Whiplash's Trail

When the morning light streamed through the simulated windows into the office, Lin Xiao had already been sitting before the data terminal for two hours.

The air carried a faint aroma of coffee mixed with the slight ozone smell emitted by running electronics. On the screen before him, the follow-up report on the Bulgaria Incident was scrolling by—Fletcher had formally assigned him the task of drafting a "security reinforcement plan," which meant he now had clearance to access the base's non-core databases and request technical analysis support. The sound of typing echoed steadily through the quiet room as Lin Xiao's fingers moved across the keyboard, writing the first section of the proposal: "Risk Classification and Response Strategies for External Intelligence Infiltration."

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in."

Su Ying pushed the door open, carrying two trays. The rich scent of fried eggs and toasted bread instantly overwhelmed the smell of coffee. She set the trays in an empty corner of the desk, her gaze sweeping over the contents of his screen.

"You didn't go back to your room last night," she said calmly.

"I was organizing my thoughts." Lin Xiao paused his typing and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His eyes felt dry. Though the "sunlight" outside the simulated window was bright, it lacked the warmth of real light. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. It had gone cold, its bitter taste spreading across the back of his tongue.

Su Ying sat down across from him and picked up her breakfast. Her knife and fork struck the porcelain plate with crisp sounds. "Fletcher spoke to me this morning."

"About what?"

"My 'loyalty assessment.'" Su Ying cut off a piece of egg, her movements steady. "He needed to confirm whether I, a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, was still trustworthy after the Bulgaria Incident."

Lin Xiao looked at her. Morning light fell across the side of her face, tracing its sharp contours. Her eyes remained focused on her plate, but her shoulders were slightly tense—that was her instinctive reaction whenever she was on guard.

"How did you answer?"

"I said my loyalty belonged to wherever I could make myself useful." Su Ying looked up and met his eyes. "And for now, this place seems more interesting than S.H.I.E.L.D.'s bureaucratic games."

They were silent for several seconds. In the distance came the footsteps of base personnel changing shifts. Their echoes on the metal floor drew closer, then gradually faded away.

"Did he believe you?" Lin Xiao asked.

"Whether he believes me isn't important." Su Ying set down her utensils. "What matters is that he needs me. Just like he needs you. Bulgaria proved one thing—in this organization, capable people are always scarce."

Lin Xiao nodded. He looked out the window. The simulated sky was a brilliant blue, with several "clouds" drifting slowly by. It was a perfect scene designed by a program, but fake was fake. Just like the seemingly solid loyalties within Hydra, which were fundamentally illusions woven from interest and fear.

"I need you to do something for me," he said.

"Go on."

"Gather Wolf and Nightingale. Small conference room, nine sharp." Lin Xiao closed the security plan document and brought up another encrypted interface. "We have something new to do."

8:55 a.m.

The small conference room was on the east side of the base's second underground level. It was less than twenty square meters in size, with soundproofed walls and a heavy alloy door. Inside were only a rectangular conference table, four chairs, and an embedded display screen. The air-conditioning system hummed quietly, maintaining a constant temperature of twenty degrees Celsius. The air smelled sharply of fresh paint—the room had just undergone a soundproofing upgrade last week.

Lin Xiao arrived first. He stood before the display screen, his fingers sliding across the control panel as he brought up a world map. Dozens of red dots were marked on it, each with a brief note beside it: known S.H.I.E.L.D. outposts, Hydra peripheral facilities, weapons black-market trading hubs, high-tech smuggling routes...

The door opened.

Wolf walked in. The former Hydra intelligence officer, a man in his early forties, wore the standard base uniform—a dark gray jacket and trousers—but two buttons at his collar were undone, revealing the worn collar of the shirt beneath. He carried an old-fashioned leather notebook in one hand. His knuckles were thick, and his skin bore thin calluses from prolonged use of electronic equipment. His eyes swept the room before settling on Lin Xiao. He nodded, then took a seat on the left side of the conference table.

Nightingale followed close behind.

