Calvin slept in the next morning and woke naturally at Matt’s apartment.
Matt had gone out on vigilante patrol the previous night and never came back.
Knowing him, he would probably head straight to the law office during the day and spend the rest of his waking hours working as an attorney.
And unlike Calvin, the guy did all of that without even getting system rewards.
Now that was what a real workhorse looked like.
After washing up, Calvin headed downstairs.
A black Chevrolet was parked in front of the apartment building, with Phil Coulson waiting beside it wearing his usual mild smile.
He was even holding breakfast.
A breakfast sandwich and coffee—both exactly the way Calvin liked them, and clearly bought from the little place he used to visit all the time.
‘S.H.I.E.L.D.’s surveillance is getting ridiculous.
They even know what I like for breakfast.
Fury, you creepy one-eyed stalker.’ Coulson had already shocked him the night before by accurately recounting all the bizarre things Calvin had done over the past several months.
Today, however, S.H.I.E.L.D.
was showing just how thoroughly its surveillance had seeped into his everyday life.
At this point, it was no longer impressive intelligence work.
It was downright unsettling.
Calvin was beginning to wonder whether the guy behind the counter at his favorite breakfast place was secretly a S.H.I.E.L.D.
agent.
No wonder Alexander Pierce would eventually try to bring Fury over to HYDRA’s side after the organization was exposed.
The bald cyclops really was frighteningly competent.
Calvin accepted the food and took a large bite of his sandwich.
“Looks like S.H.I.E.L.D.
knows me pretty well.
You people take stalking to a whole new level.” Coulson maintained his pleasant smile.
“It’s one of the methods we use to maintain stability.
You can also consider it a gesture of goodwill.
You entered S.H.I.E.L.D.’s field of interest quite some time ago, yet we never interfered with your life, did we?” Calvin smiled without answering and climbed into the passenger seat.
If he actually believed that corporate-grade bullshit, he deserved whatever happened to him.
The engine rumbled to life, and the Chevrolet pulled away from the curb.
Coulson kept his eyes on the road and spoke in an intentionally casual tone.
“Calvin, I should warn you that once we arrive, you’ll undergo several tests involving your enhanced abilities and combat skills.
I’d like you to use as much of your actual strength as possible.
The results will affect S.H.I.E.L.D.’s assessment of your capabilities and the types of assignments you receive afterward.” He paused before adding, “That said, there’s no need to worry.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
agents aren’t constantly sent on missions, and the compensation is excellent.
You won’t need to keep juggling half a dozen jobs anymore.” “Not many missions?” Calvin finished the last of his coffee and rolled his eyes.
“Then why are you in such a hurry to recruit me?
Does your director have so much money that he’s desperate to add more names to the payroll?” S.H.I.E.L.D.
had reached the point of actively recruiting enhanced civilians off the street.
That alone made it obvious they were short on manpower.
Apparently, the amount of truth coming out of Coulson’s mouth was inversely proportional to the amount of hair left on his head.
“…” Coulson’s smile stiffened.
Finally, he sighed.
“All right.
We are somewhat understaffed.
But agents receive additional compensation for every assignment they complete, so you don’t have to worry about that.” Calvin’s eyes immediately lit up.
He had been trying to figure out how to volunteer for as many missions as possible without making anyone suspicious, and Coulson had just handed him the perfect excuse.
After all, the clearest impression Calvin’s previous lifestyle gave anyone looking through his records was that he desperately needed money.
And that part was completely true.
Most of his earnings had gone toward purchasing different materials for the Golden Desert Eagle to absorb so he could expand the types of ammunition it could produce.
“Great.
Then give me as many missions as you’ve got.
I’m broke as hell, so don’t worry about overworking me.” Calvin slapped a hand against his chest.
“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s going hard.” “Uh…” Coulson gave him a sidelong glance.
For once, he found himself genuinely impressed by the accuracy of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s psychological profile.
They really had found a top-tier workhorse.
Life was about to become considerably easier for quite a few agents back at the office.
…
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Field Office, Underground Training Facility.
The training floor was packed with all kinds of exercise equipment and specialized testing devices.
In one corner stood a particularly unusual machine fitted with a wide LED display.
The moment Calvin entered, he spotted two familiar faces.
One was a bald man wearing glasses and holding a file folder.
Somehow, the combination made him look unintentionally comedic.
The other wore black tactical clothing and stood with a bow in hand and a quiver strapped across his back, looking almost hilariously out of place among all the advanced technology surrounding him.
Coulson gestured toward them.
“This is Agent Sitwell, and this is Agent Barton.” Calvin naturally recognized both men.
