Dottie

"Finish the preparations first." In an abandoned factory on the outskirts of London, Evenson looked at the unconscious Peggy Carter lying on a table. "Start applying the demon tattoos."

Sarah and the others had originally been scattered throughout London before Evenson summoned them here, which would delay S.H.I.E.L.D. finding them. Evenson did not want anyone interrupting the ritual.

"Yes, Boss." After receiving the order, Sarah began removing the clothes from the unconscious Peggy Carter.

Demon tattoos were naturally best applied to the body using tattooing methods. Of course, if someone insisted on drawing them on with colored pens… that was not impossible either.

But just imagine it: every time someone bathed, they might scrub too hard and rub part of it off. Then they would have to return and touch it up themselves in front of a mirror. If it was on their back, they would even need someone else’s help. Annoying, right? But that was not even the worst part. If they sweated too much in battle and the demon tattoos smudged, there would really be nowhere to cry.

So Peggy Carter, who had been a good girl all her life, was now resolutely getting a full-body tattoo at the ripe old age of ninety—something even more gaudy and non-mainstream than the funeral-love clan.

And her tattoo artist seemed even less reliable. Sarah held a dagger radiating green Fel energy, looking as if she were about to disembowel the person before her rather than carve demon tattoos onto her body.

Demons, after all, tended to be a little rougher in certain matters. Using a dagger for tattooing was actually fairly conservative. Some demons, in order to remember the demon tattoos that made them stronger while enjoying that faint sense of pain, chose to peel off that patch of skin directly.

"Seriously, Boss." Sarah held the dagger and traced the outlines of the demon tattoos across Peggy Carter’s body. Although the blade never broke the skin, the Fel energy on it had already branded the lines into her flesh. She suddenly waggled her brows at Evenson. "Aren’t you going to do it yourself? This is a rare opportunity."

Naturally, one could not get tattooed while wearing clothes, and the people who created these demon tattoos clearly had not considered protecting personal privacy. Peggy Carter was therefore almost completely naked, and the demon tattoos had to pass through some sensitive and indescribable areas of her body.

"Hmph…" Evenson snorted disdainfully. I’m a young man of noble character. How could I take advantage of someone in such a vulnerable state and cast aside all decency and shame? He immediately told Sarah with righteous indignation, "If she were sixty years younger, do you think I’d have handed this job to you?"

It was fortunate that Peggy Carter was unconscious. Otherwise, she would probably have suffered a stroke and a heart attack at the same time.

"Besides, I have something else to deal with." Evenson looked toward another part of the room.

"Yes." Sarah temporarily stopped working, raised her head, and shot Evenson a deeply dissatisfied look. "That one is indeed more appealing, and I even added a few touches for her."

"Focus on your work…" Evenson tugged at his sleeve. "If she refuses to cooperate, deal with her however you like."

Sarah said, "I really hope she’s strong-willed."

Evenson shook his head slightly and walked to a corner of the room, where a woman was tied to a chair.

She looked to be around twenty-five years old. Her blond hair was pinned up behind her head, and she wore a long black dress with a red ribbon. Her features carried distinct Slavic traits, especially her lipstick-painted lips, which were indeed exceptionally alluring.

The woman had her head slightly lowered, as though she had fainted. Evenson moved over a stool, sat down across from her, and said, "Are you still planning to keep pretending?"

"You saw through me?" Sure enough, the woman raised her head. She spoke with an accent straight out of an American television drama from the 1950s, her voice soft and gentle as she gazed seductively at Evenson.

"You needn’t think about breaking free either. You can’t."

"Yes…" The woman pursed her lips. It looked as though she had already tried many times. "I never thought such a shameless method would be this effective."

The way the woman was currently tied up had another, more formal name: indescribable bondage. This was the method Sarah had mentioned for making her more appealing.

"Not bad. Mostly because of extensive experience." Evenson was telling the truth. He could guarantee that Sarah had not learned this kind of bondage only after coming to this world. So who knew how many non-human girls that little succubus had tied up in tortoise-shell bondage when she had been with the Burning Legion.

Unfortunately, judging from the faint twitch at the corner of the woman’s mouth, she had clearly misunderstood whose extensive experience he meant.

"Let’s discuss your problem first, Madam." Evenson changed the subject and spoke coldly to the woman. "Your appearance was not part of my plan. What should I do with you?"

After they had settled matters, Evenson supported the trembling Peggy Carter as they prepared to leave. But as soon as they stepped out the door, the owner of the clothing store across the street walked toward them.

She looked as if she had something urgent to do, walking in a flustered hurry. Then, as if by accident, she bumped into Evenson.

The moment she was hit, Evenson clearly felt something hard pressing against him. Damn, could this girl actually be packing one?

Evenson looked down and immediately breathed a sigh of relief. It was an exquisite women’s pistol, and it appeared to be a matching pair with Peggy Carter’s. However, Evenson did not have much time to admire it. He lightly tapped the woman, and she no longer even had the strength to pull the trigger, collapsing directly into Evenson’s arms.

Since they were out on the street, Evenson did not want to cause a disturbance, so he had no choice but to help her into the car as well. Yes, Peggy Carter’s car.

"Oh, poor Dottie. Whenever she’s with me, she’s always the unlucky one." Unexpectedly, Carter knew this woman, and there was even a hint of mischief in her voice.

"Is she your protective agent?" Evenson asked as he sat in the driver’s seat, buckled his seat belt, and glanced at the rearview mirror.

"No." Carter sat in the back seat, looking at the woman in her arms with a mischievous smile. "She’s one of my… old friends."

"Old friend?" Evenson remembered that when Peggy Carter had been half-conscious at the beginning, she had mistaken him for Dottie—the woman before them. "But she doesn’t look old at all."

"Dottie Underwood." Carter gave the woman’s name. "If you’ve looked through my files, you must have seen that name."

"Dottie… Underwood…" Evenson tried hard to recall the name, then finally asked in surprise, "She’s that Dottie Underwood? She lived all the way until now, and she’s still this young?"

"Of course…" Carter gently stroked the unconscious Dottie’s hair with a hint of affection.