Marvel: Shadow Thief "Solo Levelling System in Marvel"

Shameless Note from a Shameless Author 😎

Alright, here it is. I'm feeling pretty motivated and generous, so here's an extra chapter today, for Christmas, you know? 🎄✨ But if you want more double releases like this, you know what to do: show some love in the comments! And if you're feeling extra generous... well, a powerstone never hurt, right? 💎🔥

Come on, what are you waiting for? Drop your comments, and I'll catch you in the next one! 😜

—

Just as the mysterious man raised his arm to grab Max's neck, Max reacted instinctively. With agility forged by leaping between buildings, he quickly ducked, letting the chair fall alongside his body. His heart pounded wildly, unsure of what to do next. The man's arm swept just centimeters from his neck, but Max, in a quick motion, managed to kick the man's forearm, deflecting the blow just in time. Falling to the ground, he rolled backward, evading the grasp skillfully, but the man didn't stop. Unfazed by the impact, he followed closely.

Inside the precinct, the officers heard the struggle and tried to enter, but the door was locked. They banged and shouted, but there was no response. Max was too focused on the man in front of him. Though he stood at 1.8 meters tall, his thin, malnourished body was no match for this individual, whose physique clearly reflected years of training. Max had never practiced martial arts or lifted weights, but his ability to run and jump had given him an edge in extreme situations.

The space was small, a typical interrogation room, just a few square meters. Max couldn't rely solely on his speed, so he used everything around him: he jumped onto the table, used the chair as a shield. Every move was a desperate attempt to buy time. But the man, relentless, cornered him. Max tried to move, but he couldn't avoid being caught. The man grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt. With a sharp pull, Max tried to free himself, but it was too late. The man had him, and his grip was strong and firm, like that of a trained professional.

The banging on the door grew louder, but the reinforced lock held firm. Max's breathing became labored, his vision blurred as the man tightened his grip on his neck. Air was scarce. The attacker's hands closed tighter, and Max could barely think. He was about to lose consciousness when the sound of a helicopter jolted him back to awareness.

The precinct door burst open. Nick Fury, descending from his helicopter, had arrived. Rushing in, he flashed his identification and scanned the chaotic hallway. The officers blocking the door were pushed aside with a single motion from Fury, and without hesitation, he drew his weapon. With precision, he shot at the door hinges, destroying them and forcing his way in.

Entering the room, Fury saw the man almost on top of Max, his arm still wrapped around the young man's neck. Without hesitation, Fury fired his handgun, hitting the attacker's shoulder. The impact was immediate, and the man released Max, falling back with a growl of pain. Max, gasping for air, collapsed to the ground, coughing and struggling to breathe but still conscious.

Fury wasted no time. He knew he couldn't afford any mistakes. He quickly approached the attacker, who was trying to recover from the shot, and from his belt, he pulled out an electric device, one of those that deliver a direct shock on contact. Without hesitation, he activated it and jabbed it into the man's torso. The electric current surged through him immediately, causing his body to convulse briefly before falling limp to the floor, incapable of continuing the fight.

With the attacker neutralized, Fury turned to Max, who was still trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Fury applied the same shock to Max, knocking him unconscious on the spot. The tension in the room dissipated with the fall of both men, leaving a heavy silence in the air.

—

From the holding cell, Scott sat on the edge of the metallic bench, drumming his fingers against the wall to kill time. Suddenly, there were bangs, muffled voices, and hurried footsteps, as if several officers were gathering near the room where they had taken Max.

"What the hell's going on in there?" he thought, straining to see down the empty hallway in front of him.

Then, the sound of a door slamming open reached him, followed by a low murmur. Just seconds later, Scott saw a man in a black trench coat walk down the corridor, exuding authority, with an eye patch adding to his unsettling presence. Something about his stride was unnerving—confident, like someone who had seen far more than they should. Scott squinted, watching him silently until he disappeared around the corner.

A series of gunshots echoed next, causing Scott to jump from his seat and press himself against the bars.

"What the hell was that?" he murmured, moving closer to the bars with curiosity and a tinge of concern.

The silence that followed felt heavier than ever. He couldn't see anything from his position, but the noises were enough to let his imagination run wild. Something serious was happening. Then, a final shot and a scream pierced the air.

Scott pressed his face against the bars, trying to catch even a glimpse of what was going on. He then distinctly heard a loud thud, as if something heavy had fallen to the ground, followed by a strange, electric hum that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Scott frowned. Something about this situation didn't sit right. It was as if the entire precinct had been turned upside down in a matter of minutes. And somehow, it all seemed to revolve around that kid he'd been caught with: Max.

