S.H.I.E.L.D.'s "Attention"

The repair shop's ceiling fan turned lazily, stirring up the smell of motor oil and the metallic tang of solder. Lin Mo was using tweezers to place a tiny resistor onto a circuit board—a motherboard salvaged from discarded agent equipment. Carlos had said, "The client needs it urgently. Fix it, and they'll pay double." His fingertips glimmered with a faint, translucent light, the passive state of his Phasing Ability. Ever since his proficiency had broken past 70%, even without actively triggering it, he could sense the structures inside objects, as if he had gained a pair of "X-ray eyes."

Ding— The wind chime by the entrance rang brightly as the opening door stirred the air. Lin Mo's hand paused. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a figure in a black suit, carrying a silver case and standing rigidly against the backlight like an old photograph cut from a page.

Phil Coulson.

Why was he here again? Only three days had passed since their "chance encounter" after the fire. Lin Mo's heart felt as though an invisible hand had clenched around it, and the tweezers nearly slipped from his fingers. He quickly regained his composure, lowered his head, and continued soldering the resistor as if he had not seen the visitor. Meanwhile, his thoughts raced. Was he here to repair another hard drive? Or had he come to lay everything on the table?

"Good afternoon, Lin Mo." Coulson's voice was as calm as ever, like a stream in autumn, revealing nothing of his mood. He placed the silver case on the workbench with a soft click. Its metal surface reflected a cold gleam beneath the lights, much like the encrypted hard drive from last time.

"Mr. Coulson." Lin Mo looked up and forced a professional smile. "Here to fix something again?" His gaze fell on the case as his wristband suddenly grew warm, displaying a line of pale-blue text: [High-intensity encrypted signal detected. 98% match with S.H.I.E.L.D. internal network.]

So it really was no simple job. Without changing expression, Lin Mo pressed down on a capacitor on the motherboard and swept the case with his Basic Phasing Ability—though he had grown more accustomed to calling it "Structural X-Ray." Inside was a hard drive, larger than the last one. Its chips were etched with more intricate patterns, coiled like serpents, while a red light slowly blinked at its core. It was an anti-tampering device.

"Still a hard drive." Coulson pulled out a chair and sat down, moving with an elegance more suited to afternoon tea than appliance repair. His eyes swept over the shop before settling on Lin Mo's solder-stained fingers for two seconds longer than necessary. "You were at the fire that day too, weren't you?"

Here it came. Lin Mo's heart skipped. He picked up a rag beside him and pretended to wipe oil stains from the table, though his fingertips trembled. "I was passing by," he said, trying to sound casual, even mildly annoyed. "There were too many people. I couldn't get in, so I didn't see much. I only saw the fire trucks arrive. The sirens were loud enough to give me a headache."

A barely visible curve touched Coulson's lips, like a ripple passing over water and vanishing in an instant. "Is that so? I heard there was a 'Wall-Crawler' at the scene. Quite impressive." His fingers tapped lightly against the tabletop in a steady rhythm, as if sending some kind of coded signal. "What do you think someone with special abilities should do? Hide away, or step forward?"

Cold sweat instantly seeped down Lin Mo's back. He was testing him! Lin Mo kept his head lowered, pretending to study the circuitry on the motherboard, his voice muffled. "I wouldn't know. Ordinary people like me should just stay far away when trouble happens." He paused, then looked up and met Coulson's eyes, trying to find something behind those rimless glasses. "Mr. Coulson has seen a lot. What do you think?"

It was the first time he had actively questioned him in return. The air seemed to freeze. The whirring of the ceiling fan became unusually distinct, like a stopwatch counting down.

Coulson watched him. Several seconds later, he suddenly smiled. It was a gentle smile, yet it put more pressure on Lin Mo than Carlos's glare ever could. "Me?" He spread his hands. "I'm just a customer having a hard drive repaired. What would I know about such things?" He opened the silver case, took out the intricate hard drive, and pushed it toward Lin Mo. "This job is a little difficult. I need all the data inside completely erased, with no trace left behind. The price is negotiable."

