Coulson watched as the bloodsuckers stuffed an unconscious Blade into a van like they were hauling groceries.
Yeah. That was bad.
Vampires were supposed to be subtle. Creepy, maybe, but subtle. Lurking in shadows, whispering in boardrooms, bribing moneybags. Not… this. Not middle-of-the-street daylight snatch-and-grabs like they were running a vampire DoorDash.
And that was the real problem.
These weren't just any bloodsuckers. These guys moved like they had insurance. Like they knew nobody was gonna stop them. Because why would they? Half the people with real power were already on the vampire payroll—or worse, part of the club. Actually less , but he takes worst figure.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had always drawn the line, of course. Vampires were bad PR. But the real trouble came from the radicals. The ones who didn't care about secrecy. The ones who wanted the world to burn.
Guys like Deacon Frost.
That creep had been edging out of the shadows lately, pushing boundaries, seeing what he could get away with. And now, he was making a play for Blade?
That meant something big was coming. Real big.
They'd tried to bring Blade in once. Gave him the whole pitch—resources, intel, support. Got told to shove it somewhere very unpleasant. Coulson had actually admired that, in a way.
The World Council hated it, though. A half-blood vampire hunter they couldn't leash? That was a liability. Fury, though? Fury knew the game.
"As long as Blade keeps killing vamps, we win." That was the angle. Let him be angry. Let him be messy. Just keep the body count in their favour.
It worked.
Until it didn't.
Coulson sighed and rubbed his temples. "Welp. Guess we're doing this the hard way."
He tapped his earpiece. "Sir, looks like the vampires are planning something big."
Silence on the line. For half a second. Then Fury's voice came through, already annoyed.
"Now what the hell did those bats do?"
Coulson winced. "They kidnapped Blade. Set an ambush. He fought, but… yeah. They got him."
Static crackled.
Then, right on cue—
"Motherfu—"
Coulson smirked. That's the Fury he knew.
To be fair, the man had earned the outburst. Stark had just been kidnapped. Azi got blindsided by some unknown element. The military was still chasing a green rage-monster across several zip codes. Magneto had gone full radio silence, which was honestly worse than him declaring war.
And now this.
Vampires.
Because why not, right?
Fury came back on the line, voice low, edged with steel. "Coulson, follow them. I'm sending backup. Also… he can use this opportunity to get back in form."
Coulson blinked. Then his grip on the wheel tightened, just slightly.
He knew who Fury meant.
Of course he did.
He was the one who found him frozen, after all. The one who made the call to bring him out.
Captain America.
But Coulson wasn't the only one listening.
A kilometre back, John drove his Dodge Charger R/T like a shadow on the road, fingers tapping the steering wheel to an invisible rhythm.
"So… Cap's awake, huh?"
His sounds too casual. But not his thoughts.
Thanks to the tracker he'd slapped on Blade, he was already on the move.
S.H.I.E.L.D. presence was a surprise.
At first, he'd wondered if they'd sniffed him out. But nah. Not yet. He'd kept his footprint low, quiet. If they were onto him, they'd be way more aggressive than a quiet tail.
No, this was about Blade. About Frost. And now, about Steve.
The 50-50 of Marvel.
Was it gonna be Captain America like Coulson believed? The poster boy, the leader, the heart?
Or… Captain Hydra?
John didn't know. And that made his grip tighten.
He had debts. Buried grudges. And while the world was dancing around its problems, he was taking notes.
Not that it mattered right now.
Right now, there were bigger headaches.
Like vampires. And Marga.
God, he hoped Marga didn't show up. That creature can cause more chaos by existing than some villains did in full supervillain mode.
He didn't like relying on anyone. But he wasn't stupid either. Unexpected variables meant he might need cover. And right now?
That meant using S.H.I.E.L.D.
Like meat shields. Disposable, heavily armed, occasionally competent meat shields.
Their presence reminded him sooner or later, he was gonna cross paths with them properly.
He could play neutral for a while. Float between the cracks. But not forever.
He wasn't going to dance to the Avengers' tune. Or Fury's. Or S.W.O.R.D. or the World Council.
Sure, maybe if the world was ending and Ultron himself was knocking, he'd lend a hand.
But until then?
Nah.
He could already imagine it—Steve looking all sad-eyed and noble saying, "John, you're too dangerous to leave unchecked." Cue some plan to launch him into space or shove him in a containment vault like Hulk.
Wouldn't be the first time someone strong got sent away just for being strong.
He wasn't a mutate.
He wasn't some science experiment or cosmic accident.
He was a mutant.
And he planned to become THE MUTANT.
Not hiding. Not apologising. Not taking orders.
Just one path, and it's his.
...
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