Some of his bullets curved, bending like steel boomerangs as his enhanced control redirected their path. They arced cleanly around concrete pillars and shredded the men hiding behind cover.
[Enemy positions locked. Trajectories optimal. No wasted rounds.]
Not a single shot hit a wall. Not one miss. Every trigger pull found its target.
The agents behind him stared in disbelief.
All enemies neutralized, no friendly fire, and not a single bullet left a scratch on him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Okay, clean it up and continue the search, especially where they passed through. Search carefully and see if anything is missing."
James turned around and walked away.
The remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood frozen, exchanging looks. What happened in that corridor hadn't been a firefight—it had been a full on action blockbuster in real life. And the aftermath was in full view for them to see and believe.
The highest ranking agent among them finally snapped out of it, stepped forward around the corners with a reflector, and angled it toward possible enemy positions. Nothing moved, no signs of any enemies but unmoving corpses that fell out of their covers during the firefight.
"Stay ready for sudden enemies," he ordered quietly. "Proceed with scouting the perimeter."
They moved in slowly towards the fallen enemies, and then they saw the full picture of how each of them died.
Every single traitor had been shot in the head, whether they were out in the open or behind cover, none was safe from a headshot, as inhumanly possible it may be.
Only then did they grasp how terrifyingly skilled James Gibson truly was. Some clicked their tongues. Others muttered under their breath. But all of them understood something simple:
When a man like that gave an order—you followed it.
They resumed the sweep with new seriousness, tracing the intruders' route while Natasha Romanoff went after Hawkeye. The outcome… Well, no one wanted to speculate.
James walked directly back to the command deck.
Nick Fury spotted him entering and stepped forward immediately.
"How's it going?"
"The situation is under control. Only Hawkeye is left now. Agent Romanoff has gone to deal with him. There should still be traitors around. It's not a big problem—"
He didn't finish.
Athena's voice echoed through the room:
{Alert: the prisoner has escaped.}
James blinked once.
"…What?"
He froze for a second, mind flashing through every containment protocol.
"How did he escape?" His voice sharpened. "Athena—show me the footage!"
The screens flickered to life around him—chaotic, incomplete, with mid-splice angles. None showing Loki's exit. None showing who freed him.
He could feel a pit open in his stomach.
He underestimated the situation again.
Hawkeye hadn't reached Loki.
The intruders had all been eliminated.
So… 'Who opened the door?'
"What's wrong?" came a voice behind him.
Bruce Banner and Thor came close to him.
James turned, expression serious. "Why did you leave the lab?"
"Oh—someone said there was an intruder," Thor answered honestly. "We came here in case Dr. Banner was attacked."
James closed his eyes for a moment, connection clicking instantly.
And Nick Fury beside him felt it too.
Hydra hadn't wanted to be exposed. They wanted to give Loki a clean opportunity. A distraction big enough for him to slip free without suspicion.
And now S.H.I.E.L.D. looked incompetent on its own ship.
"Where's Phil?" James said suddenly.
His head snapped around the room. Coulson wasn't there. He hadn't come back. He wasn't answering his comms either.
A cold chill ran through James's back.
He didn't speak—he just ran.
Fury followed immediately.
They rounded the corner.
Coulson was already slumped against the wall, legs half-folded beneath him, white dress shirt stained red across the chest.
"Athena! Medical team, NOW!" James shouted.
He dropped to his knees beside Coulson.
In his mind, he screamed:
'Cortana—save him! Do something!'
[I'm sorry. His heart was punctured. Irreversible trauma. There is no survival chance from such an injury.]
James's stomach knotted.
He could have saved him. If he hadn't underestimated Hydra. If he hadn't leaned on the plot he once knew. If he hadn't assumed his presence alone prevented certain events.
A rookie mistake. A fatal one.
And Phil Coulson was paying the price.
The alarm blared again.
{Alert: The prisoner has boarded a Quinjet and is preparing to escape.}
James snapped, voice erupting from somewhere deep:
"SHOOT THEM DOWN!"
The Helicarrier's dense armaments opened fire immediately—streams of .50-caliber rounds tearing across the open sky. Anti-aircraft missiles locked on—but the Quinjet was too close and too quick.
Loki crouched on the open hatch, scepter raised.
A blazing blue barrier wrapped the Quinjet in a shimmering bubble shield. Bullets ricocheted harmlessly off it like raindrops hitting glass.
They had flown five hundred meters away from the Helicarrier.
The missiles launched—three white streaks cutting through the air.
The scepter flared.
Blue beams struck the missiles—detonating all three in midair.
{Apologies, Mr. Gibson. All arsenals had failed to penetrate their shield.}
James watched helplessly as the medical team pronounced Coulson dead… then covered him in a white blanket. Fury hesitated for a long second before turning and walking away.
James knew exactly why.
He remembered Project Tahiti.
He remembered the drill, the scraping, the rewriting, the disassembled brain.
He suppressed a shiver.
Coulson's fate was now sealed—and not in a way he envied.
James blamed himself.
He blamed himself deeply.
He may have made changes to the story. But some things are just meant to be, an inevitable fate that must happen no matter the changes he makes.
He thought he had accounted for every deviation that could happen. But he didn't.
]You don't need to blame yourself,] Cortana gave him assurance. [Your arrival changed many things. But you cannot change all things. Hydra's unexpected move was one of those ripples.]
James didn't answer. He couldn't.
Back in the command center, he sat at the round table, hollow and numb. One by one the others filtered in. Except Natasha—still working to deprogram Clint from his brainwashing.
When Fury returned, he carried something in his hand.
A bunch of Captain America trading cards. Phil's cards.
James saw the blood on them.
He felt absolutely nothing.
Fury placed them on the table.
"These were found under Coulson's jacket. He will never be able to get your autograph."
Steve Rogers stared down at them, jaw clenched.
Fury continued:
"Thank you, Agent Gibson, for your efforts. The damage to our ship was minimized… but we lost a trusted friend."
He spoke about the Avengers Initiative. About hope. About gathering Earth's strongest. About Coulson believing in heroes until his final breath.
Tony Stark's expression grew solemn. He shifted to rise—
But James placed a hand on his arm.
"Don't," he whispered. "Not now. Not like this."
He glanced at the others, then leaned close enough for Tony alone to hear him:
"My mistake is the biggest one here."
His eyes hardened.
"I can't say it outright, but I misjudged and underestimated too many people. Otherwise… things wouldn't have reached this point."