She looked no older than twenty-five or twenty-six, slim and slight, dressed in a black hoodie and cargo pants. Her hair was tied into a simple ponytail, with several loose strands falling over her forehead. A bulging backpack hung from her shoulders, and the faint clinking of electronic devices came from within. As she entered, her gaze first went to the air vent in the corner, then to the surveillance cameras in all four corners of the ceiling—their red indicators were dark, as they had been shut off. Only after confirming it was safe did she walk to the right side of the conference table and set her backpack by her feet without sitting down.

"We can begin." Su Ying entered last and shut the door. The lock made a dull hydraulic sound as it sealed. She took up a position beside Lin Xiao, hands clasped behind her back, calmly scanning Wolf and Nightingale.

Lin Xiao turned around.

The world map on the display enlarged, focusing on Eastern Europe. The Baltic Sea coast, the Black Sea region, the Caucasus Mountains... red dots were densely scattered across the map.

"After the Bulgaria Incident, we've gained a certain amount of attention within the organization." Lin Xiao began, his voice unusually clear within the soundproofed room. "Fletcher has authorized me to draft the security reinforcement plan. That means we can call on more resources and carry out some... peripheral intelligence-gathering work."

Wolf opened his notebook and pulled a pen from his pocket. The tip hovered over the page.

"What direction specifically?" Nightingale asked. Her voice was soft, but every word was sharply articulated.

"Arc Reactor technology," Lin Xiao said. "Or, more accurately, the black-market circulation of Stark Industries' core energy technology."

The room fell silent for several seconds.

The hum of the air conditioner seemed to grow louder.

"That's Stark's lifeblood." Wolf set down his pen and folded his hands on the table. "S.H.I.E.L.D. and intelligence agencies around the world have been watching it for more than a decade, and none of them have obtained the complete technology. What circulates on the black market is either crude imitations or theoretical fragments."

"I know." Lin Xiao walked to the conference table and braced both hands against its surface. "I don't need the complete technology. What I need is... traces."

"What kind of traces?"

"Any trace of attempts to copy, improve, or reverse-engineer the Arc Reactor." Lin Xiao's gaze moved from Wolf to Nightingale. "Especially forums, chat rooms, and encrypted channels where people communicate in a mix of Russian and English slang. Focus on keywords like 'Stark knockoffs,' 'Hammer collaboration,' and 'miniaturized energy systems.'"

Nightingale's brows rose slightly. "Hammer Industries? That second-rate arms dealer always chasing after Stark?"

"Justin Hammer has always wanted to surpass Stark." Lin Xiao straightened. "But he lacks the core technology. If someone could offer even part of the technical concepts behind the Arc Reactor, he'd latch on like a starving wolf."

"And that person is very likely active in Russian-speaking circles," Wolf continued, lightly tapping the tabletop with his fingers. "After the collapse of the Soviet Union, a large number of military-industrial scientists ended up scattered among civilians. They understand theory and have experience, but they lack funding, equipment, and... a modern technical perspective."

Lin Xiao nodded.

"The task is divided into two parts." He looked at Wolf. "You'll sort through our existing Eastern European intelligence networks and screen for personnel movements and financial irregularities from the past six months related to high-energy physics, materials science, and precision machining. Focus on Ukraine, Belarus, and Latvia."

Wolf quickly wrote in his notebook, the pen scratching softly across the paper.

"Nightingale." Lin Xiao turned to her. "You'll handle the dark web. Start from the deepest corners of weapons technology forums. Use our newly acquired authorization to access the base's crawler programs, but apply three layers of disguise—no one can be allowed to trace the searches back to the source. I want you to find those vague posts, those conversations discussing 'interesting projects' in mixed languages. Do not make direct contact. Only observe, record, and analyze the posters' language habits, login times, and possible physical locations."

Nightingale pulled out a tablet from her backpack, her fingers rapidly swiping across its screen. "I'll need at least three independent relay servers, preferably under different jurisdictions. The base's crawler programs are too easily identified. I'll write a lightweight version myself."

