(AN: Appraisal was intended to not show, Inventory slots will add 20 more every 10 levels and will only update when entering a new title or stage. )
The Iron Serpent Gang didn't argue.
There was no shouting, no dramatic pounding of fists on tables, no long speeches about revenge or pride.
The decision was made the moment the report was finished.
A name. An address. A confirmation.
Elias Mercer.
His shop had already been checked—quiet, ordinary, nothing worth noting at first glance.
Lights on, lights off.
A man who came home alone. No guards. No obvious protection. Yet, dangerous.
That didn't slow them down.
"Silence him," the order came down flatly.
"Loud or quiet. Just make sure he's gone. Kill on sight, no words needed!"
That was all.
The convoy assembled without ceremony.
Forty-eight men.
Assault rifles, SMGs, shotguns.
Body armor hastily thrown on over street clothes.
Two vans loaded heavy.
One SUV leading.
Routes were chosen.
Timings synchronized.
Phones went dark.
ETA calculated.
.
.
.
Deep underground, far removed from the noise of the city, Elias sat alone.
The base hummed softly around him—lights steady, systems idle.
He hadn't touched anything in minutes.
Just sat there, staring at the system's very red prompt.
⚠ ENEMY DESIGNATION DETECTED ⚠
His breath caught as the next prompt followed immediately, colder, more mechanical.
Two options unfolded before him.
[OPTION 1:
Eliminate enemies personally
→ Consequences irreversible
OPTION 2:
Reinforce Core System Rules
→ Judgment will be enforced ]
His heart pounded.
This was different.
This wasn't distant.
This wasn't abstract.
This was aimed directly at him—his home, his life, the thin illusion of normalcy he'd been clinging to.
His mouth opened.
"I—"
Before the word could form—
The interface flickered.
Both options dimmed.
A heavy finality settled over the room as a single word stamped itself across the system display.
[LOCKED]
Elias stared at it, pulse roaring in his ears.
"No," he whispered.
The system did not respond.
It system didn't ask.
It issued.
A sharp tone cut through the underground base, more decisive than any notification before it.
[REWARD ACQUIRED
Tactical Mini-Map (Passive) ]
The air in front of Elias fractured into layers of translucent light.
Then the map unfolded.
Not a screen—an overlay.
His city rendered in wireframe precision. Streets, intersections, rooftops, elevation data.
Every structure around his home mapped down to meters. His own house glowed faintly at the center.
And then—
Red dots bloomed across the map like an infection.
So many. Moving in clusters.
Separating. Regrouping.
Two large masses traveling in parallel.
A third faster signal cutting ahead.
Elias' breath hitched.
Data streamed beside each marker.
[Vehicle type identified
Weapons confirmed
Formation pattern recognized
Kill intent: VERIFIED ]
They weren't scouting.
They weren't hesitating.
They were coming.
He didn't need the system to explain it—but it did anyway, cold and absolute.
Their numbers.
Their route.
Their destination.
His home.
Elias' hands curled into fists as the realization settled fully into his chest.
That's why the choices dimmed.
Not because he hesitated.
Not because he failed to decide fast enough.
This had already crossed the line the moment they moved.
A final message appeared, heavier than the rest.
[CORE LAW ENFORCEMENT ACTIVE
Host hesitation detected.
Judgment authority transferred.
Intervention prohibited.]
Elias felt it immediately.
That pressure.
That invisible weight locking down his body and mind, the same suffocating constraint as before—but stronger.
Denser. Absolute.
He tried to reach for the interface.
Nothing responded even with his super soldier strength.
He could still see.
Still think.
But act?
No.
He swallowed hard.
"I'm… benched," he murmured, the words tasting bitter.
The system didn't correct him.
There was no pause.
No debate.
No dramatic buildup.
The system made its decision the way gravity made its own.
[JUDGES DEPLOYED
Yautja Hunters x2]
The silhouettes appeared briefly on the edge of the map—two distinct signatures, already in motion.
They weren't marked like the others.
No red.
No threat classification.
