The Pursuer's Footsteps

The office lights automatically came on at dusk, their soft white glow dispelling the deepening shadows. Lin Xiao stood by the window, watching the streetlights along the town roads illuminate one after another, their orange halos linking together into a warm ribbon of light through the twilight. Su Ying had already left to arrange adjustments to the base's security. He was alone in the room. The computer screen on the desk was still lit, displaying Marcus Lane's ID photo beside a satellite map of Brazil. The man's square face appeared especially clear in the screen's glow.

Lin Xiao lightly tapped his fingers against the desktop, his rhythm steady yet concealing anxiety. He knew very well that pressure had always come from multiple directions—this was a lesson bought with countless brushes with danger in his previous life. Hydra headquarters continued to watch closely because of the successful report on the "Eastern Europe Base Cleanup Operation," and Fletcher's hints had long been obvious enough. A purge was rising within S.H.I.E.L.D., and every historical file connected to Hydra would be reviewed again. Sooner or later, Su Ying's name as a "traitor" would appear on some investigation list.

He walked to the desk and pressed the internal communicator. "Nightingale, come to my office. Bring all surveillance logs."

A brief reply came through the communicator. "I'll be there in five minutes."

While waiting, Lin Xiao pulled up the base's communications architecture diagram. A complex network topology unfolded across the screen. Every node represented a communications terminal, and every line represented a data channel. The base's communication system was divided into three layers: the outermost layer consisted of public channels connected to Hydra headquarters and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s peripheral network; the middle layer was an encrypted local network linking departments within the base; the innermost layer was an independent encrypted network used by him, Su Ying, Nightingale, and other core members, completely physically isolated.

He had to ensure that any external inquiry involving Su Ying could be detected, intercepted, and analyzed immediately.

When someone knocked on the door, Lin Xiao was staring blankly at the topology diagram.

"Come in."

Nightingale pushed the door open, carrying a heavy military-grade laptop in her arms. She wore a dark gray hoodie, her hair tied into a neat ponytail. There were faint dark circles beneath her eyes, but her gaze remained as sharp as an eagle's. "Mr. Lin, the surveillance logs are all here." She set the computer on the desk. Its screen lit up automatically, and a densely packed data-stream monitoring interface instantly filled the display.

"How are the monitoring conditions for all of the base's external communication channels?" Lin Xiao got straight to the point.

Nightingale opened three side-by-side windows. "There are currently twelve active connections on the public channels. Eight are routine material procurement and personnel transfer reports. Their encryption level is low, and automated screening has been completed. No anomalies. The other four are encrypted communications: two connect to Hydra regional command centers, one connects to a peripheral S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence exchange node, and the last one..." She paused, tapping the touchpad with her fingertips. "Connects to an unknown encrypted server. The address is in Iceland. Its traffic pattern is very strange—intermittent, with each connection lasting no more than thirty seconds."

Lin Xiao fixed his gaze on the Icelandic address. Iceland was a paradise for data centers and a gray zone in the intelligence world. Countless sensitive data streams passed through it, from multinational corporations to underground organizations, from independent journalists to professional assassins. It was a mixed bag and extremely difficult to trace.

"Can you trace the source?"

Nightingale shook her head. "They use multiple relay nodes and dynamic encryption. The IP is different every time they connect. I tried reverse-tracing them three times, but their anti-tracking program shook me off each time. However..." She pulled up another set of data. "Judging from the traffic characteristics, this should be an automated data synchronization program, not a manual operation. The volume transferred each time is very small, around 200KB to 500KB. I suspect it's an encrypted intelligence summary."

"What about the content?"

"Can't decrypt it. The encryption algorithm doesn't belong to any known military or commercial standard. It looks like a proprietary protocol custom-built for private use."

Lin Xiao watched the streams of data flicker across the screen, unconsciously rubbing the edge of the desk with his fingertips. This unknown connection was like a tiny thorn lodged in his heart—at such a sensitive time, any data stream from an unknown source could conceal danger.

"Mark it as 'Observation Target A,'" Lin Xiao ordered in a low voice. "Maintain surveillance, but don't probe it actively. Don't alert them. If they connect again, record every detail: time, frequency, data volume, transmission period. Build a complete behavioral model."

"Understood."

Nightingale's fingers flew over the keyboard as she added the Icelandic address to the special surveillance list. Green characters cascaded across the screen like a waterfall, making the light on her profile flicker between bright and dark.

