"This is Search Party Three."
A hard-faced man with short gray-white hair sent a report to the temporary headquarters through the earpiece built into his light ballistic helmet. This team operated on the outskirts of the battlefield, handling intelligence work. Their armbands bore a red shield emblazoned with a golden steel gauntlet, its back set with a silver skull—marking them as part of Victoria Hand's Intelligence Department. All five members were Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. who had followed Victoria Hand during the Hydra rebellion, later taken in by the City of Immortals to escape the United States government's manhunt.
There were many such teams, all now scattered around the perimeter of Fimbulwinter Mountain on reconnaissance assignments.
Their loyalty was assured. Agent Hand had drawn up regulations and used the City of Immortals' resources to settle their families; even their children's education was fully covered by the City of Immortals, without costing them a cent. One could say that the City of Immortals controlled their loyalty by controlling their families, but this job—with no mortgage payments, guaranteed retirement, no superiors dragging them into involuntary human experiments, no stolen pensions, and generous death benefits—was far better than what they had before. As for the City of Immortals requiring them to renounce superstition, that was easy enough to accept. This was an age of science, after all. They only had to verbally give up their religious faith; their boss's boss was not particularly demanding.
"We found a refugee at the church. Male, between twelve and fifteen. Unusual hair color. Unconscious."
"Received." The emotionless voice of the intelligence officer sent a chill rising from the depths of Joel's heart. He had seen those intelligence officers before. He knew they seemed to have undergone partial brainwashing to resist the mental contamination from even more horrifying missions.