"Fine," Lin Xiao said. "Su Ying will provide you with a list of the necessary equipment. Go requisition it from the warehouse. If anyone asks, say you're testing the network defense module of the security plan."

Su Ying nodded.

"Time limit?" Wolf asked.

"One week," Lin Xiao said. "Within one week, I want to see preliminary reports."

The meeting ended at 9:37.

Wolf packed away his notebook and slipped his pen back into his pocket. As he stood, the chair legs scraped faintly against the floor. He nodded to Lin Xiao, opened the conference room door, and left. His footsteps gradually faded down the corridor.

Nightingale was still working with her tablet, blue screen light reflecting off her face. She suddenly looked up. "If we find the target, what's next?"

Lin Xiao looked at her.

The girl's eyes were bright, her pupils slightly constricted beneath the screen's glow. It was not curiosity. It was the focus of a technical expert facing a complex problem.

"The next step..." Lin Xiao paused. "We'll put out bait."

Over the next four days, life at the base continued as usual.

During the day, Lin Xiao drafted the security reinforcement plan in his office, transforming the lessons of the Bulgaria Incident into twelve concrete improvement measures: increasing the frequency of random inspections between peripheral outposts, establishing a false-intelligence release mechanism to interfere with outside surveillance, implementing double-encryption verification procedures for transport missions... Every page of the report was rigorous and detailed, citing a great deal from Hydra's internal security manuals and field cases. After reviewing the draft, Fletcher changed only a few phrases before submitting it to headquarters.

At night, Lin Xiao received progress reports from Wolf and Nightingale.

Wolf's intelligence network identified seventeen suspicious targets: three plasma physicists who had disappeared in Kyiv, a High-Energy Materials Institute registered in Minsk but never actually put into operation, five accounts transferring funds through Cyprus shell companies into Baltic Sea countries... The information was scattered and immense, like puzzle pieces strewn across the floor.

But Nightingale had made a breakthrough.

On the fifth night, at 11:23 p.m.

Lin Xiao's encrypted communicator vibrated. He was revising the appendix of the security plan, and the dense tables and data on the screen made his eyes ache. He picked up the communicator and unlocked it.

The message came through Nightingale's dedicated channel. There was only one line:

"Forum, depth level three. Target found. Language-pattern match: 87%."

Lin Xiao closed the document and brought up the encrypted communications interface. His fingers tapped across the keyboard. "Specifics?"

Several minutes later, an encrypted file came through. Lin Xiao decrypted it with a preset key. The file opened to reveal a series of screenshots and text transcripts.

The screenshots came from a dark-web forum called Mechanic's Salon. Its interface was crude, with a dark gray background and harsh bright-green text. The forum's categories were a chaotic mess: everything from World War II tank repair to drone modifications, chemical formula sharing to hacker discussions. The post Nightingale found was buried deep within a subforum called Energy and Power.

The title was in Russian: "Seeking Collaboration: High-Power-Density Energy System."

Posted: three weeks ago.

The content was written in a mix of Russian and English slang:

"A project requires a miniaturized energy solution. Current reference benchmark: Stark Industries' publicly demonstrated 2008 version, known output 3GW, volume 0.3 cubic meters. Goal: maintain output no lower than 2.5GW while compressing volume to under 0.1 cubic meters and solving heat dissipation and stability issues. Existing resources: theoretical calculations 70% complete, some material samples, basic machining equipment. Requirements: high-precision CNC machine tools, five-axis or above; special alloy materials, palladium and iridium-based; practical experience with plasma confinement technology. Collaboration terms negotiable, but an in-person meeting is required. No time-wasters."

There were several replies below, most of them mocking or skeptical:

"Another lunatic trying to copy Stark."

"0.1 cubic meters? Do you even know what you're talking about?"

"Palladium alloys? That stuff costs enough to buy a small country."

But the poster did not respond to any of the mockery. Two days later, he posted an addition:

"Hammer Industries' technical route is too conservative. We need a more aggressive solution. Those interested, contact me privately. Encrypted communications only."

