*****
A/N: Hi everyone, this is your author.
If you're enjoying my work, you can consider supporting me on Patreon — even a small amount really helps and keeps me motivated to keep writing.
You'll also get access to unreleased chapters and early updates there!
👉 patreon.com/cw/Universal_Peace
Thank you for reading and supporting!Â
*****
The next day,
Luke was sprawled on the ground in the hall, surrounded by empty alcohol bottles. The floor looked like a battlefield of glass and stale smell, proof of his late-night drinking spree. His arm was draped lazily over one bottle as if it were some kind of makeshift pillow.
Selene stood there, her arms crossed, her cold eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. She let out a slow breath through her nose before stepping forward. With no patience for his antics, she gave him a sharp kick with her boot.
Luke stirred, groaning, a sloppy smile spreading across his lips as he muttered in his half-dream state, "Hehe, beautiful women …" His tone was lustful, the kind of drunk nonsense that sounded sweet to him but venomous to anyone listening.
Selene's expression darkened immediately. Her jaw clenched, and a vein of irritation rippled through her calm facade. Still thinking about other women…? Even in his sleep?
Without a word, her boot swung again, this time with force. The kick sent Luke flying across the hall, his body crashing face-first into the wall.
The impact was so comic-like that dust shook loose from the plaster. He slid down the wall, landing in a heap on the floor with a groan.
"Ugh…" Luke's eyes shot open as the pain registered. He blinked rapidly, head throbbing, realizing very quickly that this wasn't just a bad dream. "Ow… damn it—" he muttered, holding his face as he flopped onto the ground like a ragdoll straight out of a comic panel.
"Dear can you bring me something to eat?" asked Luke, still sprawled lazily on the floor, rubbing his stomach.
"No," said Selene flatly as she turned on her heel and left the house.
"Argh… she's still angry huh?" muttered Luke, hearing his stomach growl like a wild animal. He pressed a hand against it, grimaced.
He could understand why. Which woman wouldn't be mad if her man thought about other women? But Luke wasn't normal—he didn't know what kind of future might be waiting for him, and that uncertainty gnawed at him every day.
All he could do was keep moving forward, chasing his dream, and trying to live without regrets.
That didn't change the fact that he loved Selene, though. He wasn't going to make a move on another woman until she accepted his ideas. In his own words, he was scum… but scum who respected his girlfriend's opinion.
"I should go and get something to eat," he thought aloud, pushing himself up with a yawn, his messy hair sticking out in every direction. His eyes were half-shut, face still groggy from sleep.
He got out of the house after brushing his teeth and washing his face, then headed to the restaurant he usually came to eat at daily. Normally, Selene would come along to keep him company, but today he was alone.
As he sat at a table, he noticed something different. Compared to other days, there were fewer people inside. And the ones who were there didn't look like the usual crowd at all.
They were all men. No families, no couples, no chatter like ordinary customers. Just silent, sharp-eyed men with bodies that looked too fit, too disciplined. They didn't look like civilians—more like trained soldiers trying to pretend to be.
"Something fishy?" Luke thought as his eyes subtly scanned the room.
This felt wrong. A trap. Definitely a trap.
He immediately began to think about who could be targeting him. Fury? No. As paranoid as Nick Fury was about Earth's safety, the man wasn't stupid. He wanted to keep dangerous individuals in check, but his methods were always quiet, shadowy.
He wouldn't pull something this sloppy in the middle of public space. Fury didn't like provoking unknowns he couldn't control—he'd rather keep them under observation, hence why Natasha was already on Luke's trail.
Then his mind shifted to another name. Another snake.
Hydra.
Yeah, that fit. Those bastards were exactly the kind to stage something like this.
Hydra wasn't just an enemy—they were a disease, the kind that had burrowed deep into S.H.I.E.L.D. itself.
Luke remembered enough Marvel knowledge to know: during World War II, Hydra had been crushed by Captain America and the Howling Commandos, but Red Skull's poison never really went away.
After the war, they grew back in the shadows, hidden inside S.H.I.E.L.D. like a parasite—waiting for the right time to strike.
And Hydra's methods? Brutal but effective. Capture. Torture. Brainwash. Indoctrinate.
"These guys can't even wait? It's just one day since S.H.I.E.L.D found him.…" Luke muttered under his breath.
But in hindsight, it made sense. After the Harlem fight, S.H.I.E.L.D's database would've flagged him as an unknown with fire-based powers strong enough to decimate a street in minutes. That kind of power was impossible to ignore.
And Alexander Pierce, Hydra's man sitting high in the World Security Council, must have nearly drooled when he saw Luke's profile.
To someone like Pierce, Luke wasn't a person—he was a perfect asset. Comparable to a heavy weapon, but with free will Hydra intended to strip away.
The Hydra plan is to capture this man and replicate his powers to form an army that will rule the world, that's why this farce.
An army of flame-wielding soldiers, each one brainwashed to obey Hydra without question—that was their dream. With Luke's abilities copied and multiplied, they wouldn't just be a hidden hand anymore. They'd walk openly, crushing nations beneath their boots.