The First Kryptonian in Marvel

General (POV)

Some days ago...

During World War II, the world knew a hero—Captain America, Steve Rogers—a man who wasn't just another soldier in the trenches but the result of a breakthrough in human enhancement. Injected with Dr. Abraham Erskine's Super Soldier Serum, Rogers became a living weapon. His body was transformed, surpassing the limits of human strength, speed, endurance, and recovery.

But the serum's success came at a cost. The Hydra assassin responsible for killing Erskine also eliminated any chance of recreating the formula—or so history claimed. What no one realized was that Erskine had a secret collaborator, Dr. Angeliki Vasilissa, a shadowy figure whose expertise rivaled his own. While Erskine's death was public knowledge, Vasilissa's role and her ability to replicate the serum were buried in classified files, sealed away even from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reach.

Post-war, attempts to replicate the serum became a national obsession. The military poured resources into countless programs, none of which came close to the perfection achieved with Rogers. General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross, however, refused to let the serum's legacy die. His obsession birthed a covert initiative to recreate the formula through alternative means. Enter Bruce Banner, a brilliant scientist whose unorthodox theories caught Ross's attention.

Banner believed gamma radiation could be the key to unlocking the serum's potential—a bold, untested hypothesis that would redefine the limits of human enhancement. But the experiment didn't just fail. It backfired catastrophically. Instead of controlled enhancement, Banner's exposure to gamma rays triggered an uncontrollable transformation. Whenever his heart rate spiked—rage, fear, or adrenaline—he became the Hulk: a towering, unstoppable force of destruction.

S.H.I.E.L.D. caught wind of Ross's experiments and the fallout surrounding Banner's transformation. For them, the stakes were clear: the Super Soldier Serum couldn't fall into military hands. S.H.I.E.L.D. launched its own investigation, monitoring Ross and tracing every lead connected to the serum's research. If Ross was playing God with science, S.H.I.E.L.D. intended to play gatekeeper.

Sarah—well-versed in the science behind Banner's transformation—knew the truth Ross and S.H.I.E.L.D. refused to accept: Banner's Hulk wasn't the byproduct of science alone. It was a fluke, a perfect storm of variables that no lab could replicate. Forcing it wouldn't just fail; it could unleash horrors beyond anyone's control.

Sarah wasn't interested in Bruce's rage-fueled alter ego itself, but rather in the emotional aspect of his power. The angrier he became, the stronger he grew. She now possessed vast reserves of nuclear energy within her pocket dimension and Shaw's ability to absorb all types of energy. However, Shaw's absorption had a limit. That was why the Hulk intrigued her: his strength increased endlessly as his anger escalated. She primarily wanted to understand how his mutation worked—though she had no intention of experimenting on herself.

With this in mind, she had been sitting in the Tech Forge, her eyes skimming over the intel Navi had scraped from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s encrypted servers. The information was thorough—Banner's past, connections, even his girlfriend Betty Ross, and the critical piece: General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross. Betty's father, a military bulldog with a reputation for stomping out fires with napalm, seemed to be the architect of Banner's worst nightmare.

Yet, despite the depth of the files, the reason for Banner's transformation into the Hulk was conspicuously vague, wrapped in bureaucratic doublespeak. "The intentionally concealed," concealed it Sarah laughed.

Still, none of this was helping her track Banner down. She closed the file with a sigh. Digging deeper could put her at odds with S.H.I.E.L.D.—something she wasn't ready to deal with yet. Navi or Ava could crack their systems like an egg, but waving a red flag at Fury? No thanks. Besides, if they did, they would have already taken him in.

Switching gears, Sarah focused on the traces Banner had left behind. The first big sighting was at the North Pole, of all places. According to the report, an avalanche had been triggered during one of Banner's transformations. S.H.I.E.L.D. had picked up on the disturbance and sent a team. Fury himself even made the trip, meeting Banner for a drink—classic Fury diplomacy.

That little meet-and-greet hadn't gone as planned. Some idiot at the bar decided it'd be fun to push Banner's buttons. Result? Hulk smashed. Bar leveled. Banner gone. Fury had written him off after that; other priorities had taken center stage.

The latest sighting? South America. Which is in line with what she remembered, but that was four months ago, and the trail had long since gone cold.

"So, he must still be in Brazil," Sarah muttered, narrowing her eyes at the map on her console. "Isn't that place the fifth largest country in the world?"

She ran through her options. Option one: boots on the ground—go to Brazil, knock on doors, ask around, maybe bribe a few locals for intel. Slow. Inefficient. Boring.

