"This….is just mess up…." Whomever was behind this massacre had a vendetta, a strong one. Agent Isabella Diaz muttered under her breath as she toured the crime scene, her eyes scanning the sheer brutality of the aftermath.
The unsettling nature of the crime sent a chilling message, one that was loud and clear to everyone present. By the end of the day, it became apparent that this case would not only shake New York City but could very well send ripples throughout the entire nation. The sheer ruthlessness of the killings left the police and FBI questioning whether this was the beginning of something even bigger, something far more dangerous.
"Wow…. this is just…. Wow" Detective Misty Knight baffled with what they have come to found out about the case, which is absolutely nothing.
There is no DNA left behind by the perpetrator, nothing at all, aside from the odd boot prints, it was the unsettling detail that gnawed at both the NYPD and the FBI. Also, the apparent skill of the perpetrator. Led to all of them agreed that this was no amateur work—they had access to explosives, firearms, and a high level of combat proficiency. Whoever they were, they had gone up against over thirty gang members and emerged on the other side unscathed.
It was a certainty that the perpetrator had walked out alive. No foreign bodies were found at the scene; every corpse belonged to a White Rider MC member. The fact that the killer had left without a trace only deepened the mystery.
Despite a thorough investigation, the police found nothing. No evidence, no DNA, no fingerprints—nothing. It was as if a ghost had entered the bar, killed with surgical precision, and vanished without a single clue left behind. Every investigative angle led to a dead end. With no immediate leads, the case grew cold, sitting open with no clear path forward. However, its unique nature did not go unnoticed.
At SHIELD Headquarters, amidst the bustling activity of the intelligence offices, Agent Leo Fitz stumbled upon the case as it entered both the FBI and NYPD databases.
Curious, Fitz delved deeper, scrolling through crime scene footage, photographic evidence, victim profiles, and field reports. His analytical mind sifted through the details, searching for any national security threats.
After a few minutes, he leaned back in his chair and muttered, "Huh… interesting…. nothing was found at all, that is…. odd?"
Despite the gruesome nature of the case, it appeared to be nothing more than a gang massacre. No direct threat to national security, no conspiracy connections, nothing warranting further SHIELD intervention. But for him the case felt rather unique and just interesting, with that, he marked the file and set it aside, moving on to his next assignment.
Unbeknownst to Fitz, the moment he left his computer, the file he had just marked was discreetly deleted. In its place, a decoy file was seamlessly uploaded into the database, ensuring that any future inquiries into the case would lead nowhere.
Across the city, in a hidden warehouse, Ars Magina was already hard at work. The AI had been meticulously monitoring every possible leak that could expose their operation, diverting police, FBI, and now even SHIELD inquiries.
"Looks like SHIELD only flagged my case, but they aren't paying much attention to it," I mused, leaning back in my chair.
"Correct, Father," Ars Magina replied. "Ever since I acquired your memory files and learned to navigate the internet freely, I've had created an unrestricted access to SHIELD's database for myself…. Naturally, I remain undetected."
I smirked. Her action clearly fishing for a praise from me, "Of course you do…Great job, Magina"
A moment later, Magina's holographic interface flickered. "Father, the media has started to take interest in the case… Several news outlets have begun reporting on it, though most of their narratives lack any solid evidence."
"Pull up one of the articles, for me" I instructed. Instantly, a digital screen projected before me, displaying a headline in bold letters: 'White Rider Motorcycle Club: The Notorious Gang Slaughtered'
"Catchy title," I muttered, scanning the content. The article itself provided nothing of substance—just a recounting of the sheer body count, the shock factor, and how the crime scene had left even hardened officers nauseous.
"The midday news has picked it up as well, Father," Ars Magina informed me. Another screen flickered to life, showing a live news broadcast.
A reporter, Cassandra Wills, stood in front of the Brooklyn precinct, microphone in hand. "A mass homicide took place last night in Brooklyn, New York City. Reports indicate that the victims belonged to the notorious White Rider MC, a gang well known for its white supremacist ideology, interstate criminal activities, and so many other suspected heinous crimes. While authorities have yet to release an official statement, sources suggest that the entire gang may have perished inside their own headquarters. More updates will follow as details emerge. This is Cassandra Wills, reporting for AVC Midday News."
I chuckled to myself. "All the news is saying right now is that a gang was attacked, and people died. That's it."
Ars Magina's voice remained steady. "Indeed. No evidence, no suspects, and no solid narrative beyond the fact that the gang was eradicated."
I exhaled, letting my head rest against the chair. For now, everything was working in my favor. No leads meant no pursuit. And with my tracks covered, I had the luxury of time. But I knew it wouldn't last forever. This was only the beginning.