Lin Mo's gaze fell on the hard drive. Structural X-Ray clearly showed that it did not contain ordinary files, but a video. The footage was blurry, seemingly filmed from high above, and showed green energy fluctuations—the same energy signature as the meteor crater.

"Erase the data?" Lin Mo raised a brow and deliberately showed a troubled expression. "That's a little tricky. It might damage the hard drive." He was buying time as his mind raced. How much did Coulson know? Was he certain Lin Mo was the Wall-Crawler, or merely suspicious? That phrase, "The greater the ability, the greater the trouble"—was it a warning, or a reminder?

"It's fine." Coulson took a black card from the inner pocket of his suit and placed it on the table. "There's five thousand dollars on it. A deposit. Another five thousand after it's done."

Lin Mo's breathing stopped for a moment. Ten thousand dollars? Just to erase a hard drive? This was no longer a repair job. Coulson was buying his time—or rather, buying his attention. Lin Mo glanced at the card. It bore no markings and looked like an ordinary gift card, but his wristband displayed: [S.H.I.E.L.D. Logistics Department encrypted identifier detected.]

"Fine. I'll give it a try." Lin Mo took the hard drive, and Structural X-Ray activated again as he carefully examined the anti-tampering system. The red light was connected to three miniature explosives. If the data-erasure program did not match its preset conditions, they would detonate and destroy the entire drive. "Come pick it up tomorrow?"

"No need. I'll wait." Coulson leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as if resting, though his ears remained alert, catching every sound in the repair shop—the hiss of solder, the hum of the spinning hard drive, and Lin Mo's deliberately quiet breathing.

Lin Mo's back was already soaked in cold sweat. He knew Coulson was not waiting for the hard drive. He was observing him. Observing his movements, his reactions, even whether his ability would reveal itself. Lin Mo took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. As though dismantling an ordinary hard drive, he worked step by step, using Structural X-Ray to guide him around every trap.

The data-erasure process went smoothly, faster than he had expected. When the last fragment of video was completely shredded, the red light at the hard drive's core went dark like a dead eye. Lin Mo placed the drive back in its case and pushed it toward Coulson. He did not say a word the entire time, though sweat ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the motherboard with a faint sizzle.

Coulson opened his eyes, looked at the case, then at Lin Mo, and suddenly said, "I have a colleague named Clint Barton. He's an excellent archer. He always says that sometimes, being hidden in the shadows is more useful than standing in the light." He rose, picked up the case, and paused at the door. Looking back at Lin Mo, his gaze was as deep as a well. "The greater the ability, the greater the trouble. Sometimes, hiding is smarter than stepping forward."

With that, he pushed open the door and walked into the autumn sunlight, his figure quickly disappearing around the street corner.

Lin Mo stood frozen where he was. The tweezers in his hand fell to the floor with a clang. He knew. Coulson knew, one hundred percent, that he was the Wall-Crawler! That line about hiding being smarter than stepping forward was clearly meant for him—S.H.I.E.L.D. had confirmed his identity. They simply did not intend to make a move against him yet.

"Fuck!" Lin Mo cursed under his breath and kicked the toolbox beside him. Wrenches and screwdrivers scattered across the floor with harsh clatters. For the first time, he felt that having an ability was this terrifying—being watched by a massive, omnipresent organization, like being wrapped in the coils of a venomous snake that he could not shake off.

Carlos poked his head out from the back room, a cigarette hanging from his lips and impatience written across his face. "What the hell are you doing, kid? You scared the crap out of me."

"It's nothing, Carlos." Lin Mo crouched to pick up the tools, his voice shaking slightly. "The hard drive was too hard to fix. It pissed me off."

Carlos snorted and did not press further. He turned back toward the rear room, tossing over his shoulder, "Don't take it out on the tools. If you break them, you pay for them."

Lin Mo picked up the final screwdriver, his palm slick with sweat. He knew that Carlos, though sharp-tongued, was protecting him—what had just happened must have alerted any S.H.I.E.L.D. agents lurking outside. Carlos's appearance had acted like a shield, covering up Lin Mo's loss of composure.