Option two was a little more promising: Betty Ross. According to the files, Betty was a major player in Banner's life. Their relationship ran deep, and if there was one thing Sarah had learned, it was that emotional connections made excellent bait. If Banner still had a soft spot for Betty, he'd surface eventually.

But thinking about Betty left Sarah scratching her head. "Wait a minute," she said aloud. "Wasn't Banner's whole 'thing' with Black Widow in the Avengers movies?" 

"Did he dump her for Natasha?" Sarah mused, half-amused. "Or did Betty ghost him? Maybe she got tired of the whole green rage monster thing. Can't say I'd blame her."

Sarah shook off the thought. Banner's love life wasn't her problem. What mattered was that Betty was important to him—maybe even enough to draw him out of hiding.

If she were right, Sarah wouldn't have to set foot in Brazil. But that option may come with dangers. She was definitely too fragile to deal with the Hulk.

Just as Sarah was lost in thought, Karen waltzed in, pulling a stack of photos from her pocket like she was about to present a Pulitzer-worthy scoop.

"Hey, Sarah, check this out," Karen said, leaning over the desk with a conspiratorial grin.

"What now?" Sarah sighed, her train of thought derailed. She took the photos and glanced at them.

Karen tapped the blurry image in the center. "The legendary Red Reaper."

Sarah blinked, her expression freezing mid-smirk. The blurry figure on a motorcycle in the photo was unmistakably her, though the poor quality made it impossible to tell. The image screamed urban myth fodder, not hard evidence.

She leaned back, playing it cool. "Red Reaper, huh?"

Karen nodded eagerly, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Yeah, have you heard the stories? There's this legend from Hell's Kitchen and Manhattan about a vigilante who shows up at night and punishes criminals who slipped through the cracks of the system. Kind of like an avenging angel, except, you know… with more black fire and motorcycles."

Sarah tilted her head, feigning curiosity. "Sounds fascinating, but what does this have to do with me?"

Karen squinted at her, leaning closer. "Well, nothing… unless there's something you're not telling me?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow, deflecting. "The only thing I'm guilty of is binge-watching trashy detective dramas. Don't get too excited."

Karen, oblivious to Sarah's internal panic, continued, spreading out the photos on the desk. "But here's the thing—these photos? They're legit. I triple-checked. No Photoshop, no tampering. This means Red Reaper is real."

Sarah fought the urge to groan. She knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had been scrubbing Red Reaper sightings for weeks, burying the legend under layers of classified files and disinformation campaigns. Of course, leave it to Karen to stumble on an original photo somehow.

Karen pressed on, her enthusiasm building. "If we break this story, the Hell's Kitchen locals will eat it up. They love Red Reaper. A vigilante taking out scum that even the law can't touch? It's like something out of a comic book!"

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Karen, you might want to pump the brakes on this one."

"What? Why?" Karen's expression shifted to confusion, her enthusiasm dimming only slightly.

"Because," Sarah said carefully, "you're poking a bear. A big, fire-breathing bear named Nick Fury. If Red Reaper is real—and I'm not saying she is—then there's no way S.H.I.E.L.D. will let you report it. Not without consequences."

Karen frowned. "You sound like you know more about this than you're letting on…"

Sarah hesitated. She could either deflect again and risk Karen digging deeper, or…

Making a decision, she gestured for Karen to wait. "Hold on." Sarah tapped her bracelet, activating Navi. "Scan Karen for surveillance devices."

A second later, Navi's voice chimed in her earpiece. "No monitoring devices detected."

Sarah leaned forward, dropping her voice. "Fine. You want the truth? I am the Red Reaper."

Karen blinked. "Come again?"

Sarah straightened, her face deadpan. "You heard me. I'm the Red Reaper. Surprise."

Karen laughed nervously. "Right. And I'm Captain Marvel. Good one, Sarah."

Sarah didn't flinch. She just stared, letting the silence hang in the air.

The smile faded from Karen's face. "Wait… you're serious?"

Sarah smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

Karen's jaw dropped. "Holy—so all those stories, the flames, the vengeance… that's you?"

"Yeah. Kind of happened when I was dealing with Fisk for you. And before you ask, no, I don't ride around every night hunting bad guys in Hell's Kitchen anymore, that is Daredevil's job now… situational gig." Sarah waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, now you know. So let's keep this between us, shall we? You wouldn't want Fury showing up on your doorstep, would you?"

Karen sat back, still processing. "This is insane…"

"Welcome to my world," Sarah said with a wink. "Now, how about we shelve that story idea? For your own safety, of course."

Karen shook her head slowly, her excitement replaced by joy. "No way, I am shelving this story."

