To the east of the Bronx lies the largest Chinatown in the area, with over 200 Chinese restaurants that have been in operation for more than a century. Every area where Chinese people congregate is almost always bustling, with every restaurant remaining open till the late hours of the night.
One must admit, Chinese businessmen who made it abroad had to make some dangerous bets on their fortune.
Despite the current chaos in the Bronx, where protestors mingle with watchful policemen, no Chinese restaurant is closed. They even offer deliveries to both the protestors and the police.
On the streets of the protest, it is common to see Chinese chefs dressed in white Kung Fu uniforms, carrying boxes of food. They run to the protestors, then to the police.
Most police officers ignore the Chinese people as they know that most Chinese are law-abiding, commit very few crimes, and are not skilled with firearms. The chance of them causing trouble is very low. Even if they see them coming from the protestors' side, the officers do not care and goof around with their colleagues instead.
In the sweltering New York summer, you would sweat profusely just standing under the sun for 10 minutes. The policemen have their patrol car's trunk open as a makeshift umbrella, holding food boxes, clumsily handling spoons or chopsticks.
"Hey, kid, yes you, I'm serious, can't you give me a fork? How the hell can I eat these damn noodles with these two little sticks?" An older officer with white hair struggled with his box of noodles.
His young colleague, laughing uncontrollably, stopped the Chinese young man approaching and said, "Hey, you can't give him one, that's racist. If you eat Eastern food, you have to use chopsticks!"
The Chinese young man responded with a forced smile, waved at the police, and said, "If you'll excuse me, I have to deliver these meals, Officer."
The two police officers started to goof around, leaving the Chinese youth alone. He rolled his eyes, went to his bicycle, picked up another stack of food boxes, and walked towards another group of police officers.
Just then, a squad rushed out from across the alley, led by a red-haired female agent. She pointed her gun at the Chinese young man, saying, "Don't move!"
The Chinese young man, eyes sharp, swiftly threw the food boxes in his hands. With the sound of gunfire, noodles and rice scattered in the air like a flower fairy's sprinkles.
The Chinese young man should have run then, but he hesitated, looking at the food scattered on the ground. At this moment, the agents had already caught up.
The Chinese youth somersaulted onto the roof of the police car and slid down the hood, knocking down the officer who was trying to draw his gun.
Most of the police officers were eating and couldn't react quickly enough. Within a few fronts, the Chinese young man broke through the police line and ran deep into the alley.
"After him!" shouted the leading female agent.
The police couldn't help much, but the agents moved swiftly. It was apparent that it was a planned capture operation. The area wasn't the Chinese young man's usual habitat, and he wasn't as familiar with the terrain as these disciplined agents were.
The Chinese young man ran down another alley. He looked back at the agents chasing after him, stopped, made a sharp turn, and charged into another alley. Making another turn, what he saw wasn't another street, but a dead end.
Luckily, the protest crowd had discarded a pile of promotional wooden boards here. The Chinese young man picked up a large wooden sign, tore off the annoying paper at the bottom, gripped the stick, and with a jump as agile as pole vaulting, jumped onto the roof of the alley.
He smirked and made a face at the agents. He jumped to the other end of the alley. But the next second, a blinding light flashed, and the Chinese youth saw a complex pattern appear beneath his feet.
With a "swish" sound, a magic prison lit up, and the red-haired female agent with a magic wand approached, squinting at the Chinese young man, saying, "Why did you run?!"
The Chinese young man was taken aback. He pointed to the magic wand, then to himself, glanced around, pointed to the wand again, and was about to let out a word.
The red-haired female agent took out an ID from her pocket and flashed it, saying, "Natasha Romanoff, special field agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., I am investigating you for six crimes including the unauthorized use of superpower, assault on a police officer, and refusal to cooperate with the investigation. Do you have any objections?"
"I..." Just as the Chinese young man started to speak, Natasha interrupted him, saying impatiently, "If you hadn't run, we could've had a nice breakfast in a restaurant while talking. You're not a criminal. What are you running for?"
The Chinese youth opened his mouth, looked at Natasha up and down as if he didn't recognize her, and he wasn't supposed to.
"Natasha, be kinder to this young man," another man emerged from the corner. He clearly wasn't an agent. He wasn't wearing their uniform; instead, he was in a turtleneck sweater and spectacles, looking quite scholarly.