Agent Coulson looked toward the cockpit once again.
As a small transport aircraft, the Quinjet had a semi-open two-seat cockpit, allowing passengers in the cabin and cargo hold to clearly see the pilot and copilot. Yet this time, he could see nothing. An airtight hatch had been added to the cockpit, and the passenger cabin could only communicate with it through a hardwired intercom. The replies from the cockpit were unnervingly calm, even somewhat mechanical. On the way to the Los Angeles metropolitan area, silence shrouded everything. Though there were no physical restraints or mental shackles, Agent Coulson still sat obediently in the folding safety seat, fastening his belt and strapping himself firmly to the chair as he had done countless times before.
"According to our agreement, you have to tell me something." He finally could not hold back any longer. He could see the emotions in the eyes of the Alchemical Double across from him, as though it had been waiting for him to speak all along. It made him feel like prey that had fallen into a trap, while the damned hunter stood at the mouth of the pit with a gun in hand. The image was so vivid that his legs began to ache, and even his long-severed palms felt icy cold. "How is Lighthouse Base now?"
"My Praetorian Commander has brought the situation under control," the Alchemical Double said calmly. "Although the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. performed exceptionally well against Mechanical Soldiers and fully armed combat personnel, do not forget that they are still ordinary people. Do not expect ordinary people to put up much resistance against Gene-modded Warriors. He carried out his orders. No one was killed after the conflict ended; only a few arms and legs were broken. At least all the important people in