[Ten hostiles neutralized. Six remaining. Two are repositioned behind support pillars.]
James dropped back into cover, sliding along the concrete, reloading with fluid ease. He didn't stop moving. Low crouch, fast shuffle, always staying mobile.
The enemy regrouped.
But their mistake had already been made.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Boom.
James had barely moved from cover when a grenade sailed through the air. It clipped the wreckage of a nearby car—detonating on impact and taking out three enemies.
The explosion rocked the entire parking lot. Car alarms blared like sirens in a warzone, the echo bouncing off concrete walls, drowning everything in layered noise.
"Cortana, can you filter the sounds?"
[Cortana: Sound filtering not possible. Vibrations are transmitted through air to eardrums. The only possible filter is covering your ears or diverting attention from the noise.]
James's jaw tightened. "Not helpful."
[Correct. I suggest you either listen or don't.]
He grimaced and crouched lower. The cacophony was deafening, but James shifted his vision. The polished car bodies around him offered reflections. Each shimmer became a tool.
With the shattered glass and chrome bumpers, he could track them.
Three left.
They moved cautiously now, unsure of his position after the blast. James wasn't about to give them time to correct that mistake.
He noted their footwork, and their staggered spacing.
No reinforcements had come for them.
That was suspicious. This was meant to be a clean kill. Yet they'd only sent sixteen men.
Amateurs.
Hydra knew he was ex-Fraternity, but they didn't grasp his level. Their intel was stale—filtered through half-cooked reports, old S.H.I.E.L.D. assessments, and the failure of Alice Roy.
They had nothing concrete on him. And they paid for it.
James pivoted silently, stepping back into the kill zone. Two quick arm swings, making two bullets arced wide. They didn't need to hit center mass.
Both shots found the soft spots between the cars.
Now two more bodies hit the ground.
The last ambusher panicked. He bolted, sprinting toward the exit where the fake security guard was stationed.
James quickly followed.
As the runner reached the entrance, the guard's hand hovered near his holster.
He knew it had gone bad. So he tried to salvage it.
The pistol came up. His accomplice ducked to the side. But James was already aiming.
The shots met in mid-air.
Sparks flashed as bullets collided, ricocheting off into concrete walls.
Click. Click.
The guard was out.
But James wasn't.
One shot hitting clean to the heart.
The guard dropped dead before his head hit the ground.
The last enemy tried crawling away, whimpering.
"Don't… don't come near me…"
James stepped on his back, as he placed a hand on his neck.
[Cortana: Initiating neural scan. Target consciousness mapping… complete.]
James placed the pistol on the back of the man's head.
"Tell me why it was only sixteen. Who thought this would work?"
The thug's breath hitched. "They… they don't know what you're capable of. They think you're just top-tier Fraternity. They wanted to recruit you. Your father's skills were their target."
"What about the school ambush?"
"An emergency. They thought it was a good chance. Gangs first. Then erase your firearm records. When that didn't work, they pushed for direct assassination."
"And this was the best they had? A failure? Untrained to go against me?" James muttered.
Sixteen bodies in a parking lot. Hydra had underestimated him.
They always did.
"Why weren't there more?" James asked again.
"They thought… surrounding you in the garage… ambush firing… there's no chance of survival."
James's patience thinned. He pulled the trigger. One clean shot. The guy went limp.
[Cortana: Scanning data retrieved. Hydra has minimal real-time intel on your current abilities. Surveillance has been passive, relying on tech avoidance tactics.]
"So they're guessing."
[Affirmative.]
James took out his phone. Then dialed.
"Agent Phil. Where are you?"
"Washington HQ," Coulson replied. "I'm sorting personnel. Picking who we can trust isn't exactly easy right now."
"I just cleared a group of seventeen. All local assets from the New York Division. Hydra embeds."
Coulson's tone sharpened. "You're certain?"
"I'm certain. One of my skills, remember? I can identify loyalty firsthand. It's time we clean house."
"James… If I start pulling people in New York, Hydra's going to notice. They'll realize we're making moves."
"They don't know how I do it. They don't know what I can see. That's our advantage. Call it a 'restructuring'. I'll vet the agents, one batch at a time."
Coulson paused. Then said, "Alright. But you need solid evidence. If we force too hard without proof, we risk splintering the entire division. A firefight inside the branch isn't something we can contain."
"We do it quietly. Bring them in small groups. I'll vet them in person. We'll work our way through the rot. They'll never see it coming."
Coulson sighed. "Fine. I'll move. But James, this is the last quiet play. Once they figure out you're the filter, they'll push back hard."
"Let them," James said, already pocketing his phone. "I'm done being underestimated."