New Mexico, late at night.

It is a very nondescript old-fashioned bungalow. Hundreds of pedestrians pass by the door of the old house every day, but no one stops to look at it.

Sean Charley, the owner of the house, is also known to the surrounding neighborhood as a middle-aged man who makes a living by doing odd jobs in a car repair shop. He was African-American, with charcoal-black skin and a fierce appearance. If you ask your neighbors, they will say that he is a very easy person to get along with. He is helpful and will take the initiative to smile and say hello to you every morning.

Sean is very popular, but if someone investigates deeply, they will find that there is actually no one who really understands him. None of the neighbors who thought they knew him well could even tell him exactly where he came from, and they had never seen any relatives or friends who had any contact with him. He kept up at 7 o'clock in the morning and arrived home at 6 o'clock in the afternoon. He never goes out on weekends and holidays, and his whole person looks ordinary and has no bright spots on the surface.

Sean sat on the couch in front of the TV, watching a TV series that he had actually watched three times. He slumped lazily on the couch, holding a half-drunk bottle in one hand and resting one foot on the arm of the couch.

Suddenly, as if suddenly, he became alert, like a vigilant wolf sniffing a strange breath and intruding into his territory. He put down the bottle and jumped up from the couch, his lazy state swept away, and his eyes and posture seemed to suddenly transform into a warrior ready to go.

His pupils constricted.

It felt like suddenly seeing a ghost that was nowhere to be seen, and it was almost suffocating for a moment. The pitch-black steel body stood there silently behind his couch, no sound or breath, as if he had been there all night. The iron armor was shivering, and the helmet had a "V" shaped eyepiece.

As a mechanic, Sean reacted with surprising composure. His face turned cold: "I don't know who you are, stranger. But you've broken into the wrong place. ”

He pulled out a sharp knife from behind him. It wasn't the blade you could buy at any supermarket, it had a very rare metallic hue, and it was somewhere between a saber and a dagger, and the blade was so sharp that you couldn't open your eyes.

With a bow, he rushed forward with arrows, and his pace was extremely exquisite. The sharp knife shook left and right in his hand, as if it was divided into three, and the three knife lights were cut out separately, and the knife was extremely fierce. There is no doubt that this is a well-trained fighter. His footwork and knife skills have been specially tempered, and they are by no means the level that a mechanic can achieve by wielding in a hurry.

But it didn't do much. The black enemy stood calmly in place, and his arm was long and leaned straight over. With a twist of Sean's blade, the cold light slashed out diagonally, cutting straight into the black gauntlet. The blade cut a long string of sparks into the gauntlet, but it didn't leave a single scratch.

"What!?" Sean was taken aback, and seemed to be very surprised by the result. But only for a moment. The cold hand knife landed on his neck with precision, knocking him unconscious with a single blow, and he fainted on the floor in front of his eyes.

The man in the black armor — Michael, of course — leaned down, picked up the blade that Sean had thrown aside, and spun it in his hand.

The Vibranium Sword, no wonder he was so confident in the power of this knife, and no wonder he was so surprised when he realized that the blade couldn't cut through the target.

Yes, the mechanic is of course just a cover identity for Sean Charley. His real identity is a foreign agent from the African kingdom of Wakanda.

"The DNA sample is collected." "Data is being uploaded into the digital mask, and new masks are being generated. ”

"Got it." Michael said.

With Ultron's surveillance as his eyes, Wakanda's secret agents stationed around the world naturally can't escape the eyes of the Heavenly Sword. It stands to reason that Heavenly Sword has nothing to do with them, and they have no interests in each other, and this attack on Agent Charlie is definitely not a personal vendetta.

A few hours earlier, Ultron, who was in charge of surveillance, had discovered that traces of his "brother", the one currently missing, had appeared with arms dealer Ulysses Crowe.

Their whereabouts are carefully concealed, and there is no way to trace them directly and remotely. However, after the Heavenly Sword agents dispatched from the nearby branch investigated through various channels, the intelligence said that Crowe himself seemed to have accompanied a "new client" to Wakanda in the past two days.

It's not hard to guess that the "customer" is referring to Ultron.

When it comes to Wakanda, it has to be mentioned that vibranium. With an entire national reserve of vibranium, and an almost inexhaustible supply of huge vibranium mines, one can imagine what would happen to these things in the hands of Ultron – or his current master.

Michael dragged the black agent onto the couch and cast a hypnotic spell to make sure he wouldn't wake up for the next twelve hours to report back to his king. Then he left the old house and went to the backyard. There is not much space in the backyard, and the only building except for some flowers and plants is a warehouse.

Wakanda is quite technologically advanced in many areas, not only because they are a generation ahead of the rest of the world, but also because the tech tree developed based on vibranium is different from the rest of the world in many aspects, that is, in terms of architecture. So it may be a little difficult to sneak through Wakanda's various monitoring systems and through Wakanda's protective shields. Even if you use a teleportation spell to pass it in directly, there is a high probability that the relevant sensor will be triggered.

Michael's trip to Wakanda was intended to investigate the conspiracy of Ultron and Ulysses Crowe, not to stir up a dispute, which was essentially a secret investigation. That's why he borrowed the identity of Sean Charley, the Wakanda spy.

With one hand, the roller shutter of the warehouse rumbled upwards, and a black flying machine suddenly came into view. It was a hovering, high-end aircraft with a streamlined appearance, no wings, and only variable direction jet thrusters mounted on the sides and tail, more like a flying whale than an airplane.

Michael got into the cabin. He poked the link straight out of the right palm of his armor and connected to the aircraft's control panel, and Shirley would take care of all the rest.

Half a minute later, the aircraft system was activated, all permissions were opened, and the electronic female voice said softly, "Welcome back Agent Takabi", and then asked if it was necessary to activate the autopilot directly and follow the established route back to the capital. Michael chose the "yes" option, and the computer gently reminded him to fasten his seatbelt. The cabin was closed, and the jet propulsion port turned downward. The whole aircraft flew up in the air, automatically went invisible, and rushed into the night sky in a puff of smoke, heading straight for Wakanda. I want to talk about "The Beginning of the Era of American Comics" with more like-minded people, and pay attention to "excellent reading literature" on WeChat, talk about life, and find confidants~