Elias felt them before he saw them.
Six men stood ahead of him, deliberately blocking the sidewalk.
They weren't sloppy.
Weren't drunk or desperate.
Their clothes were plain, chosen to blend in, but their posture gave them away.
One stood slightly ahead of the others.
The leader.
The remaining five fanned out behind him, relaxed enough to look casual, tense enough to move fast.
Elias stopped.
His heart remained steady.
"…Shit," he muttered quietly.
The leader smiled as if greeting an old acquaintance.
"Evening," he said.
"Mind if we have a word?"
Elias didn't answer immediately.
Instead, his eyes drifted—not to the six in front of him, but past them.
To the corners.
The alley mouth.
The fire escape shadows.
Four more, he realized calmly.
Hidden well.
Watching.
Waiting.
His appraisal confirmed it the moment his gaze brushed their direction—quick flashes of intent, hostility, alignment.
He didn't linger.
He didn't stare.
And then there was something else.
Eyes on him from behind.
He couldn't see them.
His appraisal can't target those his eyes can't scan. And he has no eyes behind the back of his head.
But he felt them.
Great, Elias thought.
Everyone decided tonight was my night.
He assumed the unseen watchers were part of the setup.
Maybe spotters.
Maybe insurance.
That meant one thing.
If even one of them got away, his quiet life was over.
Still, Elias didn't move.
Didn't reach for power.
Didn't let panic show.
"That depends," he said evenly.
"Is this a friendly word, or the kind that comes with bruises?"
A faint ripple of amusement passed through the group.
The leader chuckled.
"You're calm," he noted.
"That's good. Means you're smart."
"Or tired," Elias replied.
The leader stepped closer—not into Elias's space, but close enough to test him.
"Funny thing," he said.
"This area? Used to be busy. Now everyone avoids it. Says people come here and don't come back the same."
And the leader wasn't wrong.
The neighborhood had a name now.
Not an official one.
Not something written down.
Just a whisper that spread among the kind of people who lived in the cracks of the city.
JUDGEMENT AREA
That was what they called this stretch of streets.
No one robbed here anymore.
No one dealt here.
No one picked fights or ran protection rackets.
The ones who used to either turned their lives around so completely it frightened their former associates—or they vanished into prison cells so deep that parole was never even mentioned.
Something was wrong with this place.
Someone had noticed.
That was why they were here.
Elias shrugged. "People change."
"Yeah," the man agreed softly. "Or they disappear."
Behind him, one of the others shifted.
Another glanced toward the alley, checking on the hidden four.
Elias saw it all.
.
.
.
Three streets away, inside an unmarked vehicle, SHIELD listened to it all happening.
"Backup ETA?" an agent asked.
"Two minutes. Already en route," another replied.
Then the tech specialist frowned.
"Hold on," she said.
"I'm picking up his vitals."
A screen pulsed softly.
"Heart rate elevated. Breathing controlled, but fast. He's scared."
The room went quiet.
"So the calm is a façade," the team lead said.
"He's not trained. He's panicking."
"Rush backup," she ordered.
"Now."
Another agent leaned forward, brow furrowed.
"Wait. Did you catch what the gang leader said earlier?"
"About crime stopping in this neighborhood?"
"No. About criminals confessing. Turning themselves in."
No one answered.
Silence stretched.
"That's not in our databases," someone muttered.
"That's our jurisdiction," another said sharply.
"So how in seven hells did we miss it?"
The team lead exhaled slowly.
"…Get the Director."
.
.
.
Back on the street, the leader's tone shifted.
"Alright," he said. "Simple test."
He nodded once.
The five men moved, spreading out, boxing Elias in.
"Wallet. Phone. Watch," the leader said. "All of it."
Elias didn't hesitate.
"Today's funny," he said quietly as he handed them over.
"Lucky and unlucky at the same time."
The leader ignored the comment.
They took everything.
Then they waited.
Seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
Elias felt it then—movement behind him. Controlled.
Silent.
Professional.
They're here, he realized.
His gut was right, SHIELD was monitoring him.
And why was he certain it wasn't HYDRA? What was even the difference between the two at this point in time?
The four hidden gang members were already compromised.
