Chapter 36 – Something’s Off

"Compared to standard training and coursework, the greatest feature of the Integrated Combat Course is its comprehensiveness. To put it bluntly, this course encompasses the best of all four divisions. Anyone who passes it can be promoted directly to Level 5 Agent in S.H.I.E.L.D. after graduation!"

Leonid introduced the course with no small amount of pride.

It wasn't just because the course was exclusive to the Combat Division — he had once been one of its instructors himself.

Ray didn't interrupt, listening patiently.

Leonid soon realised he'd digressed too much and cleared his throat to return to the point. "Given the specialised nature of the Integrated Combat Course, I haven't chosen simple events like shooting or hand-to-hand combat. Such contests, even with a winner, are meaningless here."

"So, I've designed three challenges that test true integrated combat capability. I'll explain them now, Doctor. If you have any objections or suggestions, we can adjust them until we both agree."

He then described the matches.

In truth, the first two were nearly identical — only the roles of attacker and defender were reversed — but they were cleverly designed to push all aspects of combat ability. Any weakness could easily mean failure.

Specifically, both competitors would enter a weapon assembly room filled with parts — scattered and mixed — from various firearms. Some sets were complete, others missing pieces, and many were there solely to confuse.

They each had two minutes to identify and assemble a functional weapon before heading into the combat arena.

The battlefield was simple: a high ground point that was easy to defend but difficult to assault. There were barriers scattered around for cover.

In the first round, Leonid would defend the high ground while Ray attacked. In the second, they would switch roles.

Each attack phase lasted thirty minutes. If the attacker seized the position, they won. If not, they lost.

Additional high-tech equipment, unique to S.H.I.E.L.D., was also scattered across the area for tactical use.

All weapons and tools used training rounds. Neither combatant could be seriously harmed. Their suits would register impact and damage values.

Once someone's damage threshold was reached, the suit would automatically declare them "dead" and they would be removed from the match.

As for the third round, it was a hostage rescue operation. Both participants would attempt the mission independently, and the winner would be determined by a combination of scores and penalties.

"I've no objections. Let's begin," Ray said immediately after the briefing.

"If you'd prefer to suggest changes..." Leonid began, only to pause in surprise. Ray hadn't objected at all.

"You agree?" he asked, visibly startled.

"It's a sound design. Why wouldn't I?" Ray shrugged casually.

"Uh... then very well. I'll have them finalise the field preparations. Let's change into our training suits."

Leonid couldn't shake the odd feeling rising within him. This wasn't going the way he'd envisioned.

But it was too late to back out now. He nodded, sealing the agreement.

Ten minutes later, both men emerged suited up.

Yet the moment Leonid laid eyes on Ray, something felt... wrong.

Especially his gaze. Something in it made Leonid's heart skip a beat.

"No, this isn't right. Something's very wrong..."

His instincts screamed at him. Instincts forged in a long and brutal career as a field agent. That same gut feeling had saved his life on countless missions, helping him find a path through certain death.

And right now, those instincts were telling him something was off with Ray.

But for all his thinking, he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

If Ray could hear his thoughts, he might have laughed at how sharp a man's intuition could be.

Because the Ray standing before him now — was no longer Ray at all.

It was Deadshot, the alternate persona, now in full control of the body.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.? Is this world's equivalent of Checkmate?" Deadshot muttered under his breath, only loud enough for himself to hear.

"Well... not exactly. Close enough, I suppose."

"Even if they're not quite the same, they reek of the same militarised hypocrisy. God, I hate these institutionalised types..."

His eyes narrowed at Leonid, filled with thinly veiled contempt.

Back in the DC universe, Deadshot had been leashed by Checkmate with an explosive implant and forced to serve in the infamous Task Force X — the Suicide Squad.

Checkmate's role in the DC world was eerily similar to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s here. The difference being, the former was fully government-run, while the latter answered to the World Security Council but maintained some autonomy.

Deadshot's deep-rooted loathing of Checkmate bled over naturally to S.H.I.E.L.D.

To him, Leonid was just another interchangeable cog in a machine he despised.

Of course, Leonid had no way of knowing any of this. He just noticed that Ray was suddenly staring at him with unconcealed disgust — and it left him puzzled.

Still, he approached and asked, "Shall we begin, Doctor?"

Ray — or rather, Deadshot — said nothing.

Instead, he raised his hand and drew a slow, deliberate slash across his throat with the edge of his hand.

The message was clear.

That gesture instantly provoked Leonid. He had never been one for diplomacy, and this was nothing short of an insult.

Snorting coldly, he responded with the same throat-cutting gesture — with twice the intensity.