"What about internal base communications?" Lin Xiao added.

"Everything is within the surveillance range." Nightingale opened another interface. "All intranet communications pass through encrypted gateways, and I can view their content in real time. So far, no abnormal inquiries or suspicious conversations have been detected. But..." She brought up a log, hesitation creeping into her voice. "At 3:17 this afternoon, a terminal in the base medical room sent a query request to Hydra headquarters' medical database. The query was for 'reference biochemical indicators for muscle recovery after high-intensity training.' The login ID belonged to the base medical officer, Doctor Anna."

Lin Xiao's brows furrowed slightly. Doctor was a researcher he had recruited from Hydra's Moderate Faction, responsible for the base's biotechnology research and medical support. She had always been cautious and knew what she should and should not ask. Why had she suddenly queried headquarters' medical database?

"Why did she need to access headquarters' database? Doesn't the base have relevant reference materials?"

Nightingale pulled up more detailed records. "The query request included an encrypted case number in the standard format of Hydra internal medical files. I tried to decrypt the number, but I didn't have sufficient authorization. However..." She scrolled down the screen. "Two minutes after the query was sent, headquarters' database returned the results. The data packet was 1.2MB and included text explanations, charts, and a set of biochemical indicator data."

"Can you parse the content?"

"It's also encrypted, so I can't view it. But based on the packet structure, it should be a medical assessment report for a specific individual."

Lin Xiao leaned back in his chair and lightly tapped the desk with his fingers. A medical query seemed ordinary enough, but at this sensitive juncture, any unnecessary data exchange with headquarters could become a hidden danger. Did Hydra headquarters' database retain Su Ying's physical examination data from her days in S.H.I.E.L.D.? Was some automated comparison program screening the biometric data of missing agents?

"Send Doctor an encrypted message," Lin Xiao said after some thought. "Keep the tone mild. Say that the base's medical data should remain as independent as possible and reduce data exchanges with headquarters, to avoid exposing our location and personnel composition. If she truly needs to query sensitive information, she must obtain my approval first."

Nightingale nodded, her fingers rapidly striking the keyboard. The message was sent in an instant.

Less than a minute later, a reply came back.

Doctor's response was concise and clear. "Understood. All external queries will be reported in advance from now on. Also: this query was to optimize Su Ying's training recovery plan. There was no other intent."

Lin Xiao stared at the reply in silence for several seconds. Doctor's explanation was perfectly reasonable, but the overly prompt response made him more wary—within the intelligence world, explanations that were too perfect often meant something was being hidden.

"Continue monitoring all communications and data exchanges in the medical room," Lin Xiao instructed. "But don't restrict Doctor's regular work. We need her expertise. Don't alert her for now."

"Understood."

Nightingale added the order to the monitoring rules. The data streams continued scrolling across the screen, green characters flowing over a black background like a silent underground river.

Just then, a glaring red warning box suddenly appeared in the upper-right corner of the monitoring interface.

Nightingale's fingers froze instantly, and her pupils contracted slightly. Lin Xiao's body also leaned forward at once, his gaze locking onto the screen.

The words inside the warning box were sharp and unmistakable: "Encrypted cooperation request detected. Source: S.H.I.E.L.D. regional office, Munich. Encryption level: medium. Target keyword match: 72%."

Nightingale swiftly pulled up the detailed information. An interface for parsing an encrypted document expanded across the screen. The document was titled "Cooperation Request: Verify the Whereabouts of a Former Agent." It had been sent twenty-three minutes ago, with recipients including six European intelligence agencies such as the German Federal Intelligence Service, the Directorate-General for External Security, and the Italian Military Intelligence Service. The document had been partially decrypted, with the core keywords highlighted:

"Former agent, female, age 28–32, height 170–175 cm, weight 60–65 kg, black hair, Asian features, proficient in close-quarters combat, firearms, and infiltration... Last confirmed activity in Eastern Europe, possibly connected to an unidentified armed group active recently. Description closely matches former S.H.I.E.L.D. Level Eight agent 'Shadow' (file number SHD-08-7743), who defected in November 2010. All parties are requested to assist in verifying whether this target remains active and provide any possible location leads."

A blurry black-and-white photograph was attached to the end of the document.