Just presence.
Additional data scrolled past.
Not berserkers.
Not indiscriminate slaughter-machines.
Hunters.
Veterans.
The kind that waited.
The kind that watched.
The kind that never rushed a kill.
[TARGETS:
Iron Serpent Gang
Count: 48
Status: Armed / Hostile / Intent to Kill Host
Collateral directive: NOT REQUIRED
Targets already marked.]
Elias' chest tightened.
Forty-eight men.
He'd seen their weapons.
Their formations.
Their intent.
And now he saw what was being sent to meet them.
This wasn't a warning.
This wasn't a lesson.
This was an extinction event with a narrow focus.
Elias didn't feel relief.
That surprised him.
He'd expected something—a release of tension, a sense of safety, even grim satisfaction.
Instead, what crept in was dread.
Slow. Heavy. Settling deep in his gut.
Because this wasn't judgment anymore.
Judgment had rules. Conditions. Thresholds.
This was war.
Clean. Efficient. Final.
And he hadn't chosen it.
He stared at the map, watching red dots continue their advance, watching the two unmarked presences already repositioning with terrifying calm.
His voice came out quiet, almost lost in the hum of the base.
"…I just wanted things to stop getting worse."
The system offered no comfort.
Above ground, engines roared closer.
Somewhere between them and him, the hunters were already moving.
And Elias could do nothing but watch.
.
.
.
SHIELD NEW BASE (Experimental)
SHIELD had pulled back.
Officially, Elias Mercer was no longer under observation.
Unofficially, the area wasn't empty.
The new experimental base—formerly a detention site—sat several blocks away, its sensors tuned far beyond civilian standards.
Traffic patterns. Heat signatures. Weapons recognition. Crowd behavior.
So when the city stirred, SHIELD noticed.
It started with the police.
A nearby precinct flagged an anomaly:
multiple vehicles moving in convoy formation, no plates, irregular spacing, speed coordinated just below pursuit thresholds.
Then SHIELD's systems layered over it.
Weapon mass readings.
Encrypted radio chatter.
Behavioral markers that didn't belong to civilians.
An agent leaned forward at the monitoring station.
"That's not a meet," he said. "That's a strike package."
Another agent was already tagging the data, fingers flying.
"Forty-plus individuals. Long guns. Two vans, one SUV. No visible gang colors, but movement screams organized crime."
The officer in charge didn't hesitate this time.
"Run targets. Cross-reference local interests."
The system responded almost immediately.
Primary trajectory intersection identified.
A single name surfaced on the display.
ELIAS MERCER
Occupation: Baker
Prior interest: SHIELD (closed)
Threat profile: Unknown
The room went quiet.
"…It's him," someone said.
The report didn't stall.
It didn't get polished.
It didn't get softened.
It went straight up the chain.
Nick Fury was halfway through another problem when the call came in.
He listened.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't swear—yet.
By the time the agent finished, Fury was already moving.
"Confirm intent."
"Kill," the agent replied immediately. "No ambiguity."
Fury exhaled through his nose and brought up another line.
"Stark."
Tony answered faster than expected.
"Please tell me this isn't about aliens again."
"They're moving on the baker," Fury said flatly.
A beat.
"…Which baker."
"Don't play dumb."
Another beat—shorter this time.
"Where."
Before Fury could answer, the background noise on the agent's channel spiked.
A sharp sound tore through the feed.
Then another.
Then several in rapid succession.
Explosions.
"Contact! We've got detonations in the streets!" an agent shouted.
"Multiple impacts—origin unclear!"
Fury's eye hardened.
"Mobilize extraction teams," he snapped. "Now!"
The base erupted into motion.
Agents grabbed gear.
Quinjets powered up.
Orders overlapped as they converged into a single directive.
EXTRACT ELIAS MERCER.
No debate.
No waiting for confirmation.
Whatever was happening out there, it had already gone loud.
And SHIELD was moving—fast—into a situation they didn't yet understand.
.
.
.
Malibu, Ca
Stark Villa
Tony didn't bother asking for more details.