After work that evening, Lin Mo deliberately took the long way home, passing through three alleys before returning to the apartment building. The moment he reached the stairwell entrance, he saw Peter crouching on the steps with binoculars in hand, his brow wrinkled like a little old man's. "Lin!" The boy ran over as soon as he saw him and shoved the binoculars into his hands. "Look at the rooftop across the street. Someone's been watching through binoculars all afternoon. Isn't that weird?"

Lin Mo took the binoculars and adjusted the focus toward the opposite rooftop. A man in a black trench coat was holding military-grade binoculars. They were aimed at the apartment building where Martha lived—or, more precisely, at his basement.

S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance. Lin Mo's heart sank to the bottom. Coulson's words had not been a warning. They had been a notice—they would keep watching him.

"Probably a reporter trying to get a picture of the Wall-Crawler." Lin Mo returned the binoculars to Peter and tried to sound relaxed. "Ignore him. Let's go upstairs."

"He's not a reporter!" Peter said with certainty. "Those are military binoculars. I saw them at a science fair! And he got a phone call earlier. He said something like, 'Target is completely normal.' He sounded just like an agent in a movie!"

Lin Mo's heart jolted. This kid's powers of observation were sharper than those of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. "Don't make things up." He ruffled Peter's hair. "Go home. Aunt May will worry."

After returning to the basement, the first thing Lin Mo did was check for listening devices. He took out a homemade detector—something Carlos had taught him to make, enhanced with Structural X-Ray—and swept the room. Sure enough, he found a miniature bug in the base of the desk lamp. It was the size of a needle tip, stuck behind the wiring where no one would notice it without looking closely.

"Pretty well hidden." Lin Mo sneered. Using tweezers, he carefully removed the bug, activated his Phasing Ability, tossed it into an iron bucket beside him, then poured melted solder over it to destroy it completely. "You want to listen in on me? Not that easily."

After dealing with the bug, Lin Mo sat at his desk and looked at the black card Coulson had left behind. Ten thousand dollars was enough to buy a new oscilloscope, maybe even move somewhere better. But he knew he could not touch the money. The moment he spent it, he would be acknowledging his connection to S.H.I.E.L.D., and he would never be free of them again.

He placed the card in the deepest part of his drawer, beneath Elderly Irene's thank-you card. Another card was hidden there too, one Peter had drawn. It showed a stick figure walking through a wall, with the words: "My Hero."

"Hide, or step forward?" Lin Mo muttered to the empty room. Coulson's words echoed in his ears like a curse. Hiding meant living under surveillance forever and losing his freedom. Stepping forward meant being dragged into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s vortex, perhaps never returning to a peaceful life.

Just then, his wristband lit up: [Host has encountered a choice. "Ability Branch" secondary options triggered.]

[Option 1: Enhance Concealment (completely block non-energy detection, including S.H.I.E.L.D.'s thermal imagers).]

[Option 2: Enhance Offense (phasing can inflict physical damage on objects, such as tearing metal apart).]

Lin Mo stared at the screen, his finger hovering in midair. Choosing 1 meant hiding completely, avoiding S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance, and continuing to be a neighborhood repairman. Choosing 2 meant preparing for battle, perhaps confronting S.H.I.E.L.D.—and even future enemies—head-on.

He remembered Elderly Irene's terrified face at the fire, the children's excitement as they surrounded him and shouted "Wall-Crawler," and the stick figure Peter had drawn... In the end, his finger landed on Option 1.

"I'm not a hero. I'm just a repairman who wants to protect his neighbors." Lin Mo spoke to the wristband, his voice quiet but unusually firm. "Hiding doesn't mean cowardice."

A faint flash passed through the wristband. The air in the room seemed to thicken as the enhanced concealment took effect. Even Lin Mo himself felt his body become more "transparent," as though he were blending into his surroundings. He walked to the mirror and aimed his phone camera at himself. On the screen, there was only a vague shadow, like an out-of-focus photograph.

"This is good enough." Lin Mo let out a breath. At least under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance, he could preserve a little space for himself.

