"... Don't trust... Anyone..."
The sound stopped suddenly.
Lin Zhao looked down at the metal plate in his hand. The number on it was slowly disappearing, replaced by a line of text he had never seen before - it was not English, not Chinese, or even characters of any known language on earth. Those symbols were like some kind of ancient star map, or like the visual presentation of some kind of mathematical formula. They crookedly covered the surface of the entire metal plate, and then all disappeared within a few seconds.
The metal plate returned to its original state, as if nothing had happened.
Lin Zhao took a deep breath, put it back in his pocket, opened the door and walked out.
Coulson was waiting for him, leaning against the hallway wall, a cup of coffee in his hand. Seeing Lin Zhao coming out, he looked up and down at the effect of the uniform and nodded.
"It fits," he said. "It looks like your body shape is the same as it was three years ago."