The moment Fury said explosions, Tony was already moving.
"JARVIS," he said sharply, striding into the center of his workshop.
The floor segmented beneath his feet.
Panels slid back.
Mechanized arms unfolded from the ceiling and walls like something alive.
"Armor status," Tony ordered.
"Mark VI platform online, sir," JARVIS replied smoothly.
"New arc reactor integration stable. Power output exceeding previous palladium-based models by eighty-seven percent."
Tony stopped on the circular platform.
"Good," he said. "Because I'm gonna need the headroom."
The first components moved.
Boot assemblies locked around his legs with practiced precision.
Metal sealed, recalibrated, adjusted.
"Threat assessment?" Tony asked.
"Multiple hostile combatants detected via SHIELD feeds," JARVIS said.
"Heavy weapons. Civilian-adjacent engagement zone. Probability of target survival without intervention: declining rapidly."
Tony clenched his jaw.
"All this," he muttered, "over a guy who makes pie."
Chest plating slid into place.
The arc reactor flared—clean, bright, no flicker.
Tony glanced down at it briefly.
"…Dad would've loved that."
Helmet components hovered into position but paused.
Tony looked up at the HUD projections flooding his vision.
Street maps.
Heat blooms.
Live audio feeds distorted by gunfire and shockwaves.
Something about the data didn't sit right.
"JARVIS," Tony said slowly, "are these explosions… ours?"
A fractional pause.
"Negative, sir. No known SHIELD or military signatures match the energy pattern."
Tony's brow furrowed.
"Then what the hell is causing them?"
"Unknown," JARVIS admitted. "Origin points are… irregular. Impact vectors suggest close-quarters engagements rather than explosives alone."
Tony exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Of course it's weird."
The helmet snapped into place.
HUD ONLINE
"Route me in," Tony said. "Full speed. And JARVIS?"
"Yes, sir?"
"If Elias Mercer so much as gets a scratch—"
"Understood, sir. Prioritizing civilian extraction."
Repulsors ignited.
The workshop ceiling irised open as Tony launched upward in a streak of white-blue light, already accelerating toward the city.
Behind him, the platform powered down.
Ahead of him—
Something was happening on those streets that even Tony Stark hadn't planned for.
.
.
.
Minutes earlier
The ground vibrated faintly beneath Elias' underground base.
He didn't move, but the system alerts lit up across his interface.
[Judgment enforcement in progress. Judges deployed]
Above the city streets, the Iron Serpent gang pressed forward, their convoy roaring. 48 men. Two vans, one SUV. Assault rifles, SMGs, shotguns.
They had a mission. They had a target.
They didn't notice the sky—or the faint shadows descending from it.
Above ground, three blocks from Elias' home, the night sky opened.
Not with fire.
Not with sound.
Something descended.
A triangular craft phased into visibility for barely a second before it slammed into an abandoned construction site.
The impact was contained.
Controlled.
Intentional.
Steel plates folded inward as the craft burrowed, sealing itself underground like a coffin.
Inside, mechanisms engaged.
Stone cracked.
And then—
The bunker doors opened.
Two figures stepped out.
Tall. Armored. Broad-shouldered silhouettes framed by steam and dust.
Their masks glowed faintly as alien glyphs pulsed across their armor. Cloaking fields shimmered once, twice—
—and they vanished.
The Yautja had arrived.
Down the street, the Iron Serpent convoy saw it.
A tremor.
A shockwave.
A flash of something wrong.
One gangster slowed the van.
"Yo… you feel that?"
Another scoffed. "Probably construction."
They kept moving.
Even SHIELD noticed—satellites flagged an unscheduled atmospheric distortion.
Analysts hesitated.
Someone said, "Something just landed."
But by the time anyone reacted—
—it was already too late.
The first explosion wasn't an attack.
It was a signal.
The rear van's engine block detonated upward, flipping the vehicle onto its side in a controlled blast that didn't spread fire—just chaos.
Men were thrown into the street, screaming, weapons skidding across asphalt.
