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Faced with Steve Rogers, the young Chaldean members could only respond in silence.
In this era of information warfare and global surveillance, some ideals elude the younger generation. Yet when those very ideals are tested in real life, few can carry them as Steve does—consistently, with unwavering resolve.
Especially for Wanda and Pietro—assigned to their roles by Chaldea, not out of personal ambition—they bore their duties as guardians with restraint rather than enthusiasm.
Steve cast a glance at Shen He.
He could have spoken to the young ones himself. But as their leader, Steve understood the difference between being a symbol and being a superior. Sometimes, you needed someone else to speak not as a friend or a captain—but as a commander. That's why Shen He had been summoned.
"Ahem." Shen He cleared his throat, his calm voice drawing the room's attention. "Of course, none of you are at fault for that article or the noise online. You've done well. Public relations and narrative control are simply logistical concerns for Chaldea. Don't internalize it. All of this—media backlash, online waves—is temporary. We are prepared to respond."
That was Shen He's key message.
The guardians were not to be revered like saints. They were strategic agents, visible figures—but still functionaries. In a sudden PR crisis, their actual leader—Shen He—needed to reassure them with conviction.
And no one else in Chaldea could fill that role like Shen He.
"Really, sir?" Skye asked, the room perking up.
"When I need your involvement, I'll let you know," Shen He said with quiet authority. "But until then, all of you get back to work. Otherwise, tomorrow's headlines will be 'the teens who folded under criticism.' Learn from Parker. He doesn't let this stuff touch him."
Peter Parker was unaffected by online scrutiny. Or perhaps he was, but instead of shrinking, he stood taller—motivated by admiration. A certain girl had openly stood up for Spider-Man in her classroom. That had meant more to Peter than a thousand likes or dislikes online.
Among the young guardians, perhaps only Parker was poised to become a true hero in record time.
The others—Wanda, Pietro, Skye—looked inward with shame. They said no more, changed into field gear, and rejoined Steve on humanitarian missions.
Shen He glanced at the offending article once more. He didn't need heroes.
He chuckled to himself.
This wasn't about honor or online commentary. This was the Marvel World.
In this reality, the military and political machinery were fragile when true threats emerged.
Only super-powered beings—be they enhanced humans, mutants, Inhumans, or Chaldeans—stood between the world and collapse.
"Coulson." Shen He turned and walked out, connecting through his comm. "Has the military envoy arrived?"
"Yes, sir. It's General Ross," Coulson answered.
"General Ross?" Shen He blinked. "You mean that General Ross? There are a lot of Rosses in the army."
"There's only one General Ross left at this level," Coulson clarified. "And yes… it's him. He also still carries unresolved S.H.I.E.L.D. baggage. I suspect we've been dragged into one of those."
"Understood. But the plan stays the same, Coulson." Shen He cut the comm without further comment.
He had been momentarily surprised, but not for long.
The military had issued warnings—and veiled threats—toward Chaldea before. Ross's presence only confirmed it. The last surviving general with direct connections to special operations post-S.H.I.E.L.D. had now been activated.
Because Ross still held hatred.
But for modern Chaldea, it didn't matter who arrived.
On Coulson's end, after the call ended, he adjusted his collar and made his way toward the visitor's hall.
Ross didn't storm in with tanks or a press conference—just a modest team of about a dozen military officers. Subtle. Reserved. Calculated.
They were cautious too.
"General Ross, long time admirer," Coulson said as he walked up.
They didn't know each other, not personally. But during the Hulk incidents—especially the Harlem catastrophe—they'd stood on opposite sides more than once.
"Coulson, you're a wanted man now," Ross said coldly. "And we have enough evidence to implicate your Chaldean cover company. This is official."
Straight to the point.
After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., field agents like Coulson had either been absorbed into new entities—or labeled as fugitives.
"Well then, General, you're welcome to arrest me," Coulson said with his trademark calm. "But I'm afraid those ten men with you won't be enough."
"Hmph. Arresting you falls under civil jurisdiction," Ross grunted. "If the army received orders to intervene, I wouldn't bother knocking."
That tension framed their current relationship. The military didn't want a full confrontation with Chaldea—but they were preparing for one.
They feared Chaldea's power—but were unwilling to surrender political control.
"So, you're not here to fight?" Coulson asked flatly.
Ross's silence spoke volumes. He had come to negotiate. Begrudgingly.
It irritated Ross that Coulson was the one receiving him—and not Shen He himself.