Lin Xiao scrolled down and read Nightingale's attached analysis report:

"Language characteristics: Poster's native language is Russian, but he is highly proficient in English technical terminology. His slang usage bears traces of the Soviet-era military-industrial system, such as calling a reactor core a 'samovar.' Login times are concentrated between 1:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. Moscow time. He may be in the Eastern European time zone. The IP address passed through multiple relays, with the final exit in Riga, Latvia, but it cannot be confirmed whether that is his actual location."

"Technical assessment: The parameters mentioned in the post are extremely specific and closely match the real data from Stark's early Arc Reactor models. Those figures were never made public and can only be inferred from the armor's output. The poster's understanding of the technical difficulties—heat dissipation, stability, material limitations—is accurate and not the fantasy of an amateur."

"Risk assessment: The poster may be Ivan Vanko, son of former Soviet physicist Anton Vanko, who has strong motives for revenge and the necessary technical background, or a member of his technical team. Recommend cautious contact."

Lin Xiao finished reading everything.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The office was quiet, with only the low whir of the computer fan. The air smelled of paper and electronics, along with the faint scent of sweat on his body—he had been working continuously for fourteen hours.

Ivan Vanko.

The name was crystal clear in his memory: a genius driven by hatred, a madman capable of building a miniature Arc Reactor with crude equipment, an avenger who had nearly killed Tony Stark at the Monaco racetrack with plasma whips.

According to the original timeline, Ivan should still have been in some Russian prison, or perhaps had only just been released and was planning his revenge. But now, the timing had moved up. Was this the butterfly effect? Or had this world always differed from the one in his memories?

Lin Xiao opened his eyes and looked at the screen.

Posted: three weeks ago.

That meant Ivan Vanko—or his team—had already been active for at least a month. They were seeking partners, equipment, and materials. They were trying to build a smaller, more powerful Arc Reactor.

And Justin Hammer, that second-rate arms dealer desperate to prove himself, was likely already in contact with them.

A plan began taking shape in Lin Xiao's mind.

He reopened the encrypted communications interface and sent Nightingale instructions:

"Do not contact them directly. Cover identity: Eastern European dealer in secondhand military-industrial equipment, based in Vilnius. Post a sales listing on the same forum: a batch of 'high-precision CNC machine tools,' five-axis, German-made, ninety percent new; 'special alloy materials,' palladium ingots and iridium powder, 99.9% purity. Need to sell urgently, favorable prices. Additional condition: cryptocurrency payment only, or... barter with some 'interesting technical blueprints.'"

After sending the message, Lin Xiao waited five minutes.

Nightingale replied, "Understood. Preparing the cover identity documents will take time. Estimated completion: twelve hours. The sales listing will be posted early tomorrow morning."

"Watch the language habits," Lin Xiao added. "Use Russian with a Lithuanian accent and mix in some German technical terms. Background: a businessman who resold Soviet military-industrial stockpiles after the collapse of the Soviet Union and now wants to transition into a 'technology broker.'"

"Received."

The communication ended.

Lin Xiao shut down every interface, and the screen went dark. He stood and walked to the window. Outside the simulated window, the "night sky" was pitch-black, with only a few sparse "stars" flickering with false light. The glass was cold, and a faint static charge tingled at his fingertips when he touched it.

The bait had been set.

Now all that remained was to wait for the fish to bite.

The wait lasted three days.

Over those three days, Lin Xiao completed the final draft of the security reinforcement plan. Fletcher submitted it to headquarters, and the response was: "Detailed and operationally feasible. Pilot implementation recommended." This meant Lin Xiao's name had once again entered the field of vision of mid-level management—not as someone who had gotten lucky once, but as a technical backbone with real planning ability.

Wolf's intelligence network continued operating and screened out three more suspicious targets. One of them, a Precision Machining Laboratory registered in Riga, caught Lin Xiao's attention. The laboratory was registered under a retired engineer named Mikhail Petrov, but bank records showed that more than five hundred thousand euros had been transferred in from Cyprus shell companies over the past three months, designated for "equipment procurement."

