"Is someone tracking you?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"I don't know, instinct tells me that this time the person tracking me is very formidable, maybe not an ordinary person, even the FBI isn't as good as them." The man speaking is a white male in his twenties, sitting at a street-side coffee shop, drinking a latte while casually observing his surroundings as he talks on the phone.
His expression doesn't reveal how anxious he is; on the contrary, he is quite calm, but the person on the other end of the phone can sense his fear.
"Someone more formidable than the FBI, S.H.I.E.L.D.?" the person on the other side speculated.
"I'm not sure, but it's possible because I've managed to shake them off several times, yet in less than three minutes, they always found me again, something even the FBI couldn't do." The white man was confident in his skills, but his opponent was even more terrifying.
"They're tracking you."
