Barbara Minerva sat on a pure white single bed, holding a thick book, "A History of Civilization in Precolonial East Africa."
"Tsk, nonsense."
Her nails were neatly trimmed, but when she turned the pages, her fingertips would occasionally touch the paper, making a slight "sizzling" sound.
The so-called history of civilization is nothing but the arrogant fantasy of the victors.
"Drop--"
The dull thud of the hydraulic transmission broke the silence.
The heavy, airtight door slid open to both sides, creating a slight disturbance in the airflow.
Maria Hill walked in.
Barbara didn't look up; her gaze remained fixed on the illustrations of decorations on pottery from the Zambezi River basin.
"I don't think it's time for visiting hours yet, Commander." Barbara's voice was clear and crisp, with a languid magnetism. "Or are you planning to give me a different kind of tranquilizer?"
"No sedatives, Dr. Minerva." Hill walked over to her. "Only a one-way ticket and a message you can't refuse."
Barbara closed the book and looked up.
"Oh?"
Hill pulled a printed satellite map from the folder behind him and handed it over.
"Take a look at this."
"Now we have a new clue. About the source of your power, and about your... destiny."
Destiny?
The word made Barbara chuckle.
How could this group of people possibly know where they came from?
She took the map and squinted as she scanned the coordinates on it.
It was an area located on the edge of the East African Rift Valley, surrounded by dense primeval forests and rolling mountains, with a complex terrain that resembled a natural maze.
" Uganda? Kenya? I've investigated this area countless times. Besides poverty, rampant malaria, and warlords shooting each other with AK-47s, there's nothing there. If you want me to go to such places to alleviate poverty, I suggest you contact the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees."
"Take a closer look." Hill pointed to an inconspicuous corner in the center of the map. "Here."
Wakanda?
Barbara uttered the name, her tone laced with absurdity.
"That small agricultural country known for its textiles and sheep farming? God, Hill, it doesn't even have a decent paved road, and it's even considered a hermit of Africa because it refuses United Nations aid."
Are you trying to tell me that my destiny lies among a flock of sheep?
"That's its disguise." Hill lowered his voice, carrying a sense of mystery as if revealing the truth of the world, "Or rather, the way it wants the world to see it."
She then produced a photocopy, which was a hand-drawn slate rubbing left by Howard Stark.
The image is rough, but the lines are extremely dynamic—an upright humanoid cheetah is tearing at a black leopard.
The lines of the two intertwine, like mortal enemies, or like a dance of some ancient ritual.
Barbara's pupils dilated.
"What's this?"
She stood up and stared intently at the piece of paper.
"This was discovered by Howard Stark on the Wakanda border many years ago."
Hill keenly caught Barbara's reaction.
You made the right bet.
Director Fury's guess was correct; this woman has some deep connection to Wakanda.
"Local legends say that Wakanda is protected by the Panther God Bast. But in older, more secret myths, there is another banished deity— the Cheetah."
" S.H.I.E.L.D..'s top-secret files state that the Cheetah stole the power of Wakanda's unique ' God's Herb,' and was therefore banished by Bast. This power grants its host superhuman speed and savagery, but also comes with an uncontrollable bloodlust curse."
"Bloodlust... curse..." Barbara murmured to herself, "Am I from that place?"
"Perhaps it's a remnant of the past, or perhaps some kind of atavism," Hill gave an ambiguous answer. " S.H.I.E.L.D.. speculates that a fragment of your genes has been activated by some ancient force. And the antidote, or rather, the method to control this force, is hidden in Wakanda."
Barbara fell silent.
She paced back and forth in the cramped cell.
This sounds absurd; how could a backward agricultural country be hiding such a secret?
"What am I supposed to do?" Barbara stopped and looked at Hill through the glass. "You guys aren't going to be so kind as to just send me on a trip, are you?"
Of course not.
Hill put the file away.
"This is an unofficial operation. Wakanda is extremely xenophobic; they refuse any form of diplomatic contact. S.H.I.E.L.D.. cannot intervene openly, otherwise it would cause an international dispute."
"So I'm the stone that's been thrown to test the waters," Barbara sneered. "If I die there, it's none of your business. If I find something, you'll just follow along and pick up the pieces."
"You can understand it that way," Hill didn't deny it, "We'll drop you into the jungle on the Wakanda border using a stealth transport plane. The rest of the way, you're on your own."
"How do we get in? How do we find that so-called ' God's Herb '?"
"That's your specialty, Doctor," Hill said expressionlessly. "You're an archaeologist, and a top-notch tracker. If you really are a descendant of that country, I think they would have some kind of... way of identifying you."
How to identify?
Barbara took a deep breath.
When do we depart?
"Now."
The Quinjet's stealth mode is activated.
Barbara Minerva fiddled with the communicator bearing the S.H.I.E.L.D.. eagle emblem in her hand, a hint of boredom in her eyes.
The script Hill gave her was terrible, something about "a wanderer returning home in search of a cure." If a Hollywood screenwriter dared to write something like that, they would be torn to shreds by film critics.
"Drop--"
The communicator's indicator light suddenly switched from its normal blue to an eerie green.
It wasn't a call, it was an intrusion.
This is the Clock Tower.
Barbara raised an eyebrow, her fingers lightly tapping the armrest. "This is S.H.I.E.L.D..'s encrypted channel. If that shrew knew you were strolling in his backyard, he'd probably go crazy."
" Fury's firewall is like an unlocked public toilet to me," Motoko Kusanagi's voice cut straight to the point. "Listen, the plan has changed. The boss doesn't need you to be a stepping stone."
"Oh?" Barbara shifted into a more comfortable position. "Then what should I be? A bomb?"
"Pretty much. Fury wants you to infiltrate by seeking help, but that's too slow, and the initiative is in their hands," Motoko said quickly. "The boss wants you to put on a show. A tragic play about a cursed exile bursting into despair."
A detailed topographic map and tactical markings were transmitted directly to Barbara's communicator.
"Three kilometers west of your landing point, there is a local armed force called the Blood Diamond Legion, the most ruthless warlord army in the area. They possess a batch of heavy weaponry that was recently smuggled from Soviet Russia."
"Go provoke them," Motoko continued, "Lead them to the border barrier of Wakanda, where the Border Tribe patrol their area."
Barbara smiled as she looked at the red dot on the map. "Use me as bait? And be chased by a bunch of monkeys with AK47s? That's not part of the overtime work in the employee handbook."
Motoko Kusanagi ignored her complaints.
" The Wakanda are extremely xenophobic, but they have a fatal weakness—an excessive sympathy for their own kind. This is especially true when you display a power that highly overlaps with their mythology, yet act as a victim."
"You must lose control in front of them. Slaughter all the pursuers, then fall at their doorstep. Let them see your power, but more importantly, let them see your pain."
Communication abruptly stopped.
The indicator light turned blue again.
Barbara took off her headphones and tossed them aside.
"Saved?" She stood up, cracked her neck, and her knuckles popped crisply. "Fine. Since the boss wants to see a melodrama, I'll give him an Oscar- worthy performance."