"Coulson," Ross growled. "We weren't always on the same team. But we fought for the same country. Are you really going to serve a bunch of non-humans? You believe those aliens care about Earth?"
He was laying groundwork.
Ross was reciting old S.H.I.E.L.D. records—ones that hadn't been updated since the organization's collapse. Since then, Chaldea had evolved… but the World Council hadn't caught up.
They needed a new intelligence apparatus badly.
"Belief isn't the issue," Coulson replied. "I trust my eyes. And I'm still a senior agent."
If agents were swayed this easily, they wouldn't be agents to begin with.
Ross's glare deepened. He sat down roughly.
"Let's get to it. Loki—and that damn scepter—belong to us. He's already killed a U.S. major."
Coulson knew instantly: Ross was just the messenger. He'd been activated by the Council—or some national committee.
They wanted to use Ross to probe Chaldea's defenses. Classic Cold War-era strategy. Familiar to any old S.H.I.E.L.D. operative.
"General," Coulson said, sitting across from him, "Loki is only safe here. Period."
"'Safe'? You think safety is real without military power?" Ross scoffed. "That scepter controls minds. That Asgardian freak holds alien secrets. We need him."
According to S.H.I.E.L.D. archives, Asgard was a guardian civilization—an interdimensional peacekeeper species. This wasn't just about Loki's crimes. This was a strategic opportunity.
Ross knew that too.
Coulson remained stone-faced.
"General Ross," he said, tone shifting. "As you said: we used to protect the world. That hasn't changed."
It sounded like an idealistic slogan. But inside Chaldea, it was a functional mission statement.
Of course, how many truly believed in it was another story. Hydra certainly hadn't.
Ross narrowed his eyes.
Coulson was Fury's man. He knew that. And the Council had once speculated: was Coulson embedded in Chaldea on Fury's orders?
That would explain a lot.
"How much do you really know about Chaldea, General?" Coulson said, leaning forward. "When Hulk was in India, he couldn't even react before our agents subdued him."
Ross's jaw tightened.
He remembered Hulk's power. That invincible rage machine had torn through battalions. His own creation—Abomination—had barely contained him with chemical suppression.
Coulson slid over a file.
Photos.
Ross recognized several faces—Chaldean operatives. But that wasn't the shock.
The photos were from live combat—tanks in flames, alien warships shattered midair, cities scarred by otherworldly weapons. The Chaldeans were central in every image—victorious, efficient, coordinated.
One image showed Shen He walking calmly through rising tidal waves—a wall of seawater suspended like glass behind him.
Ross's brow furrowed.
This wasn't just another superhero club.
Chaldea had become something else entirely.
"You could say that," Coulson nodded. "There are still many of our people embedded here—not because they care about Earth, but because, to them, it's just one of many operational zones. When you're stationed overseas, don't you also recruit locals to carry out tasks?"
Ross was momentarily speechless.
The photos in his hand, Coulson's quiet revelation of being 'one of us,' and the staggering strength of the Chaldean organization—each detail reminded him that he had no leverage left.
He even began to realize the deeper scheme behind bringing him here.
"I need Loki," Ross finally said, unwilling to back down. "What exactly can you do?"
The World Security Council was preparing to establish a new global intelligence force.
Whoever delivered Loki would become its founding commander.
It was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s former power that drew Ross here in the first place.
"I'm still trusted by Chaldea," Coulson replied, a faint smile never leaving his face. "But remind me—why should I help you?"
"You—!" General Ross jabbed a finger toward him in frustration.
But no words followed.
Even if Coulson was a double agent for someone, it was clearly for Fury—not for him. And that meant Coulson had no obligation to follow Ross's lead.
Yet if Coulson had no intention of cooperating, why speak to Ross at all?
Obviously, Coulson wanted this conversation to serve a purpose—to relay information, allow Ross to report back, and let the World Security Council believe this was all Fury's orchestration.
It was a subtle play to use Ross's failure to highlight Fury's competence—and perhaps push the Council to give Fury broader authority.
"Fury really raised a capable subordinate…"
Realizing how thoroughly he had been manipulated, Ross rose in a fury. He didn't want to remain here a moment longer.
First, he'd been lured into this Chaldean mess under false pretenses, then used as a pawn by Coulson to amplify Fury's standing.
Still, as he left, he gripped the photos tightly in his hand.
It was the only tangible outcome of this entire debacle.
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