To Be An Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D (Marvel)(MCU)

[Are you really going to kill your way through?] Cortana asked.

James was already in the parking lot, loading up the Chevrolet Suburban.

"That's right. I'm going to keep it simple. Complete the mission, while leaving behind just a little regret. Which is for the best," he said as he started the engine.

[Why?] Cortana asked.

"Because I understand now. I'm doing two missions. But this test doesn't matter. They won't promote me beyond Level Three, no matter what. Going higher would make me too visible. That's not what Phil or the others want."

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"The second mission is the financial company," James muttered. "That can't be exposed, so I'll use the first mission to cover it up. If it works, great. If not... I'll kill everyone involved."

He was angry now. Not because he was afraid, but because Carlos had finally settled into a quiet life. A mission like this could bring enemies to his doorstep. Did Phil and the others not think of that?

He drove quickly toward Frank Horman's house. It was a villa, but probably not too expensive. In the U.S., some apartments cost more than standalone homes.

James pulled out his binoculars and surveyed the property. There wasn't much surveillance, which struck him as odd. This guy was supposed to be the head of security?

"The security here's pretty weak," James said aloud.

[You should still be cautious,] Cortana replied. [I still have limitations thanks to you.]

"I'll wait until after midnight."

He parked a fair distance away, reclined his seat, and let Cortana help him sleep. One benefit of sharing a brain with an AI—she could instantly make him fall asleep and wake him precisely on time.

At exactly midnight, his eyes opened. Cortana had done her job. He straightened the seat, grabbed the binoculars again, and scanned the property. The villa was dark.

James stepped out and retrieved his backpack from the backseat.

"Let's check for any external surveillance," he said, his tone low.

The villa wasn't isolated. Houses stood on both sides. Most of the residents here were likely mid-tier executives or small business owners.

As James scanned the neighborhood, Cortana began processing data.

[This is the route,] she said. [Avoids all nearby surveillance.]

He slipped on a black baseball cap and a face covering, then moved quietly along the suggested path. Reaching the outer wall, he vaulted over and landed softly on the lawn. His hand instinctively reached for his pistol—a Beretta 92F with a silencer.

He crouched to examine the area. The security focused mostly on the front entrance. There were no cameras along the outer wall, which was strange.

He crept toward one of the windows, gently testing it. It was locked. He let it be.

The house had two floors. Finding no accessible openings on the ground floor, he began to climb.

On the second floor, he pushed on another window. It gave way. He lifted it, slipped inside, and closed it behind him.

[Be careful. This was too easy,] Cortana warned.

"Yeah, I don't like it either."

As his eyes swept across the room, Cortana enhanced his sight.

[Hold on. Adjusting retinal vision.]

James's vision blurred briefly.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

[Turning your retina into night vision. Please wait... done. Recovering sight.]

His eyes cleared. So cool. Night vision through the naked eye—like having a built-in tactical lens.

He had entered through the second-floor bathroom.

"American homes really do have too many bathrooms," he muttered.

He stepped out into the hallway. The layout was simple, with doors on both sides. He checked the first room—an empty guest bedroom. The second was another bathroom. The third was a study.

He examined the study carefully, even the walls, but there were no safes or hidden compartments.

"Guess it's either in the master bedroom or on the first floor," James said. "I'll start downstairs. Avoid the bedroom unless necessary."

He made his way down carefully. On the first floor, he moved through the kitchen, dining room, and living room, until he reached a wooden door. He opened it—and found a steel security door blocking the basement.

"This might be it."

He studied the door and noticed a fingerprint scanner beside the handle.

"Figures."

He turned back toward the kitchen. Frank lived alone, so his prints had to be somewhere in there. James pulled out his portable scanner and activated it. A soft blue light swept across the surfaces.

To his surprise, there were three distinct fingerprint patterns. He focused on the one that appeared most frequently and loaded a silicone film into the scanner. After copying, he carefully removed it—a perfect match.

Back at the basement door, James removed his gloves, pressed the silicone print against his finger, and held it to the scanner.

Click. Access granted.

He eased the door open and stepped inside.

The basement wasn't small. Maybe fifteen square feet. It looked more like a personal gallery than a storage space. Paintings, sculptures, art.

James scanned the room, searching carefully. Nothing stood out.

"Cortana, got tips? Should I steal a painting?" he asked, jokingly annoyed.

[Just take only one. You haven't checked the master bedroom yet.]

James hesitated. The bedrooms were supposed to be off-limits. But he had hypnotic gas in his bag. That changed things.

He returned upstairs and listened at the bedroom door. Nothing but soft breathing.

He put on his gas mask, retrieved the small tank, and inserted the nozzle under the door. Turning the valve, he waited.

His method tonight was crude. It would leave traces, yes, but nothing that could identify him. That was the point.

After a few minutes, he packed the canister, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Frank Horman was unconscious, lying in bed.

The room was average in size, with a closet, dresser, and various women's items scattered across the surface. Odd… Frank wasn't married. Who did those belong to?

James started searching. Inside the closet, he found a small hidden compartment.

No security, no lock.

Inside was a folder. He flipped it open.

Government documents. Project details. Names, codes, and signatures.

James snapped photos, then carefully returned everything to its place. There was nothing else.

He walked out quietly, closing the door behind him hopefully leaving everything as is with barely a trace to be found.