The Pursuer's Footsteps

The office lights came on automatically at dusk, their soft white glow dispelling the deepening shadows. Lin Xiao stood by the window, watching the streetlights along the town roads light up one after another, their orange halos joining into a warm ribbon of light in the twilight. Su Ying had already left to arrange adjustments to the base's security, leaving him 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 looked especially clear in the screen's glow.

Lin Xiao lightly tapped his fingers against the desk, the rhythm steady but concealing his agitation. He knew all too well that pressure had always come from multiple directions—this was a lesson paid for with countless brushes with danger in his previous life. Hydra headquarters continued to pay attention because of the successful report on the "Eastern Europe Base Cleanup Operation"; Fletcher's hint had already been obvious enough. A wave of internal purges was rising within S.H.I.E.L.D., and any historical records connected to Hydra would be reexamined. Sooner or later, Su Ying's name as a "traitor" would appear on some review list.

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

A brief response came through the communicator. "Five minutes."

While waiting, Lin Xiao pulled up the base's communications architecture diagram. A complex network topology spread across the screen, each node representing a communications terminal and each line a data channel. The base's communications 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 between the base's internal departments; and 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 chart.

"Come in."

Nightingale pushed the door open, carrying a bulky 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, all the surveillance logs are here." She placed the laptop on the desk. Its screen lit up automatically, and a dense data-stream monitoring interface instantly filled the display.

"What is the monitoring status of all the base's external communications channels?" Lin Xiao went straight to the point.

Nightingale opened three windows side by side. "There are currently twelve active connections on the public channels. Eight are routine material procurement and personnel transfer reports, with low encryption levels. They have completed automated screening, and no abnormalities were found. The other four are encrypted communications. Two connect to Hydra regional command centers, one connects to a S.H.I.E.L.D. peripheral intelligence exchange node, and the last..." She paused briefly, tapping the touchpad with her fingertip. "It connects to an unknown encrypted server. The address is in Iceland. Its traffic pattern is very strange, intermittent, and each connection lasts no more than thirty seconds."

Lin Xiao's gaze fixed on the Icelandic address. Iceland was 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 chaotic mix and extremely difficult to trace.

"Can you track the source?"

Nightingale shook her head. "The other side is using multiple relay nodes and dynamic encryption. The IP is different every time they connect. I tried reverse tracking three times, but their counter-tracking program shook me off each time. However..." She pulled up another set of data. "Based on the traffic characteristics, this should be an automated data synchronization program, not a manual operation. The amount of data transferred each time is very small, roughly between 200KB and 500KB. I suspect they are encrypted intelligence summaries."

"What about the contents?"

"Impossible to decrypt. The encryption algorithm does not belong to any known military or commercial standard. It looks like a privately customized protocol."

Lin Xiao stared at the pulsing data stream on the screen, unconsciously rubbing the edge of the desk with his fingertips. That unknown connection was like a fine thorn lodged in his heart—in such a sensitive moment, any data flow from an unknown source could conceal danger.

"Mark it as 'Observation Target A,'" Lin Xiao ordered grimly. "Keep monitoring it, but do not probe actively. Avoid alerting them. If they connect again, record every detail: time, frequency, data volume, transmission window. Build a complete behavioral model."

"Understood."

Nightingale's fingers flew across the keyboard as she added the Icelandic address to the special monitoring list. Green characters cascaded down the screen like a waterfall, casting shifting light and shadow across her profile.

"What about internal communications?" Lin Xiao added.

"Everything is under surveillance." Nightingale brought up another interface. "All intranet communications pass through encrypted gateways, so I can view their contents in real time. No abnormal queries or suspicious conversations have been found so far. However..." She pulled up a log, a trace of hesitation in her voice. "At 3:17 this afternoon, a terminal in the base infirmary sent a query request to Hydra headquarters' medical database. The query was for 'reference values for biochemical indicators of muscle recovery after high-intensity training.' The login ID belonged to the base medical officer, Doctor Anna."

Lin Xiao's brow furrowed slightly. Doctor was a researcher he had recruited from Hydra's Moderate Faction, responsible for the base's biotechnology research and medical support. Anna had always been cautious and knew what should and should not be asked. 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 for Hydra internal medical files. I tried to decrypt the number, but I lacked the necessary 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 contained written explanations, charts, and a set of biochemical indicator data."

"Can the contents be parsed?"

