"BOOOOMMM!!"
The deafening explosion tore through the night, shattering the silence of the city. An abandoned commercial building in Queens collapsed in on itself, reduced to a mountain of rubble and debris in seconds. Flames licked the sky, casting an eerie orange glow over the surrounding streets. For the people of New York, explosions like these had become almost routine. Over the past few weeks, similar blasts had rocked the city, each one dismissed as developers clearing old structures to make way for new projects. No one questioned it. No one cared to.
But the truth was far more sinister.
These explosions weren't the work of construction crews. They were the result of a calculated, relentless campaign—a one-man war against an enemy hidden in the shadows. And that enemy was Hydra.
---
I revved the engine of my Superbike, weaving through the heavy traffic of New York City's streets with practiced ease. The city lights blurred around me as I sped through the night, the cool wind whipping against my helmet. The chaos I'd just left behind was already fading into the distance, but the mission was far from over.
"Magina," I said, my voice calm and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "Is the base completely destroyed?"
"It is, Father," Magina's voice replied through the comms in my helmet. Her tone was as composed as ever, a stark contrast to the destruction we'd just unleashed. "No survivors. No traces left behind."
"Good," I said, my lips curling into a faint smirk. "How many is that now?"
"The 10th one, Father," Magina answered promptly. "Three weeks since you began your counterattack. Hydra's operations in New York are crumbling faster than they can rebuild."
I chuckled darkly, swerving around a slow-moving taxi. "They never saw it coming. And they still don't know what hit them."
It had been three weeks since I'd declared war on Hydra. Three weeks of relentless, brutal strikes against their hidden bases scattered across the city. I'd made sure my patterns were unpredictable—if I hit a base in Manhattan today, the next target would be on the opposite end of the city. No rhyme, no reason. Just chaos. And it was working.
Hydra had tried to stop me. They'd fortified their bases, flooded them with soldiers, even deployed their mutant operatives to hunt me down. But none of it mattered. Every base I attacked fell. Every soldier they sent after me died. And with every kill, I grew stronger.
"Father," Magina's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Hydra has increased their surveillance. They're scrambling to anticipate your next move."
"Let them scramble," I said, my voice cold. "They can throw everything they have at me. It won't be enough."
I'd made sure to leave them a few clues—glimpses of my presence, snippets of footage from their own security cameras. They knew who was behind this now. They knew The Wraith, the ghost who'd been dismantling their operations one by one, was the same person who'd been haunting their nightmares for weeks. And they were terrified.
---
Meanwhile, deep within one of Hydra's remaining bases, chaos reigned.
Dietrich Voss paced the length of the control room, his face pale and his hands trembling. The news of the latest attack had just come in, and the room was buzzing with frantic activity. Soldiers and technicians scrambled to make sense of the situation, but the truth was undeniable: another base was gone.
"How?!" Voss shouted, slamming his fist on a console. "How does he keep finding us?!"
No one answered. The room was filled with the hum of computers and the low murmur of voices, but no one dared to speak up. Voss's rage was a living thing, a storm that could turn on anyone at any moment.
"Sir," a technician finally spoke up, his voice trembling. "We've analyzed the footage from the last attack. It's… it's him. The Wraith."
Voss's eyes narrowed. "Show me."
The technician hesitated, then pulled up the footage on the main screen. The grainy images showed a figure moving through the base with terrifying speed and precision. Soldiers fell before they could even raise their weapons. Explosions ripped through the corridors, reducing everything to rubble. And then, just before the feed cut out, the figure turned to the camera—a cold, calculating gaze that sent a chill through the room.
Voss stared at the screen; his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "He's toying with us," he muttered. "He wants us to know it's him."
"Sir," another voice chimed in—a soldier standing by the door. "We've received word from Daniel Whitehall. He's… not happy."
Voss let out a bitter laugh. "Of course he's not. Ten bases gone, and we still don't even know how he's doing it."
The room fell silent again, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone. Hydra, the most secretive and powerful organization in the world, was being systematically dismantled by a single man. And no one could stop him.
