Chapter Twenty-Three: A Broader Perspective

After Gu Yi departed, Yang Qiu began excitedly siphoning energy. Good heavens, he had never been so affluent; the mental power expended while manufacturing Kieran’s timepiece was replenished within minutes, and that was only because Yang Qiu’s own recovery rate had an upper limit. After tinkering for a while and savoring the sudden sensation of abundance, he calmed himself somewhat and turned his thoughts to the subject of “perspective” that Gu Yi had mentioned.

Indeed, his scope had been rather narrow. Each script he devised was a standalone affair, with little connection between them. The only somewhat ambitious move was creating a monster hunter training camp for Van Helsing. In this age, whether making films or writing novels, everyone strove to establish a universe—DC Universe, Marvel Universe, Mythic Universe. With sufficient energy, he could do the same.

Yang Qiu pondered, shifting his attention to Natasha, who had just been brought back to S.H.I.E.L.D. The Ouroboros symbol on her hand had originally been nothing more than a gimmick tossed out to distract S.H.I.E.L.D., but now, it seemed entirely plausible to make it real.

Moreover, the mere thought of extraterrestrials invading Earth and thousands of heroes emerging from among the Avengers filled Yang Qiu with excitement. Revenge? What revenge? When the time came, it would be their turn to repel the invaders; even if they couldn’t completely turn the tables, they wouldn’t be reduced to passive avengers.

But to orchestrate such a grand spectacle, groundwork was essential. Truth be told, not a single one of Yang Qiu’s scripts had ever proceeded flawlessly—the most successful was the birth of Parker, while the others inevitably deviated from the plan.

What did that indicate? It suggested his arrangements were not thorough enough, and perhaps he was too controlling. Take, for example, the recent stopwatch incident: had he originally designed several anomalies, it would have sufficed. After all, in the final act, the manifestation of those anomalies would still be determined by him.

So, the process was mere illusion; as long as the outcome was correct, that was enough for Yang Qiu. Nevertheless, if he intended to weave a grand narrative, he must take charge of the prologue.

Within S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha was confined to a sparse room furnished only with a bed, a table, and surveillance equipment. Ever since she returned from that ship, she had been assigned here. The matter of the stopwatch was one concern, but more importantly, the mark on her hand could not be removed by any means.

Neither cleansing agents nor laser treatments worked; in the end, even removing the skin failed, for the mark continued to shimmer upon her flesh and bone.

In the dead of night, Natasha awoke abruptly, clutching her right hand. The Ouroboros symbol had begun to burn, as though the heat emanated from deep within her soul—not painful, but impossible to ignore, no matter how she tried to distract herself.

After reporting her condition, Nick Fury arrived promptly outside her room. Natasha was one of his most trusted agents; handing her over to others for examination made Fury uneasy, especially since the vampire incident had revealed that other factions likely had spies embedded within S.H.I.E.L.D.

“How are you feeling now?” Fury stood before the window, his voice transmitted through the intercom.

“No change,” Natasha replied, rolling up her sleeve to display the Ouroboros mark. Previously, it had pulsed softly like a breath; now, it shone constantly, as if activated by some unknown force.

Fury was silent for a moment. “Come with me.”

The door opened, and Natasha, clad in light attire, followed Fury through a corridor brimming with technological ambiance. They entered an internal elevator, descending straight to more than ten levels underground.

When the elevator doors parted, Natasha glanced outside. Several familiar faces were present: Coulson, Hawkeye.

“How’s the thing?” Fury asked Coulson as they moved forward.

“Same as it was minutes ago. Apart from the new mark, it’s shown no signs of activity,” Coulson replied.

A mark? What mark? Natasha’s senses sharpened.

A minute later, they reached their destination: an observation chamber, identical in function to the one outside Natasha’s room.

Through an entire transparent wall, Natasha saw a cluster of researchers encircling a box made of special materials. Inside lay a doll, grotesque and chilling.

The doll bore a striking resemblance to a human infant—over ninety percent, in fact. Yet, what betrayed its unnaturalness were the broken joints and an exaggeratedly gaping mouth.

This was the Annabelle doll, which Fury had contained during an earlier operation. Research into it had never ceased. Yet, like the mark on Natasha’s hand, no matter how they probed, S.H.I.E.L.D. had found nothing. None of their cutting tools could even scratch the doll, and scans either returned blank or registered utter darkness.

Until just minutes ago, a symbol appeared on Annabelle: the Ouroboros. Researchers immediately reported it, and the timing matched precisely with the moment Natasha’s mark began to glow.

“It moved!” Hawkeye Barton suddenly exclaimed. As S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most formidable sniper, he possessed extraordinary perception.

“It moved? Where?” Coulson queried.

“The smile shrank!” Hawkeye responded. “Wait, it’s back to normal.”

Fury gestured to the surveillance team, who quickly reviewed the footage. The results confirmed Hawkeye’s observation: upon “seeing” Natasha, Annabelle’s smile had indeed altered slightly.

With the results in, everyone turned to Natasha, who looked bewildered. She felt nothing whatsoever.

No—that wasn’t true. Since entering this room, the burning sensation on her arm had eased, though only slightly, barely perceptible unless she concentrated.

After relaying her sensations, Fury pondered for several seconds. “Move closer and see what happens.”

Natasha obliged, stepping to the glass door. Instantly, Annabelle’s expression changed; the smile vanished, and her eyes locked fiercely onto Natasha.

“Annabelle…” Natasha murmured, speaking the name softly.

Hawkeye’s heart skipped; his right hand hovered over his holstered pistol. If Natasha showed any sudden movement, he would fire instantly at a non-lethal spot to subdue her.