"This can't be a coincidence," Scott thought, gripping the bars as he tried to listen for more. Though he couldn't see it, he had the feeling that the man with the patch had something to do with the chaos. And the question he couldn't stop asking himself was: why is Max?

The electric hum returned, this time fainter but still audible to Scott. Then, the sound of boots moving through the room marked the end of the fight. Everything fell silent for a moment, except for his own breathing and the faint murmurs of officers in the distance.

When he finally saw the man with the patch exit the room, carrying an unconscious Max over his shoulder while other agents dragged the other man out, Scott knew he wouldn't get answers anytime soon. But something inside him told him he'd been caught up in something much bigger than he'd imagined. And though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he was starting to feel curious.

—

As the helicopter soared through the night sky, the constant sound of the blades filled the silence among the passengers. Fury sat across from Max, who remained unconscious, his head tilted and a serene expression contrasting with the chaos from earlier. Beside him, the other man was equally out cold, restrained with cuffs and guarded by two armed agents.

With more questions than answers, Fury leaned forward, studying Max's face. Who the hell was this kid? The image of the man trying to choke the young man replayed in his mind. There was something strange about the situation, something that didn't add up, but Fury couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He glanced at Max again and let out a heavy sigh. When did this kid grow up so much? Fury remembered the day he held him in his arms for the first time. Damn it, he was his godfather. Clare had insisted he accept, despite his initial objections. He'd never considered himself the type to be anyone's godfather, but Clare had a way of convincing him to do things no one else could.

"He looks so much like Clare," Fury thought to himself, letting a wave of nostalgia hit him. His eyes, the way his lips curled even while unconscious. Clare's image overlapped with Max's. Damn it, Clare. You left this kid in this world, and now look at him—caught up in trouble far bigger than he can handle.

He ran a hand over the patch on his eye, a gesture he made when his mind was particularly burdened. Something isn't right here. That man knew who Maximus was, that much was clear. But why try to kill him instead of interrogating or taking him alive?

The helicopter began to descend with a slight tremor as the city lights disappeared below, replaced by the dimness of a less-traveled area. Through the window, Fury watched the landscape change—from lit streets and tall buildings to an industrial area filled with abandoned structures and cargo depots. It was the kind of place no one would think twice about stopping at, let alone searching for something important.

The helicopter landed at what appeared to be an old cargo depot, surrounded by rusted cranes and containers randomly stacked, most of them covered in graffiti and neglected by time. There were no signs, just the sound of the blades slowly fading.

"Disembark quickly," Fury ordered the agents as he adjusted his leather jacket. Next to him, Max and the man who had attacked him remained unconscious, swiftly being taken away by a couple of agents who placed them on stretchers.

The air smelled of dampness and rust, mixed with the faint scent of oil from a nearby refinery. In the distance, a cargo train passed, squealing over the tracks, its deep rumble complementing the desolate atmosphere.

However, behind this forgotten façade, there was something more. One of the agents approached a hidden panel on the warehouse wall, sliding a device that looked like a simple barcode scanner. After a few seconds, the heavy metal door emitted a soft hum and began to open with a creak, revealing an underground elevator that seemed out of place in such a location.

"Always impresses me how discreet this place is," one of the agents murmured while pushing Max's stretcher toward the elevator. Fury, never taking his eyes off the young man, simply grunted in response.

The descent was quick, and when the elevator doors opened, it revealed a world completely different from the outside. The gray walls of the tunnel gave way to a bustling nerve center. Agents dressed in black hurriedly walked by, some with folders in hand, others with technological devices that looked straight out of a futuristic lab.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters was a mix of practical and advanced design. Despite the dim lighting that gave the place an air of secrecy, it was filled with workstations displaying maps of the world, live broadcasts, and data charts that could barely be processed with a quick glance.

At the back, a large holographic screen projected a global view, with bright dots indicating suspicious activity or ongoing missions. Conversations crossed the air: field updates, intelligence reports, technical discussions. Everything seemed calculated and efficient, but there was also an underlying tension, as if the world might collapse at any moment.

Fury moved with purpose behind the stretchers, his face grim, reflecting the tangled thoughts racing through his mind. As they walked down the corridors, the environment shifted, from operational areas to a more restricted section of the headquarters. At one point, they passed a hallway flanked by a glass-walled room where various alien artifacts and experimental technology pieces rested under strict surveillance. The glow of the lights reflected off the display cases, giving the place an almost unreal atmosphere. The contrast between the chaos of the outside world and the meticulous organization within these facilities was overwhelming. Here, everything was under control, cold, and calculated, a sanctuary for strategy and prevention.

Finally, they arrived at the interrogation room. Fury stopped in front of the door and ordered the agents accompanying him to move the unconscious man inside. The two operatives obeyed, securing the man in the chair in the center of the room while Fury watched in silence, his arms crossed.