Before they could recover—
A net launched from nowhere.
It wrapped three men mid-air, tightening instantly. The mesh constricted, slicing deep as it pulled them upward, hoisting them screaming into the darkness above the streetlights.
A distorted voice echoed from every direction at once.
"Run."
Panic erupted.
Doors flew open. Gangsters spilled out, rifles raised, shouting into the night.
They fired.
Bullets tore through empty air.
A Yautja de-cloaked mid-stride—only for a heartbeat—just long enough to throw a combi-spear.
It impaled a man through the chest, pinning him to the hood of the SUV.
Before anyone could react, the hunter vanished again, leaving only blood and terror behind.
Another voice—mimicking one of the gangsters perfectly—called out:
"Over here!"
Four men rushed the alley.
None came back.
Inside the alley, invisibility rippled as wrist blades extended.
One man's scream cut off abruptly.
Another fired blindly, hitting a brick wall inches from the hunter's face—before being lifted off the ground and slammed headfirst into concrete.
Spines snapped.
Blood pooled.
The lead SUV tried to reverse.
A plasma caster fired.
Not at the driver—
At the ground beneath the tires.
The street exploded upward, flipping the vehicle.
As it landed upside down, a Yautja dropped from above, ripping the door off its hinges and dragging the screaming occupants out one by one.
Each kill was different.
Each kill brought nothing but fear and horror to the remaining gang members.
The gang broke.
Some ran.
Some begged.
Some froze.
The hunters gave no mercy.
Nets.
Spears.
Blades.
Plasma bursts precise enough to cauterize wounds mid-kill.
The air filled with the smell of burned metal and coppery blood.
Streetlights shattered.
Windows blew out.
Cameras went dead one by one.
From Elias' underground base, the city above him roared, shook, and screamed.
And through the system's interface, he watched red dots vanish—
not chaotically—
—but methodically.
This wasn't slaughter.
This was a rite.
A hunt worthy of the Yautja tribe.
And Elias, powerless beneath the earth, could only sit in silence as judgment unfolded above him.
SHIELD Arrives — Too Late
Their vehicles screamed from a distance, floodlights cutting through smoke and dust as it arrived on the ruined street.
SHIELD agents poured out—twelve of them, rifles raised, visors scanning.
What they found stopped them cold.
The street was no longer a battlefield.
It was a slaughterhouse.
Burned vehicles. Severed weapons. Blood smeared across walls in long, dragged arcs.
The bodies?—in pieces. Some unrecognizable.
Rifles sheared like foil.
And at the center of it—
Three men.
The Iron Serpent leader and his last two subordinates hung suspended in the air, wrapped individually in a Yautja net.
The mesh glowed faintly, tightening with a slow, mechanical inevitability.
Each second—
click
click
click
The net constricted.
Their guns lay on the ground beneath them—cut cleanly, barrels sliced like paper. One of the men screamed and pulled a hidden knife from his boot, hacking wildly at the net.
The blade sparked.
Then snapped in half.
The net didn't even slow.
"Jesus Christ…" one agent whispered.
The leader sobbed openly now, tears streaking through grime.
One of the men had already lost feeling in his legs; blood dripped steadily, pattering onto the pavement below.
"Get them down," the team lead ordered, voice tight.
Two agents rushed forward, activating a grappling winch.
They latched onto the net's anchor point, trying to ease the tension.
The moment the pressure shifted—
The net reacted.
The constriction accelerated.
Metal screamed.
One of the gangsters didn't even finish screaming.
The mesh tightened in a single, brutal contraction, slicing him apart—meat, bone, and armor collapsing inward as his body separated into sections that fell wetly to the ground.
Blood sprayed across the agents' visors.
Silence followed.
The remaining two men lost control completely.
One pissed himself. The other babbled incoherently, shaking so hard the net cut deeper into his ribs.
No one in SHIELD mocked them.
No one judged.
Several agents swallowed hard.
One quietly turned away to vomit.
.
.
.
Deep underground, Elias was on his feet.
