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Reborn as Superman's Son, Ch 53
🕑 Added 2025-10-24 20:16:58 +0000 UTCChapter 53 Hail Hydra? Hail Superman!!
A week later.
Washington, D.C.
S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.
“What the hell did Nick Fury call us all back here for?”
“Phil, you’re the closest to Fury. You must know what this meeting’s about, right?”
Agent Sitwell stood in the middle of the crowd, turning to his friend Phil Coulson with a frown.
“I really don’t,” Coulson replied. “Before I got here, I thought I was the only one summoned.”
He pulled out his phone and showed Sitwell the message Fury had sent.
“Coulson, S.H.I.E.L.D. in danger. Return immediately.”
Sitwell’s expression darkened. He took out his own phone—same message.
“Sitwell, S.H.I.E.L.D. in danger. Return immediately.”
“Damn it.” Sitwell muttered under his breath. “What the hell is Fury playing at? Could it be that our Hydra cover’s been blown?”
He scanned the room. Most of the high-ranking agents Fury had called back were Hydra operatives. His nerves eased a little.
“Agent Sitwell. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Brock Rumlow—Crossbones—walked in, his eyes widening at the sheer number of people packed into the hall.
Without missing a beat, he drifted over to Sitwell, quietly sizing up the crowd. When he spotted one Hydra operative after another, disbelief flashed across his face. Jesus. Not even Strucker could gather this many senior Hydra members in one place.
“Rumlow, you too?” Sitwell exhaled in relief. Whatever this was, at least with Rumlow here, he had a better shot at staying alive.
“What’s going on? Did we get exposed?”
“Can’t be. If we had, they’d have quietly taken us out—not gathered us all like this. Unless Fury’s lost his mind and plans to nuke D.C.”
Even Hydra agents weren’t fools. As more people poured in, the unease in the room grew. Many of them had been abruptly pulled off active missions and ordered home. That wasn’t Fury’s style.
“Nick! Wait, Nick!”
“You had no authorization to summon every field agent around the world! You’d better have a damn good reason for this!”
The heavy doors slammed open. Nick Fury strode in, black trench coat swaying behind him. Alexander Pierce followed, talking rapidly under his breath.
“Damn it,” Pierce hissed when he saw the crowd of Hydra agents in the hall. His face drained of color. “Are we exposed? Who betrayed us? Do we have a mole inside Hydra? Or was this some rival faction’s setup?”
“Alright,” Fury said, clapping his hands once. “Looks like everyone’s here.”
He snapped his fingers.
*Snap!*
Instantly, the lights went out. The hall plunged into darkness.
“Shit!”
Hydra agents reacted instantly, drawing their sidearms and diving for cover. No one trusted anyone else.
Then, a few spotlights flickered on—dim, but enough to see by. Everyone froze when they saw the others aiming guns too.
At least paranoia was mutual.
“Hey,” Fury’s voice echoed through the hall. “What’s with the guns? Relax. I called you here to watch a video.”
He snapped his fingers again. A massive screen unrolled from the ceiling.
The first clip began—footage from an Afghan militant camp.
A thunderous roar filled the speakers. A dark figure streaked across the sky.
*Boom!*
The entire base erupted in fire and smoke.
“My God,” Pierce whispered, staring at the black-clad figure hovering in the flames. Cold sweat dripped down his temples. “Another Captain Marvel?”
“As you can see,” Fury said, “billionaire Tony Stark didn’t escape Afghanistan by himself. He was rescued—by the man you’re watching now. We’ve designated him ‘Superman’.”
As the video rolled, Fury narrated, explaining what they knew about Eden.
“So you pulled us all off our missions… to meet this ‘Superman’?” one agent muttered. “Wait—Superman? Like the comic book guy with the red underwear on the outside?”
“Pretty much, kid,” Fury said dryly. “But hold your questions. There’s more.”
He cued up the next video.
This time the footage was clearer—S.H.I.E.L.D.’s own, from a facility in Mexico.
“You’ll notice—two people in the cell one moment, then suddenly three,” Fury explained. “The man standing is Superman. The other two are Asgardians.”
“Asgardians? As in the Norse gods?”
The agents looked at each other like they were losing their minds. First superheroes from comic books, now literal mythological gods.
The screen shifted again. Eden faced down the Destroyer armor. Fury paused the video and pointed at the image.
“This thing’s called the Destroyer—an Asgardian weapon. You could hit it with every nuke on Earth, and it wouldn’t even scratch the paint.”
He resumed the footage—Eden tearing the Destroyer apart like scrap metal, then melting the remains to forge Uru.
Pierce couldn’t take it anymore. “Fury, what’s the point of all this?” he snapped.
Fury smiled faintly. “You’ll see. Let’s welcome Mr. Eden Kent—Superman.”
A shrill sonic boom split the air.
*BOOM!*
The reinforced glass ceiling exploded into a rain of shards.
Agents dove for cover instinctively.
When the clatter died down, they looked up—and froze.
A young man, no more than seventeen or eighteen, stood at the front of the hall. His black battlesuit gleamed under the lights, a crimson cape flickering like fire behind him. The sheer presence rolling off him was suffocating.
Superman had stepped out of the videos and into their world. He sat casually in the chair Fury had prepared, gaze sweeping across the hall.
Every Hydra agent felt their heartbeat thunder in their chest. Life and death felt balanced on the edge of this man’s will.
Then—*boom!*
In the blink of an eye, Superman was off his seat and right in front of Alexander Pierce.
His hand closed around Pierce’s throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
Pierce choked, staring into the young man’s crimson eyes, filled with inhuman energy and a terrifying smile.
“Tell me,” Superman said softly, voice like steel. “Who looks more like a god—me, or Hive?”
Pierce’s mind went blank. “What the hell kind of question—”
He didn’t get to finish.
With a single swipe, Superman severed his neck. Blood splattered across the floor.
Then, with a casual flick of his Heat Vision, he reduced Pierce’s body to ash.
Only then did he speak, slowly, each word deliberate.
“Hail Hydra.”
The room fell silent.
Every Hydra agent stared at him, wide-eyed. Did he just—?
“What the hell…?”
“Wait. Could it be the Superman Serum finally worked?” one of them whispered.
Sitwell’s eyes widened. “You knew about that too?”
“The serum that makes someone even stronger than Captain America?” another agent said, realization dawning.
Superman sat back down, his tone calm but commanding. “Now. Swear your loyalty to me. Hydra needs new leadership—one centered around me.”
Sitwell was the first to move. He dropped to one knee before Superman, shouting, “Hail Hydra!”
Then Rumlow followed.
“Hail Hydra!”
One by one, the rest knelt, echoing the chant until the hall thundered with it.
“Hail Hydra!”
“Hail Superman!”
They shouted like fanatics, voices rising to the ceiling.
Fury stood to the side, utterly speechless. Eighty percent of his senior agents—Hydra.
Was Hydra infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D., or was S.H.I.E.L.D. infiltrating Hydra?
He sighed deeply, then gave Superman a respectful nod. Killing them all would cripple S.H.I.E.L.D., and Fury knew it. Better to use them.
That was the deal—if there were only a few moles, Superman would wipe them out. If there were too many, he’d take control of them instead.
A soft chime broke the silence. Sitwell glanced at his communicator—new message.
“Fury recalled everyone to HQ? What happened?”
From Baron Strucker.
Sitwell typed back: “Don’t message me again, Baron. I don’t want Superman to get the wrong idea.”
Then he deleted the contact.
In a secret lab somewhere, Baron Strucker stared at his screen.
“…What the hell?” he muttered.
