It hit the internet before sunrise.
Some college kid on his way home had caught the last minute of the fight — the warehouse door exploding open, a man flying through brick, and a dark, hooded figure stepping back into the rain. The video was shaky, grainy as hell, probably shot on a Nokia Lumia or an iPhone 4S. But it had everything.
White contact lenses glinting in the dark. The rain cascading off a soaked hoodie. A lone figure panting over a pile of groaning thugs and crushed crates.
He looked like something out of a graphic novel.
It started on YouTube at 3:42 AM Dublin time. By 5:00 AM it had hit 25,000 views. By 8:00 AM, it was trending across Ireland. By noon, the UK, France, and parts of the U.S. had picked it up. By 3:00 PM, major networks were running segments. By 6:00 PM, the world was watching.
Reddit threads. Twitter meltdowns. Facebook shares. Vine loops. Tumblr GIFs. Newsreels. And memes. So many memes.
"REAL LIFE SUPERHERO IN DUBLIN??" the first viral title screamed. "WATCH THIS GUY YEET A MAN THROUGH A WALL!"
@JayIRL99: "Just saw a lad in a hoodie murder gravity. He kicked a fella through a fuckin' building. Jesus, Mary and Joseph."
@GalwayWatch: "Local vigilante in Dublin? Cap 2.0 or just some mad lad with a gym membership and issues?"
Even Jacksepticeye got involved: "Top o' the morning to ya — WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST WATCH?!"
Within 12 hours, the footage hit 2.3 million views. By the 18-hour mark, it passed 5 million. By 24 hours, it was the most-watched Irish video since Riverdance.
And then someone leaked CCTV footage from a nearby off-license. Cleaner, wider shot. Less shaky. You could see everything: Darren's movements fast and brutal, disarming a gunman like it was muscle memory. One man was launched clean through a steel door.
Frame by frame, punch by punch, he looked less like a guy in a fight and more like an Avenger mid-training.
That's when things really exploded.
Reddit's r/Ireland, r/MarvelStudios, r/Conspiracy, and r/WorldNews all had front-page threads. Theorists compared his speed and strikes to Captain America. A post titled "Ireland's Own Steve Rogers?" got 45,000 upvotes in four hours.
People started calling him "Sentinel." That came from a throwaway Reddit comment.
u/McPunchington: "He stood over them like a fuckin' sentinel. Didn't move. Just watched the rain. Mad."
It stuck.
By morning of Day 2, #Sentinel and #DublinHero were trending globally. Memes flooded Twitter. TikTokers recreated his kicks using trampolines and badly stacked cardboard boxes. Instagram accounts uploaded fan edits and fake backstories. Tumblr had already shipped him with Daredevil.
Local pubs renamed drinks: "The Wallbreaker." "Rain Punch." "Concrete Uppercut."
RTÉ ran a special report titled: "Sentinel: Dublin's Newest Urban Legend?"
And in Berlin, S.H.I.E.L.D. noticed.
Inside a black-site surveillance hub beneath a classified logistics center, the footage had already been decrypted, frame-analyzed, and catalogued under a new case file: Incident Alpha-213 – Dublin.
Maria Hill arrived just before dawn.
"Talk to me," she ordered.
"Footage was flagged by one of our Dublin crawlers at 04:12. Cross-platform alert fired at 04:44. Went viral before we could contain it. No digital fingerprints. Masked figure. Human male, approximately 18-25, extremely agile, extremely fast. Combat profile... strange."
"Define strange," Hill said, not blinking.
"Reflex speed matches Rogers' early Brooklyn files. Strike power suggests enhanced musculature. Lift estimate, 150 to 200 kilos casually. That kick through the van? Estimated kinetic force: 4,000 newtons minimum. Not adrenaline."
Hill turned to a screen. The paused frame showed Darren mid-strike.
"Chitauri tech?" she asked.
"Confirmed. Traced remnants from the crate match Manhattan battlefield scrap, Zone C. How it got to Dublin's black market is still being investigated."
"Is he using it?"
"No. Intervened to stop the transfer. Took down five smugglers in less than two minutes."
Hill's tone went cold. "You're telling me an unregistered enhanced just neutralized an illegal alien arms trade in Ireland... alone?"
"Correct."
Agent Kwan stepped up, sliding over a side-by-side video.
"Compare that movement to Rogers at the Italian drop zone in '43," he said. "Watch his pivot. Same torque. Same weight distribution. No formal military pattern, but the efficiency is unreal. Looks messy, but that's raw instinct. It's real."
"Jesus," someone muttered.
Hill inhaled. "We need Dr. Malhotra cross-checking these against Rogers' genetic blueprint. I want Rogers' post-rescue physicals, Brooklyn timeline, every enhanced profile cross-referenced. Is this a copycat? A clone? Something else?"
Another tech piped up. "We have no match in any known registry. Facial scans turned up nothing in our education, employment, or travel records."
"Could be foreign," said Kwan. "Could be local and deep off-grid."
"Any leaks?"
"Too late. It's viral. No controlling it now."
"Then contain what we can," Hill said. "No public statements. No interference. But I want him watched. Every digital trail, every CCTV in a ten-mile radius. Dublin teams are on alert. No engagement unless authorized."
She paused. "And if he vanishes?"
Kwan gave a grim nod. "Then we've got a ghost with super-soldier stats running loose in Europe."
Hill turned to the screen one last time. The grainy silhouette of Darren, hoodie soaked, eyes white.
"Get me everything."
At a flat in North Dublin, Darren Ward lay on his back, phone glowing against the ceiling.
He scrolled through videos showing people reacting to the video of hi,.
He even saw a six-second Vine of some kid doing his kick in a supermarket.
He scrolled, heart thudding.
RTÉ: "Masked Figure Saves Locals from Armed Gang."
BBC: "Ireland's New Hero?"
Daily Mail: "Vigilante or Terrorist?"
Tumblr had made moodboards.
Reddit had started mapping his alley routes.
Facebook had a page: "Sentinel Support Group – Protecting Our Lad."
One tweet had 50k likes: "If England gets Cap, we're keeping Sentinel. Sod off."
He stared at the screen, speechless. The world was catching fire.
He sighed, slumped lower in his chair, and pulled his hoodie tighter over his face like a child hiding under the duvet.
"Shit."