The interior of the room was functional and austere, designed with a single purpose: to extract information. The gray, bare walls emphasized the feeling of isolation and tension. A single lamp hung from the ceiling, its bright light focusing on the metal chair in the center of the room. In front of it, a reinforced table completed the sparse furniture. There were no windows or decorations to distract; only a camera discreetly placed in a corner recorded every detail, every movement. The atmosphere was thick with a sense of impending urgency, as if the room itself whispered that there was no space for lies or evasion here.

Fury adjusted his jacket and entered, closing the door behind him with a decisive movement as the agents finished securing the prisoner.

Once they secured the prisoner, Fury headed to the door where Maria Hill was already waiting for him. As always, her posture was impeccable, exuding authority and professionalism. Maria Hill, deputy director of S.H.I.E.L.D., was a woman of medium height, her dark hair tied up in a bun that never seemed to come undone. Her standard black suit fit her like a second skin, reflecting her practical and decisive character. She was known for her efficiency, loyalty, and almost superhuman ability to remain calm under pressure.

"Hill, identify him," Fury ordered, nodding toward the unconscious man in the chair. "I want all the information on this subject on my device in five minutes."

"Understood, Director," Hill responded with her firm and unwavering tone.

When Hill turned to leave, Fury stopped her with a new order:

"Ah, and get in touch with former agent Clare Jones. Tell her we have her son in our custody. Inform her that Max is safe and sound, but will remain here until further notice. And make sure she doesn't worry, at least not more than necessary."

"Immediately, sir," Hill replied, leaving the room with quick and determined steps.

As Hill walked out, Fury took a seat in front of the prisoner, mentally going over what he knew. It wasn't long before his device vibrated, displaying the dossier that Hill had prepared with her characteristic efficiency. After briefly reviewing the data, Fury turned his attention back to the man.

He pulled a syringe from his jacket containing a translucent liquid with a faint glow under the light. It was a chemical compound from S.H.I.E.L.D., specifically designed to counteract sedatives and rapidly activate the nervous system. Without hesitation, Fury leaned forward and injected the liquid into the man's arm.

The effect was immediate. The man woke up with a gasp, his eyes wide open as he struggled to understand where he was. He twisted in the chair, but the reinforced ropes binding him left him with no room to move.

"Oh, you're awake now, Roderick Kessler," Fury said, leaning slightly toward him, his voice deep and laced with authority. "Thirty-six years old. Former private contractor in Eastern Europe. Cybersecurity specialist and undercover operations... Or at least, that's what your official records say."

"We know a lot more than your official records show. What doesn't appear in any public database, but does in ours, is that you're subject number 378 of Hydra that S.H.I.E.L.D. has captured."

Kessler's eyes narrowed, filled with rage, but a twisted smile began to form on his lips, as if he enjoyed the game. Fury wasn't in the mood for games and made it clear with a piercing stare, waiting for the answers he intended to get sooner or later.

Roderick let out a raspy laugh, which quickly turned into a dry cough.

"Oh, Director Fury... always so efficient. What can I say? You've done your homework well."

"Enough to know you attacked a young man who shouldn't have any connection to you or your people. So explain to me: why Max Jones? What interest does Hydra have in him?"

Roderick slowly lifted his head, a twisted smile forming on his lips. His gaze had an unsettling gleam, as if he enjoyed the situation.

"Do you really think I'll tell you anything, Director? You should already know how we operate."

Fury crossed his arms, his patience wearing thin.

"I've had a long day, Kessler. Don't make me waste any more of my time."

"Waste time?" Roderick said, letting out another bitter laugh. "This is just getting started. You already know us, Director. Hydra keeps operating, growing, strengthening its roots where least expected. Do you know why? Because when you cut off one head..."

Fury stepped forward, but Roderick didn't finish.

"...two more appear," he continued, with an intensity that echoed in the room. "Hail Hydra."

Before Fury could react, Roderick clenched his teeth. A crack echoed in the room, followed by white foam starting to pour from his mouth.

"Shit!" Fury exclaimed, realizing he had bitten down on a cyanide capsule. Roderick's body began to convulse, his movements limited by the reinforced ropes, until his head finally fell forward, lifeless.

Fury gritted his teeth, watching with a mix of frustration and bitterness as the Hydra agent's lifeless body slumped.

"These guys always do the same thing," he muttered under his breath, before activating his communicator. "Hill, subject 378 from Hydra is dead. Proceed with the full identification and log the event as a possible active Hydra threat."

"Understood, sir," Hill responded on the other end of the device.

Fury let out a heavy sigh. Hydra never failed to be a thorn in his side, and this situation only confirmed that the ghosts of the past were still alive and more dangerous than ever.