That night, Martha called to him from downstairs. "Lin! Come up and eat dumplings! Chive and egg filling!"

Lin Mo smiled and ran upstairs. The moment he entered, Snowball tripped him. The fat cat rubbed against his pant leg, the bell around its neck jingling. Martha was sitting on the couch making dumplings while the television played the news. The anchor said, "S.H.I.E.L.D. has recently increased patrols in Queens to combat Mutant crime."

"Those people in black are always wandering around doing nothing," Martha said as she tossed a dumpling into the pot, splashing water. "Last time, they even asked whether I knew some 'kid who could walk through walls.' I cursed them out. What business was it of theirs?"

Warmth filled Lin Mo's heart. So Martha had known all along that S.H.I.E.L.D. was investigating him, and she had been quietly protecting him. "Why were they asking?" he asked, pretending to be curious as he picked up a freshly cooked dumpling and blew on it because it was scorching hot.

"Who knows?" Martha rolled her eyes at him. "Maybe they want to catch him and use him as a lab specimen. Government people are all bad news." She paused and placed several more dumplings in Lin Mo's bowl. "If anyone dares give you trouble, tell me. I'll have Snowball scratch them!"

Lin Mo smiled, though his eyes grew a little hot. He knew that no matter how S.H.I.E.L.D. watched him, no matter how much trouble lay ahead, the people in this apartment building would always have his back.

After finishing the dumplings and returning to the basement, Lin Mo added another line to his "Ability Practice Schedule": "Practice using abilities under surveillance. Achieve complete concealment." He knew that this "game" with S.H.I.E.L.D. had only just begun.

Early the next morning, on his way to the repair shop, Lin Mo saw the agent in the black trench coat still on the rooftop across the street. He had merely changed positions, and his binoculars remained trained on the apartment building. Lin Mo ignored him, opened the shop as usual, and began repairing bicycles.

At noon, he anonymously mailed Coulson's black card back to S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters—the address had been found by Peter, because that kid could somehow find even that. The package contained nothing except a note that read: "Queens is doing well. So am I."

That afternoon, the agent on the rooftop disappeared. Lin Mo knew they had not given up. They had simply switched to a subtler method—perhaps disguising themselves as homeless people, perhaps blending in as neighborhood repairmen. But he did not care.

He crouched outside the repair shop, patching Ted's bicycle tire as sunlight poured over him, warm and comfortable. The wristband rested quietly against his wrist. Enhanced by concealment, it was like a true secret, hidden beneath his skin and buried in everyday life.

Coulson was right. The greater the ability, the greater the trouble. But Lin Mo felt that as long as he protected the people he wanted to protect, any amount of trouble was worth bearing.

After all, being "noticed" by S.H.I.E.L.D. was better than being forgotten. At least it proved that his ability had enough value. And value meant having the confidence to protect others.

The repair shop's wind chime rang again. Lin Mo looked up, thinking Coulson had returned, only to see Peter standing at the entrance with a glass jar in his hands. Inside, a spider was spinning silk, weaving a glittering web.

"Lin, I gave it a new box! This time it didn't get violent!" the boy said excitedly, his eyes sparkling.

Lin Mo smiled, put down the glue in his hand, and stood up. "That's great. By the way, are you going to Community Square after school today? The kids said they want the Wall-Crawler to help them get a kite down."

"Yes!" Peter nodded vigorously. "I'll keep watch for you and see if there are any agents!"

Sunlight streamed through the repair shop window and fell over the two of them, outlining them in gold. On a distant rooftop, a new observer raised binoculars, but saw only two ordinary figures walking toward the square through the streets of Queens, their laughter bright and clear like that of any ordinary afternoon.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention continued, but Lin Mo knew he would neither hide away nor step forward. He would stay on his own street as he did now, repairing computers, helping neighbors, and occasionally becoming the "Wall-Crawler," carving out a path of his own between ability and responsibility.

Perhaps that was what Coulson truly wanted to see—a hero not defined by labels, a "Mutant" who held on to the warmth of ordinary life.