Chapter 20 : THROUGH THEIR EYES
The briefing room filled with tension the moment Coulson started the video.
A woman in dark clothes moved through a jewelry store with impossible precision—ducking security beams before they activated, avoiding cameras she couldn't have seen, anticipating guard movements as if she could see around corners.
Because she could.
"Akela Amador," Coulson said. "Former SHIELD agent. My trainee, actually, years ago. She was captured on a mission in 2008 and presumed dead."
May's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind her eyes. She knew the name. The history.
"She's not dead," Ward observed.
"Clearly not. But she's not acting on her own either." Coulson zoomed in on a frame from the footage. Akela's face in profile, one eye catching the light wrong. "Analysis suggests cybernetic implantation. That eye isn't seeing normally—it's receiving and transmitting data."
"Someone's controlling her," I said quietly.
"That's our working theory. The eye has a direct feed to an unknown handler who can see what she sees and send commands. There's also..." Coulson paused. "Intelligence suggests there's a kill switch. If she disobeys, if she tries to run, they detonate the device."
The room went silent.
"So she's a prisoner," Skye said. "Even when she's out there committing crimes, she's still a prisoner."
"Yes."
"And we're going to rescue her."
It wasn't a question. Coulson met her eyes and nodded.
"That's the plan. But first, we need to understand the technology. Identify her handler. Find a way to disable the kill switch before we approach her." He turned to FitzSimmons. "Can you analyze the transmission signal? Find out where her feed is being sent?"
"If we can get close enough to intercept the signal, yes," Fitz said. "But we'd need to be within range without her—or her handler—noticing."
"That's where you two come in." Coulson looked at me and Skye. "You're our technical intercept team. Get close to Akela, capture the signal, trace it to its source."
Skye cracked her knuckles dramatically. "Time to hack a brain."
---
We set up in the Bus's mobile command station, screens filling with data streams as we tracked Akela's last known position.
She was in Stockholm. The jewelry heist had been three days ago, but pattern analysis suggested she was still in the area, waiting for her next assignment. Her handler—whoever they were—kept her on a short leash.
"The signal should be broadcasting constantly," Fitz explained over comms. "The handler needs real-time visual data to maintain control. If we can intercept that broadcast, we can trace it back to the source."
"And then what?" Skye asked, fingers flying over her keyboard.
"Then Simmons performs the most terrifying surgery of her life," I muttered.
"I heard that," Simmons said. "And yes, theoretically I could remove the eye if we can disable the kill switch first. But we need to understand exactly how it works before I can safely attempt extraction."
Skye pulled up a map of Stockholm, overlaying it with cell tower data and signal patterns. "If she's broadcasting, there should be a measurable spike in local transmission activity whenever she's active."
"Look for anomalies in the 2.4 gigahertz range," Fitz suggested. "Cybernetic implants usually operate on modified WiFi frequencies."
We worked in tandem, Skye handling the technical analysis while I cross-referenced location data with security footage from local businesses. Our heads bent together over the screens, shoulders touching, her hip pressed against mine as we both leaned toward the same display.
The copying was progressing. I could feel it—that slow absorption, my body mapping her dormant potential molecule by molecule. Two percent. Two and a half. The physical contact during these working sessions was accelerating the process, even if she'd never know it.
"Got her." Skye's voice sharpened with triumph. "Signal spike in the Östermalm district, eighteen hours ago. She's staying somewhere in this three-block radius."
"Can you isolate the broadcast frequency?"
"Working on it." Her fingers danced across the keyboard. "The encryption is military-grade, but it's got some weird quirks. Almost like it was designed by someone who learned security protocols from a different tradition."
"Different how?"
"The algorithm structure reminds me of..." She trailed off, frowning. "Actually, it reminds me of some HYDRA files that got leaked after the Battle of New York."
My blood went cold.
Of course it was HYDRA. The eye technology, the control systems, the disposable assets—it all pointed to the same organization rotting inside SHIELD like a cancer.
"Can you still break it?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.
"Give me time." She grabbed an energy drink from the desk and cracked it open. "This is going to be a long night."
---
It was a long night.
Ward and May deployed to Stockholm to establish surveillance while we worked the technical angle. Coulson coordinated from his office, running background on everyone who might have access to this kind of technology.
At 3 AM, Fitz stumbled into the command station with three cups of questionable coffee. "How's it going?"
"Almost there." Skye's eyes were red-rimmed, but her focus was absolute. "The encryption's designed to rotate every six hours, but there's a vulnerability in the handshake protocol. If I can time it right..."
"You need sleep," I said.
"So do you."
"I'm not the one cracking military-grade encryption."
"No, you're just the one who's been staring at security footage for eight hours straight." She took the coffee from Fitz without looking away from her screen. "We're both running on fumes. Deal with it."
Fitz raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged.
"She's always like this during hacking marathons," he said. "Simmons calls it her 'digital fugue state.' Best to just keep her fed and caffeinated until she emerges."
"Heard that," Skye muttered.
"You were meant to."
The banter helped. Something normal in the middle of crisis. I grabbed my own coffee—bitter, oversaturated, perfect—and returned to the security footage.
At 4:47 AM, Skye made a sound somewhere between triumph and exhaustion.
"I'm in." She spun her chair to face us, grin splitting her face despite the dark circles under her eyes. "I've got the feed from her eye. And I've got the handler's location."
The image on screen shifted—suddenly we were seeing through Akela Amador's enhanced eye, a first-person view of a dingy hotel room.
"She's sleeping," Fitz observed. "Or trying to."
"Her handler's in Belarus." Skye pulled up a map. "Military installation, former Soviet. Now we just need to figure out how to cut the feed without triggering the kill switch."
I stared at the image of Akela's hotel room, seen through her own stolen eye.
"We're going to save her," I said.
Skye's hand found mine under the desk. "Yeah. We are."
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