Tony continued analyzing satellite data and performing real-time flight path simulations, tracking the aircraft's trajectory across international airspace.
Within minutes of waiting midair, a distinct contrail streaked through the clouds in the distance.
"I can handle this alone," Shen He said calmly.
He activated the propulsion systems on his Celestial Armor, accelerating rapidly toward the approaching aircraft. While Stark's design had limitations in sustained energy output, the short-burst speed was more than sufficient.
As Shen He neared the jet, he matched its supersonic velocity, then soared above it. With precision, he sliced open the fuselage using a focused laser emitter from his gauntlet. The sudden decompression forced the plane into a destabilized spin as it began to plummet.
Using forceful grip, Shen He held onto the breach and peered inside.
"Tony, only one pilot," he relayed via comms.
"What? That was the only aircraft launched from the Hydra base!" Tony exclaimed.
"He must've bailed mid-route." Shen He disengaged and returned to the others—Joan of Arc, Violet, and Qi Mu Nanzi—waiting above the clouds. "Garrett is a seasoned Hydra operative. It's no surprise he'd employ decoys and contingency measures. He probably suspected we'd pursue him. And with residual S.H.I.E.L.D. resistance stationed on Tahiti, he wouldn't act alone."
Garrett likely escaped early on, taking Coulson with him. His goal was clear: rendezvous with Hydra's inner circle and claim what he believed to be his by right.
"This flight path crosses multiple island nations, not to mention parts of Brazil and Argentina. Tracking them manually will be rough," Tony sighed.
"It's fine. You've done enough. Focus on your upcoming press conference," Shen He replied, unfazed. "Against overwhelming power, schemes and ploys mean little. Garrett has no idea we're working with a teleporting beast."
Still, it was frustrating to burn this much time. Shen He inwardly sighed. Why can't villains ever take a straight path? Their survival instinct is really something.
"Joan, I'll need to trouble you again. Just give us a general direction, and we'll teleport closer bit by bit," Shen He said.
"Yes, Master," Joan nodded, ready to channel divine revelation once more.
Meanwhile, Garrett and Coulson had already disembarked the aircraft roughly thirty minutes after takeoff. They were en route to a secured Hydra hideout in the forests outside São Paulo, Brazil.
"Your allies might be powerful, but they're still too green," Garrett said smugly as they entered the safe house. "Humans are fragile by nature. We cling to survival, adapt through desperation. Everything I've done... was to keep living."
"Then maybe you chose the wrong line of work. Agents lose their lives easily," Coulson replied.
Though unrestrained, Coulson bore a neurotoxin bracelet on his wrist. If Garrett pressed the activator on his belt or his heart rate dropped dangerously, the toxin would release, killing Coulson within seconds.
"Heh. I've brushed against death more times than I can count," Garrett muttered, peeking through reinforced blinds. "But surviving taught me something—life has value. More than loyalty, more than orders."
Years of field experience gave Garrett a deep paranoia and appreciation for fallback plans. There was no such thing as too many escape routes.
"If survival's your only goal, you should've surrendered," Coulson said. "That serum Hydra's feeding you... it may prolong your life, but it warps your mind. Chaldea could probably cure you. You know I have strong ties with them."
"You always have strong ties with everyone," Garrett replied bitterly, the lines on his face more pronounced. He didn't elaborate further.
Once, he considered defecting from Hydra. But when Alexander Pierce introduced the regenerative serum—one that could defy death—he made the worst choice. Now, redemption was unreachable. He knew Coulson wasn't just a smiling bureaucrat. He was a hardened field agent. Even if he surrendered, prison and a short, sedated life awaited.
Knock-knock-knock.
A rhythmic rap at the door startled him.
Garrett stood abruptly, SMG in hand, moving cautiously toward the entrance and peering through the peephole.
"You're finally here, Ward," he muttered.
Agent Ward, still bruised from his encounter with Steve Rogers, stood on the threshold.
"Sir." Ward entered, exhausted, his eyes bloodshot. Clearly, he'd escaped custody and crossed half a continent just to get here.
"You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore," Garrett said, patting his shoulder. "I always hoped you'd call me 'father' someday. After all, I did raise you, didn't I?"
"…Yes. Father," Ward replied, conflicted. His emotions toward Garrett ran deep, shaped by years of training and warped affection.
"I'd like to reminisce, but there's no time," Garrett continued, gathering weapons and tactical gear. "They have some limited precognitive abilities. We have to stay moving. We'll split up—two directions. You take Coulson and keep him away from known paths. I'll head elsewhere."
Garrett's logic was simple. Shen He and the Chaldeans probably didn't care about him—he was a small fry in the scheme of things. Coulson, however, held critical data in his memory: formulas, side effects, notes about the serum. Garrett needed that data, so Ward's job was to delay the inevitable.
"Where should we go?" Ward asked.
"When dealing with clairvoyants, no plan is the best plan."
Garrett slung a duffel over his shoulder and stepped out—
—and returned immediately, stunned.
"How…?"
Standing in the doorway was Shen He, arms crossed casually.
"You underestimated what real power looks like," Shen He said, stepping in alone. "We've been chasing you across hemispheres. Even the teleporting dog got tired. I had to stop to buy premium dog food."
Garrett's expression shifted rapidly, flickering between panic and calculation. "If I hit this switch, Coulson dies."
His hand hovered near the activator at his waist.
Shen He noticed the bracelet's faint glow.
With a subtle gesture, the bracelet shattered and fell off Coulson's wrist—Qi Mu Nanzi had been waiting outside, manipulating it from afar.
Shen He raised a pistol, pointing it squarely at Garrett's head.
"Any last words?"
"I… I still have value!" Garrett dropped his weapon, trembling. "I've protected civilians for decades. I only wanted to survive. I'll hand over all Hydra intel, S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets—everything!"
Ward stared in disbelief. His adoptive father—the man he idolized—was begging.
It had to be a bluff. A ploy to lower Shen He's guard. Ward knew Garrett always carried hidden blades.
Clatter—
Garrett tossed both his pistol and concealed dagger to the floor and raised his hands.
"I'm just an old soldier with no steel left."
"…He's got value," Shen He muttered, still watching cautiously. "Coulson, was he always like this?"
"No, Mr. Shen," Coulson answered, stepping beside him. "He used to fear death. Now, he's just... old."