Jasper Sitwell was a well-known HYDRA infiltrator who had spent years playing both sides inside S.H.I.E.L.D.
Clint Barton, on the other hand, was Hawkeye, one of the founding members of the Avengers.
Calvin had not expected a simple recruitment assessment to warrant Hawkeye’s presence.
Then again, this arrangement suited him perfectly.
With Sitwell here to personally witness his abilities, it was probably only a matter of time before someone higher up in HYDRA decided Calvin was worth recruiting.
The first test brought him to the strange machine he had noticed earlier.
Coulson pointed toward it.
“This device measures striking force.
Just throw a punch inside the marked area.
You don’t need to make physical contact with anything.
The readings are extremely accurate.” “Huh.
Fancy.” Calvin was genuinely impressed.
The machine could calculate the force of a punch without requiring him to hit a pad or sensor.
It was far more advanced than the ordinary punch-testing machines he had seen before.
He deliberately restrained himself and threw a punch.
A deep thump cracked through the air as the sheer force of the movement produced a noticeable gust of wind.
At the same time, enormous red numbers appeared across the display.
6 TONS “What the hell?” All three men stared at the screen.
Even though they already knew Calvin possessed some kind of superhuman strength, none of them had expected his striking power to reach this level.
A six-ton punch suggested that he could likely lift at least two tons and overturn an ordinary car without much difficulty.
His physical capabilities had clearly exceeded normal human biological limits.
More importantly, if Calvin decided to attack the three men standing beside him at this distance, he could probably tear them apart before any amount of combat experience made a meaningful difference.
Someone that strong was unlikely to be slow.
Barton was the most surprised of them all.
Sitwell was essentially there to document the assessment and was not much of a fighter himself.
Coulson was an experienced hand-to-hand combatant, but even he was not among S.H.I.E.L.D.’s absolute best.
Barton was different.
His archery was extraordinary, but he was also an elite close-quarters combatant, and that experience let him recognize something the others might have missed.
Calvin had absolutely no idea how to throw a proper punch.
His stance, weight transfer, hip rotation, and overall mechanics were a complete mess.
There was no sign whatsoever that he had received systematic hand-to-hand combat training.
If someone actually taught him how to use his body efficiently, the amount of force he could produce was difficult to imagine.
That observation also helped rule out the possibility that Calvin had been planted by another organization.
Properly drilled movement patterns were notoriously difficult to conceal from an expert once they had become ingrained through years of training.
That was one reason Barton had been brought in for the assessment.
He effectively served as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s combat evaluators for newly recruited field agents.
The only awkward part was that this particular recruit could probably beat his evaluator through raw physical superiority alone.
“So what’s next?” Calvin looked from one frozen face to another.
“Why are you all staring at the screen?
Come on, keep testing me.” The sooner they finished this assessment, the sooner he could start accepting missions.
He was already itching to throw himself into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s workload.
Coulson finally recovered from his surprise and pointed toward the shooting range in the center of the training floor.
“We also need to evaluate your marksmanship.” The two abilities S.H.I.E.L.D.
had clearly identified so far were Calvin’s abnormal physical strength and his seemingly impossible shooting skill.
Naturally, those were the areas they had chosen to test first.
Enhanced civilians recruited from outside the organization could not be expected to possess the same professional training as career S.H.I.E.L.D.
agents or military personnel.
Once the agency understood the nature and limits of Calvin’s abilities, it could assign missions suited to what he was actually capable of doing.
Everything else an agent needed to learn could be handled later.
At the moment, what S.H.I.E.L.D.
desperately needed was someone who could fight.
“Sure.
This one’s easy.” Calvin walked over to the firing line, casually picked up an M4 carbine, and activated Dead Eye.
He aimed at a target one hundred meters away and squeezed the trigger.
RATATATAT!
The magazine emptied in a sustained burst, leaving the range filled with the smell of burnt propellant.
Coulson, Sitwell, and Barton turned toward the monitor displaying the camera feed from the target.
Their eyes widened simultaneously.
The bullet holes had been placed with such absurd precision that they formed a perfectly recognizable middle finger.
Every shot was exactly where it needed to be.
Sitwell stared at the screen in astonishment, but something hotter gradually appeared behind his eyes, as though he had just made an important decision.
Coulson had already seen surveillance footage of Calvin fighting the gunmen outside his home the previous night, yet witnessing that level of marksmanship from only a few feet away was another matter entirely.
Even he could not help marveling at it.
The middle finger was perhaps a little unnecessary, though.
Barton’s reaction was different from either of theirs.
Hawkeye, widely regarded as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finest marksman, stared at Calvin with his eyes practically shining.
For the first time in a very long while, Clint Barton looked like he had finally found someone who spoke his language.