The photo had been extracted from traffic surveillance footage. The image quality was crude, revealing only the side profile of a woman in a dark coat walking down a narrow street. But Lin Xiao recognized her at a glance—Su Ying. The photo had likely been taken after they cleared the Eastern Europe base, while they were heading to the safehouse.

"The photo's source?" Nightingale's voice carried an almost imperceptible tension.

Lin Xiao's gaze swept across the street layout in the background, the architectural style, and the design of the streetlamps as his mind rapidly searched through his memories. Three seconds later, he spoke in a low voice. "Poland, Kołobrzeg Town. We passed through there two weeks ago and stayed for four hours to replenish fuel and food. The photo should have been extracted from the town's traffic surveillance system."

Nightingale pulled up a map and quickly located the town. "The entire town only has three traffic cameras, with extremely limited coverage. Su Ying appeared for less than ten seconds, and they captured her so precisely?"

"It wasn't a coincidence," Lin Xiao said firmly. "Either S.H.I.E.L.D. has been systematically filtering surveillance footage from that region all along, or... someone provided them with our travel route."

The coffee shop door was pushed open again, and the brass bell jingled.

Igor looked up.

The people entering were not the Eastern Collector he had imagined—no well-dressed wealthy businessman accompanied by a translator—but two men in ordinary jackets who looked like passing drivers. The one in front was around forty, with a gaunt face and eyes as calm as a deep pool. The younger man behind him was broad and muscular, nearly blocking half the light from the doorway as he stood there.

The two walked straight toward his table.

Igor's hand instinctively pressed down on the leather box.

"Mr. Petrovich?" the man in front asked in Russian. His pronunciation was standard, yet carried a barely noticeable accent—not Russian, not Ukrainian, more like someone who had lived in many places.

"That's me." Igor's voice was somewhat hoarse. "And you are...?"

"We represent the client." The man sat across from him. The younger one remained standing behind him, his eyes sweeping every corner of the coffee shop—the proprietress behind the counter, the old man dozing against the wall, the mailman passing outside the window.

Igor frowned. "The client said he was an Eastern Collector."

"The client has many identities," the man said. "What matters is that you completed the commission."

He took an envelope from inside his jacket and pushed it toward Igor. It was thick enough that he could guess there was cash inside without opening it. Igor did not touch it. Instead, he opened the leather box.

The pocket watch rested on a deep crimson velvet lining, its brass case gleaming with a warm golden luster beneath the morning sunlight. The man picked it up and opened the cover, revealing its intricate mechanism. The gears turned slowly, while the escapement produced an almost inaudible, steady ticking. He examined it for a full minute before closing the cover and returning the watch to its box.

"Perfect," he said. "It meets our requirements completely."

"Then..." Igor reached for the envelope of money.

But the man's hand pressed down on the envelope.

"One more thing." As he spoke, he took another, thinner document pouch from his inner jacket pocket and placed it on the table. It was made of ordinary kraft paper and sealed with wax. He also took out a small metal box. When he opened it, it revealed a silver-gray metal sample about the size of a thumbnail, its polished surface reflecting a cold gleam.

Igor's gaze was drawn to the piece of metal.

He had worked in metal processing for most of his life, and he could tell at a glance that it was neither ordinary steel nor aluminum alloy. Its color, its sheen, and that... texture. He reached out, and the man did not stop him. Igor picked up the metal sample. It felt cold and dense beneath his fingertips, lighter than steel of the same volume, yet its hardness...

He lightly scraped its surface with his fingernail—without leaving even the slightest mark.

"What alloy is this?" he asked.

"That is precisely what we would like to ask you," the man said. "The document pouch contains a summary of several process-related challenges. We've encountered some... technical bottlenecks."

Igor opened the document pouch. Inside were several printed pages covered in material parameters, heat-treatment curves, and composite process flowcharts. He skimmed through them quickly, his brows drawing tighter and tighter.

These were not ordinary metalworking problems.

The first page described a "multilayer composite armor structure" that had to withstand direct fire from 7.62mm rifle rounds and impacts from low-power energy weapons while remaining no thicker than 5 millimeters. The second concerned a processing problem for "miniaturized energy-conducting components," requiring highly efficient conduction with energy loss below 0.01% inside a metal tube with a diameter of 3 millimeters. The third concerned a molding process for a "self-repairing composite material," requiring the material to restore more than 80% of its structural strength at room temperature after impact.