"Give me something to impress Jameson. I am just interning now, and this could be my ticket in," Karen pleaded.

Sarah sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter as she studied Karen's determined expression. The woman had the look of someone who wasn't going to let this go without a fight—or at least a good amount of teasing.

"You know you're relentless, right?" Sarah finally said, raising an eyebrow.

Karen smirked, clearly taking that as a compliment. "You're the one who just admitted to being a supernatural vigilante. You really thought I'd let you off that easy?"

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Exclusive interview. But not here, and not now. My life's complicated enough without S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra catching wind of this conversation. She was well aware that Hydra S.H.I.E.L.D. was trying to figure out who the red-hooded blonde was.

Karen tilted her head thoughtfully. "Fair. But don't think I'm letting you wiggle out of this later. You owe me a scoop, babe." She wiggled her fingers dramatically as she said that

Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at her lips. "You better remember that, your one and only babe."

"Of course, I will," Karen said with a casual wave of her hand. "My babe, a spooky biker chick with a secret life."

Sarah gave her a mock glare. "You're lucky you're cute."

Karen's grin widened. "I know."

The mood lightened, but Sarah's mind remained partially preoccupied. Telling Karen had been a risk—a calculated one—but a risk nonetheless. Karen could easily become a target of Hydra S.H.I.E.L.D. It wasn't a comforting thought.

"Listen, Karen," Sarah said, her tone shifting to something softer, more serious. "I need you to promise me something."

Karen's teasing expression faded as she picked up on Sarah's change in demeanor. "What is it?"

"If anyone ever comes asking about the Red Reaper—if anyone tries to press you about what you know—you don't say a word. You don't even hint. It's too dangerous."

Karen nodded solemnly. "I promise, Sarah. I won't say anything to anyone."

Sarah studied her face for a long moment before nodding. "Good. Just… be careful. You might think all of this is a big adventure, but it's not a game. People have died because of what I've done."

Karen placed a hand on Sarah's arm, her touch grounding. "I get it. And I know you're trying to protect me, but you don't have to do this alone. You've got me, okay?"

Sarah hesitated, the words catching in her throat. She wasn't used to relying on others—or letting them into the mess that was her life. But Karen's sincerity was hard to ignore.

"Okay," Sarah finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Karen gave her a reassuring squeeze before stepping back, her mischievous grin returning. "Now, about that exclusive interview. I'm thinking we do it over dinner. My treat."

Sarah let out a groan, though there was no real frustration behind it. "You're impossible."

"And you're stuck with me," Karen shot back, grabbing her coat. "Think about what you're going to say—I want all the juicy details. No holding back."

...

Some days later...

Kara lounged on the plush sofa, her laptop perched on her knees as lines of code scrolled across the screen. One name kept popping up in her searches: Ulysses Klaue. Buying directly from him? Yeah, right. That'd set her back a cool two hundred million per kilo. No way. Even if she had that kind of money to burn, she wasn't about to bankroll a sleazeball like Klaue. 

The properties of vibranium made it essential for her plans. She'd managed to get her hands on some vibranium. Enough to actually test out her theories. The scraps she'd scored before? Not even close to what she needed.

In time, this wouldn't even be a problem. Once her Matter Synthesizer was perfected, she'd be able to produce vibranium artificially—enough to support her work and keep her pockets lined. But for now, she had to play the scavenger, hunting for a stash big enough to tide her over.

Her lips curled into a humorless smirk. Why does the worst stuff always lead back to the worst people? Klaue's fingerprints were smeared all over the vibranium market. He wasn't just a middleman; he was a parasite, profiting off stolen Wakandan resources.

Kara's fingers danced over the keyboard, sifting through encrypted forums and dark-net chatter. Finally, she struck gold—or rather, vibranium. A hidden network of mercenaries was planning an audacious heist, targeting Wakanda itself. Their online conversations were cloaked in layers of amateur encryption, which might have deterred someone less skilled. For Kara, it was child's play.

"Ballsy crew," Kara muttered, amusement flickering through her circuits. "Bunch of no-names aiming to crack Wakanda's defenses for some vibranium. Wonder where they got that bright idea..."

The threads, unsurprisingly, led back to him. Klaue had been running vibranium heists for years, using mercenaries to do his dirty work. His biggest success had come with the help of Prince N'Jobu, a traitor within Wakanda. But even without an inside man, Klaue kept the game going, orchestrating small, frequent raids that left Wakanda annoyed but never crippled.

