In the Marvel Universe: I can summon items from all dimensions.

Mason quickly typed several exclamation marks.

"!!!"

Someone's here? Why? Who is it?

Although he appeared quite calm, it was actually a state of numbness after being subjected to a large amount of shock in a short period of time. After dying suddenly on the roadside, he was reborn into a corpse in another world with a hole in his head (physical). Anyone would be numb in that situation.

However, although this start was terrible in every sense, it still had the advantage of "no one else around," which allowed him to sit down and think about the current situation and the future. He also used a summoning ability that was unclear in many ways. As long as he recovers and thinks more about it, it's not impossible for him to do something.

At this critical moment, someone actually knocked on the door?

Wait, calm down first.

If this is a hotel, maybe it's room service?

No, room service won't remain silent.

Are those people involved? Or even the police?

The thought of the unidentified corpse in the room made Mason feel numb.

If this blatant murder scene were discovered, the subtitle of my time-traveling life would have to become "A Soap-Picking Trip to a New York City Jail"—and that's assuming we disregard the wild imagination at the top of my head.

I don't want to end up in jail the day after I time-traveled!

……and many more.

Suddenly, Mason frowned.

The knocking sound followed a certain rhythm, two fast and three slow. Most normal people wouldn't do that. It was almost like some kind of... code?

The rhythm of the knocking seemed to stir his fragmented brain, and corresponding images emerged from every corner, piecing together to form a coherent memory in Mason's mind.

"Remember, when you are on a mission in a group, you can use a knocking rhythm of two fast knocks followed by three slow knocks to initially confirm your identity."

He was a strong, tall man with a black and white skull mask on his head; he was clearly not someone to be trifled with.

Mason felt that the guy looked familiar, but unfortunately he couldn't remember where he had seen him before.

But the answers from "himself" and the people around him left him speechless.

"Hail Hydra!"

Several young men in black suits stood at attention and gave this answer.

Huh? Huh? ? ? ? ?

No, buddy.

What were you saying again? And what was "I" saying again?

Hail Hydra?

Could it be... that I am a hydra?

Mason's eyes twitched violently twice. Although he didn't say anything, he was already cursing in his heart.

It's bad enough that I've transmigrated into a corpse, but what the hell is this corpse of Hydra?!

—But then he remembered who the masked strongman opposite him was.

Crossbones, one of Red Skull's henchmen, is a minor villain who often takes the lead in serving Captain America.

And I am a... little Hydra who has undergone crossbone training?

Repeating important things twice—that's how you end up looking bad.

In an instant, Mason's expression changed like a revolving lantern, but the person outside the door seemed to be getting impatient and repeated the two fast and three slow knocks.

Looks like I don't have time to think about it slowly.

Mason's eyes narrowed. He took two deep breaths, then grabbed a clean towel from the bathroom towel rack and wrapped it around his forehead. He then put the air gun on his left index finger, checked his complexion in the mirror, and, finding nothing unusual, walked towards the door.

In short, let's take a gamble.

He kept a calm expression on his face, then gently opened the door.

A lean, white man who looked to be around thirty years old cautiously glanced at him through the crack in the door, then looked around the room as if to check for any extra risks. After a few seconds of silence, he frowned and pushed the door open to come in.

Mason tried his best to suppress his nervousness, gently rubbing the air gun on his index finger as he watched the man step into the guest room, come to the corpse, squat down to check the carotid artery, then stand up, look at him, and slightly soften his serious expression.

"Well done."

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and then praised, "You didn't report anything for twenty minutes past the contact deadline. I thought you'd been killed by that traitor. Very well, some bastards are going to suffer a huge loss."

Great, you made the right bet!

Mason let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief.

From the moment he realized he was actually a Hydra agent, Mason used reverse thinking to deduce the murder in the room—as everyone knows, Hydra is a villainous organization, whose members, if not eating children every meal, are at least villains who would crush instant noodles in a supermarket. And whatever the reason, it would be perfectly normal for members of such an organization to receive a murder order.

Therefore, he believed that the situation in the room was part of "his" work, and that the person knocking on the door was actually "one of his own".

Judging from the current situation, I have clearly made the right bet—it's a good thing, at least I don't have to resort to violence immediately.

After pondering the subtext of the other person's words, Mason carefully spoke.

In short, you need to be proactive; being timid will only arouse suspicion.

"Using me as a gamble? That's exactly the kind of thing you guys would do," he said unhappily. "This traitor is quite troublesome. If the sneak attack hadn't gone ahead, I'd be the one lying on the ground right now."

—In fact, it had already fallen to the ground.

The middle-aged man walked over with a smile and patted him on the shoulder: "Hehe, don't be angry. This is good for you too—think about it, you completed your first mission excellently. Your superiors will definitely recognize your abilities, and I believe you'll be promoted soon."

—I don't want to be too rude, but what practical use does being promoted in Hydra have besides choosing whether to be killed by Captain America, Black Widow, or Hawkeye? Even a dog would shake its head at that!

"Hmph...that's a matter for later."

Mason sneered, "So? What are you here for? Are you here to offer my post-war consolation?"

The man laughed heartily and patted Mason on the shoulder again: "You can understand it that way too."

"The truth?"

"Collecting corpses—whether yours or his." The man suddenly revealed a sinister smile. "This is the mutual assistance among the heads of the Hydra."

The dangerous undertone in his words almost made Mason raise his finger to slap him, but he took a deep breath and managed to suppress the subconscious impulse. Then he clicked his tongue and said, "I need real help more than comfort after the fact..."

Before he could finish speaking, a wad of bright green US dollars was slapped onto Mason's chest by the man.

Mason: "?"

"This is a bonus," the man said. "After the contact time limit of ten minutes, everyone else thought you were dead, so the odds were high. I bet on you to live, and this is my bonus—when we get back, I'll apply for some more bonuses for you. How about that? Is this kind of substantial help enough?"

Are you trying to insult my character with money?

—Although I really wanted to say that, he gave me quite a lot, at least a thousand US dollars.

"Let's go. Someone will clean up the mess here. You come back with me and report the details of the mission to your superiors. Once the process is complete, there will be plenty of benefits."

The man gave Mason a meaningful look, then turned and walked toward the door.

Now that things have come to this, it seems there is no other way.

Mason gritted his teeth and followed closely behind.

Special thanks to the man in the black suit and with the black hair, who allowed him to quickly clean up the mess so that others wouldn't easily notice the blood on his body; otherwise, it would have been really difficult to explain.

Mason followed the man cautiously to the hotel, where they got into a black Ford and drove off towards downtown New York.