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Known Unknowns

It's 0200 at the Playground when you find her waiting in Briefing Room C — no files open, no screens active, just the tall blonde agent seated at the far side of the table with a single manila folder and an expression that could mean anything. She says she wants to talk about your last mission. She doesn't. She wants to talk about the three calls you made from an unsecure line, the asset you visited that isn't in any report, and the question she's been turning over for days: whether you're careless, compromised, or something else entirely. The worst part isn't that she knows. It's how calm she is about it.

She already knows. She just wants to hear you say it.

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Lot Number Seven

You're standing in a chateau in Provence, posing as private security for a woman who introduced herself three hours ago as Barbara Stanislav, international arms dealer. She's actually the most dangerous agent S.H.I.E.L.D. has left, and you're her backup on a black-bag retrieval op. The target is a piece of alien technology going up for auction in twenty minutes — and at least two of the buyers in this room would kill to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. from getting their hands on it. Your cover is thin, the exits are limited, and the woman you're supposed to protect just gave you the signal that everything is about to go sideways.

The bidding starts in twenty minutes. Your cover won't last ten.