Wanda and Pietro suddenly raised their heads, their eyes locked on Shen He with defiant focus.
"Why are you doing this?" Wanda's voice was hoarse, low, but firm.
Having been captured by an enemy faction they barely understood, they had mentally braced themselves for torture, dissection, or worse—like all the whispered stories Hydra told them.
"Vengeance is a normal emotion," Shen He replied calmly as he rose from his seat and descended the steps of the conference room stage. "The question is whether your revenge is truly aimed at the right people. What you're doing is transferring your pain to innocents."
"Innocents?" Wanda's voice suddenly spiked, crackling with raw emotion. "You think Tony Stark is innocent? He invented and mass-produced those weapons—those machines of murder! Men like him, these arms dealers, thrive off war and chaos. Maybe you should visit Sokovia and see what people there think of Tony Stark!"
"How interesting…"
Shen He's voice remained even, unaffected. He stared at the young siblings quietly, not with disdain, but with comprehension.
"Someone stabs another with a kitchen knife. Do you blame the one who made the knife? Even if he forged it only for cooking?"
"That's not the same!" Wanda snapped, biting her lip. Her hands trembled slightly with restrained chaos energy.
"It's different in specifics, but not in logic," Shen He said gently. "Weapon manufacturers profit from war. You are survivors of war. Of course you have reasons to be angry. But among them, Tony Stark is one of the few who genuinely regrets it. When he learned he couldn't control where his weapons ended up, he shut down Stark Industries' entire weapons division. That was over six months ago."
After the Iron Man incident—the one that redefined him—Tony had restructured his company. Stark Industries stopped all weapons manufacturing and pivoted into the renewable energy and clean tech sectors. Plot energy, now synonymous with clean arc reactor tech, was a rising market and far more profitable.
"…What?" Wanda was visibly stunned.
Shen He's expression didn't shift. "Once he found out terrorists got hold of his weapons, he took immediate action. Closed the entire division. Donated stock. Reinvented himself. I guess Hydra didn't tell you any of that."
Silence fell.
Wanda and Pietro exchanged glances, suddenly unsure. Their hatred had always come from fear and trauma—seeing a bomb with "Stark" on it nearly end their lives. The image burned into their memory. The ideology came after.
"The reason I'm telling you all this," Shen He continued, "is because Qi Mu Nanzi believes there's still compassion in your hearts. But right now, it's buried beneath pain and rage. And I know what unchecked rage leads to. So before you make Stark your enemy, ask yourself—what changes if you kill him? Does it make the world better? Or just add another sin to your list?"
The answer hung between them. Killing Tony Stark wouldn't resurrect their parents. It wouldn't stop future wars. Stark wasn't even in the weapons business anymore.
Shen He's voice softened. "You're both young. You haven't done anything unforgivable yet. So think carefully. If you find clarity, you won't be treated as prisoners here."
He turned, approaching Lincoln next.
"Now, let's talk about your leader. According to our projections, she's preparing a retaliatory purge targeting humanity."
"…What?" Lincoln's eyes widened with disbelief. It took him a moment to process. "No, that's impossible!"
"The Chaldeans' mission is to safeguard humanity," Shen He said flatly. "We observe probabilities of apocalyptic futures and act to prevent them. In one such future, your leader's trauma and rage culminate in genocide. Her actions become indiscriminate, targeting all humans—not just those who wronged her."
"No! That's slander!" Lincoln stood up sharply, fists clenched. "She gave us a home. A safe haven. You don't know her!"
"She may care for you, yes," Shen He admitted. "But what about others? You're Inhuman. Her resentment is broader than you realize."
He turned back to his seat, eyes half-lidded in weariness.
"I'm not asking for your permission. This is a confirmed trajectory we're investigating. Agent Hill, I'll leave the coordination to you. Attilan will send a representative. Black Bolt has already approved."
"No problem," Maria Hill replied, standing.
"Wait, wait!" Lincoln strode forward, heart pounding. "What do you mean by 'deal with'? Are you going to kill her based on a future that hasn't even happened yet? That's not justice!"
Shen He paused as if remembering something. "Thank you for the reminder."
He turned back to the room.
"Everyone, listen carefully. The futures Chaldea observes are only probabilities. Potential outcomes. They must not be taken as absolute truth. This is a foundational rule of our organization. We observe the future not to accept it—but to change it."
That final statement silenced even the murmurs in the back.
"The meeting is adjourned."
The agents stood, hands respectfully behind their backs, allowing Shen He to gather his notes and exit before they began filing out.
Truthfully, the meeting's primary purpose had not been briefings or debriefings—it had been to cultivate a new identity.
Shen He wanted these people to feel it deeply: Chaldea wasn't SHIELD. It was something more. A protector stronger than SHIELD, more advanced, more trusted.
As he walked into the hallway, yellow lights gently humming above, he saw someone waiting.
A girl stood quietly outside the door in a black training jacket and sweatpants, the Chaldea crest stitched subtly on the sleeve.
"Jeanne d'Arc?" Shen He's voice reflected surprise.
He hadn't expected her to linger.
"The meeting—it's over?" she asked, lavender eyes fixed on him, her hands slightly clenched at her sides.
"Yes, it's over."
He waited for her to say more.
But Jeanne didn't speak. She just stared at him with that same serious expression she wore before battle.
"…Jeanne? Is something wrong?" Shen He asked, slightly anxious. Something about her gaze stirred an odd tension in his chest.
Then, with a breath of resolve, Jeanne reached out, quickly grasped his hand, and said:
"…Master, come with me."
Startled, Shen He followed, too stunned to resist. Jeanne led him gently, wordlessly, down the corridor.
That ten-minute walk felt like an eternity.
Finally, they reached a door.
She opened it—and inside was not what he expected.
A large dog—his loyal teleportation beast—sat patiently on the carpet, tail thumping once in greeting. A moment later, space around them shimmered. The room dissolved.
They were somewhere else entirely.
The sea breeze was humid and salt-sweet. The moon cast silver beams across an ocean that glittered like diamond dust. Waves lapped against stone, rhythmic and soft. The whole area felt like a scene from a dream.
Here, there were only four things: the ocean, the moonlight, the rocks—and Jeanne d'Arc.