Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire exploded throughout the tavern.
The SHIELD agents who had been quietly blending into the crowd immediately abandoned their disguises, and the assassins who had been hiding for a long time also revealed themselves. In an instant, the entire room turned into a battlefield as both sides drew their weapons and opened fire.
Bullets tore through the smoky air, smashing bottles, shattering glass, and punching holes through wooden furniture. The small tavern was never designed for a firefight, and chaos erupted as the gunmen exchanged rounds at close range.
"Sir, follow me!"
The young bartender rushed to Howard Stark's side, keeping himself between Stark and the incoming fire. With practiced movements, he guided Stark toward the exit while firing back at the attackers.
They had almost reached the door when two sharp gunshots rang out.
Bang! Bang!
An assassin suddenly rushed forward from the side, raising his weapon and attempting to cut off their escape route. The bartender reacted instantly, grabbing Stark and dragging him down behind a nearby table.
Without hesitation, he raised his pistol and fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three consecutive shots rang out, each bullet striking the assassin squarely in the chest. The impact snapped the man backward, and his shirt quickly turned red with spreading blood.
For a moment, the bartender felt relief.
But something about the scene didn't feel right.
These assassins didn't seem like trained agents at all. Their movements were sloppy, their aim was poor, and they lacked the discipline expected from professional operatives.
Compared with SHIELD agents, their combat skills were noticeably inferior.
Still, three bullets to the chest should have been more than enough.
"Sir, let's move," the bartender said quickly as he prepared to pull Stark toward the door again.
But before they could move—
Bang! Bang!
Two gunshots echoed through the room.
The bartender's body jerked violently as the bullets tore through him.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
Slowly, he turned his head and looked at the man who had shot him.
Confusion filled his fading gaze.
Why…?
Why was that man still standing?
He had clearly been shot three times in the chest just moments earlier. The bartender had watched the blood soak through the assassin's clothes.
Based on all his training and experience, the man should already be collapsing, drifting toward unconsciousness before dying.
So why was he still moving?
Why was he still fighting?
But no one could answer the bartender's question.
His vision blurred rapidly as his strength faded. A second later, he collapsed heavily onto the floor.
"Toms!"
"Toms!"
Howard Stark remained pressed against the ground behind the table, too afraid to raise his head. When he saw the bartender's lifeless body beside him, regret and anger flashed across his face.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Another burst of gunfire ripped through the tavern, forcing Stark to duck even lower. He pulled his head back instantly, not daring to expose himself again.
Elsewhere in the room, more SHIELD agents were falling.
"Ugh—!"
"Ah—!"
One after another, the agents were shot down.
The assassins weren't numerous—there were only three of them—but they fought like unstoppable monsters.
Even when bullets struck them, they barely reacted.
They didn't dodge.
They didn't slow down.
They simply ignored the incoming fire and continued shooting mercilessly at the SHIELD agents around them.
Because of this terrifying resilience, the situation deteriorated rapidly. Within moments, the SHIELD team had suffered heavy casualties.
The battlefield was collapsing.
"Mr. Stark."
Amid the chaos, a calm voice suddenly sounded nearby.
Howard Stark turned his head and saw an extremely young face crouched beside him.
It was Rorschach.
"This place is too dangerous," Stark said urgently the moment he recognized him. "Their target isn't you. Get out of here right now!"
Stark wasn't surprised that Rorschach knew who he was. As he had said earlier, he was a public figure, and plenty of people could recognize him on sight.
Recognition itself wasn't unusual.
"Leave them to me," Rorschach said calmly. "But during this time, I need you to stay right here and not move."
"Kid, do you think this is the moment to play hero?" Stark snapped in a low voice. "This isn't a movie. People are actually dying here!"
Rorschach didn't argue.
Instead, he calmly reached down and picked up the broken neck of a shattered wine bottle lying nearby.
Without another word, he flicked his wrist.
Whoosh!
A sharp streak of light cut through the air.
The next instant—
Thud!
A spray of blood burst outward.
The shard of glass shot forward like a hidden blade and pierced directly through an assassin's wrist.
Clang!
The man's pistol dropped instantly from his hand and clattered onto the floor.
Before anyone could react, Rorschach moved again.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two more glass shards flashed through the air.
Thud! Thud!
Two muffled impacts followed almost immediately as the other two assassins were struck in their wrists. Their guns fell to the floor as well, leaving them temporarily disarmed.
Howard Stark stared at the scene with wide eyes.
"Are you kidding me?"
He looked at Rorschach as if he were seeing a monster.
Even the best SHIELD agents he knew couldn't perform a stunt like that. Not even the legendary Howling Commandos who once fought Hydra had demonstrated such precision.
Glass fragments were incredibly light and unstable.
Throwing them with enough force to pierce flesh—and doing it with this level of accuracy—was something no ordinary person could accomplish.
"Stay here," Rorschach told Stark calmly.
Then he turned toward the remaining SHIELD agents.
"You guys, fall back and protect Howard!"
Although the agents had never seen Rorschach before, they could clearly judge the situation. Without hesitation, the surviving operatives retreated and formed a defensive line around Stark.
Unfortunately, the only exit from the tavern was already blocked by the assassins.
Escaping wasn't an option.
For now, the only thing they could do was guard Stark and wait for the mysterious young man to deal with the attackers.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, Rorschach began walking toward the three assassins.
His steps were calm and steady.
Since bullets couldn't seem to kill these people, Rorschach had a different idea.
He was curious to see what would happen if their hearts were destroyed.
"I knew this mission wouldn't go smoothly."
The bald, dark-skinned assassin casually pulled the glass shard from his wrist. He didn't even blink as the wound reopened and blood dripped down his arm.
It was as if the injury didn't belong to him at all.
"Lem, this guy isn't normal," the long-haired assassin said while glancing toward their third companion. "What exactly is he?"
"I don't know what he is," the man in the shirt replied coldly while staring at Rorschach. "But he's obviously not one of those disgusting zombies."
Zombies?
The word caught Rorschach's attention.
He didn't understand what they meant, but he didn't bother asking.
Instead, he suddenly accelerated.
His body shot forward like a bullet as he rushed toward the nearest assassin.
"Perfect timing!" the bald assassin sneered. "I'll tear this guy apart!"
"Not now," Lem warned in a low voice. "Don't transform."
If they revealed their true forms in public, the consequences would become far more complicated.
"Hah. I don't even need to transform."
The bald assassin laughed cruelly and charged forward as well.
The two figures collided almost instantly.
Bang!
Crack!
A sickening sound of breaking bones echoed through the tavern.
The bald assassin was launched backward like a cannonball.
His body slammed violently into the wall before collapsing to the floor.
When he landed, he didn't move again.
His chest had completely caved in.
Rorschach's single punch had almost turned the man's ribcage into shattered pulp.
.....
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