His anger wasn't only about the missing extraction plan. He was also shielding Skye, Fitz, and Simmons. Their actions already crossed into criminal territory.
Invoking the Avengers wasn't just a threat—it was a warning.
This team didn't fully operate under orders of SHIELD HQ. Hydra had roots here. Even if Victoria Hand wasn't Hydra, she could be used by them. Intimidation was the safest move.
Better to make Hydra hesitate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James had advanced nearly nine kilometers and was now about one kilometer from the target base. He lay prone on the ground and raised his binoculars, carefully observing the area. So far, there was no sign that the enemy had detected him—but he couldn't use the portal again right now.
The sky was already dimming. Night would fall soon.
James went behind a tree and laid back. He decided to rest and wait till full darkness before making his move.
After checking in with Cortana, he stored all his equipment in his internal space. A military blanket appeared in his hands, which he used to wrap himself in and stay warm, then took out a sandwich and a thermos, pouring himself a cup of hot coffee and eating contentedly.
The internal space was a pure void, an isolated environment where time didn't pass. Anything placed inside remained unchanged, like an incubator. Hot stayed hot, cold stayed cold, and fresh food remained fresh.
James ate his fill.
Fortunately, the patrols didn't extend this far. Otherwise, military dogs might have picked up his scent.
Once the sky had fully darkened, James stood up, packed away the blanket, and began organizing his gear.
He didn't bother with an assault rifle. He'd never liked them. Pistols were more his style.
The Safari Arms Matchmaster manifested first, solid and familiar in his right hand. Then the Imanishi 17 settled into his left—lighter, faster, and built for precision. Magazines were already seated, and suppressors threaded. He could easily chamber a magazine to a pistol inside his internal space or even load in bullets on the magazine.
James had no intention of sneaking in quietly.
He planned to fight his way through.
Lowering his body, he moved forward carefully, controlling his pace to minimize sound. Both pistols were held steady, ready to fire at a moment's notice.
As he closed in, the base came into view. He might call it a "base," but in reality it was just a large abandoned factory surrounded by barbed wire. Patrol density was light—but they had military dogs walking around. That was the real problem.
A four-man patrol approached from a distance, flashlights in hand. One of the dogs padded forward, tail swaying as it searched.
When it reached James's hiding spot, it paused.
The patrol squad stiffened, tightening their grip on their rifles.
James made his move.
Poof. Poof.
The first shot took the dog cleanly in the head. Animals reacted faster than humans—if he didn't kill it instantly, it would bark and alert the whole area.
A moment later, the four soldiers collapsed to the ground as well.
James surged forward, sprinted, vaulted the wire fence, and landed smoothly inside the factory grounds. Without pausing, he bent low and rushed into the structure.
He had to neutralize the sonic oscillator before the alarm spread. Once discovered, reinforcements would come nonstop. The factory was large enough that not every area was monitored.
He moved through shadows, following the coordinates from the intelligence report.
Footsteps were heard.
Another patrol was coming close.
James crouched in a dark corner, listening carefully.
His enhanced hearing kicked in, there were eight people on the other side.
The two guns were fired so quickly that eight people were killed without any resistance. James did not even look at them as he continued his journey.
An instrument panel appeared ahead, a weapon storage access. He pressed his hand to the data interface, letting Cortana do her magic.
The door clicked open as James slipped inside.
It was a factory workshop. He pressed himself against the wall immediately, scanning the room.
All clear.
At the center stood massive machinery. Thick pipes extended outward from a central unit—the sonic wave oscillator. The core generated the sound waves, while the surrounding systems amplified and projected them. A long-range weapon that was devastating and difficult to counter.
James stepped forward. The pistols vanished from his hands, replaced by an electric screwdriver.
He dismantled the core casing, stripping away the metal housing to expose the central unit.
There were footsteps behind him and James stopped working at once.
A pistol snapped back into his hand. He pivoted and fired from a blind spot.
The bullet curved cleanly through the air.
There was the sound of a man falling to the ground.
James listened for any one else that might come.
Hearing nothing, he resumed work immediately.
Based on sound alone—footsteps, distance, and height could easily be known—Cortana's calculations allowed him to shoot blind even better than Bullseye or Deadshot. This was her current processing limit, but it was enough.
The device itself wasn't complex, though the core energy was unfamiliar. James severed the final connections by hand.
The alarm blared throughout the factory.
James removed the core and stored it as he ran.
