Who Was Human? Who Was a Ghost?

Los Angeles, a bar located in a poor neighborhood.

The bar owner was an old Russian man who loved vodka. To the nearby residents and regulars, he was a stubborn old man with a sharp tongue but a soft heart. Though he cursed horribly whenever customers asked to run a tab, he could never resist letting them do it one more time when they pleaded.

As a result, this modest bar had become a popular evening haunt for the local residents, lively every night.

Lin Hao, who had flown all the way from the seaside castle using Geppo, stood across the street and studied the bar. He knew the owner was not actually Russian, but a Chinese descendant of Russian ethnicity. This bar was an independent covert line maintained by S.P.E.A.R. in North America.

Half a year ago, at the end of last year, S.P.E.A.R.'s intelligence network in the Americas had suffered a devastating blow. The head of the Americas Branch had gone missing, while large numbers of agents had been killed or captured. The culprit was none other than Black Nick Fury, Nick Fury.

There was no right or wrong on the intelligence front. Everyone had their own position, and once they crossed paths, it was a fight to the death.

According to S.P.E.A.R.'s internal regulations, only the head of the Americas Branch had clearance to know about this Los Angeles line. It would only be activated for the most crucial intelligence or when an important person needed to be arranged to leave America, and it could only be used once.

Countless unsung heroes spent their entire lives playing a role in foreign lands, waiting for an awakening that might never come. Yet when the order arrived, they had to abandon their homes and families, devoting their life's work and even their lives to the greater cause of their people.

The success need not be mine, but I must be part of it.

The bar was still there, which meant this covert line had not been activated. However, Lin Hao did not let down his guard. He first scanned the surroundings with Observation Haki and found no hidden threats.

The Observation Haki he had obtained from Whitebeard was of high quality, but it could not let him hear the voices of all things like Roger, nor could it let him hear others' inner voices like Princess Otohime. It could only distinguish the number of living beings nearby and the strength of their auras.

At present, the amount of Observation Haki within Lin Hao was insufficient, allowing him to cover only a two-kilometer radius.

Although Lin Hao also possessed the "ki" of the Dragon Ball World, he had never learned any specific techniques for sensing it. Moreover, ki was an energy unique to the Dragon Ball World. The creatures of the Marvel world might possess another form of life energy, but it was not ki. At the very least, Toriyama and Stan Lee had never had a crossover.

Without waiting any longer across the street, he gave the bar an ordinary customer's once-over before walking toward it.

The bar was packed with noise and filled with smoke.

The smell of sweat, body odor, stinky feet, cheap perfume, alcohol, cigarettes... Countless odors mingled together. Even though Lin Hao had been prepared, he still frowned.

Walking up to the counter, he said to the owner, "A whiskey."

The rare Asian face made the owner give him an extra look before returning to his work.

The instant Lin Hao entered the bar, Level Seven Agent Grant Ward noticed the Asian man at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Los Angeles branch more than ten kilometers away.

"Zoom in on the image," Ward instructed the technician seated at the computer.

Lin Hao's newly adopted face appeared on the screen.

"Search for this person's records," Ward continued.

Before long, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s information network had quickly located detailed personal records for the Asian face.

Ward glanced over them. He was a Korean American from Arizona, and the files included a record of him flying to Los Angeles two days earlier.

Seeing that everything appeared normal, Ward stopped paying attention.

At that moment, a woman in a skintight leather outfit entered the duty room. She was short and also had an Asian face.

"Melinda, if you keep skipping work whenever you feel like it, I really won't be able to explain it to the director," Grant Ward said helplessly.

"I told you, I drank too much water and needed to use the restroom." Melinda May, known as The Cavalry, shot Ward a glare.

At this point, the two were still lovers.

Ordinary office romances might not have been accepted by bosses, but agents—especially those who frequently went into the field—lived on the edge of life and death year-round and had long stopped caring about fleeting affairs. Their superiors even encouraged agents to pair up internally. When out in the field, playing married couples or lovers made for the perfect cover.

"Melinda, we're agents. We have our own position," Ward urged. "Don't forget, you're American."

"I don't need you to remind me." Melinda May replied coldly.

"Agent Ward, we've been watching this bar for months, and the target has never appeared." Another agent beside him suggested, "Why not send in the 'Impostor' to provoke this line? We might get an unexpected result."

"Has his wound healed?" Ward asked.

"Yes." His subordinate nodded.

"How was the result?"

"The Academy's best plastic surgeon handled it personally. It is guaranteed to be identical."

"What about the accent?"

"Colleagues fluent in Chinese have already assessed him. There are no problems."

Seeing Ward considering it, the agent continued to persuade him. "According to what they said, this is only a covert line. The bar owner might not have even met S.P.E.A.R.'s previous branch head."

"I know you want credit. So do I." Ward sternly reprimanded them. "But as agents, caution is our first principle."

"But we can't just keep waiting forever, can we?"

The agents at the Los Angeles branch wore bitter expressions. They had gone months without any other operations, ordered to sit around and wait for a rabbit to come to them. Irritation had built up from top to bottom.

Worse still, without field assignments, there were no allowances. On their base salaries alone, many of them could not even cover their monthly bank bills.

Americans generally had no habit of saving money, and as agents, their normal lives were even more lavish and extravagant.

A single order from above had kept them on standby for so long that many low-ranking agents were nearly unable to make ends meet. They did not care how important cutting off S.P.E.A.R.'s reach into North America was to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s overall strategy. They only knew that if this continued, the banks would come knocking to collect their debts.

Therefore, no matter the outcome, the Los Angeles branch agents were desperate to end this operation immediately, even if they came away empty-handed.

"Do as you suggested." Melinda May, who had remained silent until then, suddenly agreed with the Los Angeles branch's plan.

"May!" Ward turned to look at her.

"If S.P.E.A.R.'s people never come, do you intend to wait here for the rest of your life?" Melinda spread her hands. "Or do you have a better plan?"

Ward said nothing.

"Since you don't, let the 'Impostor' give it a try." Melinda said decisively. "I'm also a Level Seven agent. I have the authority to decide the operation plan."

The agents at the Los Angeles branch immediately sprang into action upon hearing this.

They had had enough of this idiotic waiting.

An hour later, another Asian man pushed open the bar's door.

Lin Hao, who had merely been drinking and had not made contact with the bar owner, suddenly turned to look at the newcomer. A meaningful smile immediately appeared on his face. "Interesting."

He looked back at the bar owner once more, tossed down a ten-dollar bill, then turned and left, brushing past the middle-aged Asian man who had just entered.

In the agent business, there were humans and there were ghosts.

Who was human? Who was a ghost?

Who could see clearly before the very end?

Please bookmark, vote, and keep reading!!!