I have a good impression of Marvel

Time: July 2009, 7, 22 pm

Coordinates: unknown

In an underground fortress about a hundred meters above the ground, in an empty room.

Under the light, Coulson, in a suit and leather tie, was sitting behind a desk, staring closely at the documents in his hand, his brows furrowed.

The document printed with the eagle logo contained the details of a female S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

A moment later, the sound of the door opening and the subsequent footsteps were like a sudden thunder, interrupting Colson's thoughts.

Colson raised his head and saw a dark-haired woman wearing a hospital gown, sitting on the seat opposite Colson with a smile.

Putting down the document in his hand gently, Coulson's iconic friendly smile suddenly appeared on his face:

"Agent Steve, how are you feeling today?"

"Very good, very good."

Seeing the calm expression on the other person's face, Coulson's heart was filled with waves.

After gathering his thoughts, Colson continued to ask:

"Do you still remember how you got here?"

"I volunteered." The black-haired woman paused, and then continued to add: "I was about to die. When I woke up, everything was normal."

"Very good. If you have any discomfort or needs, you can ask me and I will try my best to satisfy you..."

Before Colson could finish speaking, the black-haired woman interrupted him:

"Then when can I be discharged from the hospital? Return to the team again?"

Not paying attention to the other party's interruption, Colson raised the corners of his mouth, and a kind smile appeared on his face again.

"I promise you, it will be soon. As long as you continue to observe for a while to confirm your postoperative adaptability, you can be discharged."

"Thank you, thank you very much for all your help, Agent Coulson..."

After a brief conversation, the black-haired woman was escorted away by two agents standing at the door.

In the simple room, Colson was alone again.

After thinking for a moment, Colson opened the document just now, picked up the pen, and began to write in the blank space at the bottom of the document:

"I have adapted well after the operation and there are no side effects for the time being..."

After writing the words "It is recommended to be discharged immediately!", Colson, with a relaxed expression on his face, gently put the pen aside and murmured unconsciously:

"It's a good start..."

However, five minutes later, Coulson realized that he was too optimistic...

The same hospital gown, the same surgery, but what Coulson saw on another dying agent was another horrifying sight.

“#%￥@#@”

A series of indistinguishable self-talk, coupled with a nagging look, a bearded man sitting across the table, like a cerebral palsy patient, completely immersed in his own world and unable to extricate himself.

"Agent John? Agent John?"

Colson shouted several times, but there was no response from the other party.

Finally, with a frown on his face, Coulson had no choice but to wave his hand and signal the two agents guarding the door to take the man back to the ward.

After watching the agent leave, Coulson picked up the pen on the table and wrote on the agent's file again:

"Poor adaptation after surgery, aphasia began to occur..."

After finishing writing, Colson paused suddenly, rubbed his temples with his other free hand, and then said with a slightly tired voice:

"next."

A few minutes later, sitting in front of Colson was a blond middle-aged man.

The blue and white hospital gown, worn on the other party's body, could not hide the slightly bulging muscles. On his solemn face, you can clearly see the scars left by the battle on the corners of his eyebrows and on his neck.

This is a fighter.

"How long are you going to keep me here?"

From the other party's tone, it can be heard that this SHIELD agent is very dissatisfied with being "imprisoned" here.

Colson just frowned slightly, glanced at the file in his hand, and said pleasantly:

"Agent Jerry, after the operation, you need time to recover and adapt, not only your spirit, but your body as well..."

"Let me ask you first, have you felt any discomfort recently, or have you felt uncomfortable anywhere in your body..."

Before he finished speaking, the blond man interrupted him impatiently:

“I feel good and I feel like I can show up anytime!”

Colson's expression changed slightly after being interrupted, and he was about to speak:

"This is…"

At this moment, the man named "Jerry" suddenly made an unexpected move:

I saw him suddenly reaching out and roughly snatching the pen on the table!

Then, he began to doodle on the desktop with a look of obsession.

With a raised brow, Coulson stopped the two agents who were about to come over and focused his eyes on the table.

What the man drew on the table were strange patterns composed of circles, rhombuses, and straight lines.

Coulson studied it carefully for a moment, confused.

Just when Colson was thinking about finding a language or pattern expert to find out what these patterns meant, there was a "bang" sound, and the man suddenly slammed his hands on the table, scaring Colson. Moved back a bit.

Looking at the man's face full of confusion and anger, Coulson frowned and said to the two agents who were already preparing to attack:

"Send him back to the ward!"

. . . . . .

After staying in this underground base for about a week, Coulson's inner uneasiness became more and more intense.

He knew that this project was originally a plan that was beyond ordinary people's imagination. We also know that not every scientific research project will go smoothly. Most of them require a certain amount of time to slowly achieve the initial goal.

However, the deeper he got into this project, Coulson's conscience began to question himself again and again, the same question:

"Is this really the right thing to do?"

Especially when he saw that the six test subjects who had adapted very well after surgery gradually began to deteriorate after the initial physical recovery stage.

He slowly began to feel that this was a very wrong decision.

After tossing and turning for several consecutive nights and long nights unable to sleep, Coulson finally made a decision that should have been made long ago!

. . .

In a dark office, Coulson, who was integrated with the darkness, sat in front of an encrypted laptop and looked at the camera with a solemn expression.

Colson cleared his throat a few times, took a deep breath, and pressed the confirmation key on the keyboard.

With a beeping sound, the computer started recording:

"Good morning, Commissioner Fury."

"I'm sorry to tell you that I want to submit my resignation..."