---
Back on the streets of New York, I brought my bike to a stop on a quiet rooftop, overlooking the city. The skyline glittered in the distance, a stark contrast to the destruction I'd left in my wake. I removed my helmet, letting the cool night air wash over me.
"Magina," I said, my voice low. "What's next?"
"The next target is ready, Father," Magina replied. "A Hydra research facility in Brooklyn. Heavily fortified, but no match for you."
I smirked. "Good. Let's keep them guessing."
As I revved the engine and sped off into the night, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Hydra had thought they were untouchable. They'd thought they could operate in the shadows, unseen and unstoppable. But they were wrong.
To Hydra, I was a ghost. A shadow that moved through their ranks, leaving nothing but death and destruction in my wake. It didn't matter how they saw me—whether as a monster, a demon, or an unstoppable force of nature. All that mattered was that they knew I was coming for them. I wanted them to understand that their secrets, their power, their very existence meant nothing to me. They were nothing more than objects of my revenge, and their deaths were the only thing I sought.
By now, it was clear they couldn't stop me. They couldn't kill me. They couldn't even bring this secret war into the light. All they could do was try to avoid me, but even that was proving impossible. I wasn't giving them a chance to breathe, let alone regroup. Every move they made, I was already three steps ahead.
As I rode my Superbike across the Manhattan Bridge, the city lights reflecting off the water below, Magina's voice cut through the hum of the engine.
"Father, Hawkeye seems to be tracking you," she warned.
I smirked under my helmet. "Again? That guy sure is persistent."
I slowed the bike and pulled over to the side of the bridge, killing the engine. Stepping off, then glanced up at the towering structure of the bridge. There, perched on one of the highest points, was Hawkeye—Clint Barton—his bow in hand, watching me.
I knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had been keeping tabs on me. After our first encounter, they'd learned the hard way that I wasn't someone they could easily contain or eliminate. Their initial orders had been simple: bring me in or kill me. But when they'd tried to ambush me during one of my missions, they'd quickly realized their mistake.
That day, Hawkeye, Phil Coulson, Maria Hill, Melinda May, and a strike team of three dozen agents had cornered me in an office building. They'd watched as I dealt with a corrupt judge, and their first instinct had been to shoot me on sight. But what they didn't know was that among their ranks were Hydra sleeper agents. I'd made sure to eliminate every single one of them, leaving the rest alive—albeit with a few broken bones as a reminder not to interfere.
Since then, S.H.I.E.L.D. had kept their distance. They'd seen what I was capable of, and they'd learned to fear me. But Hawkeye, it seemed, hadn't gotten the memo.
With a flicker of movement, I vanished from the base of the bridge and reappeared behind Hawkeye, leaning casually against the wall. He was still scanning the area below, his bow drawn, when I spoke.
"Are you not going to fire your arrow at me, Agent Barton?"
Hawkeye spun around; his bow aimed squarely at my chest. His eyes widened in shock, but to his credit, he didn't hesitate. "YOU!" he growled, his voice tight with tension.
I raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the weapon pointed at me. "Me."
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, with a frustrated sigh, Hawkeye lowered his bow. "What's the use anyway? You're unkillable."
I tilted my head, a faint smile playing on my lips. "Great that you understand, Agent Barton. It would feel bad for me to kill you."
Hawkeye snorted, his expression a mix of annoyance and grudging respect. "Don't know that a man like you *could* feel bad, Wraith. And how do you know my name?"
I shrugged, my tone light and teasing. "Well, wouldn't you like to know?"
He glared at me, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "You're a real piece of work, you know that? S.H.I.E.L.D. has a file on you thicker than a dictionary, and yet we still don't know a damn thing about you."
"Good," I said, my smile fading. "Keep it that way. I'm not your enemy, Barton. But if you or your people get in my way again, I won't be so lenient."
Hawkeye's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He knew I wasn't bluffing. He'd seen firsthand what happened to those who crossed me.
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me. "You think you're untouchable, Wraith. But everyone has a weakness. Even you."
I paused, glancing back at him over my shoulder. "Maybe. But you'll never find it… even if you do, it might be because I let you all find it,"