Chapter Sixty: Coulson's Century of Astonishment

Hello, May and Coulson—Baron of Chaos.

The moment Coulson saw this line of text, he was nearly stunned into silence. In that instant, his thoughts raced like trains on intersecting tracks, ceaselessly weaving and searching for answers.

First and foremost, what shocked Coulson most was that this Crimson Baron actually knew both of their names!

How could this be possible? Neither of them believed they had ever spoken directly with the Crimson Baron. In Agent May’s previous mission reports, she had also mentioned never revealing her name to him.

Their names weren't classified to the highest degree, but as agents, their identities certainly weren't something easily uncovered by a civilian. What’s more, May had arrived in Moscow less than two days ago; her travel plans could almost be considered semi-classified. She hadn’t even left the base since her arrival, spending her time coordinating with Fitz and several technicians to construct the remote gamma-ray detection system. Other than S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel, almost no one could have known that May was in Moscow.

And yet, the adversary spoke of May’s presence here—as well as both their names—with such ease. This forced Coulson to consider things more deeply.

He had a suspicion he was reluctant to admit, but at this moment, he couldn’t help but dwell on it.

There was a traitor among them!

Either someone inside his makeshift base, or—more likely—within S.H.I.E.L.D. itself. Only an insider could so easily acquire information on May’s assignment and schedule, exposing their whereabouts to the enemy.

Beyond that, there was another detail that puzzled Coulson.

Why would the enemy leave such a message?

Was it intended to send him down a particular line of thought? To nudge his suspicions toward the possibility of a mole, sowing chaos within their own ranks?

This was reverse psychology, and as a seasoned agent, Coulson was well-versed in such tactics.

Now, he wondered if the decision to spare May’s life had also been calculated in advance, even accounting for the healer, Hugh Zhongshen, who possessed extraordinary abilities on Ingram Street.

Through surveillance reports, Coulson knew Hugh wasn’t exactly living in secrecy on Ingram Street. Every few days, local and even distant gang members would come specifically to seek his healing.

Therefore, Hugh’s exposure had been within Coulson’s expectations.

In other words, following this line of reasoning, the Crimson Baron had learned of Hugh’s existence. Thus, he was certain that, even if May was mortally wounded, she could still be revived.

That must be why he deliberately whispered his plans and his next destination—Moscow—into May’s ear.

It all made sense now.

But… what was the purpose?

No matter how hard Coulson tried, he couldn’t fathom the Crimson Baron’s intentions, the rationale behind such actions, or the underlying motives.

First, there was the large-scale manipulation of Ingram Street. He’d claimed it was for some kind of ritual, but S.H.I.E.L.D. had combed the area for days, finding nothing but a bombed-out base beneath the Happy Factory and some corpses—nothing else.

There was also the inexplicable disappearance of all food from residents’ homes.

Aside from that, no other anomalies were found. Could it be that all the gamma radiation and elaborate schemes had been for the sole purpose of stealing food from the locals?

This was the first thing Coulson simply couldn’t comprehend.

Secondly, why lure them to Moscow through May?

Coulson had braced himself for being played, but then the Crimson Baron had performed yet another unfathomable act—he actually came to Moscow, left a greeting, and then vanished once more.

What, in the end, was the Crimson Baron after?

Coulson rubbed his scalp, his head throbbing with the effort of trying to conjure an answer, but he could not.

He turned to look at Agent May beside him, finding her equally conflicted—her brows tightly furrowed, her expression shifting, evidently deep in thought over the same puzzle.

Yet, seeing her like this, he doubted she had made any more progress than he had.

Suddenly!

As both of them stood lost in contemplation, a shout rang out from not far away:

“Come here, there's writing over here!”

At once, Coulson and May dashed over without hesitation.

On the ground, at the feet of a fully armed agent, was writing in the same script Coulson had just seen. It read:

“Next up: Chicago.”

Another warning!

Seeing this, Coulson felt a chill run down his spine.

He simply could not understand the motivation behind the Crimson Baron's actions. Was it a smokescreen, or had he truly managed to complete some kind of ritual right under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s nose, without leaving a trace—and perhaps gain something from it?

If the Baron was capable of such stealth, why make such a spectacle on Ingram Street? Why leave a trail of clues and warnings with every move?

Could it be that he found the game too easy, and sought to add a degree of challenge for himself?

Coulson was thoroughly baffled.

He simply could not comprehend—

“Fitz,” Coulson finally spoke, breaking the long silence since his arrival.

“Yes?”

“The gamma-ray detection system—make it even simpler and more portable if you can. We need to cover as much ground as possible in Chicago, and do it fast…” Having given the order, Coulson picked up his phone and headed out of the abandoned factory.

He was preparing to recall agents from leave.

Though the Crimson Baron's schemes remained shrouded in mystery, Coulson was certain of one thing now: the enemy had a purpose, though he could not discern what it was.

This was a formidable adversary indeed!

Coulson could not help but reflect.

In the past, the superpowered individuals he’d encountered were either strong but foolish, or clever but lacking in power.

It had been a long, long time since he’d dealt with such a troublesome opponent.

——

19 Ingram Street, Queens.

After a series of counter-surveillance maneuvers and several changes of disguise, Hugh Zhongshen slipped past the blind spots of the security cameras and finally made his way home.

He glanced at the lifelike double sitting on his bed with a book, waved a hand, and dissolved it into a swirl of chaotic magic, sending the energy down below to Wanda, who had been controlling the double these past days. The message within read:

“I’m back. In a couple of days, you can come up from the basement.”

Then Hugh sat down at the edge of the bed and glanced at the book in the double’s hands:

“The Ugly Duckling.”

This girl really was childish.

As for the traces left in the abandoned factory, they were, of course, Hugh’s doing. As for the parting message, “Next up: Chicago,” that had been written on a whim.

Thump thump—

A sudden knock at the door.

Hugh was instantly on alert. He’d just returned home, and already someone was at the door.

Was this a coincidence?

“Who is it?” Hugh called out coolly from behind the door.

“Hey, it’s me—Peter.”

The voice was indeed Peter’s—still the high, childlike tone of someone yet to hit puberty.

Except… wasn’t Peter supposed to be at that simulated wilderness summer camp organized by Oscorp Biotech right now?

He remembered Gwen mentioning that the camp would last a whole month!