"It is encrypted as well, so I cannot 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, lightly tapping his fingers on the desk. A medical query seemed ordinary, but at such a sensitive juncture, any unnecessary data exchange with headquarters could become a hidden risk. Did Hydra headquarters' database retain Su Ying's physical examination data from her time in S.H.I.E.L.D.? Was some automated comparison program filtering through the biological characteristics of missing agents?

"Send Doctor an encrypted message," Lin Xiao said after a moment of thought. "Keep the tone gentle. Say that the base's medical data should remain independent as much as possible, reducing data exchanges with headquarters to avoid exposing our location and personnel composition. If sensitive information truly needs to be queried, it must be approved by me first."

Nightingale nodded, rapidly typing on the keyboard. The message was sent at once.

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 even more wary—in the intelligence world, explanations that were too perfect often meant something was being hidden.

"Continue monitoring all communications and data exchanges in the infirmary," Lin Xiao instructed. "But do not restrict Doctor's normal work. We need her expertise. Do not alert her for now."

"Understood."

Nightingale added the order to the monitoring rules. Data continued to scroll across the screen, green characters flowing over the black background like a silent underground river.

At that moment, a conspicuous 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 leaned forward at once, his eyes locked tightly on the screen.

The text in the warning box was clear and glaring: "Encrypted joint verification request detected. Source: S.H.I.E.L.D. regional office, Munich. Encryption level: medium. Target keyword match: 72%."

Nightingale swiftly pulled up the details, and an interface analyzing an encrypted document expanded across the screen. The document was titled "Joint Verification Request: Confirming the Whereabouts of a Former Agent." It had been sent twenty-three minutes ago, with recipients including the German Federal Intelligence Service, the Directorate-General for External Security, the Italian Military Intelligence Service, and four other European intelligence agencies. 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 appearance, proficient in hand-to-hand combat, firearms, and infiltration techniques... Last confirmed activity in Eastern Europe, possibly connected to an unidentified armed group active in the region. Description closely matches former S.H.I.E.L.D. Level 8 agent 'Shadow' (file number SHD-08-7743), who defected in November 2010. All parties are requested to help verify 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 taken from traffic surveillance footage. The image quality was poor, showing only the side profile of a woman in a dark coat walking down a narrow street. But Lin Xiao recognized her at a glance—she was Su Ying. The photo must have been taken after they cleared the Eastern Europe base, while they were on their way to the safe house.

"The source of the photo?" Nightingale's voice carried a barely noticeable tension.

Lin Xiao's gaze swept over the street layout in the photograph, the architectural style, and the design of the streetlights as his mind searched through his memories at high speed. 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 refuel and restock food. The photo was probably taken from the town's traffic surveillance system."

Nightingale brought up a map and rapidly located the town. "There are only three traffic cameras in the entire town, with extremely limited coverage. Su Ying appeared for less than ten seconds, and they captured her precisely?"

"Not a coincidence," Lin Xiao said with certainty. "Either S.H.I.E.L.D. has been systematically screening surveillance footage from the region, or... someone gave them our route."

The café door was pushed open again, and the brass bell rang.

Igor looked up.

The people who entered were not the Eastern collector he had imagined—not a wealthy businessman in a tailored suit accompanied by a translator—but two men in ordinary jackets who looked like passing drivers. The one in front was around forty, gaunt-faced, with eyes as calm as a deep pool. The younger man behind him was broad and powerfully built, nearly blocking the light from half the doorway as he stood there.

The two walked straight toward his table.

Igor instinctively pressed a hand over the leather box.

"Mr. Petrovich?" the man in front asked in Russian. His pronunciation was standard, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible accent—not Russian, not Ukrainian, more like... someone who had lived in many places.

"That is me." Igor's voice was a little hoarse. "You are...?"

"We represent the client." The man sat down across from him, while the younger one stood behind him, his gaze sweeping every corner of the café—the proprietress behind the counter, the old man dozing against the wall, the postman passing outside the window.

Igor frowned. "The client said she 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 coat and pushed it in front of Igor. It was thick enough that Igor could guess it held cash without opening it. Igor did not touch it. Instead, he opened the leather box.

The pocket watch rested on dark red velvet lining, its brass casing gleaming with a warm golden sheen in the morning light. The man picked it up and opened the cover, revealing the intricate movement within. The gears turned slowly, and the escapement made an almost inaudible, regular ticking sound. He examined it for a full minute before closing the cover and returning the watch to the box.

"Perfect," he said. "It fully meets the requirements."

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

But the man's hand pressed down on it.

