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Chapter 38 Hydra's Panic
🕑 Added 2025-08-31 11:39:20 +0000 UTC“Shit… God, please help me. Just let me make it out alive.”
On the HYDRA cruise ship, Jemma Simmons’ eyes flickered with panic. Two armed soldiers followed close behind, their rifles trained on her every step. She was under guard, unable to move freely, praying quietly for survival.
“Keep moving, Miss Simmons,” one soldier barked.
His finger lingered on the trigger, his gaze full of malice. The message was clear: one wrong move, and she was dead.
“I know,” Simmons said tightly, her voice shaking. “I just hope Donnie Gill still remembers me.”
Forced forward at gunpoint, she had no choice but to head deeper into the ship.
Elsewhere, Allens entered the cabin corridors. No sooner had he stepped inside than two HYDRA squads appeared, weapons raised.
“Sir, Donnie Gill has entered the ship!” one soldier relayed through his comms, before the team immediately opened fire.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Rounds slammed into Allens. He pressed his hand against a metal hatch, activating his absorption power—his entire body shifted into solid metal.
Ding, ding, ding.
Bullets clanged harmlessly off his body, tumbling to the ground as crushed fragments.
“Freeze.”
Allens lifted his metallic hand, unleashing a wave of icy energy. The corridor frosted over in an instant, swallowing metal, walls, and HYDRA soldiers alike in a deadly rime of ice.
“Boom!”
From behind, another squad advanced. One soldier leveled a rocket launcher and fired.
“Psychokinesis—matter control.”
Allens dropped his metal form, raised his left hand, and his power surged like a tidal wave. The RPG froze midair, then flipped 180 degrees.
It roared back toward its wielder, slamming into the squad and detonating in a ball of fire. The deck shook as bodies and shrapnel scattered.
Allens curled his fingers. Every weapon on the deck ripped free from its owner’s hands, floating upward.
“Oh, fuck—”
More than twenty HYDRA soldiers stared in horror as their own guns swiveled toward them. Before they could react, the triggers pulled. In a hail of gunfire, the squad was torn apart.
Inside the control room, Agent Harrington staggered back from the monitor. “Mr. Whitehall, the two squads are gone… all of them.”
Whitehall’s face remained stone, though his eyes flickered with unease. “That is not Donnie Gill.”
On the screens, the surveillance feeds tracked Simmons approaching the chaos.
“Sir,” a scientist reported nervously, “Agent Simmons is entering Gill’s location.”
“Arm our warriors with Stark’s split bombs,” Whitehall ordered coldly.
“Sir, the devices are still experimental. If we deploy them now—”
The scientist froze as Whitehall pressed the muzzle of a pistol against his forehead. His snake-like eyes narrowed.
“I said equip them.” Each word dripped with lethal calm.
“Y-yes, sir!” the man stammered, nearly collapsing as he scrambled to obey.
Whitehall turned back to the screens. “Let’s see if Miss Simmons can stall long enough.”
Simmons rounded a corner, inhaling shakily before stepping into the frozen corridor.
“Donnie… it’s me. Jemma Simmons,” she said, forcing her voice steady.
Gill—at least, the man she believed to be Gill—stood among the frozen wreckage of HYDRA troops. His eyes burned with anger and pain.
“Gemma… did HYDRA send you, too?” Donnie’s voice trembled between rage and betrayal.
Whitehall leaned toward the monitors, his lips curling into a thin smile. “Yes. That’s it. Speak to him, Miss Simmons. Do exactly as I say.”
His voice hissed into her earpiece:
“Obey, and you will be rewarded. Resist, and you will lose yourself. Surrender—HYDRA is your final destiny.”
Even as he spoke, something gnawed at Whitehall’s instincts. Something felt wrong. The way “Gill” carried himself. The way his powers shifted. But he couldn’t place it.
Behind him, Harrington and several scientists had already fled. Only Whitehall and two technicians remained, focused on the surveillance feeds.
Bang.
A deafening crack split the control room. The reinforced hatch buckled inward, collapsing in a shower of sparks. A figure stepped through the hole.
Whitehall’s eyes went wide. “You—how did you get here?”
The intruder’s cold smile cut through the smoke.
“What you see… may not be real.”
Allens strode forward, raising his hand. The two technicians froze solid where they sat, their screams ending in brittle silence.
“Pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Whitehall,” Allens said. His voice was mocking, full of lethal calm.
While HYDRA’s eyes had been fixed on the illusion he cast—his “Donnie Gill”—his true self had already walked straight into the heart of their operation.
Like a predator among sheep.
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