Marvel: Incursio

As I walked back through the bloodstained halls toward the main room, a strange thought surfaced in my mind. 'When did I change so much?' I used to be an ordinary person—someone who cared. Now, here I was, leaving a trail of bodies behind me, and I felt... nothing. No guilt, no sorrow.

'Is this really me?' I thought, the silence broken only by the sound of my footsteps.

But as I stepped back into the main room, the smell of blood hit me again. The bodies littered the floor, some still with expressions of shock frozen on their faces. Amongst them were the whimpering voices of the hostages—the two kids and couple huddled together in the corner, eyes wide with terror. The kids were quiet now, having already cried until they couldn't anymore.

Liam was already crouching near them, checking on their condition. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, though the terror in their eyes told him the answer. None of them spoke. They just nodded their heads, too traumatized to find words. 'The old lady who had been shot earlier—she didn't make it'. Her body lay nearby, motionless, cold. Liam had already checked her and knew there was nothing more that could be done.

"Come with me," I said, my voice low and steady as I motioned to the survivors. I led them down the stairs, retracing the path the gang members had forced me along earlier. My mind wandered from the exhaustion, but the sight of the four broken hostages kept me alert. They were scared of me, the blood that covered me from head to toe and what they had witnessed me do.

As we reached the basement where the larger group of captives was held, panic spread. The dimly lit room was filled with gasps and cries. Some captives immediately started to cry, while others screamed. Others remained in a trauma-induced silence. 'These people used to be full of life, now they are nothing more than empty shells.' Liam thought, looking at their empty eyes.

I raised my hands slightly, trying to show I meant no harm. "You're safe now," I said, addressing the captives. "If anyone's seriously hurt, tell me. We'll get help. But we need to leave here, now."

Fear swept through the room, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. I could feel my own heart pounding. I could barely process what I was seeing—the faces of those who had suffered at the hands of the Yakuza, still shaking from the trauma of their captivity.

I saw an elderly man slumped against the wall, his breathing shallow. I turned, my eyes scanning the room for others until they landed on the elderly man again.

Without hesitation, I approached him, lifting him gently with my arms. "I've got you," I murmured. The old man seemed to relax slightly as I carried him on my back.

"There are twenty-five of you in total," I said, my voice steady despite the enorm exhaustion weighing down on me. "We need to get out of here." Some of the hostages covered their mouths in horror at the scene, and I saw one of the younger women pale, on the verge of fainting. Still, I pushed forward, getting them all outside.

Once we stepped into the open air, I gently put the old man down and pulled out a phone I had taken from one of the dead guards, dialing the police. As the phone rang in my ear, I glanced back at the survivors, who were huddled together near the entrance. "The police are on their way," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "Stay here and wait for them." I didn't wait for a response. I couldn't stay any longer. Without another word, I turned and walked away.

-----

Captain Jim Roberts was used to bad nights, but when one of his officers called him, voice shaky, telling him to "rush over and bring backup," he knew something was very wrong. The retching sounds in the background only made it worse.

"What's going on?" he muttered to himself, gripping the wheel as his car sped through the streets of the city with his siren on. He had a bad feeling about this. Another gang-related mess, probably, but the terror in his officer's voice gnawed at him.

As he navigated the roads toward the location, his thoughts raced, trying to predict what was going on this time. Every siren in the distance increased the seriousness of the situation. He clenched his jaw, preparing himself for whatever he would find.

Arriving at the scene, his unease only deepened. Officers were already there, guiding disoriented victims into ambulances. Medics worked tirelessly to stabilize the people, their movements efficient but busy. He scanned the crowd—'there has to be at least twenty of them.' Abused, beaten, tortured, some barely able to stand on their own. As he got out of the car, he was met with a wave of confusion and dread.

"What the hell happened here?" he murmured, his gut churning. One of his more experienced officers, Sergeant Harris, approached, his face grim.

"These people were hostages, sir. Freed from a Yakuza hideout."

Roberts nodded slowly. "By who? Was this some kind of gang war?"

Harris shook his head, looking troubled. "No, sir. Not a gang war. According to the victims who weren't too traumatized to speak... it was all done by one person."

Roberts felt his blood run cold. "One person did... all this?"

"Yes, sir. Follow me, but brace yourself—this is one of the most gruesome crimescenes I've seen in my career."

As they walked toward the building, Roberts passed the first two bodies. He immediately understood Harris's warning. The victims were unrecognizable—mutilated beyond anything he had seen before. The smell of blood hung thick in the air, the stench growing stronger with each step inside the hallway.

"Jesus..." Roberts muttered under his breath as he passed four more mutilated bodies. "This isn't the worst of it, Chief," Harris said, his skin paling as he forced himself to keep walking.

When they reached the main room, Roberts stopped cold. He had seen horrific crime scenes before, but this... this was something else. The floor was destroyed, filled with blood, and severed body parts were everywhere. The walls were splattered with blood and deep cuts, and in the middle of it all lay mutilated corpses in grotesque positions. The bodies ranged from simple decapitation to being cut in half.

His stomach turned, and he had to fight the urge to vomit. "Who could do something like this?" he whispered, more to himself than to Harris. "Are we even dealing with a human?"

Harris stayed quiet, his own face pale. Roberts turned and left the room quickly, pulling out his phone as soon as he was clear of the stench. His hands trembled as he dialed his immediate superior, Lieutenant Stevens.

"Lieutenant, I need you to come down here. We've got a major situation. You need to see this for yourself," Roberts said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

"Roberts, what's happening? Tell me the specifics," Stevens replied, urgency in his tone.

"I can't explain everything over the phone. Just get here fast. We're going to need backup and possibly additional resources. This can't be the work of a normal human," Roberts's voice trembled slightly as he cast another glance at the horrific scene.

"Normal human? What do you mean by that?" Stevens asked, his brow furrowing.

"I... I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think it's time to reach out to S.H.I.E.L.D.," Roberts said. He could feel that this wasn't something an ordinary human could do.

"Are you sure? They don't exactly get involved for just any situation," Stevens cautioned.

"Trust me. This isn't just any situation. I'll explain everything when you arrive. Just make the call." Roberts insisted.

"Understood. I'll make the call," Stevens said before hanging up.

Roberts took a deep breath, S.H.I.E.L.D. needed to be involved in this incident, which was far beyond a typical gang-related cleanup..

----

A black van pulled up quietly, its tires crunching over the shattered glass and debris. Coulson stepped out, his eyes scanning the scene. As he approached the crime scene, he muttered to himself, "What am I going to find this time?"

His instincts kicked in, alerting him to the tension in the air. It was a sensation he had learned to trust over the years, especially when the stakes were high.

He spotted Captain Roberts speaking with an officer and walked over. "Captain," Coulson called out, his tone serious, "I'm Agent Coulson from Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. I need a full briefing. What exactly are we dealing with here?''

Roberts glanced up, visibly shaken but composed. "A massacre, according to witness statements, one person did this. We need you to see it for yourself."