A signal transmitter appeared in his hand and activated it.
The signal shot skyward.
S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters received it at once.
Victoria Hand issued the strike order.
Fighters were already inbound.
James didn't have much time.
He pulled out the Space Stone, preparing to open a portal—but footsteps echoed toward him. There were too many and getting way too close.
The Stone vanished as James drew both pistols and dove aside as soldiers poured into the workshop, shouting orders to find the intruder.
Two suppressed bullets flew through the air.
Two soldiers dropped without knowing how they were killed. They'd been unlucky enough to stumble onto James's hiding spot.
Shouts erupted as he was spotted by an enemy, forcing him to move from cover to cover.
Gunfire tore through the spot he'd occupied a moment earlier. James dropped low, lunged forward, and rolled—motion flowing into motion without pause. Bullets skimmed past his head, missed him by mere millimeters. He fired while moving, wrists turning, and arms crossing.
Bullets bent in trajectory accurately hitting every soldier it was aimed at, slipping around corners and shattered stone. One man fell clutching his heart, never understanding how a bullet had reached him behind cover.
James slid into the next cover, pivoted, and fired again.
A burst of incoming fire fight met his own—as he fought his way through this shoot out. Many of his rounds clipped hostile rounds midair, deflecting them towards other soldiers on the way, using their own bullets against them. The exchange had only lasted less than a minute as countless bodies hit the ground.
He flowed from cover to cover, never stopping, never exposing the same area twice. No blind spot could save them. If there was a path, his shots found it—curling, swerving, arriving where they shouldn't.
Confusion spread fast.
Men dropped with holes in the backs of their heads. Others spun in panic, firing at shadows, convinced they were surrounded. Reinforcements hesitated, fear crawling up their spines.
This wasn't one man.
It couldn't be.
Then—
Boom.
The ground shook.
It sounded like a bombing.
James frowned.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was moving too fast.
These fighters had launched from a carrier at sea—they couldn't have arrived this quickly.
They'd given him no time to withdraw.
"It seems Hydra doesn't intend to let me leave alive," James said in annoyance.
[ Based on current analysis, they're attempting to force you into using your armor, ] Cortana replied. [ The bombardment wouldn't be sufficient to kill you then. Their objective must be exposure. ]
"So they're watching this area by satellite," James said. "Once I use the armor, what's likely to happen next?"
[ Likely escalation through international channels. An incident involving you would justify pressure on the Avengers from oversight—leading to disbandment or fragmentation of the team. Project Insight would face fewer obstacles. From there, Hydra would attempt to eliminate the Avengers individually. ]
James snorted softly. "They're assuming that would actually work. It's still unclear whether Thor and Tony could deal with three Helicarriers."
[ Thor does not need to worry as earth is not his permanent home, but based on behavioral patterns, limited deception may be sufficient to delay him. ]
James nodded. "That's true. He is pretty straightforward."
He leaned out from cover and fired several shots to suppress the approaching soldiers, then pulled out a handful of grenades, yanked the pins, and threw them outward.
Being in the enemy territory, casualties and structural damage is not of concern. None of them were his people. Even without equipping the Umbra Sentinel, he could still do serious damage with a handful of grenades.
Using the delay before the explosions, he moved position, removed the suppressor from his pistol for better handling, and reloaded.
He rose, glanced out—and dropped back instantly.
His cover was being sprayed by incoming fire. Shrapnel and gravel recochet everywhere. James extended his arm around the edge and fired three quick shots, dropping three bodies.
The gunfire died down as reloading sounds could be heard.
James burst from cover, both pistols blazing as he sprinted forward.
The sensation was familiar—the same one he'd felt breaking into the Fraternity. Bombs exploding on top of him pounding like drums. His heart rate climbed from the sheer adrenaline of being surrounded and dodging three sixty around him. His movements accelerated as he ran faster. Every click of the gun, he ejected the magazine with force sideways as it fell into his storage and a new fully loaded magazine shot up and slotted into his pistol, chambering by sliding the two chambers together the Safari Arms Matchmaster below and the Imanishi 17 above in an arc of Ying and Yang.
Bang. Bang.
Without the suppressor, the explosive sounds of bullets leaving the Muzzle blazed through the halls as a rain of bullets tore through the air.
A click of being empty, yet before anyone could see it happen, the magazines were replaced.
Rounds after rounds just barely missing James. He could see their trajectories clearly. None came close enough to even touch his hair.