The stolen vibranium wasn't just sitting in some hidden vault, either. Klaue funneled it straight into the black market, controlling enough of the supply to set absurd prices. His operation wasn't flawless, though. The frequency of the heists left a trail—one Kara had no trouble following.

There's always a pattern if you know where to look.

As she pieced together the evidence, a plan began to form. She'd create a new identity, infiltrate their ranks, and use the heist to get what she needed, and then vanish.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard as she considered the plan. Wakanda didn't take kindly to intruders, and having the outside world know about their existence, maybe she could also use that to her advantage.

With a few keystrokes, Kara scooped up this incriminating evidence with surgical precision. "Wakanda is going to appreciate this," she mused. Then she crafted her new persona: a hardened mercenary with a mysterious past and just enough credibility to avoid suspicion. 

"The disguise wouldn't hold up under close scrutiny, but it didn't need to. By the time they realized they'd been played, they would be dead," Kara said to herself as she leaned back in her chair, with a big smile plastered on her face.

...

Later that night, Illyana set out to recruit. The city after dark was a jungle—alive, feral, and teeming with opportunities lurking in its shadows. She smirked, recalling Kara's earlier instructions.

"Queens and Brooklyn are crawling with clanless vampires," her queen had said, her tone dripping with disdain. "Filthy mongrels, but they'll do—for now."

Illyana sighed, balancing her disgust with resolve. "For the mission," she muttered to herself, her voice quiet but sharp.

Her movements were quick and deliberate. She darted across the rooftops of adjoining apartment blocks, her boots brushing gravel with every silent landing. The city stretched out before her, a maze of flickering streetlights and dim alleys. She leaped from one building to the next, landing lightly on a fire escape, then climbed higher to scan the streets below.

The scent hit her first—metallic, salty, and tinged with fear. It made her pause, and she crouched on the ledge.

"This alley… smells interesting."

She dropped down deftly, descending via fire escapes and window ledges, her boots finding purchase on precarious footholds. She landed silently in the alley below, her sharp gaze cutting through the dim light. Then she heard it—a voice trembling, barely audible over the city's ambient hum.

"Please… don't…"

Illyana's lips quirked into a faint smile as the scene unfolded. A young woman, barely more than a girl, was backed into a corner by three vampires. Their intentions were clear, and they were far too distracted to notice her arrival.

"She's perfect," the dark-haired one said, his voice split between hunger and hesitation. "Do we drain her completely?"

"Or maybe…" His grin stretched, malicious and feral.

"Erik, don't drag me into your mess," another vampire warned. This one was blonde, clean-cut, and dressed like a Wall Street broker. "If Zoe finds out, we're toast."

"Oh, come on, Victor," Erik chided, his tone dripping with mockery. "No one has to know. She's a virgin." He turned to the trembling woman, his leering grin exposing sharp teeth. "Right, Red?"

The third vampire, bulkier and brown-haired, smirked. "I'm in."

From her vantage in the shadows, Illyana rolled her eyes. Virgin blood? How cliché. At least I won't have to stomach another synthetic blood pack tonight.

"Shadow Arrow," she whispered.

Arrows of dark energy streaked through the air, piercing the vampires like bolts of vengeance. Erik barely had time to snarl before the magic shredded him into ash.

"Who—" Victor began, but a second blast silenced him just as quickly.

Illyana stepped into the dim light, her piercing gaze falling on the woman. She was trembling but alive, her soft features framed by disheveled blonde hair. Blood speckled her lips, and her wide eyes shone with both fear and relief.

"Моя королева… пусть эта девушка будет красивой. Я умираю с голода," Illyana muttered in russian 

"Thank you… I'm okay now," the woman stammered, brushing hair from her face.

Illyana's breath hitched for a moment. Pretty. Very pretty. She swallowed hard, her voice softening. "Do you need a ride home?"

"I… twisted my ankle. If you wouldn't mind?"

Illyana didn't hesitate, scooping her into her arms with supernatural ease. The woman's flustered protests only made Illyana's grin widen.

"I don't mind," she said smoothly, her tone as silky as the shadows around them, taking a sniff from the woman's neck.

"W-what's your name?" the woman asked, her curiosity breaking through her nervousness.

"Illyana Velikova," she replied. Her smirk sharpened. "And you?"

"Candice. Candice Conner."

"How did you end up here, Candice?"

"That man… he was my date," Candice began, her voice shaky. "We were supposed to meet to go to a restaurant, but then…"

Illyana's sharp gaze flicked back to the now-ashen remains of the vampires. "The one in the suit?"

"Yeah. That's him."

"Good. He's gone now."

Illyana carried Candice moving away from the alley, their silhouettes disappearing into the shadows of the endless city night.