Igor's breathing grew slightly hurried. These technical requirements had already exceeded the level of conventional military industry. Some even sounded like... descriptions from science fiction. Yet he could see that these parameters were not fantasies. Every figure had been rigorously calculated in theory, and every process difficulty struck at the core pain points of materials science.

"You want me to solve these?" Igor looked up, his eyes full of probing curiosity.

"We know what you're capable of, Mr. Petrovich." The man's tone was calm, but it carried unquestionable force. "Thirty years ago, the 'Composite Armor Optimization Project' you led at the Moscow Central Mechanical Research Institute was ultimately terminated because of funding issues, but its unpublished experimental report remains an industry benchmark to this day. Ten years ago, the 'silent gearbox' you designed for a certain country's special forces increased the success rate of their infiltration operations by 40%. Your talent should not be buried in this border town."

Igor's body stiffened sharply.

These were all parts of his past that he had deliberately concealed. The project from thirty years ago had long been sealed away; its participants had either retired or passed away. The collaboration from ten years ago had been bound by the highest level of confidentiality agreement, and the other party had promised never to reveal his identity. Just who was this man?

"You investigated me?" His voice carried both vigilance and anger.

"We simply appreciate true geniuses," the man said without denying it. "We can provide every resource you need—top-tier processing equipment, rare raw materials, unlimited research funding. In return, we hope you can solve these process challenges and... join our team."

Igor fell silent. He lowered his head to look at the silver-gray metal sample, his fingertips stroking the cold grain on its surface. Folk music continued playing in the coffee shop. The proprietress had begun clearing the dishes from the neighboring table, creating soft clinking sounds. The sunlight shifted, and a patch of light fell on the document pouch, illuminating its wax seal.

He thought of his shabby little house, its leaking roof, the dwindling firewood, and all those design blueprints he had been unable to complete due to a lack of equipment. He thought of the ideals of his youth—the ultimate pursuit of materials science, the research dreams shattered by reality.

"What if I refuse?" he asked.

"You may refuse." The man removed his hand from the envelope. "These fifty thousand dollars are your payment, and we will take the pocket watch away. We will not disturb your life. Consider today's meeting as though it never happened."

Igor looked at the thick envelope, then at the process challenges inside the document pouch. On one side was a peaceful yet impoverished old age; on the other, an unknown future filled with challenges. On one side was mundane watch repair; on the other, technological breakthroughs that might change the world.

His fingers lightly tapped the metal sample, producing crisp clicks.

After a long while, he took a deep breath and pushed the document pouch and metal sample back toward the man. "I'll need time for these problems. And I need to see your sincerity—the equipment I want isn't ordinary stuff available on the market. I need a high-precision five-axis CNC machine, at least a DMG MORI NTX2000, along with a complete set of vacuum heat-treatment furnaces and a materials analysis spectrometer."

The corners of the man's mouth rose slightly, revealing a nearly imperceptible smile. "The equipment can be delivered to your designated location tomorrow. In addition, we will advance another hundred thousand dollars in research funding. Further expenses will be disbursed as needed."

Igor's pupils contracted slightly. The equipment list he had named was worth more than a million dollars, yet the other party had agreed without the slightest hesitation?

"One more condition," Igor added. "I am only responsible for technical research and development. I won't participate in any of your... other affairs. My workplace must be my own house."

"Agreed." The man accepted readily. "We only need your technical results. We won't interfere with your work methods or private life."

He stood and extended his hand. "A pleasure working with you, Mr. Petrovich. Or perhaps we should call you... Artisan?"

Igor shook his hand, feeling its cold touch. He knew that from this moment onward, his life would change completely.

"A pleasure working with you," he said.

The man turned and left, with the young bodyguard following closely behind. The coffee shop's brass bell rang again. The door closed, shutting out the noise outside. Igor picked up the thick envelope. The cash inside was heavy, carrying a tangible sense of reality. He opened the document pouch and looked through those process challenges again, and a long-lost light gradually ignited in his eyes.

Outside the window, the sunlight was just right. Children chased one another through the town streets while elderly people sat on benches chatting. Everything seemed so tranquil and peaceful. But Igor knew that beneath this calm, a storm over technology and power had quietly begun.

He carefully placed the document pouch and metal sample into the leather box, then rose and walked out of the coffee shop. Sunlight fell over him, warm and dazzling. He looked up toward the distant mountains, his gaze resolute and unwavering.

It was time for the world to recognize Artisan once more.