"Mr. Harold, isn't it? You're very aggressive right now, and your heart rate is over 110. But I know it's not because you hate me; it's because you're feeling very anxious."
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze falling on the collar of Harold's wrinkled shirt. "There are two fresh scratches on your shirt collar. From a cat? No, those are marks from a woman's fingernails..."
"Combined with that white mark on your left ring finger from wearing a ring for a long time, yet the ring is missing..."
"Mr. Harold, you're going through a nasty divorce lawsuit recently, aren't you?"
Harold's pupils shrank suddenly, the aggression from a moment ago freezing on his face. "You..."
"Please don't misunderstand, I'm not accusing you."
Makima didn't give him a chance to breathe, continuing in a tone so gentle it was like telling a bedtime story. "I know that roaring at newcomers in this little dark room isn't because you enjoy it, and certainly not because you're a jerk."
Her fingers tapped lightly on the cold iron table with a rhythmic sound. "On the contrary, it's proof of how desperate you are. You're desperately maintaining this 'mad dog' persona at S.H.I.E.L.D. just to prove your worth and keep this paycheck... After all, private school tuition and the fees for that Vampire lawyer are astronomical sums."
"You're very tired, Mr. Harold."
Makima watched the middle-aged man's back gradually hunch over, like watching an old dog whose spine had been broken by life.
"You've sacrificed sleep, sacrificed dignity, and can't even bear to buy a decent bottle of Bourbon to comfort yourself, relying instead on this free instant coffee provided by the agency to keep going."
"You've pushed yourself to this point clearly to protect that home, yet you return home to nothing but arguments and accusations..."
"It's not fair, is it?"
Harold opened his mouth, but all the biting words he had prepared were stuck in his throat.
At that moment, the psychological defense he took pride in was easily shattered by Makima, and his eyes turned red at a visible rate.
"Damn it..." Harold took off his glasses and covered his face with his hands, his voice carrying a hint of sobbing and trembling.
"That bitch even wants to take my dog... That's my dog!"
[simulation value +211]
Makima leaned forward slightly, her eyes full of pity. "I can understand you, Mr. Harold. I like my dogs very much, too..."
Miss Makima is as understanding as an Angel~
...Outside the door, the corridor was deathly silent.
Agent Sitwell kept checking his watch, fine beads of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
It's been twenty minutes... Why is it taking so long?
Ordinarily, Harold's roars or the sound of a newcomer slamming the door and crying would have been heard by now, but today, it was eerily quiet.
Could that mad dog Harold have pissed off My Lord Makima and been... disposed of?
If My Lord Makima couldn't help herself and went on a killing spree at S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters... this wouldn't end well... Even he wouldn't have the power to settle something like this... "Damn it... should I rush in?"
Sitwell paced anxiously at the door, his hand already on the doorknob, hesitating whether to make some noise to interrupt the "act of violence" inside.
Just then.
Click.
The door opened.
Makima walked out with a calm expression.
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