Georgetown, Washington, a humble vinyl record café.
Outside the window, the rain poured down, and the rainwater meandered on the glass.
The store was playing soporific jazz music, and only a handful of customers were huddled in a corner.
Victoria Hand sat by the window, her back ramrod straight, the Americano in front of her no longer steaming.
She didn't touch her cup, but coldly stared at the old man across from her who was adding a third sugar cube to his coffee.
Felix Blake.
A senior agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.., and a former tactical instructor at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy who struck fear into the hearts of countless new recruits.
He looked much older; the collar of his trench coat was even a bit worn.
"Three candies?" Victoria began. "Professor Blake, if I remember correctly, you mentioned in the first lesson of ' Tactical Psychology ' that excessive sugar intake can slow down the reaction speed of nerve endings and produce a false sense of pleasure in the brain."
Blake's hand trembled, and the last piece of sugar splattered with a few drops of coffee.
He put down the clips with a wry smile, a forced smile appearing on his wrinkled face.
"When you get old, life gets too tough, you have to find something sweet. Victoria, you look good, Vought's salary must be quite generous?"
"If it's just for catching up, my consultation fee is five thousand US dollars per hour." Victoria raised her wrist and glanced at the exquisite Patek Philippe. "You have five minutes."
Blake's smile faded, and his cloudy eyes darted around to make sure there were no listening devices nearby.
" Director Fury thinks highly of you."
Blake lowered his voice and leaned forward, trying to create an intimate atmosphere of "teacher-student late-night talk".
"Everyone was disappointed when you left S.H.I.E.L.D.. You were a natural commander. Your ability to maintain order and your judgment of the big picture are the most scarce resources in S.H.I.E.L.D.."
"Just say it."
Victoria didn't even blink.
We need eyes.
Blake stopped beating around the bush.
" Vought's actions are too much. Homelander, those so-called civilian heroes, and that precision strike against Shocker... this isn't normal."
He pulled out a business card from his pocket that had no writing on it.
This is S.H.I.E.L.D..'s highest-level "invitation to return," signifying forgiveness and representing core authority.
He pushed the business card in front of Victoria Hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he pressed it against it.
"Come back, Victoria, be our inside player at Vought."
Blake stared intently into Victoria Hand's eyes, trying to awaken something deep within her.
"You've been bound by an oath; you know right from wrong. Vought is just a profit-driven company; their stock price is stained with blood! S.H.I.E.L.D.., on the other hand, protects all of humanity."
Victoria looked at the business card and suddenly let out a soft chuckle.
"To protect all of humanity?"
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her imposing aura making Blake feel suffocated.
"What will protect you? Your intelligence network, riddled with holes and riddled with flaws? Your bureaucrats who only know how to write PowerPoint presentations and pass the buck? Or your so-called 'elite agents' who were slaughtered like chickens in Geneva?"
Blake's face flushed red. "That was an accident! Shocker possesses unknown technology..."
There was nothing unexpected, only incompetence.
Victoria Hand interrupted him.
"I've been with S.H.I.E.L.D.. for five years. I know how you operate. Bureaucracy, passing the buck, acting like monkeys at hearings for a few million dollars in budget. Your efficiency is appalling; an operation report takes twelve stamps, and by the time you approve an operation, the body is already cold."
" Victoria! Watch your words!"
Blake was somewhat annoyed and slammed his hand on the table.
"You're the one who should watch your words, beggar."
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes filled only with reason.
Why do you think I Vought? For the money?
"Because Vought can solve problems." She tapped her finger lightly on the table. "In the forty-eight hours since Shocker appeared, Vought has completed global public opinion control, armed force deployment, and even outmaneuvered that Detroit mechanic more efficiently than your well-trained agents."
"And what are you doing? Holding meetings? Checking through that pile of moldy WWII files? Or figuring out how to plant spies in Vought?"
Blake opened his mouth, but found himself speechless.
"You still want me to go undercover?"
Victoria picked up the business card and, in front of Blake, slowly tore it in half, then into quarters.
"Save your breath. Instead of worrying about Vought, go back and check under your own beds."
"What do you mean?" Blake frowned.
"It means that a rotten apple will not only have worms, but it will also smell bad."
Victoria stood up and straightened her perfectly wrinkle-free suit jacket.
"I don't work for Deadman, Agent Blake. S.H.I.E.L.D. is half-dead, and only you blind fools still think you're sailing the seas."
She picked up her handbag and turned to leave.
"You've changed," Blake gritted his teeth behind him. "You weren't like this before. You used to believe in justice."
Victoria stopped and turned her head, showing only the other person her profile.
"Justice needs the power to be enforced, not just slogans."
"By the way, the coffee beans at this cafe are damp; just like your intelligence indicated, they only smell musty."
The door was pushed open, and the bell rang crisply.
Victoria Hand opened his black umbrella and strode into the rain, leaving the stunned old agent and the corrupt old system far behind.
Beside a black sedan on the street corner, a burly driver opened the car door.
Victoria sat in the back seat, the cold mask she wore when facing Blake was removed, and she took out her phone and dialed a number.
"Gentlemen."
Hannibal's elegant, calm voice came from the other end of the phone, accompanied by operatic background music. "Did you enjoy your afternoon tea, Victoria?"
"Extremely boring. A bunch of primitive people fighting with Stone Age thinking."
Victoria Hand watched the street scene recede outside the car window.
" Fury is panicking. He sent people to try and turn me against him, which means his internal purge plan isn't going well, or rather, he's discovered the enemy's numbers are far greater than he imagined, and he's in a panic."
"Panic will make the meat sour, but that's exactly the seasoning we need," Hannibal chuckled. "Since they want 'eyes,' we'll give them a pair."
You mean...?
"Leave them the coordinates of that abandoned experimental subject from ' Human Torch Project.' Let them win once. Only when they taste success will the rats become even more frantic in their pursuit of the mousetrap."
"Clear."
Victoria Hand hung up the phone.
The rain outside the car window was getting heavier, and the rumble of thunder could be heard faintly across the sky.