"This is Search Squad Three."
A man with short grayish-white hair and a stern face reported in through the headset embedded in his lightweight bulletproof helmet. This unit operated along the outer edges of the battlefield, tasked with reconnaissance and intelligence gathering. Their insignia—a golden steel gauntlet with a silver skull embedded on the back of the hand, set against a red-shield background—marked them as part of Victoria Hand's intelligence division. All five members of this squad were former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had followed Victoria Hand during the Hydra uprising and had since sought refuge in the Immortal City to evade prosecution by the U.S. government.
There were many squads like theirs, now dispersed throughout the outer perimeter of Mount Finbowent to conduct surveys.
Their loyalty could be relied upon—Victoria Hand had drawn up an agreement using the Immortal City's resources to ensure the well-being of their families. The city even took full responsibility for their children's education, all at no cost. In essence, their loyalty was secured by controlling their families. Still, this arrangement provided far better conditions than their previous employment—no mortgage debt, guaranteed retirement, no risk of being used in unauthorized human experiments, no stolen pensions, and generous survivor benefits. As for the Immortal City's requirement to renounce superstition, that was easy enough in the age of science: a mere verbal renunciation of religious beliefs satisfied the higher-ups. The BOSS of their BOSS wasn't overly strict.
"We found a refugee at the church site. Male, estimated age between twelve and fifteen. Unconscious. Hair color is abnormal."
"Copy that." The emotionless voice of the intelligence officer on the other end sent a chill down Joel's spine. He had met those analysts before—people who seemed partially brainwashed, perhaps to shield them from mental contamination during the more horrifying assignments. That change had begun after the Punisher participated in a mission on the U.S. East Coast. Joel hadn't been involved—he'd been on leave in New York with his squad—but he instinctively believed it was connected to the East Coast quake that occurred earlier that year.
"Forwarding up the chain of command," said the analyst. "Maintain position. Await backup."
Joel motioned with his hand, and the squad immediately scattered.
They didn't approach the target. Instead, they trained their weapons on the boy. The Immortal City had long since evacuated the local population, so finding a refugee here was extremely suspicious. Still, they didn't treat it as a top-level threat. After all, not every evacuee was accounted for—some mischievous kid could have easily slipped through the cracks until now.
"I hate bureaucracies," grumbled the squad's only woman as she flipped up her visor. "And I hate the smell of recycled air."
"Selena, if I were you, I'd keep that on. Who knows what kind of contamination's out here," said a younger voice over comms—Andreas, who had been interning aboard the helicarrier during the Hydra uprising and had narrowly avoided death. When Victoria Hand began purging Hydra agents from the carrier, Andreas was among those recruited into the Immortal City.
Compared to the others, Andreas was much younger and rigidly followed S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols. Veteran Selena often teased him. No one else minded—any fool could see the red-haired woman had taken a liking to the young man.
"Biochemical contamination? Don't make me laugh. That used to be our go-to excuse," Selena said, cradling a prototype plasma rapid-fire rifle. She smirked. "We all know this mission has nothing to do with a viral outbreak. We're fighting demons."
"Scientifically speaking, they're extra-dimensional entities," Andreas muttered. His weapon—a long, heavy, and highly precise firearm—marked him as the squad's designated marksman. While not always a sniper, he had been temporarily assigned the role due to manpower shortages. "Orders are to maintain full protective gear," he added. "Command always has its reasons."
"Or maybe they were just too lazy to update the protocols. That happened all the time back at S.H.I.E.L.D.," Selena retorted without hesitation. "Now, if we were up against werewolves or vampires, then I'd be worried. I remember that mission—you were out sick, Andreas."
With the relaxed air of a seasoned veteran, Selena used the moment to give Andreas a little lecture. "Back then, we had power-armored women leading the charge. All we had to do was clean up after. But if even a single drop of fluid from one of those enemies touched your skin, you were done. No cure for lycanthropy. Those women would kill the infected right on the spot. But this time? We're just patrolling the edge of a battlefield. Worst case, what—grow feathers?"
"Seriously?" Andreas asked, half-skeptical.
The rest of the team burst into laughter.
"If I could grow feathers, that'd be great," said Victor, the squad's assault specialist. "Then when I go to the salon to get the hair plucked off my butt, I could scare the hell out of those ladies."
"They'd probably use a blowtorch to de-feather you like a turkey."
"All right, quiet down! Selena, mask on!" barked Joel, their squad leader. He wasn't laughing. He'd been monitoring higher command channels, using his clearance to check on nearby squad deployments. A veteran of the Gulf War, Joel was haunted by nightmares—Victoria Hand had recruited him directly from the army to S.H.I.E.L.D., and that's why he now led a squad for the Immortal City.
"Stay alert. Reinforcements are here."
Joel had guessed it might be Search Squad Two from nearby, or maybe one of those young women from the Sisterhood—clad in powered armor and notoriously elusive. But when backup actually arrived, he realized just how wrong he had been.
A towering three-meter-tall giant clad in ornate golden armor rode a high-tech hovering platform into the church. The search squad stood stunned at the sight of such unexpected reinforcements.
"Captain Joel, Search Squad Three, Intelligence Division?" the golden giant asked, lowering his head. His blood-red visor stared directly at Joel. Though the giant's tone was calm, Joel couldn't help but feel an overwhelming physiological fear—like this being had consumed all available attention in the area. He knew exactly who this was: a super soldier of the Immortal City, even more powerful than Captain America, part of the Monarch's personal Guard.
Joel quickly removed his helmet and gave a subtle signal to the rest of the squad, silently begging Selena not to do anything rash. He'd seen what these Guards were capable of in the arena—they could kill everyone here in the blink of an eye, long before any of them could pull a trigger.
Summoning all his courage, Joel swallowed hard. "Y-yes, sir."
"I am Constantine of the Guard. I'm here to take custody of the refugee."
"He's right over there, sir," Joel said, pointing toward the marble floor at the center of the church, thinly covered by a trickle of water. "We didn't approach him too closely."
"You did the right thing, Joel. Your squad handled this well—including the sniper who's had a bead on me this entire time," the Guard said with approval. "Carry on with your mission. I don't intend to interfere."
"Yes, sir!"
Once the Guard hoisted the boy and departed the church, Joel suddenly realized how fast his heart was racing.
"Jesus, who was that guy?" Victor muttered as he came over. "No way a normal guy's that tall—was that some kind of robot?"
"That was a Guard," Joel replied, sucking in a deep breath like a drowning man who'd just broken the surface. "And that boy… the one we found? He's no ordinary kid."
(End of Chapter)
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