After three hours of rapid travel at sea, they finally found the target cargo ship.

The Soviet Union and America were allies with trade relations, and most ocean-going cargo ships could directly enter each other's waters.

Of course, everyone knew about poaching talent from each other, they just didn't bring it up openly.

On the surface, it was a cargo ship, but in reality, it held a hidden world.

The sub-basement of the ship had been converted into an office area, where many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were receiving telegrams.

This was a supply ship, specifically designed to deliver remote supplies to agents on missions and also responsible for reception.

"Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Doctor Duke."

"No need for welcomes."

Peggy Carter looked at the overly familiar Allen with confusion.

"Don't mind him," Wilson said awkwardly. "There were some… incidents."

"It's nothing important, as long as you're safe," Carter said with a smile.

Meanwhile, Allen looked at the white paper on the table beside him and began to draw.

Causing trouble, he had to cause trouble.

If he didn't cause trouble for a minute, Allen felt restless.

Wilson and Carter chatted for a while, discussing the treatment he would receive in America.

They always used financial incentives to attract defecting experts.

"I'm not pretending anymore."

Allen shouted, pointing at Wilson. "He's a fake! I designed the AK rifle."

Immediately, the eyes of many agents focused on them.

"Allen, what nonsense are you talking about!"

Wilson panicked inwardly, then calmed down. Who would believe that a madman could design firearms?

"Arsen, to tell you the truth, I've been manipulating you all along."

Allen grinned slyly and revealed the truth: "I drew those blueprints for you. I just wanted S.H.I.E.L.D. to notice you and guide the events that followed. It wasn't your own achievement, and you were just reaping the rewards. You must have felt insecure, and I just had to trick you a little, and you actually fell for it."

"How can you prove you designed it?" Wilson demanded.

Allen placed the blueprints on the table, and everyone could see them clearly.

It was another completely new firearm design, entirely different from the AK rifle.

"You can prove yourself. Why frame me after S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited you?"

At this point, Wilson asked loudly, feeling humiliated to have been deceived by a lunatic.

"That's different. The Soviet Union was after you, the AK design expert. I was just a cleaner."

"..."

Was this a plan a madman could come up with?

Framing someone, then making a clean getaway – he was playing the game masterfully.