The body hung in silence.
Cain Silas did not move.
The rope was still. The mechanism above him showed no strain. His head leaned forward at an unnatural angle, chin pressed toward his chest. His arms, bound tightly against his sides, hung uselessly. His legs were straight, feet hovering just above the lowered platform.
The execution chamber remained tense long after the drop.
No one spoke.
A digital timer on the wall continued counting upward.
Eight minutes passed.
That was more than enough.
Standard protocol required less. For most people, far less. But no one in the chamber trusted "most people," not tonight, not with Cain Silas.
The senior officer glanced at the monitors. Heart rate: flat. Oxygen: gone. Brain activity: silent.
Still, he did not give the order.
"Hold," he said.
The guards obeyed. Their fingers stayed close to triggers. A few shifted their footing, boots scraping softly against the floor.
Nine minutes.
Still nothing.
Ten minutes.
The officer finally nodded.
"That's enough," he said. "Bring him down."
No one relaxed.
Two soldiers stepped forward carefully, like men approaching a wild animal they believed dead but were not fully sure of. One reached up and took hold of the rope mechanism. The other positioned himself beneath Cain's body.
The mechanism lowered him slowly.
Cain's boots touched the floor.
His weight settled fully.
His body slumped forward slightly, fully supported now by the soldiers holding him.
He was heavy. Far heavier than he should have been.
One of the soldiers swallowed and reached for the cloth covering Cain's mouth.
Another raised his hand toward the blindfold, preparing to remove it next.
Behind them, a technician monitored the vital signs.
At the exact moment the cloth over Cain's mouth was pulled away—
The monitor screamed.
A sharp alarm cut through the chamber.
The flat line jumped violently.
Heart rate surged upward.
Strong.
Steady.
Normal.
The technician froze.
His eyes widened in horror.
"He's still alive!" he shouted. "He's still alive!"
For half a second, no one reacted.
Then Cain smiled.
The smile came easily, like he had been waiting for this exact moment. His lips pulled wide, teeth white and clean beneath the harsh lights.
Before the guards could step back, Cain moved.
Still bound.
Still wrapped.
He drove forward with sudden force, dropping his weight and sweeping his legs out in a wide arc.
Bone snapped.
The sound was sharp and wet.
Two guards went down instantly, legs breaking under the strike. Blood splashed across the floor as bodies slammed hard against steel.
Cain kept moving.
He did not stand upright. He flowed low, his bound legs sliding and striking again and again, his body twisting with control that should not have been possible. He moved like something trained to fight in tight spaces, like a snake striking without lifting its head.
Another sweep.
Another scream.
A guard's leg bent the wrong way, bone tearing through muscle.
Weapons clattered uselessly to the floor.
Cain rolled, twisted, struck again.
He did not need his hands.
He did not need freedom.
Men fell around him, legs crushed, bodies broken. Some died instantly from the force alone. Others screamed, clutching shattered limbs, blood pooling beneath them.
The chamber dissolved into chaos.
Gunfire erupted, but shots went wide. Guards stumbled over fallen bodies. Orders were shouted but not followed.
Cain rose to his feet.
He stopped moving.
The remaining guards and officers froze.
Cain turned his head slowly, even though his eyes were still covered. He did not need to see them to know where they were.
He smiled again.
Then he flexed.
The muscles in his shoulders surged outward. The high-fiber cloth around his chest strained, threads snapping one by one. With a sharp tearing sound, the restraints split apart.
Fabric fell away.
His upper body was revealed.
Thick muscle, layered and dense, moved beneath scarred skin. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath, the first full breath since the execution began.
He flexed again.
The restraints around his legs tore apart next. Fabric shredded and dropped to the floor in heavy strips.
Cain stood free.
He reached up and pulled the blindfold from his eyes.
Dark eyes met the room.
Not wild.
Not angry.
Calm.
Focused.
The officers nearest him trembled. Some stepped back without realizing it. They had read the files. They had seen the warnings.
Now they understood them.
Cain showed his teeth as he smiled.
"You all make it too easy for me," he said.
The speakers crackled.
Cain's head tilted slightly as Nick Fury's voice filled the chamber.
"Cain Silas! Stop what you are doing!"
Cain looked toward the ceiling.
He smiled wider.
He did not stop.
He moved.
One officer barely had time to raise his weapon.
Cain was already there.
His punch landed with ghost-like speed. There was no windup, no wasted motion. His fist struck the officer's head directly.
Bone caved in.
The body dropped without a sound.
Silence followed, broken only by labored breathing and the whine of damaged equipment.
Fury's voice came again, louder now, angry.
"Continue killing them, then stay here forever!"
Cain paused.
He straightened slowly.
"Stay here forever?" he repeated softly.
He considered the words.
Fury spoke again, sharp and controlled.
"This is a missile silo," he said. "A ballistic silo. Hundreds of meters deep. Without a special vehicle, you're trapped."
Cain listened.
That was it?
He laughed.
Not loud. Not wild.
Disappointed.
"That's all?" he muttered.
The remaining soldiers broke.
Cain moved through them with ease.
There was no struggle now. No confusion. Just force and intent. He struck, crushed, and broke until no one was left standing.
When it was done, he turned his attention to the equipment.
Cameras shattered.
Monitors smashed.
Sensors ripped from walls.
One by one, the screens in the S.H.I.E.L.D. tower went dark.
Nick Fury stared at the black display.
His jaw tightened.
"Coulson," he said. "Get to that base. Now. Find him."
"Yes, sir," Coulson replied.
The silo stood quiet when Coulson arrived.
A relic from another war.
A deep, vertical structure once meant to launch destruction toward the sky, now used to bury threats beneath the earth.
Agents poured in behind him, armed and alert.
The execution chamber told the story immediately.
Bodies everywhere.
Steel bent.
Walls cracked.
Blood covered the floor in thick streaks.
No survivors.
Coulson moved carefully through the room.
Then he saw the wall.
Words written in blood.
Large.
Clear.
I want to know defeat.
Coulson felt a chill run through him.
"Search everything," he ordered. "Every level. Every shaft."
Agents spread out.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Reports came back.
"No vehicle movement."
"No elevator activity."
"No breach."
A young agent stepped forward hesitantly.
"Sir," he said, "I think… I think he climbed out."
Another agent scoffed.
"That's impossible. This place is too deep."
Coulson raised a hand.
"Show me."
They went to the shaft.
Coulson saw it.
Blood.
Marks.
Leading upward.
His earpiece crackled.
Fury's voice came through.
"It seems he has successfully escaped."
Coulson looked up into the darkness above.