"No—no, stop! Don't touch it—get back!"
He slammed his hands against the system's translucent interface, shouting into a void no one could hear.
Because the system had already decided.
New markers blinked into existence on his screen.
Yellow… then red.
The SHIELD agents.
[DESIGNATION UPDATED
Enemies (Conditional)
Reason: Interference with active Judgment
Count: 12
Status: Armed / Intervening ]
Elias felt the restriction lock down harder than ever before.
"No—this isn't fair!" he whispered hoarsely.
"They're trying to help…"
The system did not respond.
A clicking sound echoed from the rooftops.
The SHIELD team froze.
Cloaking fields rippled.
Two distortions appeared—tall, broad, impossibly still.
Then the Yautja decloaked.
Not roaring.
Not threatening.
Assessing.
One tilted its head slightly, visor focusing on the agents. Data scrolled across its mask.
The SHIELD agents stood frozen, weapons half-raised, breaths fogging in the cold night air.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
The hunters' visors flickered, running assessments at speeds no human mind could follow.
Threats.
Interference.
Probability curves.
For one suspended moment, the hunt paused.
Then—
A gunshot rang out.
One agent—young, shaking, eyes wide with terror—pulled the trigger by reflex.
The bullet struck nothing but air.
But it was enough.
[SYSTEM UPDATE
Conditional Enemy Status → PERMANENT
Reason: Hostile action during active Judgment ]
Deep underground, Elias felt it immediately.
"No—!"
The lock slammed shut.
The Yautja moved.
Not in anger.
Not in rage.
In response.
The street exploded into chaos.
Plasma fire lanced through the darkness, precise and surgical, punching clean holes through armor and bone.
Nets deployed mid-run, unfolding like metallic flowers before tightening, crushing, slicing.
Invisibility shimmered in and out as the hunters repositioned faster than eyes could track.
One agent tried to shout orders—his voice cut short as a spear passed cleanly through his chest.
Another emptied his magazine blindly, screaming—only to be lifted off the ground, spine snapped against a wall with a wet crack.
There was no mercy.
There was no hesitation.
Only method.
Only completion.
Minutes later, the street was still.
Twelve agents lay dead among the remains of the Iron Serpent gang—bodies broken, cut, burned, scattered like discarded pieces on a board long finished.
The Yautja stood amid the carnage, weapons retracting, visors dimming.
[Judgment: fulfilled.]
The instant the last life faded, the pressure on Elias' chest vanished.
The restriction shattered.
Control returned.
Reinforcements were already incoming. He could feel it—radar pings, engines, something fast descending—
Iron Man.
"No more," Elias whispered.
Before questions could be asked.
Before weapons could fire.
Before this spiraled further.
[SERVANT ASSIGNMENT CONFIRMED
Yautja Hunters x2
Status: Bound Servants]
The hunters paused.
For the first time, they reacted to something unseen.
Elias didn't hesitate.
"Withdraw."
The command was absolute.
The Yautja activated their devices simultaneously.
Light bent.
Space folded.
Their forms vanished—clean, complete.
Even the deployment bunkers they arrived in collapsed into nothing, as if they had never existed at all.
No technology.
Nothing to trace but some cold weapons.
Just seconds before they vanished.
Iron Man touched down.
Repulsors glowing. Scanners sweeping.
Silence.
Tony took three steps forward.
Stopped. Helmet opens.
And promptly bent over, vomiting onto the cracked pavement.
"This isn't a crime scene…" he muttered hoarsely.
"This is a massacre."
SHIELD reinforcements arrived minutes after that—quinjets, sirens, floodlights washing over what could only be described as a slaughterhouse.
But it wasn't livestock.
It was people.
No answers.
No witnesses.
No explanation that made sense.
And somewhere beneath the ruined street, Elias Mercer sat alone in the dark, hands shaking—
Knowing that this time…
The blood didn't stop where he hoped it would. What he was hoping?
He was hoping all of the agents who was hunted were all HYDRA.
And they were, he just doesn't know.
End of chapter 15