"There is one more matter." As he spoke, he took a thinner document pouch from the inner pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table. The pouch was made of ordinary kraft paper, its seal closed with wax. He also took out a small metal case. When he opened it, it revealed a silver-gray metal sample about the size of a thumbnail, its polished surface reflecting a cold light.

Igor's eyes were drawn to the metal.

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

He lightly scratched its surface with his fingernail—without leaving a single mark.

"What kind of 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 manufacturing problems. We have encountered some... technical bottlenecks."

Igor opened the pouch. Inside were several printed pages densely covered with material parameters, heat treatment curves, and composite processing flowcharts. He scanned them quickly, his brow tightening more and more.

These were not ordinary metalworking problems.

The first page described a "multilayer composite armor structure," requiring it to withstand direct hits from 7.62mm rifle rounds and low-power energy weapons while remaining no thicker than 5 millimeters. The second concerned the machining challenges of "miniaturized energy-conducting components," requiring efficient energy transmission with less than 0.01% energy loss inside a metal tube only 3 millimeters in diameter. The third involved 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 being struck.

Igor's breathing grew slightly hurried. These technical requirements had surpassed conventional military-industrial standards. Some of them even sounded like... descriptions from science fiction. Yet he could tell that these parameters were not fantasies. Every figure had been calculated rigorously in theory, and every manufacturing difficulty struck directly at the core problems of materials science.

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

"We know what you are capable of, Mr. Petrovich." The man's tone was calm, yet carried undeniable force. "Thirty years ago, the 'Composite Armor Optimization Project' you led at the Moscow Central Mechanical Research Institute was ultimately terminated due to funding issues, but that unpublished experimental report remains a technical benchmark in the industry 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; those involved had either retired or died. The cooperation from ten years ago had been covered by the highest level of confidentiality agreement, and the other party had promised never to reveal his identity. Who exactly was this man before him?

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

"We simply appreciate true genius," 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 manufacturing problems and... join our team."

Igor fell silent. He looked down at the silver-gray metal sample, rubbing the cold grain across its surface with his fingertips. The folk song in the café continued. The proprietress had begun clearing the dishes from the next table, producing faint clinking sounds. The sun shifted, and a patch of light fell over the document pouch, illuminating the wax seal.

He thought of his dilapidated cottage, its leaking roof, the firewood that was nearly gone, and the design blueprints he could not complete for lack of equipment. He thought of the ideals of his youth, of the ultimate pursuit of materials science, of research dreams shattered by reality.

"What if I refuse?" he asked.

"You may refuse," the man said, lifting his hand from the envelope. "This fifty thousand dollars is your payment, and we will take the pocket watch with us. We will not disturb your life. We will treat today's meeting as though it never happened."

Igor looked at the thick envelope, then at the manufacturing problems in the document pouch. On one side was a stable but impoverished old age; on the other, an unknown future full of challenges. On one side was ordinary watch repair; on the other, technological breakthroughs that might change the world.

His fingers lightly tapped the metal sample, producing a crisp tapping sound.

After a long while, he drew a deep breath and pushed the document pouch and metal sample back toward the man. "I need time for these problems. And I need to see your sincerity—the equipment I want is not ordinary merchandise available on the market. I need a five-axis high-precision CNC machine, at least a DMG MORI NTX2000, as well as a complete set of vacuum heat-treatment furnaces and material analysis spectrometers."

The corners of the man's lips rose slightly, revealing a nearly imperceptible smile. "The equipment can be delivered to your designated location tomorrow. In addition, we will advance another one hundred thousand dollars in research funding. Further expenses will be allocated 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 will only be responsible for technical research and development. I will not take part in any of your... other affairs. My workplace must be my own cottage."

"Agreed." The man accepted readily. "We only need your technical results. We will not interfere with your working methods or private life."

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

Igor grasped his hand, and a cold touch passed between them. He knew that from this moment onward, his life would change completely.

"Pleasure working with you," he said.

The man turned and left, with the younger bodyguard following close behind. The café's brass bell rang again. The door closed, shutting out the noise from outside. Igor picked up the thick envelope. The cash inside felt heavy, carrying a tangible sense of reality. He opened the document pouch and looked through those manufacturing problems again, while a long-lost light gradually kindled in his eyes.

Outside the window, the sunlight was perfect. Children chased and played in the streets of the town, while old people sat on benches chatting. Everything seemed so peaceful and tranquil. 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 café. Sunlight fell across him, warm and dazzling. He looked up toward the distant mountains, his eyes firm and resolute.

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