On the beach, the waves washed over the carcass of the Skull Crawler again and again. The scarlet blood stained the coastal waters red, attracting countless sharks that churned in a feeding frenzy.
Alice lay on the scorching sand, her consciousness teetering on the edge of a blackout.
"Buzz——Buzz——Buzz——" A low, rhythmic roaring sound came from the edge of the horizon. At first, it was faint, like restless mosquitoes, but it quickly escalated into a deafening roar.
Alice struggled to open her eyelids, looking out against the blinding sunlight.
Several pitch-black steel birds tore through the clouds, approaching the chaotic beach at high speed in a tactical formation that exuded immense pressure.
They were two streamlined Quinjets and a massive V-22 Osprey tiltrotor transport aircraft.
On those black fuselages were two distinct insignias. One was the spread-eagle shield emblem—S.H.I.E.L.D. The other was a red, hourglass-shaped geometric figure—Monarch.
"Rescue is finally here." Hughes crawled out of the sand pit, looking up at the aircraft in the sky. Tears of joy streamed down his face as he waved his hands, wanting to rush out to greet them. "Hey, we're here! Oh God, we're saved!"
"Don't move, you idiot!" Barton's expression changed abruptly. He shoved Hughes back into the sand pit, his eyes as cold and sharp as knives. "Look closely. That's not a medical rescue team; that's a Rapid Response Special Forces unit. If you don't want to be shot dead as a Terrorist or a bio-infected entity, stay put and behave."
Before he could finish, a cold, emotionless electronic voice broadcast from the aircraft's loudspeaker. "Attention, survivors below. This is the S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Operations Team. This area has been designated as a maximum-level bio-contamination zone. Immediately drop all items in your hands, place your hands on your heads, and kneel on the ground. Any act of defiance or attempt to approach the aircraft will be treated as a hostile act and met with lethal force. Repeat, this is not a drill."
Accompanying the warning, the two Quinjets hovered in mid-air. The Gatling guns beneath their bellies slowly rotated, their pitch-black muzzles locking onto the survivors on the beach.
"Is this how you S.H.I.E.L.D. people treat guests?" Although Strange looked disheveled, he couldn't help but roll his eyes, grumbling to Barton beside him while raising his hands. "I swear, if I make it back this time, I'm going to complain to Congress about you wasting taxpayer money to intimidate law-abiding citizens."
"Save it, Doctor." Barton sighed, helplessly raising his hands. "These people belong to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Rapid Response Special Forces. They only follow orders; they don't care who you are."
The massive air currents kicked up clouds of sand and dust. The transport plane landed, and the ramp opened. Two squads of fully armed soldiers fast-roped down. Their movements were professional; the moment they landed, they formed a fan-shaped perimeter. There was no small talk, no warmth. Several soldiers rushed forward, roughly pinning the still-shouting Hughes to the ground, binding his hands behind his back with plastic zip ties, and trying to make him shut up.
"Clear!" "Targets secured!"
After confirming there was no threat at the scene, a man wearing a tactical vest, with several scars on his face and an unsettling aura of bloodlust, slowly walked down from the transport plane. He took off his tactical goggles, revealing a pair of sinister eyes like a viper's. His gaze swept over everyone, finally resting on Barton. A mocking smile curled the corner of his mouth.
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