Chapter 369

The next day, the atmosphere at S. . . . . . grew strange; as Nick passed through the corridor, five or six people had already overtaken his pace, hurrying past him.

Nick held his coffee cup, glancing left and right, noticing everyone wore solemn expressions. He stopped a female agent and asked, "Where are you going? Why are you in such a rush?"

"Director, good morning. I'm heading to work—some tasks from the Special Operations Division weren't finished last night, so I need to start early today."

"Ah, alright, go ahead."

Then another Ma Lei agent bumped into him. The agent paused and said, "Oh, sorry, Director, I'm in a hurry—you know, I'm rushing to work…"

Nick widened his eyes, surprised, yet couldn't find words to stop him. He asked several others and received the same answer each time.

"Damn it, aren't these junior agents the ones who always slack off? They spend their days at the gym or tennis court, gossiping in the office about when their pay will rise—why are they suddenly so hardworking?"

Muttering to himself, he reached the door of the psychological counseling room. Nick raised his hand and knocked. Schiele's voice came from inside: "Come in."

As Nick stepped inside, he kept glancing back at the bustling corridor. After closing the door, he pointed outside and asked, "What's going on?"

Schiele tossed him a file. Nick glanced down and said, "…Security Plan? Relocating key personnel to Arkham Sanatorium?"

Nick set the file down, looked at Schiele, and asked, "Don't tell me these agents are working hard just to prove they're indispensable…"

"Of course. If they prove they're irreplaceable within S. . . . . ., they get placed on the Security List—safe from this purge. Pierce and Garrett are both gone. The Security Plan is the only lifeline now."

Nick narrowed his eyes, as if seeing through Schiele's thoughts. Schiele spread his hands. "Don't look at me like that—I'm truly acting selflessly against Hydra."

"Hmm." Nick replied with a cold laugh.

Soon after, many agents on the Security List arrived at Arkham Sanatorium.

Previously, though the facility had many caregiver slots, most were phantom positions used to pad payroll accounts—actual staff were scarce, so only a few patients could be served.

But now, with so many real "caregivers," the patient capacity could expand.

After promoting the Immortality Factor for so long, New York had no shortage of wealthy people interested in it. The number of applicants wanting admission was countless; as soon as vacant beds were announced, they filled immediately.

With more patients came a shortage of caregivers, so another batch of the most diligent agents was added to the Security List. But with more agents came a shortage of patients, so more patients had to be added, then more caregivers…

After a series of "add flour when the soup's too watery, add water when the dough's too thick" adjustments, Schiele successfully filled the sanatorium to capacity.

Moreover, the Hydra agents who had infiltrated S. . . . . . were all seasoned and committed. They knew that having a secret base during the purge was like a tiny boat in a storm—a vital resource for preserving Hydra's strength. If they slipped up, everyone would be finished. So they worked tirelessly, striving to convincingly pose as real caregivers.

Of course, Schiele wasn't doing this to boost the sanatorium's business—he was driven purely by justice, unable to let Hydra continue harming S. . . . . .

In S. . . . . .'s base, Coulson and Grant embraced. Coulson said, "Didn't expect you'd be reassigned so soon. Let me talk to Personnel—I'll get you moved somewhere less remote. It's really not necessary…"

Grant shook his head. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately said nothing. He simply turned away silently. What Coulson didn't see was the complex expression on Grant's face in that instant—as if some belief was crumbling.

"Alright…" Coulson didn't press. He stepped forward, placing a hand on Grant's shoulder. "I know you're passionate, just not good with words. If you run into trouble in New Mexico, contact me immediately."

Grant nodded vaguely. After seeing him off, Coulson muttered in confusion: "…Has there been too many reassignments lately? And always to remote places—New Mexico, Montana…"

Suddenly he slapped his forehead. "Oh, Coulson, don't you dare let Director Fury hear you say that—he'll question your professionalism again. Probably some secret experiment…"

He dropped the thought and left.

When Schiele met Grant at Arkham Sanatorium, he handed him a sheet of paper. Grant looked at it—covered in dense text, with a signature at the bottom—but didn't reach out to take it.

Schiele said, "Everyone who arrives here receives the full Security Plan guidelines. This is an exceptional period—I have authority to punish anyone who violates the rules. Don't think you're an exception, Mr. Ward."

Grant stared at Schiele, searching for any flaw—but found none. Then he noticed the spelling of the signature on the guidelines: "Schiele."

That wasn't the American spelling. It was German or Austrian.

Grant took a breath, took the paper, and asked, "Will you guarantee the safety of all agents here?"

Yawen Library

"I will guarantee the safety of all loyal individuals."

Grant and Schiele locked gazes for dozens of seconds until the air froze. Then Schiele said, "I hope everyone here has something to do."

Grant stood up, stepped back, turned, and left. Once outside the room, he clenched the paper with the guidelines and cursed inwardly: "Damn Nazi…"

The next day, Grant opened the door and was hit by a heavy stench of blood. He quickened his pace, crossed the corridor, and looked down from the atrium—two blood-soaked corpses lay below.

Schiele stood beside the stairs. Seeing Grant, he placed his hand on the railing and said, "I was just about to call you, Mr. Ward."

Grant descended along the wall, eyes fixed on Schiele's face. "You killed them…"

Schiele shook his head. "What they did killed them."

"Aren't you afraid the patients will notice?!"

"Didn't you notice how much quieter this place has become?" Schiele turned toward the corridor. "This sanatorium's infrastructure is ancient. Wiring is degraded, repairs urgently needed—fire risk is high. So we're temporarily closing for renovations."

Grant stepped to face Schiele, frowning. "What exactly are you trying to do? Turn this into a concentration camp?"

"Then pray you're not the prisoner. Are you?"

Schiele looked at him. "I know you're Garrett's adopted son. He trained you to be a Hydra agent and assassin. You have a twisted attachment to him—and you want revenge."

"You don't serve Hydra. You serve only Garrett, don't you?"

Schiele's simple question pressed heavily on Grant. He knew: if he answered yes, he'd meet the same fate as the two corpses—or rather, this bloodbath was meant as a warning.

He felt like a prisoner in a concentration camp, and this warden no different from the madmen. Grant knew he could only bide his time.

So he took one step forward, face still cold, but raised his hand in the most common Hydra salute—and shouted loudly: "Hydra lives!"

Schiele stared at him for a long moment, then said flatly: "…Hydra lives."

————Extra Notes————

Grant and Garrett are characters from Agents of S. . . . . . Interested readers can check it out.

Who came up with "Captain America 3: Internal Competition"?

What a summarizing genius