Marvel Comics: The Sentinel(Sentry)

~Half an hour later~

Sean was taken into a sealed room. Coulson did not restrain his movements, instead, he removed the alloy handcuffs and gestured that he was free to move around.

The room was sparsely furnished... a metal table bolted to the floor with a dim desk lamp on top, and a one-way mirror embedded in the side wall. It was safe to assume that a number of people were observing his every move from the other side.

Then came an excruciating hour of waiting. No one came in to torture him, no one shouted questions at him... it was as if he had been forgotten.

The dull, tedious time crawled by. Sean removed his black trench coat and sat calmly in the chair, lightly tapping the table with his fingers, his face betraying no trace of impatience...

...

"Your tactics aren't very effective, Coulson." Garrett, rough-mannered as a cowboy, chuckled at his friend.

Behind the one-way mirror, they observed Sean, locked inside the room...

"This guy's mental fortitude isn't as weak as you think. Even if we left him here for an entire day, he wouldn't show a hint of agitation." The seasoned agent shook his head and glanced at his protégé, "Let Grant give it a try. He's good at extracting confessions."

Coulson hesitated. He shot a look at the cold machine-like young agent. This was just a simple probe... given Sean's current status, even S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't act recklessly. If news got out about abuse or beatings, even Director Fury would be deeply embarrassed.

"Keep it measured." After a moment, Coulson nodded.

The sharp-featured young man smirked and strode out. Soon, he appeared on the other side of the one-way mirror. Grant Ward pulled out a chair and sat across from Sean, slamming a stack of files onto the table.

"Very much your style... overwhelm the opponent with presence first, seize control of the conversation." Coulson murmured.

Garrett chuckled. This young man was his prized student, a rising star within S.H.I.E.L.D., a Level 7 agent.

Handpicked and trained by him, Grant had become an expert assassin. Aside from his lack of teamwork skills, he had almost no flaws.

Ward leisurely opened the files, his sharp eyes fixed on the young man across from him. He slid his finger to the first document, "Do you know him?"

Sean stopped tapping the table, a faint smile curling at his lips, "Mr. James Wesley. He donated to Dr. Connors' lab. Everyone says he's Hell's Kitchen's finest philanthropist."

Pushing aside the first file, Ward pulled out another, "What about him?"

"Wilson Fisk. I saw his obituary in the news. Heard he was attacked by a bunch of deranged terrorists."

What followed was a simple Q&A, both sides speaking in calm, measured tones, no different from a routine police interrogation.

One by one, the files were opened, each detailing individuals with complicated backgrounds: a mob boss killed in a vendetta, a real estate tycoon who met an unfortunate end, a military colonel who died in an accident, and so on. All of them had some vague connection to Sean...

"You can't just accuse me of plotting to assassinate the president because I took a stroll near the White House." The young man's smile remained unshaken as he countered softly, "This Frank D'Amico fellow was a drug lord on the West Coast. I was just a student on a graduation trip with friends. The two have nothing to do with each other. As for Wilson Fisk, I was in the school lab all night, Dr. Connors can vouch for that..."

"...All this seems like baseless conjecture. Or slander." Sean concluded. He leaned forward slightly, a mocking grin spreading across his face, "I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to be an official agency like the NSA. Turns out you're just an extension of the NYPD, handling these kinds of cases."

Ward remained unfazed. He wasn't provoked by the taunt. As a Level 7 agent, if he couldn't keep a cool head, he'd have been on the casualty list long ago.

Though he very much wanted to smash that infuriating face in, Ward suppressed the impulse, considering the trouble it would cause.

"You think we don't have enough evidence? You think some powerful friends will swoop in to save you? You think this is a courtroom where a high-priced lawyer can get you off the hook?"

Ward sneered, his eyes sharp as blades, as if trying to pierce through Sean's smiling facade, "Even if you sit here for forty-two hours, no one, not even the federal government, can take you out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody..."

"...In four hours, a team of operatives will come for you. You'll be hooded, taken to a black site, and locked away for years. Maybe no one will even remember you. Sean Cyphers will vanish from the world, forgotten until you die..."

"...You're not like Tony Stark, with unshakable backing. The people aligned with you for profit won't go all-out against S.H.I.E.L.D. Your so-called 'allies' will weigh the costs, calculate the benefits."

Ward's tone was devoid of emotion, as if he were simply stating inevitable facts. The dim room, the glow of the desk lamp casting shadows across the young agent's hardened face... it all created an overwhelming sense of pressure.

But Sean's expression didn't change. Like a relentless current crashing against an unyielding rock, the young agent's threats had no effect.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was a formidable organization, but not everyone feared it...

The young man (Sean) sat back comfortably in his chair, adjusting his collar, "Let me tell you what's going to happen next, Mr. Ward..."

His tone was light, his gaze gentle, devoid of agitation or fear. A faint smile played on his lips, as if this weren't an interrogation but a friendly chat.

"...Soon, you'll get a call from the White House, or the military. Maybe both. Then your superior will knock on the door, pull you outside, and give you a helpless look before telling you that the bastard sitting in that room has a vice president and an Army general backing him. That Stark Industries, the former weapons giant, is his business partner. That Harry Osborn, rising star of biotech, was his college classmate. That he himself nearly received the National Medal of Science from the president..."

"...Four hours from now, I'll walk right out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doors. Even if every accusation against me holds up, I'll still leave this room unscathed, return to my life of luxury, maybe even make the papers as a 'great genius'..."

"...And you, Grant Ward? You'll have to watch as this 'criminal' walks free. You might want to beat me into pulp right now, but you won't dare lay a finger on me, unless you want to spend the rest of your life in federal prison. No matter how much your superiors value you."

That amiable young face still wore a friendly smile, but beneath the calm tone was an arrogance that seemed to regard no one as a threat.

He pointed at the one-way mirror, his mocking grin widening, "Know why I'm cooperating? Because even if everything you said is true, even if I'm a villain guilty of countless crimes, can you actually put me behind bars?"

Noticing the young agent's clenched fists, Sean shifted into a more comfortable position, resting his hands on his knees, the picture of relaxed nonchalance.

"I don't feel like talking anymore. If it's not too much trouble, get me a coffee. No sugar."

Just as Ward (his fury reaching its peak) was about to throw a punch, the door opened. Coulson and his mentor, Garrett, stood in the shadows.

Meeting Sean's taunting smile, Ward pressed his lips into a tight line, gathered the files, and turned to leave.

"Don't forget my coffee, Agent." The young man's voice followed him out...

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Read ahead on my P@treon...

[email protected]/MayaMatengele01