With a casual toss, he stored his pistols and two Machine Guns appeared in his hands, changing the sound of battle.
Two FN M249 SAWs— 5.56 NATO, belt-fed, 200-round soft packs feeding cleanly from a box magazine. The weapons were already heavy for ordinary soldiers.
For him, it was just a slightly heavier full auto gun.
[Cortana: Recoil assist active. Enhancing shoulder load tolerance.]
Smirking at the enemies of seeing him heaving up two large guns, he opened fire.
Anyone who didn't ducked fast enough got shredded, and forced those who survived to stay low.
Both SAWs roared in heavy metal fury, 5.56 rounds shredding metal walkways, punching through machinery casings, ripping sparks from steel beams. Casings after casings poured to the floor in twin golden waterfalls.
Of course he didn't spray wildly, he kept an eye all around him.
A deliberate 360-degree rotation, both guns sweeping whoever dares to sneak a peak — waist level, chest level, elevated to catwalk height — spraying suppression across every firing range.
Concrete exploded inches from their faces. Catwalk rails snapped apart. Crates burst into splinters. One soldier tried to rise behind a forklift — the engine block erupted in sparks, forcing him flat.
They couldn't return fire.
The sheer volume of rounds alone made aiming impossible. The sound pressure swallowed any bravery. Muzzle flashes strobed the interior like continuous lightning.
James walked forward through his own storm.
He adjusted his aim in an unpredictable pattern to hit every cover. One SAW cut across the upper gantry — silhouettes vanished behind collapsing railing. The other swept low, forcing three more bodies against the ground.
Fear spreads fast.
"He has too much Firepower!" someone shouted.
They couldn't reconcile what they were seeing.
One man shouldn't be able to control two light machine guns like that — shouldn't be able to stay upright under sustained recoil, shouldn't be able to move while firing.
But he did.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The bombing outside intensified. Dust rained from the ceiling.
James calculated the timing.
He increased output for three seconds — both SAWs overlapping fields of fire, creating a moving wall of impact that pinned every hostile body flat.
No one dared stand.
That was the point.
He dropped into cover mid-barrage.
Both SAWs vanished.
The Space Stone appeared in his palm, blue light spilling outward as space folded.
The bombing grew louder. The squad leader shouted orders, forcing his men forward. They needed the core back.
They braced themselves and rushed the enemy.
Then stopped cold.
Spent brass covered the floor. Walls were cratered and torn apart but no one was there.
At that moment, James was already sixty kilometers away.
"Whew… sixty kilometers," he muttered, checking the locator and shutting it off immediately. "Less than thirty kilometers left to the beach."
He focused again.
The spatial portal opened.
The sea appeared before him.
James stepped through.
At S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Jasper Sitwell watched the satellite feed.
The target base was a burning ruin.
But James never appeared in his armor.
'Had he not brought it?'
Sitwell pulled up departure footage, replaying James boarding the aircraft. He studied the backpack closely. It was large—packed tight—but impossible to identify its contents. Big enough to hold a compact armor like Stark's, but there was no proof.
'If he didn't bring it, that bombing should've killed him…'
Sitwell frowned and left his office, heading for Victoria Hand's command center.
"Has Agent James Gibson reported in?" he asked as he entered.
"Not yet," Hand replied. "I don't know if he's cleared the target area. The submarine will wait five hours at the beach. If he doesn't arrive, it will withdraw."
"You're not worried?"
"Why would I be? This is standard procedure. There's no escort, but he's an Avenger. He should be fine."
"His strength comes from the armor," Sitwell pressed. "Did he bring it?"
"I… don't know," Hand admitted after a pause. "But it shouldn't be an issue."
Sitwell ordered a satellite check.
The response made his breath hitch.
"The satellite tracker was never activated."
Every ping James had made was momentary—barely a flicker. Without deep data review, it looked as if nothing had happened at all.
Before Sitwell could process it, the communications officer shouted from across the room.
Sitwell froze.
How had James escaped? How had he avoided the bombardment and enemy fire?
Was the armor invisible?
Agent Hand recovered first. "Tell him to activate his satellite positioning. Dispatch a small boat. The submarine will extract him."
None of that mattered anymore.
James had already boarded the submarine.
There was no armor or excess of equipment.
Just a standard combat suit and a bulletproof vest.
He returned safely, heading back to Washington to take his long deserved leave.