"When I didn't say what I said before."
Director Nick Fury's single visible eye almost twitched at that. Hearing those words come from the Punisher's mouth was both unexpected and oddly amusing, if only because Frank Castle—the stone-faced killing machine—was deadly serious.
Fury shook his head and handed the tablet back to an agent nearby, his gaze drifting up toward the shattered ceiling of the bar. "Strength, speed, resilience, and she can generate destructive energy... She's got the whole package," he muttered. "That kind of versatility is rare."
The Punisher didn't answer, still watching the bar's entryway as agents in black uniforms flooded in. They quickly fanned out, scanning the premises, collecting residue samples, and cataloging the aftermath. They moved with the efficiency of a well-drilled military unit—silent, fast, precise.
Fury turned his attention to a pile of gray ash near his foot. Without fanfare, he nudged it with his boot, watching it crumble into fine powder.
"What do you make of her?" Fury asked without looking at Castle.
"She said, 'Dirty filth should be purified,'" the Punisher replied flatly.
That line lingered in the air for a moment, and Fury understood its significance. Everything they had seen—from the obliterated Sheldon Manor to the bar full of vampire corpses—suggested this mysterious woman wasn't just fighting crime. She was targeting darkness itself. Crime syndicates, monsters, undead abominations—anything that corrupted and preyed upon the innocent.
Fury's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of an agent. The man approached quickly, rainwater dripping from his coat as he saluted.
"Director," he reported quietly, "we've scrubbed all surrounding surveillance feeds, traffic cams, and aerial footage. No trace of the subject. It's like she vanished."
Fury gave a slight nod and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
Castle finally spoke again. "Disciplined. Ruthless. Effective. I like her."
Fury tilted his head slightly. "You want to team up?"
"She'd make a hell of a teammate," Castle said, his eyes flicking toward the broken ceiling where Bella had vanished moments earlier. "She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't grandstand. Just kills what needs killin'."
Fury wasn't surprised. Castle had little patience for flashy heroes with moral codes that got in the way of justice. In fact, he'd recently been at odds with another vigilante—one from Hell's Kitchen who wore red and kept preaching about not killing. Castle had called him a fool to his face.
But Bella? Bella fit his mold.
"She's not just some vigilante," Fury said. "She's something else. Something... older. And whatever she is, she's not like anything else on record."
Castle raised an eyebrow.
"You didn't tell me everything about the Sheldon Manor operation, did you?" he asked.
Fury's silence confirmed it.
Castle snorted. "What did you find?"
Fury hesitated, then finally answered. "Underneath the manor, our agents—posing as FBI—found a basement full of girls. Survivors. Malnourished. Drained of blood."
Castle's eyes narrowed.
"They were being farmed. The gang was working for a Blood Clan faction. Providing... sustenance," Fury continued.
The Punisher's grip on his shotgun tightened.
"And she wiped them all out," Castle said quietly.
"Every last one," Fury confirmed.
The two men stood in silence for a long moment. Outside, the storm raged, lightning flashing across the night sky.
"She's not the enemy," Castle finally said.
"No," Fury agreed. "But she's not exactly an ally either."
Castle walked toward the exit, pausing at the door. Without looking back, he asked, "So that's why you called me in instead of sending your people?"
Fury didn't answer.
Castle chuckled darkly. "Figured. Use me as bait, see what she does. If she goes hostile, it's on me. If not, you get your answer."
He stepped outside into the rain, disappearing into the night.
Fury turned to watch the agents as they worked, his mind racing. The plan had worked—barely. They now had confirmation of Bella's target preferences, her fighting style, and her ethics. That was valuable intel. But it also confirmed how dangerous she really was.
They'd seen the surveillance footage. The golden beam of light erupting from deep in the forest two months ago had lit up the sky like a second sun. It had shattered clouds and set off seismic sensors across the county. What they'd found at the scene—the devastation, the scorched crater—had matched the descriptions provided by locals.
And then there were the ruins of Sheldon Manor: a 400-square-meter estate reduced to ash, blood, and dust. Hundreds of armed men torn apart as if they were paper dolls. Agents had uncovered enough horror in those ruins to scar even the toughest operatives.
Now they knew why.
And still... no trace. No name. No origin.
Fury hated loose ends.
High above New York City, on the shadowed rooftops of midtown, a lone figure soared through the storm like a wraith. She didn't fly, but her jumps were powerful enough to clear entire city blocks. Each landing cracked the concrete. Each leap launched her skyward again, using the skyline itself as her personal playground.
Bella moved with purpose.
Even in her sleek black suit, with the rain streaking across her V-shaped mask, she was undetectable. Her magic pulsed through her like a second heart, shielding her heat signature, bending light around her body, making her effectively invisible to surveillance.
She smiled beneath her mask.
They were looking for her, of course. But they wouldn't find anything.
Not unless she wanted them to.
She had detected Fury's agents long before they stepped into the bar. She'd even heard their comms chatter. Nothing slipped past her enhanced hearing anymore—not whispers, not breath, not lies.
So Fury was watching. Good. Let him.
It was only a matter of time before S.H.I.E.L.D came knocking. What mattered was that she kept control of the narrative.
Bella touched down silently on the rooftop of a nearby high-rise. Her cape fluttered in the wind. Her heart rate was steady. Her thoughts? Focused.
She wasn't afraid of S.H.I.E.L.D.
She had bigger plans. Greater goals.
They wanted to observe her?
Fine.
Let them watch.
Because soon, very soon... she'd give them something worth watching.
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