C68: Aggressive
"Boss, one order of 'Golden Ratio Shaomai.'"
In front of Stark Tower on Manhattan's Upper East Side, a red food truck emblazoned with Chinese characters drew a steady stream of customers—office workers, tourists, and even a few costumed types.
Disguised in a hoodie and jeans, Agent Phil Coulson stood in line, eyes casually sweeping over the glass-paneled tower that bore Tony Stark's name.
"Guess Stark's not showing up today."
He'd already seen Pepper Potts—CEO of Stark Industries enter alone with a briefcase and tablet in hand.
Phil noted it, mentally filed it under "low-threat" before shifting his attention back to the food truck.
The aroma of perfectly seared glutinous rice and fragrant shiitake mushrooms wafted through the air. Coulson, a veteran S.H.I.E.L.D. agent trained to resist torture and telepathy, found himself… swallowing.
A true professional wouldn't be tempted by street food during surveillance unless it was this good.
Taking the paper box of shaomai, Phil gave the vendor an imposing Chinese man with deep-set eyes and a mysterious calm a second look. His instincts kicked in.
"Boss, you just get into town?"
The man paused slightly while rolling dough. His expression remained unreadable as he replied flatly, "What if I did?"
Coulson's internal radar beeped louder.
"With dumplings like these, feels like you should be running a Michelin-star kitchen, not a food truck parked outside Stark Tower."
"The culinary world isn't as clean-cut as you think," the vendor muttered.
"What was that?" Phil tilted his head, but before he could press further—
"Hey man," a voice from behind barked. "Some of us are still waiting!"
Phil turned to see a broad-shouldered, bald Black man—Luke Cage, judging by the bulletproof hoodie and exasperated glare.
Caught between instinct and protocol, Coulson held up a hand in apology. "Sorry, just making conversation."
He stepped aside, casting a final look at the vendor.
There was definitely more to this guy than dumplings.
[Famousness from Phil Coulson +40]
---
Across the city, in a tucked-away antique shop in Hell's Kitchen, a soft notification flickered across Li Ran's interface.
> "Of course there are secrets. And if there aren't, I'll make you think there are."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
—
"Still can't believe you're standing," Li Ran muttered as Jessica Jones staggered into the shop. Her gait was loose, and the half-empty bottle of bourbon said more than words could.
He knew she didn't recognize him as A Xing, the masked vigilante from the docks.
"Wish I wasn't," she said, taking another swig. "If I stay drunk, I don't have to remember how bad I screwed up."
Li Ran said nothing.
"We got ambushed. The Hand played us. Someone didn't make it back." Her voice cracked. "He died saving me. I was the bait, and I didn't even realize it until it was too damn late."
She punched a nearby display case. The glass didn't shatter—Jessica had enough control left for that.
"I beat the hell outta the guy who tipped us off. Doubt he'll be walking for the next five years. But none of it changes what happened. A Xing is gone."
[Famousness from Jessica Jones +110]
Li Ran exhaled silently.
So… that's how much she cared.
For a moment, he felt the temptation to reveal himself. To say, "Hey, I'm fine. I'm right here."
But the Brotherhood came first. His cover mattered more than his guilt.
He slid back into character—the middleman for the Assassin Brotherhood, who'd adopted him as their New York liaison.
"Jessica, I'm sorry. But remember death isn't an end for us. Not in the Brotherhood. It's a beginning. A symbol of renewal, faith, and sacrifice. I think the one who saved you believed the same."
"Faith…" she echoed, eyes foggy.
"Exactly. That moment wasn't weakness. It was conviction."
The alcohol haze started to thin. Jessica wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I want the Brotherhood to fight with us. Help us take down the Hand for good."
Li Ran arched a brow. That… was unexpected.
But useful.
He'd been wondering how to reinsert himself into the Defenders' circle post-A Xing. This could be his opening.
Still, he kept up the act.
"I told you—the Brotherhood strikes only when assured of a clean kill. We don't walk into deathtraps."
Jessica sneered. "That so-called creed of yours—'kill one to save thousands'? Maybe it's just cowardice. Maybe you're all too scared to go up against the Hand again."
It was a taunt, and Li Ran knew it. But he let her win this round.
"I'll relay your words to the Brotherhood," he said quietly. "But I can't promise anything."
"Thanks anyway."
Her voice dropped, softer now, and her shoulders sagged—not in defeat, but in fragile hope.
Li Ran watched her for a long moment. Then, silently, he logged the exchange.
And started planning the return of A Xing.
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