Africa
Covered all over in tiny wounds, his face nearly entirely marked by scratches from thorn branches, and his suit in tatters, he was running frantically and blindly now, with a team of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. field agents in hot pursuit behind him.
Having run for so long, this middle-aged man was already nearing exhaustion; had a place that could save him not been located just ahead in the distance, someone pampered like him would never have run such a great distance.
No gunfire could be heard from behind, and his subordinates might already have perished or been captured.
I ab- absolutely cannot fall into the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D.
The middle-aged man was a drug lord who had brought S.H.I.E.L.D. down upon himself because he discovered an extraordinary object; yet this middle-aged drug lord was also audacious to an outrageous degree, having brutally tortured the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who infiltrated his territory and causing that male and female agent to die miserably.
This action, coupled with the item the drug lord had acquired, directly prompted S.H.I.E.L.D. to dispatch three squads of Level 6 field agents along with backup forces, clearing out his subordinates across his territory.
Fortunately, however, the middle-aged drug lord had been rescued by someone, and he had already negotiated with the person who saved him that, as long as he could survive, he would sell that strange object to the other party.
"It's all those two bastards. Why should the things I obtained be handed over? Damn it, the influence built up over more than a dozen years is gone. But as long as I sell the item, I can get a whitewashed identity, and by then, relying on the money I've saved up..."
Before the middle-aged drug lord could finish speaking, his head directly crashed with a