{Chapter: 115 - Raina's Charm}
Inside the Memory Stimulation Room
Phil Coulson's breathing grew ragged as the machine buzzed and whirred around him. What was once a comforting, warm memory designed to help him heal had twisted—morphed into a cold, sterile nightmare of gleaming surgical instruments and bright, blinding lights. His chest rose and fell erratically, and his eyes widened in disbelief as he found himself strapped down to an operating table.
The illusion of peace shattered.
His head was shaved clean, the cool air of the laboratory biting at his exposed skin. The machines moved with mechanical precision, sending jolts through his brain to force him into lucidity, to stop him from drifting away from the trauma. But the clarity didn't help—it only made the pain sharper, more unbearable. He gasped and arched his back as another electric pulse hit him.
Then came the screams.
"Please—kill me! Make it stop!" Coulson's voice broke through the sterile silence, raw with agony. "Why am I alive?! I should be dead!"
Outside the glass, watching through the observation panel, stood Raina.
She wore her usual calm and mysterious expression, but her fingers trembled slightly against the tablet in her hands. She was recording everything—the way Coulson's brain reacted, the subconscious memories that slipped through, the names and images that surfaced unfiltered.
Her role in all this was clear. The Clairvoyant wanted to know the secret behind Coulson's resurrection. Wanted to know how S.H.I.E.L.D. had played God. But standing here, witnessing a man's mind being torn apart, Raina felt something unexpected—remorse.
Guilt crept into her like a cold draft under a locked door. Her intuition screamed at her. There was danger. Close. The kind of danger that didn't knock—it broke in.
Her breath hitched as she slowly turned away from the window and exited the observation chamber.
She only made it a few steps before freezing.
Standing at the end of the hallway was a figure she hadn't expected to see again—Aiden.
He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, wearing that same infuriatingly calm expression, like he'd been waiting for her all along.
"Flower," Aiden said softly, his voice carrying an eerie warmth. "We meet again."
Raina's lips twitched into a forced smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I thought… I thought you'd be far from here."
"It seems you still haven't seen Clairvoyant's true face yet," Aiden said, straightening up and stepping forward. "But that's fine. I told you last time I'd give you a chance. That offer still stands."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why?" Her voice cracked slightly—not out of fear, but confusion. "Why would you still offer me that… after everything?"
"Why?" Aiden chuckled lightly and looked her up and down—not with lust, but as if he were weighing her soul. "Maybe it's how you carry yourself. There's grace in you… a certain mature allure about you, that doesn't need to scream to be noticed. A quiet sort of storm."
Raina stared, stunned. She had spent her life trying to be noticed, trying to matter in a world that only seemed to care about power. And yet here he was, a man of terrifying strength, seeing her… not for what she'd done, but for who she was underneath the layers.
"I think there's more to you than what you pretend to be," Aiden continued. "You're not evil. Not truly. You're curious. Driven. Smart. You're playing a dangerous game, yes—but you haven't crossed that line yet. You're standing at the edge, looking in. Or maybe it's because I just appreciate you?"
She blinked at him. "You don't care that I'm working for Clairvoyant?"
"I care," Aiden admitted. "But only if you cross a line you can't return from. Right now? You haven't hurt anyone I care about. And believe it or not, I think your heart's still capable of choosing the right path."
Aiden said, his eyes fixed on Raina. At first glance, she doesn't look pretty but her character and temperament exclude an exotic charm the longer you stay with her.
The important thing is that Aiden understands she's not truly a bad person. In a world where the line between good and evil is blurred, the only ones who stand out are those who fight for justice. And truth be told, he doesn't care if a woman walks the path of a villainess—unless she's a complete psychopath. Even then, as long as her sins aren't soaked in too much blood, and she is too much of a baddy. Aiden might still consider pursuing her.
A girl who is capable, beautiful, and isn't bad.
Another important thing was that she brings no harm to him or the people around him so why not let her go?
Although she looks like an ordinary person she has another identity.
Raina's lips parted slightly, caught between disbelief and a flicker of hope.
Aiden leaned in closer and said softly, "I don't mind if a woman walks the path of a villainess—so long as she doesn't burn the world with her."
His voice was velvet, laced with unshakable confidence and a whisper of danger. And it struck something inside Raina. Something vulnerable.
Without another word, she nodded and stepped aside. Whether it was out of fear, gratitude, or some mix of both, she didn't know. But she left.
Raina left, although she didn't believe Aiden would let her go, at least she's still alive. After Raina left, Aiden entered the chamber where Coulson was still strapped to the machine.
The room was saturated with the hum of devices and the muffled groans of Phil Coulson, who trembled from the aftermath of the psychic overload.
"Okay, okay," Aiden murmured gently, approaching the table. "It's over now."
He touched the side of Phil's head, channeling a pulse of calming energy. The machines short-circuited and powered down, the oppressive light dimming into a warm glow. Coulson blinked rapidly, disoriented. Then he saw Aiden's face.
"…Aiden?"
"Easy, Phil," Aiden said with a small smile. "I'm getting you out of here."
Phil coughed. His voice was weak, but his eyes were filled with unrelenting determination. "I… I saw it. I know now. I was dead."
Aiden exhaled quietly and gave him a supportive nod. "Yeah. You were. But sometimes… people come back for a reason. Doesn't always make sense. Doesn't have to."
Phil reached out and grabbed Aiden's arm. "At least I know the truth now. Even if it hurts."
Shaking his head slightly, Aiden helped Coulson to his feet and wrapped an energy field around them both. "Some truths are better off forgotten, but I get it. You needed closure."
Together, they ascended through the ruined ceiling as Aiden levitated them up and away from the abandoned facility. The desert wind howled as they rose into the open sky, leaving behind the ghosts of pain and unfinished experiments.
The nightmare was over.
For now.
---
Although Aiden had promised to bring Phil back, no one in the team expected it to happen so soon. His return felt almost surreal—like a chapter closed too early or a miracle pulled off without fanfare. They had prepared themselves mentally for days of silence, of anxious pacing and sleepless nights waiting for even the smallest clue. Instead, the man walked in the door like he'd only stepped out for coffee.
Coulson looked... mostly fine.
Superficially, there were only a few minor injuries—a cut on his brow, some bruising on his ribs, and a nasty scrape along his forearm. Nothing serious. The physical damage was the easy part. But anyone who knew Phil Coulson could see the truth in his eyes: the man had seen something he wasn't ready to talk about. The kind of thing that changes you in quiet, irreversible ways.
He stood among them, smiling faintly, speaking calmly, reassuring everyone that he was okay. But his gaze would sometimes drift off, and he'd pause mid-sentence like he was lost in a memory that didn't belong to him. He kept a hand near his chest as if still grounded by the fact that his heart was beating at all.
Everyone was relieved to see him alive. But the unspoken truth lingered in the air like static: whatever had happened had scarred him deeper than words could reach.
Even worse, Michael's death weighed heavily on him.
Coulson had already launched an investigation, hoping to uncover something—anything—that would explain what had happened to his fellow agent. But so far, every lead turned into a dead end. No security footage. No witnesses. No tech traces. It was as if Michael had vanished into thin air and left behind only blood and questions.
Coulson didn't speak much about it. But he didn't need to.
His silence said it all.
*****
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