He could feel the shift in the air—the difference between men who thought they were hunters and those who truly were.
One wrong move, and the four would disappear without a sound.
SHIELD didn't act.
They watched.
The leader frowned.
"…Did the boss screw up?" he muttered.
One of the men surrounding Elias shifted uneasily.
"I dunno. We heard stories. Thought they were bullshit."
"Yeah," another said.
"Guess they are."
Even SHIELD waited.
Elias swallowed.
"Can I go home now?" he asked.
The leader's jaw tightened.
Going back empty-handed wasn't an option.
"Beat him," he snapped.
The five men grinned.
Elias clenched his fists, raising them slowly.
It's going to hurt, he thought. But better broken bones than a broken life.
The first man stepped forward—
And SHIELD moved.
The first man never got the chance to swing.
A soft thup sounded, almost polite.
He froze mid-step, confusion flashing across his face before his knees buckled and he collapsed sideways, unconscious before he hit the pavement.
The second man turned—
Another thup.
Then a third.
Sleeping darts.
Precise.
Silent.
The remaining two barely had time to register what was happening before impact slammed into them from opposite sides.
Rubber bullets—low-caliber, high force—struck thighs and ribs, dropping them with sharp cries of pain that were immediately cut short by gloved hands and brutal efficiency.
Fists followed.
Not wild.
Not angry.
Controlled strikes.
Solar plexus.
Jaw hinge.
Nerve clusters.
One man tried to shout.
A knee met his stomach, driving the air from his lungs in a wheezing gasp before a baton clipped the side of his head and shut him down.
From the shadows, the four hidden gangsters never even knew they'd been compromised.
One was pulled backward into darkness, a cloth pressed over his mouth as a needle slipped into his neck.
Another reached for a knife—his wrist snapped with a dry crack, followed by a chokehold that put him to sleep in seconds.
Less than ten seconds later, the street was quiet again.
Ten men down.
No blood.
No bodies twitching.
Just unconscious criminals scattered across concrete like discarded props.
Elias stood frozen in place.
Heart hammering.
Breathing shallow.
Before he could process what had happened, two figures stepped out from opposite directions.
Plain clothes.
No insignia.
Calm eyes.
"Sir," one said evenly, holding up a hand.
"You're not in trouble."
The other extended a slim folder.
"We need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement."
Elias blinked. "An… NDA?"
"Yes," the agent replied. "For what you saw tonight."
.
.
.
A few minutes earlier
The comm crackled.
"This is Director Fury," a gravelly voice cut in.
"Make it short but precise."
The monitoring team straightened instantly.
"Sir," the lead agent said.
"Local gang probing an area referred to as Judgement Area. Criminal activity cessation. Confessions. Life sentences. No SHIELD record."
A pause.
"…Judgement Area," Fury repeated.
Then, quieter, more dangerous.
"And you're telling me the civilian caught in the middle is the baker."
"Yes, sir."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Tony Stark had a breakthrough after eating his food," Fury said flatly. "Correct?"
"Yes, sir."
Fury exhaled through his nose.
"I am not explaining to Tony Stark why the man who helped him think straight got beaten half to death on our watch."
Orders came fast.
"No lethal force. No visible blood. Clean takedown."
"Yes, sir."
"NDA immediately after. Guard his shop. One month minimum—longer if Stark starts showing up."
"Yes, sir."
"And move," Fury snapped. "Before the kid decides to play hero."
If Elias could hear him, he would certainly clear it up to him that he wasn't a kid!
The channel went silent.
Back to present and on the street, Elias stared at the folder in his hands.
"This is for your protection," the agent said calmly.
"And ours."
Elias swallowed and signed.
As the agents moved to secure the scene, one of them spoke again.
"You'll notice increased patrols in your area," he said.
"Don't be alarmed."
Elias managed a weak nod. His wallet, phone and watch, already back in his hands.
The agents melted back into the night, their presence already fading as if they had never been there.
The street returned to normal.
Too normal.
Elias stood alone under the streetlight, heart still racing.
Somewhere far away, engines hummed as vans arrived to collect what remained of the gang.
And somewhere higher up, forces far beyond a baker's pay grade had taken notice of Judgement Area.
End of chapter 6