First Close Encounter

At nine in the morning, the TV station was broadcasting the New York Police Department's routine press conference live. From the wording, the authorities seemed intent on classifying last night's warehouse incident as a gang vendetta.

They were blatantly lying through their teeth.

As for the victims in that warehouse, no one cared.

Drug trafficking, human smuggling, illegal imprisonment, extortion, organ trafficking, multiple murders... If it had happened in a wealthy district, it would have been an earth-shattering case.

But in Hell's Kitchen?

It probably only deserved a thirty-second briefing from the press officer, delivered in a tone as stiff as cheap diplomatic rhetoric.

By comparison, the internet was far more active.

"Death Fog? Reaper in the Fog? What the hell are those?"

Mike looked through the online comments.

He was pretty speechless.

Death Fog, Reaper in the Fog... They sounded as low-budget as a bargain-bin gore horror movie.

The headlines across finance, entertainment, military, and every other major section were still dominated by Tony Stark, head of Stark Group.

Single-handedly keeping a pile of tabloids and online media outlets alive, Tony Stark was one of a kind in the United States. With him around, newspapers and web portals never had to worry about finding front-page headlines.

The weather was nice.

Mike simply set up a beach chair outside the supermarket and became a salted fish basking in the sun.

Life was good.

At a coffee shop in Hell's Kitchen.

Coulson, using the alias Clark Greg, was reviewing Mike's file.

"Mike Tang. Half-Chinese mixed-race, Chinese name Tang En. Twenty-two years old, one hundred eighty-two centimeters tall, in good health, no history of mental illness, full-scholarship recipient at Princeton University, majoring in law."

"After graduation, he briefly interned at the world-renowned White & Case law firm. A year ago, he suddenly moved to Hell's Kitchen and opened a small supermarket specializing in Chinese groceries."

"A nightclub regular. A notorious playboy."

At the mention of playboys, Tony Stark's extremely punchable face appeared in Coulson's mind.

As someone tasked with recruiting and observing targets, if possible, Coulson wanted to find a ripe durian, split its spiky shell into two halves, smash one half over Tony's head, shove the other up his ass, and finally smear the flesh all over his face.

He shook his head, driving away those messy thoughts. As a senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, getting distracted was highly unprofessional.

He continued reading the file.

"On the surface, he runs a supermarket. In reality, he is a private detective and mercenary who accepts all kinds of commissions, including finding dogs and catching cats, tutoring elementary school students, ghostwriting homework, acting as a professional boyfriend, negotiating, armed hostage rescues, and so on."

Tutoring elementary school students, ghostwriting homework, and armed hostage rescues all together—wasn't that a bizarre combination?

A note had been specifically added below the report: [No relevant business license].

"Is he absurd, or simply lawless?" Coulson's face darkened, and he had a complaint he desperately wanted to vent.

"Family relations—"

"Father: Tom Tang, Chinese American, Chinese name Tang Zhong. Currently runs a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco Chinatown. Former Double Red Pole of the Triad."

"Mother: Anna R. Stewart, former S.H.I.E.L.D. researcher, Level Five agent, retired."

After analysis, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s intelligence division concluded that the dense fog appearing during the Foot Gang incident had not been a chemical substance, but optical holographic imaging.

Combined with Mike's family background, that did explain many things. For example, the source of Mike's combat skills and high-tech products.

Still, Coulson instinctively felt that something was off.

"Right. The combat issue."

Coulson quickly identified the key point.

Even if Mike had been trained by both parents since childhood, skills and real combat experience were not the same thing.

Plenty of people could hit every shot in training, then get so nervous in a real fight that they forgot to take the safety off. Even if they fired, their bullets would fly off into outer space.

The crime scene showed that Mike's strategy, tactics, and reactions in the moment were like those of a veteran who had fought a hundred battles. It was terrifying.

"So it would be better to make contact in person."

Having made up his mind, Coulson submitted an operation request.

"Operation approved."

Nick Fury habitually stood in the shadows. "Need backup?"

"Not for now."

Coulson had no intention of provoking a conflict. He only wanted to assess Mike's mental state and the possibility of recruiting him through close contact.

As for the lives of the Foot Gang members, Coulson did not care, Nick Fury did not care, and as long as it did not affect votes, the upper levels of the government did not care either.

Once public attention faded, this case was destined to be thrown into an archive room to gather dust.

The sunlight was warm and cozy, comfortable enough that Mike wanted to take another nap.

Until a figure blocked the sun.

"Hello. I'm Senior FBI Agent Clark Greg. I have a few questions that require your cooperation, regarding the case that occurred on the west bank of the Hudson River last night."

Coulson's polite demeanor was completely out of place in Hell's Kitchen.

The moment he got out of the car, Coulson noticed quite a few hostile, probing stares. He did not panic in the slightest, merely becoming more alert.

An Eighth-Level S.H.I.E.L.D. agent might not have enough presence before inhuman monsters, but against street gangs, Coulson felt little pressure.

Mike stood up.

Wasn't this Coulson?

Mike was a little surprised. He had not expected S.H.I.E.L.D. to come knocking so quickly, though he did not care much if his identity was exposed.

Mike kept his expression calm and replied, "Of course. Cooperating with law enforcement investigations is the duty of a good citizen."

Coulson took out a notebook and fountain pen and asked professionally, "Where were you between eleven last night and one in the morning? Can anyone verify your whereabouts?"

Mike thought for a moment, then answered seriously, "At that time, I should have been with Scarlett Johansson and Elizabeth Olsen."

Coulson was certain that it was his first time hearing those two names, yet for some reason, they sounded inexplicably familiar. He wrote them down in his notebook. "So Miss Johansson and Miss Olsen can testify for you?"

"No."

Mike suddenly burst out laughing. "Because I was dating them in my dreams... The three of us together, you know~"

Coulson: "..."

He had been played!

And right to his face!

Even Coulson, known as a nice guy, had the corners of his mouth twitching. He wanted to slap Mike across the face with his notebook.

Were all playboys this irritating?!

After laughing for a while, Mike asked, "So, am I a suspect?"

Coulson shook his head. "Not exactly. This is merely a routine, large-scale canvass. It isn't directed at any particular person or—"

"Got it."

Mike interrupted Coulson. "In that case, under the Fifth Amendment of the United States Constitution, I will exercise my right to remain silent without a lawyer present."

After saying that, he took out a business card. "This is my lawyer."

Coulson: "..."

The words "WHITE & CASE" made his eyelids twitch. White & Case was a major law firm founded in New York and ranked among the world's top ten, with exorbitant fees.

Matching those exorbitant fees was how difficult they were to deal with. They were the nightmare of prosecutors, judges, and law enforcement officers everywhere.

Fortunately, Coulson was not a real agent, but he really wanted to complain.

What happened to "Cooperating with law enforcement investigations is the duty of a good citizen"?

He changed his face faster than flipping a page.

"All right."

Without changing expression, Coulson said, "If you have any leads, feel free to contact the police at any time. Sorry for disturbing you. Goodbye."