Chapter 42 - Episode 41: The Snake Is rattled.

-- AN --

First of all, Sorry for not posting anything last week... been too busy with IRL, and got a busted phone that practically shutdown my internet connection and online life... also i got the case of 'am i forgetting something?... probably not...i guess'. which turns out...i really forget something, and that is posting this chapter on WB... once again, i humbly apologize...not going to take your time anymore...here's the chapter...happy reading.. (👍≖‿‿≖)👍 👍(≖‿‿≖👍)

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The crisp autumn air of New Jersey carried a faint chill as Dietrich Voss strode across the university campus, his polished shoes clicking against the cobblestone pathways. To the students and faculty who passed him, he was the epitome of grace and intellect—a beloved and well-respected professor, always ready with a kind word or a thoughtful lecture. But beneath the façade of academia lay a far darker truth. Dietrich Voss was not just a professor; he was a high-ranking director of Hydra, a man who wore his mask so well that even those closest to him could not see the monster beneath.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Voss made his way to a secluded part of the campus, where a hidden entrance to a Hydra base lay concealed. With a swift glance over his shoulder to ensure he was not followed, he entered the base, shedding his professor persona like a snake shedding its skin. The sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of the base were a stark contrast to the warm, ivy-covered halls of the university. Here, he was no longer the charming educator; he was a man of power, a man with ambitions that reached far beyond the confines of New Jersey.

His mind was already racing with plans as he walked toward his office. His latest project, the Mutant Power Extractor, was nearing completion. If successful, it would not only solidify his position within Hydra but potentially elevate him to the leadership table—a seat at the very top of the organization. The thought sent a thrill through him, but it was short-lived.

"Sir! Sir Dietrich!" The frantic voice of his deputy, Peter Haggs, echoed down the corridor, pulling Voss from his thoughts. Haggs was hurrying toward him, his face pale and his breath coming in short gasps. The man's usual composure was gone, replaced by something far more unsettling: fear.

"What is it, Peter?" Voss asked, his voice calm but laced with an edge of impatience. He had little tolerance for interruptions, especially when they came in the form of panicked underlings.

"Sir Daniel Whitehall is here," Haggs blurted out, his words tumbling over one another in his haste. "He's waiting in your office."

Voss froze, his heart skipping a beat. Daniel Whitehall was not a man who made unannounced visits. As one of Hydra's most senior leaders, a man who sat just below Alexander Pierce himself, Whitehall's presence could only mean one thing: trouble.

"Why is he here?" Voss demanded, his voice low and tense.

"I don't know, sir," Haggs replied, his tone cautious. "But he doesn't look happy."

Voss's mind raced as he quickened his pace, his deputy falling into step beside him. What could have brought Whitehall here? Had something gone wrong? Had his cover been compromised? No, that was impossible. He had been meticulous, leaving no room for error. Yet the gnawing sense of unease in his gut refused to dissipate.

By the time they reached his office, Voss had composed himself, his expression once again the picture of calm authority. He straightened his tie, smoothed his jacket, and pushed open the door with a confident stride.

"Heil Hydra!" Voss greeted, his voice firm as he offered a crisp salute. But Whitehall did not return the gesture. Instead, the man stood by the window, his back to Voss, his attention fixed on the scene outside. Through the glass, the dim glow of fluorescent lights illuminated rows of laboratory tables where Hydra scientists conducted their experiments on captured mutants. The sight was both mesmerizing and horrifying, a testament to Hydra's relentless pursuit of power.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, as Voss waited for Whitehall to speak. The tension in the room was palpable, and Voss could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he broke the silence.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, his tone respectful but tinged with apprehension.

Whitehall turned slowly, his cold, calculating eyes locking onto Voss. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze piercing as though he were searching for something in Voss's expression. Then, at last, he spoke.

"What is going on, Dietrich?" Whitehall's voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of menace that sent a shiver down Voss's spine. "Why have three of our detachment bases in New York suddenly gone offline?"

Voss's eyes widened in shock. "What? Three bases offline? That's impossible. I checked in on all of them just days ago. They were operating perfectly."

