Bang! Bang! Bang!
Inside the tavern, chaos erupted.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the assassins—secret followers of Ivan Vanko, long hidden in the shadows—abandoned their disguises and sprang into action. Gunfire filled the air as both sides exchanged deadly shots.
"Sir, follow me!"
In the middle of the confusion, the bartender rushed to Howard Stark, shielding him and urging him toward the exit.
Bang! Bang!
A few bullets tore through the air as one of the assassins lunged forward, trying to intercept them. The bartender reacted instantly, pulling Howard down beneath a nearby table and squeezing the trigger—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three rapid shots. The assassin staggered and dropped, the bullets thudding into his chest.
But something was off.
The attackers didn't move like trained professionals. Their aim was sloppy, their tactics chaotic. They weren't on par with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—yet they were winning.
"Sir, let's go!" the bartender said, preparing to move again.
Then—
Bang! Bang!
Two more shots rang out. The bartender's body jerked as the bullets tore through him. He turned slowly, shocked, locking eyes with the very assassin he'd just shot.
Blood had soaked the man's chest… yet he was still standing.
How?He should've been down. He should've bled out.It didn't make any sense.
But there was no time to understand it.
The bartender's vision blurred. His body collapsed next to Howard Stark.
"Toms! Toms!" Howard called out, his voice laced with panic and regret.
More gunfire tore through the tavern, forcing him to duck his head, hugging the floor and trembling with fear. He dared not move.
All around them, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were falling, one after another. There weren't many assassins—only a few—but they were nearly impossible to kill. Bullet wounds didn't slow them down. They didn't flinch. They didn't dodge. They kept shooting, relentless and merciless.
The situation had turned dire.
Suddenly—
"Mr. Stark."
Howard turned. A young man stood before him, calm in the storm, face lit by the flickering light of muzzle flashes.
"It's dangerous here. Their target isn't you. Get out of here—go!" Howard yelled.
He wasn't surprised the stranger knew who he was. He was a Stark, after all. Fame came with the name.
But the young man ignored the warning.
"I'll handle them. Just stay down, and don't move unless I say so." he said firmly.
"Kid, this isn't a movie. You don't get a second take. You die for real!" Howard hissed.
But Rorschach didn't respond. He knelt and picked up a shard of broken glass from the floor.
With a flick of his wrist—
Swish.
Thud!
A sliver of glass pierced the wrist of one assassin, forcing his gun to drop.
Swish! Swish!
Thud! Thud!
Two more shards flew, two more wrists struck. Weapons clattered to the floor.
Howard blinked in disbelief.
"Is this a joke?" he muttered, stunned. "Even our best agents can't do that... not even the Howling Commandos back in the war."
Glass shards were too light to throw with that kind of force and accuracy. But this kid made it look effortless.
"Stay here." Rorschach ordered again, eyes locked on the enemy.
"Agents! Form up around Stark!" he barked.
The surviving S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives didn't recognize him, but his presence and command gave them reason to hope. They regrouped near Howard, forming a makeshift defensive ring.
The problem? The assassins had already sealed the only exit. No one was getting out—yet.
All they could do was wait and see what the mysterious newcomer could do.
Rorschach marched forward.
If bullets didn't kill these people… maybe crushing their hearts would.
"I knew it wouldn't be that easy," muttered the bald, black-skinned assassin, pulling the shard from his wrist without so much as a wince.
It was like he'd been stabbed by a toothpick.
"Lem, this kid's not normal. What is he?" said a long-haired assassin, turning to the third, a man in a buttoned shirt.
"I don't know, but he's not one of those freakish living dead, that's for sure," Lem replied.
Living dead?Rorschach frowned, making a mental note—but said nothing.
He broke into a sprint.
"Perfect! Let me rip him apart!" The bald assassin grinned savagely and charged.
"Not here! Don't transform!" Lem warned in a harsh whisper.
They couldn't afford to reveal too much. Not yet.
"Heh, don't need to," the bald one growled.
They collided.
Bang!
Crack!
WHOOSH!
The sound of bones snapping echoed as the assassin's body flew back like a ragdoll, crashing through the tavern wall with a deafening crunch.
He hit the floor and didn't move again.
His chest was crushed in, his ribcage collapsed inward like a paper cup.
Rorschach had punched straight through his torso.
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