Clad in gold power armor, the hunter lay prone atop a high-rise building a thousand meters from the target residence, cloaked in an urban camouflage shroud that rendered him nearly invisible. Through his helmet's HUD and earpiece, Constantine monitored the Reyes household with unblinking focus. He had arrived earlier than Wanda Maximoff, slipping in unnoticed to plant surveillance cameras and deploy a swarm of thermal imaging drones. These drones streamed real-time visuals directly to his helmet, where synaptic sensors connected to his gene-modified brain allowed him to rapidly process massive data streams, ensuring not a single detail escaped his notice.
He watched as Wanda, face etched with worry, stepped out of her car in front of the Reyes home, slapped her cheeks, and forced a smile—she didn't want Gabe Reyes to know the truth. Constantine quickly assessed the situation and then redirected his attention to another section of his HUD.
Sure enough, he had found a vehicle near the Reyes residence.
Prior to the hospital fire, this car hadn't appeared on any surveillance footage or dashcam records. But in the hour following the blaze, it had circled the area three times via different routes and at different frequencies, each time positioning the driver to visually scout the Reyes house. Without the City of Eternity's powerful data systems, the vehicle's seemingly random appearances would have gone unnoticed—old, battered, inconspicuous.
By cross-referencing Los Angeles DMV records, Constantine identified discrepancies between the license plate and the car model. The vehicle had used fake plates. The LAPD's stolen vehicle database listed a car of the same make. He forwarded the case to the City of Eternity's data-processing AI for further analysis, while ordering one of his drones to follow the car and attempt to capture the driver's face.
"Daisy Johnson." Despite the smoky eye makeup, Constantine immediately identified the driver.
Field intel confirmed that after Phil Coulson led S.H.I.E.L.D. back into the public eye, the organization had been absorbed under U.S. government control. The current director was reportedly the product of a military super-soldier serum project. Though no records of this research had surfaced, scientists in the bio-genetics labs speculated the program hadn't fully succeeded—otherwise, the U.S. would already be mass-producing super soldiers or Extremis-based Centipede serum variants. Following S.H.I.E.L.D.'s leadership shift, Daisy Johnson had left the organization. The reason remained classified; embedded agents hadn't secured access.
But Constantine knew this: Daisy Johnson had previously contacted Robbie Reyes and delivered him something.
This detail was so crucial that the Royal Guard itself had been deployed—so vital that Solomon had retrieved fragments from past timelines to cross-reference her involvement.
Daisy Johnson gritted her teeth, slapping at the wheezing car's failing air conditioning.
The weather in L.A. that month was mild and dry, yet Daisy felt stiflingly hot. Even with the windows down, the heat was unbearable. She was tense. Ever since the explosion at the garage, she had spent countless hours investigating, eventually extracting from a black-market pill pusher the rumor that LA General had recently admitted a critically injured patient. By the time she confirmed the patient was Robbie Reyes, the ICU had gone up in flames and her target had vanished. Then she discovered a woman—someone who had once been involved in the Sokovia incident—had taken up residence at the Reyes household. Her plan to approach Gabe Reyes directly was shot.
Now, she was carefully trying to confirm which new force had entered the picture.
It might have been the Avengers who noticed Ghost Rider. After all, a televised battle between Captain America and Ghost Rider had once aired. Handing over the case to the Avengers wouldn't normally be an issue, but Daisy couldn't be sure they wouldn't hurt Robbie Reyes. Suddenly, pain—sharp as a hairline crack splitting frozen glass—shot from her arm to her brain. Daisy gasped, involuntarily moaning as her hand felt like it had been smashed by a bat. Her pulse stuttered, fingers went numb and stiff, and only after several moments did sensation return.
This wasn't the first time. Without S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medication, her arms would've shattered long ago. This was the price of her powers. Every time she used her seismic ability, it reverberated through her bones. Fleeing from the new S.H.I.E.L.D. while trying to protect the Ghost Rider had forced her to rely on her powers more than ever, and her deteriorating health was the cost.
Hairline fractures ran through every bone in both arms.
"I've got a few more doses. I can hold out for a few more days," Daisy told herself. The pain sobered her up instantly. Cold sweat beaded on her brow. Fortunately, she hadn't lost control of the vehicle. But she realized she had loitered in the area too long—someone might have noticed. Even as a self-taught agent, years of fieldwork had taught the former idealistic hacker a sense of true operational discipline.
"I need to leave like a normal person, avoid traffic cams." Her eyes flicked between rearview mirrors, checking for tails—people or vehicles that reappeared too often or looked out of place. "No speeding, just cruise out casually, and avoid traffic lights." She thought grimly, "No tails… Strange. Where is that woman's backup?"
Constantine observed as the target vehicle decelerated sharply and nearly lost control. A tracking drone recorded Daisy's pained groans and relayed them to the Royal Guard. Using stealth-mode propulsion thrusters, he shadowed the car silently across rooftops, while also maintaining awareness of the Reyes home. After more than thirty minutes of pursuit, Constantine watched Daisy pull into an abandoned neighborhood.
Here, houses sold for one dollar. And still, no one bought them. The place was overgrown, uninhabited, avoided even by the homeless and addicts. Only gangs dared venture here—just passing through was dangerous.
Constantine waited in silence for ten minutes, reviewing drone feedback.
Then he pressed a switch on his glaive's hilt. The ornate blade hummed with electricity.
He drew a prototype gravity weapon from his belt—a defensive countermeasure against her powers. With prep complete, he removed his cloaking shroud and checked the fuel reserves of his mobility thrusters. He rerouted all reserves to the propulsion unit. Instantly, an immense thrust launched the armored warrior skyward, sending him hurtling to rooftop height.
A moment later, Constantine crashed through the building's roof like a meteor, smashing old bricks like foam.
Daisy Johnson looked up, startled by the explosive roar above. The rumble of falling debris grew louder as it plummeted toward her floor.
For the first time in years, the musty, mold-filled room was flooded with sunlight—though quickly overtaken by the stench of scorched fuel. The golden figure did not hesitate, charging like a bull wrapped in brick dust and raw violence. No war cry, no rage—just a silent, surgical assault.
Years of training erased the ache in her arm. Instinct took over. Daisy raised her hand, launching a shockwave at the intruder.
But her enemy moved too fast to follow. He raised something and fired.
The attack she expected to blow him back had no effect.
He kept coming, weapon trailing blue lightning.
Before she could fire again, he was in front of her. She hadn't even raised her arms.
She heard a thunderclap, then felt a jolt of searing pain, then… nothing.
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