Whitehall's expression remained impassive as he reached into his coat and pulled out three photographs, tossing them onto the table. Voss stepped forward, his eyes scanning the images. The photos showed nothing but rubble and debris—the remains of what had once been Hydra's secret bases in Queens and Manhattan.

"I just came from there," Whitehall said, his voice icy. "These bases are gone, Dietrich. Reduced to rubble. And yet you claim to know nothing about it?"

Voss's mind reeled. How could this have happened? Who could have done this? He had no answers, and the look on Whitehall's face made it clear that excuses would not be tolerated.

"Sir, I assure you, I had no knowledge of this," Voss said, his voice steady despite the panic rising within him. "I will launch an immediate investigation and find out who is responsible."

The room was thick with tension, the air heavy and suffocating as Dietrich Voss stood before Daniel Whitehall, his mind racing to formulate a response. But before he could utter a single word, Whitehall's hand shot out, striking Voss hard across the face. The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the office, leaving Voss stunned and reeling.

"I—SLAP," Whitehall said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. Before Voss could recover, another slap landed, then another, and another, each blow harder than the last. Voss stumbled, his legs buckling under the force until he finally collapsed to his knees, his face burning with pain and humiliation.

"I made you into a supervisor," Whitehall snarled, his voice rising with every word. "I supported your stupid, useless research. In return, you were supposed to watch your little area. And now, three of our bases are gone, and you have the audacity to tell me you know nothing?!" His voice thundered through the room; his anger palpable.

Voss trembled; his usual composure shattered. The sight of him cowering on the floor only seemed to fuel Whitehall's disgust. "My apologies, sir!" Voss stammered; his voice desperate. "I… I will find out who is responsible for this at once! Please, give me another chance!"

Whitehall's response was swift and chilling. The metallic click of a handgun being cocked filled the room as he pressed the barrel against Voss's forehead. Voss froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared up at his superior, his eyes wide with terror.

"Correct this, Dietrich," Whitehall said, his voice low and menacing. "This is your last chance. Fail me again, and you and your men are dead to me. Understood?"

"Y-yes, sir," Voss choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "I understand."

With a final, disdainful look, Whitehall holstered his gun and strode out of the office, leaving Voss alone on the floor. The moment the door closed; Voss's trembling intensified. He clutched at the edge of his desk, his knuckles white as he struggled to pull himself up. His mind was a whirlwind of fear and rage, his thoughts consumed by the dire situation he now found himself in.

"Damn it!" he roared, slamming his fist onto the desk. "Who is it?! Who is doing this?!" His voice echoed through the empty office, but there were no answers. How had three bases been destroyed without his knowledge? How had someone managed to strike at the heart of Hydra's operations so effortlessly?

Once he was certain Whitehall had left the base, Voss stormed out of his office, his face swollen and his eyes wild with fury. He had ordered the entire base personnel to gather in the hangar, and now they stood before him, a sea of anxious faces. Voss's rage was palpable as he addressed them, his voice booming through the cavernous space.

"We've lost three bases!" he shouted, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. "And I want to know how! Someone better give me answers, or all of you are dead!"

The hangar fell silent, the weight of his threat hanging heavy in the air. But before anyone could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence. Peter Haggs came running into the hangar, his face pale and his breath ragged. All eyes turned to him as he approached Voss, clutching a piece of paper in his hand.

"Sir!" Haggs gasped, his voice frantic. "We've lost another base—"

Before he could finish, a gunshot rang out. Haggs staggered, his eyes wide with shock as he looked down at the bullet wound in his stomach. Voss stood before him, his gun still smoking, his face twisted with madness.

"ARRRGGGHHH!!!" Voss screamed; his voice raw with fury.

"Everyone, get out there and find me something! Anything! I want those who are messing with us DEAD!"

The base personnel scattered, rushing to carry out his orders as Voss stood in the center of the hangar, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. The situation had gone from bad to catastrophic. Three bases had become four, and the worst-case scenario had come to pass. Someone out there knew about Hydra's operations. Someone knew how to find them. And worst of all, these attackers were picking them off one by one, while Hydra—the world's most secretive and powerful organization—knew nothing about their enemy.

As the chaos unfolded around him, Voss's mind raced. He had to find answers, and he had to find them fast. His life—and the lives of everyone under his command—depended on it.