"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place!"
"Hail Hydra!"
"Long live Hydra!"
"Bang!"
As John Garrett shouted his final words, Hawk's blazing Phoenix Beams struck him.
The moment Garrett's declaration left his lips, his body evaporated into vapor on the spot.
Hawk's eyes dimmed back to clarity. He looked at the space Garrett had occupied, replaying those last words in his mind.
"Heh. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place? Maybe. But not here—not in New York."
Hawk smirked inwardly, then vanished silently from the office.
Deep underground, in the S.H.I.E.L.D. holding cells.
After Hydra's uprising, more than thirty captured S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were imprisoned there instead of executed.
Commander Victoria Hand was among them.
Her condition was poor—ashen, but still conscious.
Three Hydra agents guarded the prisoners. Their nerves were frayed.
They'd just heard over comms what was happening above. Now, weapons trained on the only entrance, they stood ready.
And then—
Hawk appeared.
The Hydra guards instantly fired, muzzles flashing as a storm of bullets rained toward him.
But—
With a flick of his hand, every bullet froze midair.
Empty clicks marked their magazines running dry. The guards stared in disbelief—at the impossible sight before them.
Their shock didn't last long.
"Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!"
Hawk sent three bullets spinning back with a thought. They tore through each Hydra skull, dropping the men lifeless to the floor.
The suspended rain of bullets clattered to the ground.
The captured S.H.I.E.L.D. agents gaped.
Victoria Hand, pale and weak, managed a faint smile upon seeing Hawk—then lost consciousness.
"Commander!"
"Damn it—she's down!"
The agents rushed to her, panicked.
Hawk didn't hesitate. With a gesture, he ripped open the cell doors.
Bruised but unbroken, the frontmost agents surged out, stripping weapons and fresh magazines from the Hydra corpses, then rushing to secure the entrance.
They didn't question Hawk. They didn't need to.
Anyone who appeared here and killed Hydra was their ally.
"Medical bay. The Commander needs blood transfusion, fast!"
A female S.H.I.E.L.D. agent glanced at Hawk anxiously. "Mr. Phoenix, she's in bad shape."
Hawk gave a curt nod.
"Go. Hydra's gone."
"…Thank God!" The woman's face lit with relief.
The armed agents forced open the outer doors, revealing empty, silent corridors.
"Move! The Commander's got a chance!"
They carried Hand out at once.
The survivors followed, realization dawning—they were free.
Skye rubbed her wrists, freshly uncuffed, and stared wide-eyed at Hawk.
"You… it's you! Superman ain't got nothing on you."
She remembered the day she'd sold him a beat-up laptop.
"Superman's definitely not on my level," Hawk said with a small grin.
Recognition flickered in his eyes. "You joined S.H.I.E.L.D. too?"
Skye blinked. "Too? You…?"
"No. I'm not S.H.I.E.L.D.," Hawk corrected, then chuckled. "But if I told you I only came because you once sold me a computer, what would you think?"
Skye deadpanned. "That it was the worst deal I've ever made."
She thought back to lowballing herself online—selling what should've been a $1,500 laptop for scraps after sob stories tugged at her heartstrings.
Hawk laughed aloud.
Meanwhile, in the medical bay—
Thanks to the female agent's trust in Hawk, they rushed Hand straight to treatment. Within minutes, she was hooked to fresh blood and injected with adrenaline.
The effect was immediate.
Hand's eyes snapped open.
She tried to sit up, but the medic restrained her. "Commander, Hydra's been eliminated—by Mr. Phoenix."
Hand recalled seeing Hawk before fainting. Relief washed over her; her tense muscles finally eased.
"Has Sharon been found?"
"Not yet."
"She's fine—she's in the hospital too, on IV."
"…What?"
Hand turned her head.
There stood Hawk, hands in his pockets, smiling.
"Ho—"
She began to rise again.
Hawk waved her down gently. "Don't worry. Once Sharon recovers, she'll be back."
Hand exhaled deeply, then fixed her gaze on him, gratitude shining.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Thank Hydra."
Hawk smirked. "Sharon ran to my house. Hydra dared come knocking. If I hadn't responded, today's test would become tomorrow's trespass. Next thing, they'd be pissing on my roof."
Hand's lips twitched. "…Then I suppose we do thank them."
"Now," Hawk's eyes sharpened, "tell me—Garrett. Was he working for Alexander Pierce?"
Though Garrett had taken all the blame before dying, Hawk didn't buy it.
Leaders of Hydra were many. But Garrett? He was no leader—just a high-ranking thug.
Hand shook her head.
"Unlikely."
"Oh?"
Hawk raised a brow.
After her transfusion, color had returned to her face. She explained:
"Garrett was Level 8—a munitions expert. Officially, he should've been at HQ. But Pierce himself signed the order transferring him to New York. I suspected it was punishment, not promotion."
"Yet another reason to think he was Pierce's pawn," Hawk countered.
Hand disagreed. "If that were true, he'd have been Deputy Commander here—not just an ammo expert. My guess is he crossed Pierce somehow, got sidelined."
She stressed his rank.
Level 8 meant senior command authority.
For reference: Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were only Level 7.
But Garrett—though higher ranked—was stuck pushing crates.
Hawk absorbed this, thoughtful.
If not Pierce, then who?
How many Hydra heads were still out there?
Pierce, the new-school leader.
A European baron.
Zola, in his way.
His mind churned—
Then his phone rang.
Hawk glanced at the screen, raised an eyebrow, and answered.
"Good evening, Anna."
"Good evening, Hawk."
"…"
(End of Chapter)
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