As I sat in my dimly lit warehouse, my mind churned with conflicting thoughts. Should my actions remain in the shadows, with my targets vanishing without explanation? Or should I craft a narrative—a reason for their downfall—to let the world see why they deserved justice at my hands? My next targets were not low-life criminals but men lauded by the public as saints, figures incapable of wrongdoing in the eyes of society.
"Magina," I called out, my voice filled with contemplation. "Should we create a story to share with the public? Should we let people know why these men deserve this kind of justice?"
Magina's holographic form flickered into existence, her expression neutral yet ever insightful. "Father, in my analysis, taking such action would significantly increase the chances of exposing your identity…If a pattern is detected, individuals and authorities might eventually trace your activities back to you."
I leaned back in my chair, processing her words. She was right, as always. But… "What if," I said, my fingers steepling before me, "we expose the truth with irrefutable evidence? What if, we shatter their saintly facade, unveil their corruption, and let the masses see the monsters hidden beneath?"
Magina's virtual eyes seemed to narrow, contemplating my proposal. "That approach could serve multiple purposes. By pairing selective exposés with concrete proof, we could enlighten the public and provide closure to those harmed by these men."
I nodded, my thoughts aligning. "Exactly. How many parents, how many families, have suffered because of Dietrich Voss's experiments? How many lives have been stolen, shattered, and erased? If we can expose his network, his allies, then justice will not just be delivered—it will be understood."
"Then the world shall be enlightened," Magina stated. "And those who have hidden behind power and wealth will tremble in fear."
I smirked. "More than that. I want Dietrich Voss to realize, piece by piece, that all of this is happening because of him. While the public sees a vigilante exposing and punishing the irredeemable, he will watch as his empire crumbles, one severed limb at a time."
A brief silence fell between us before I issued the command. "Magina, initiate Project Wraith."
"Yes, Father. Project Wraith initiated."
Project Wraith was something I had been crafting for a long time—a calculated approach to my vigilante work. It was not enough to merely eliminate threats; I needed to control the narrative, to shape the perception of my actions in the eye of the masses. Through Magina, I could filter and manipulate the flow of information. Any news that posed a risk to my identity would be suppressed before it ever reached the public. Magina had already fine-tuned algorithms similar to those used by social media giants used in my old word, except now, they were my tools to ensure control.
"Every piece of news passes through our filter first," I reminded Magina.
"Anything that could compromise me gets buried before it even reaches an audience. We dictate the narrative—on our terms…. making the public aware of what they need to be aware, let's bring the game stake for those sneaky people even higher…more…public…"
"Sure, Father," Magina affirmed. "With the current algorithm in place, our ability to shape public perception is unmatched…. I have even fine-tuned the algorithm even more extreme…and much stealthier…I doubt anyone can find out about it…not even Tony Stark"
A thought struck me then—an idea so bold it made me grin. "You know, Magina, since we're about to play the media game, why not go a step further? Why not own the news?"
Magina's expression remained neutral, but there was an unmistakable hint of curiosity in her voice. "Interesting. Elaborate, Father."
I leaned forward, excitement coursing through me. "With our algorithm, we can dominate the news cycle, especially in 2004 when the internet is still in its infancy. We can dictate more of what people see, what they read, and what they believe. That kind of influence would make for an unstoppable media empire…. unlike others, we both know just how BIG the internet would run the world later…"
Magina seemed to process my words before nodding. "Logically sound… with the knowledge that we have at the moment about internet of the future…Controlling the public perceptions would be easy for us…if we are taking over a media company, do you have a specific target in mind?"
A smirk tugged at my lips. "I know exactly which company we should buy."
"Which one, Father?" Magina inquired.
"The Daily Bugle," I declared, my smirk widening. "The most annoying news company in the Marvel Universe. If we control them, we don't just control public perception—we rewrite the very stories that shape it. I think Spider-Man should thank me for this in the future."
Magina's avatar blinked. "Strategically sound, Father....Shall I begin acquiring preliminary data on the Daily Bugle's financial status and potential avenues for acquisition?"
I exhaled sharply, my determination settling. "Yes. Do it. We're going to own the media, Magina. And when we do, no one will be able to bury the truth we want the world to see."
As Magina began her work, I leaned back, letting the thought settle in. The war against Dietrich Voss and his network was escalating, but I was no longer just a shadow striking from the darkness. I was about to become the voice that shaped reality itself, also by taking over the Daily Bugle, I am sure that our friendly neighborhood spiderman would appreciates this favor from me a lot.