Meanwhile, Nightingale's bait post had sparked some discussion on the forum.

Several users asked about the machine tools' specific models and prices, but Nightingale brushed them off with professional yet perfunctory replies—she was not waiting for these little fish.

On the third night, at 11:08 p.m.

Lin Xiao was reviewing the internal base security patrol report Su Ying had submitted when his encrypted communicator vibrated again.

This time, it was not a text message, but an encrypted call request.

Lin Xiao put on his headset and accepted it.

Nightingale's voice came through, more hurried than usual. "There's an inquiry. The encryption level is very high. It wasn't a forum private message—they contacted me directly through the dark-web email address I left in the post."

"Contents?"

"They asked three questions. First, the specific data for the machine tools' positioning accuracy and repeat positioning accuracy. Second, the origin of the palladium ingots and their purity certification reports. Third..." She paused. "Whether we have experience machining 'miniaturized energy system core components.'"

Lin Xiao lightly tapped his fingers against the desk.

Once, twice, three times.

"Reply to him," Lin Xiao said. "Give him the machine-tool accuracy data, but ask him to provide the 'machining requirement specifications' for reference. Send sample scans of the palladium certification reports. As for our experience..." The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "Tell him we've 'handled similar projects, but they involved confidentiality agreements. We can provide partial case studies at an in-person meeting.'"

"Understood. Should we arrange a meeting place?"

"Let him propose it."

The communication ended.

Lin Xiao removed his headset and leaned back in his chair. The office lighting was cold white, casting glaring reflections across the metal desk. The air smelled faintly of dust—the base's ventilation system needed cleaning.

The fish was testing the bait.

And it was being very careful. It had not used the forum's private messages, instead choosing encrypted email. The questions were professional and specific, especially the veiled reference to a "miniaturized energy system."

This was very likely Ivan Vanko himself, or someone from his core team.

Twenty minutes later, another message from Nightingale arrived:

"They replied. They agreed to provide the machining requirement specifications, but demand that we send the palladium ingot certification report first. Meeting place... they proposed an abandoned factory in the Sloka District of Riga, Latvia. Time: one week from now, 9:00 p.m. Only two of us may attend. He will bring three people. Transaction method: inspect the goods on site. If satisfied, they will pay a cryptocurrency deposit, and part of the blueprints will be delivered in advance as a 'good-faith payment.'"

Lin Xiao looked at the words on the screen.

Riga. Sloka District. An abandoned factory.

Everything matched his memories: Ivan Vanko was accustomed to working in industrial ruins, places with ample space, concealment, and existing power connections and lifting equipment.

He replied to Nightingale:

"Agreed. Get the factory's precise coordinates. Tell him we'll bring samples. Also, have him prepare a 'catalog and summary of the blueprints.' We need to assess their value."

"Received."

Several minutes later, the coordinates came through: 56.946 degrees north, 24.116 degrees east. At the edge of Riga's port district stood a machinery factory built in the 1970s. It had gone bankrupt in 1998, and its facilities had remained abandoned ever since.

Lin Xiao entered the coordinates into the map software.

Satellite imagery showed an industrial ruin spanning more than five hectares. The main factory building was a massive steel-framed structure, its roof partially collapsed and every window shattered. The surrounding open ground was overgrown with weeds, littered with rusting containers and abandoned vehicles. Three roads led in, but two had been blocked by fallen perimeter walls. Only a dirt road on the western side remained barely passable.

A perfect place for an ambush.

Or rather, a perfect place for a deal—if one was not worried about getting robbed.

Lin Xiao closed the map and looked out the window.

The simulated night sky remained black, but a faint gray-white light had begun to spread along the eastern horizon. The base's simulated day-night system was about to switch to "dawn."

He picked up his communicator and sent Su Ying a message:

"Meeting tomorrow morning. We need to make a plan for Riga."

Then he looked at the screen, the curve of his smile deepening.

The fish had taken the bait.