S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion Headquarters — Washington, D.C.
In a sleek conference room built with cutting-edge tech and polished steel, Director Nick Fury stood with his arms folded, staring intently at a massive screen.
The footage on display had been paused at a single frame—the final moment from the Manhattan Bridge battle. Bella stood alone at the center of the devastated battleground. Her black suit fluttered in the breeze. The golden streak in her hair caught the dying light of dusk. Behind her, rubble and flames, twisted metal and silence. Before her, awe.
She looked like a painting. A goddess descending into mortal chaos.
Around Fury, the room was filled with analysts and tech specialists, running data through thousands of algorithms. The video—barely five minutes long—was being dissected frame by frame. Hundreds of thousands of calculations were underway.
This entire task force had one focus: The Goddess of Judgment.
"It looks like she's starting to worry you, sir," said a voice behind him.
Maria Hill stood with her hands clasped behind her back, posture sharp, tone clipped as always. She didn't mince words.
Fury didn't respond right away. He continued staring at the screen for a moment longer before replying.
"She should worry everyone, Hill," he said grimly. "That kind of strength? That kind of speed? And she's operating in our city. The energy output alone puts her on par with a walking nuclear warhead."
He tapped his fingers against his bicep.
"She's not just a vigilante. She's a goddamn symbol. That terrifies people more than any gun ever could."
Hill nodded. "The higher-ups?"
"Already breathing down my neck. That's why they signed off on this little task force," Fury said, gesturing around the room. "A department, fully funded, with enough black budget to run a minor nation."
Hill raised an eyebrow. "All to chase a woman in a mask?"
Fury smirked.
"They think it gives them control. That it puts a leash on the unknown."
"Does it?"
Fury's smirk faded.
"No. But it gives me resources. Let them think they've got a handle on her. I'm not stupid enough to believe I can 'contain' someone like that. But I can prepare."
He paused, then added, "And when things go sideways, I'll be the first to deny this department ever existed."
Hill blinked. "You're not even logging it into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database?"
"Not a word. Plausible deniability. If she decides to come after us, I don't want her to know we were ever watching."
Hill looked back at the paused footage. "Then what is your plan?"
Fury's eye narrowed. "Start with her. She's the first priority."
He turned away from the screen and walked toward the conference table.
"Is Coulson back from California?"
"No. He's still investigating the hammer."
"Tell him to wrap it up. I need him back here, yesterday."
"Understood."
"This isn't over. In fact, this is just the beginning. Ross lost one monster and had the other turned to ashes. He's probably already foaming at the mouth."
"Will he come after her?"
Fury shrugged. "If he's stupid. Which means yes."
Online World — Hours After the Battle
The five-minute live broadcast of the Battle of Manhattan detonated across the internet like a digital bomb.
Within ten minutes, clips had gone viral on every social media platform. Streams had been ripped and reposted across forums, blogs, and underground sites. The hashtags #GoddessOfJudgment and #ManhattanBridgeWar trended worldwide.
And then, suddenly, the footage vanished.
Deleted. Scrubbed clean.
News sites took down articles. Forums were locked. Threads were archived. Even private backups began to disappear as government-level cybersecurity protocols kicked in.
Only those who had seen it live—and those quick enough to download it in time—could recall what truly happened.
For those who knew how to read between the lines, the sudden silence made everything crystal clear: The government had stepped in.
Still, people remembered.
No one forgot the way she stood at the end of that bridge.
The way she kicked the Abomination into oblivion.
The way she walked away like a legend.
In the days that followed, Bella's notoriety skyrocketed.
She was now more than a vigilante. More than an urban myth.
She was a label. A symbol.
The Goddess of Judgment.
Mysterious. Elegant. Powerful. Divine.
For everyday citizens, she was a savior. The woman who saved over twenty children, who faced down a monster when no one else could. Parents who had feared for their kids that night now whispered prayers of thanks to a woman whose name they didn't even know.
But for a different crowd—the idle rich, those bored and bloated with too much time and money—she became an obsession.
For them, life had long lost its color. These were the sons and daughters of billionaires, tech magnates, oil kings, and political dynasties. They had done it all—raced supercars through Dubai, smoked every brand of imported drugs, burned down trust funds for kicks.
Now they wanted her.
Not in a romantic sense, necessarily. Not even in a perverse one.
They wanted to possess her.
This woman—mysterious, untouchable, impossibly strong—was the one thing they couldn't buy.
And so, they tried.
A handful of the more connected "rich second-gens" pooled their resources and created an exclusive online hub: The Judgment Network.
A site dedicated entirely to tracking the Goddess of Judgment. It included articles, theories, memes, fan edits, art, digital shrines, and even donation campaigns promising rewards to anyone who found information on her identity.
Private investigators were hired.
Security firms were contracted.
Some offered bounties. Others offered love letters. A few made marriage proposals.
One Month Later
Bella lounged on a plush couch in her apartment, a chubby blue cat curled up at her side.
The events of the Manhattan Bridge were now a month old, but they still lingered like smoke.
Since then, she'd barely left the house.
University classes were optional for someone with her grades. A quick call to her advisor had been enough to excuse her from lectures for the semester.
She had no desire to be the center of attention on campus anyway. The looks, the questions—it was all a hassle.
Instead, she enjoyed the quiet life. Salted fish mode: activated.
Lazy afternoons were spent brushing her cat, watching mindless dramas, or scrolling through the internet.
And that's when she found it.
Her fan site.
Bella blinked.
She clicked through page after page, half-amused, half-annoyed.
"Top 10 Theories About the Goddess of Judgment's Real Identity!"
"Does She Have Supernatural Blood?"
"Was She an Angel? Or a Government Experiment?"
"New Photos Suggest She Can Walk on Water—Literally!"
Some of the fan art was surprisingly good. Some of the fanfiction... less so.
Then she started digging into the site's admins—because of course she did.
Her self-taught hacking skills had improved a lot in the past two years. With a few bypasses and backdoors, she peeled away the layers of the site's security.
The truth?
These rich kids were no joke.
One was the son of a Stark Industries board member.
Another was the nephew of a defense contractor CEO.
A third was a trust-fund baby from Silicon Valley who had three restraining orders and a penchant for hiring mercs for "games."
They weren't exactly criminals, but their records were colorful. Recreational drug use, illegal betting rings, underground racing—typical rich-kid rebellion.
Bella sighed.
"I guess everyone needs a hobby…"
She wasn't worried about them. If they ever got too close, she'd know. And she could handle herself.
For now, it was... entertaining.
But she made a mental note to keep a close eye on them.
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