Proposal

The red-haired girl and the white-haired boy were cornered against the wall of an alley, surrounded by three or five burly men who looked none too bright. Their leader was a nearly two-meter-tall Black man with a vicious, brutal face, flashing a mouthful of healthy white teeth when he grinned.

He braced one hand against the wall, his broad shoulders blocking the girl's path, his breath heavy as a bull's. The red-haired girl had to tilt her head back to meet the giant's gaze, yet she did not look the least bit afraid.

The story itself was not complicated. After leaving Baron Strucker's base, the twins—naturally, Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver—had wandered about aimlessly. Once out of the forest, they soon found the nearest town. Public safety in this area was clearly far from ideal, however, and before long, they had been blocked here by these muscle-bound idiots.

"This isn't a good idea, wandering around a place like this without adults," the Black man said with a strange low laugh. "Especially for a girl like you. You ought to have a little more awareness of your own safety."

The alley was not very deep. Pedestrians occasionally passed outside, and some would cast an extra glance in this direction, but clearly no one wanted to meddle in someone else's business.

The girl folded her arms and said coldly, with undisguised disgust, "Drop those filthy thoughts and get lost while you still have the chance."

The Black man turned to look at his companions. "She told us to get lost while we still have the chance!" The men exchanged glances and burst out laughing.

Quicksilver shot his sister a sidelong look. "Should I handle this, or do you want to do it yourself?"

Scarlet Witch said nothing, but her actions answered for her. Scarlet magic crept into her bright black eyes, and before the surging power had even taken shape, it seemed to lower the air temperature by several degrees.

The Black man removed his hand from the wall and instinctively took a step back. "What the hell?"

But before the witch could cast her spell, the target before her took a solid punch to the face. Spittle flew from his mouth as his head snapped aside, and he collapsed to the ground without another sound.

She froze, and the crimson glow in her pupils faded unconsciously, quickly returning to normal.

The one who had acted was a young man of average height. He wore a black long coat with a standing collar, gleaming custom-made leather shoes, and a distinctive hairstyle that had clearly been tended by an expert. Judging by both his attire and presence, someone like him belonged somewhere prosperous, like the financial district—not in this obscure, economically depressed town.

The other bruisers were clearly somewhat intimidated, but if they turned and ran now that their boss had been taken down, it would be far too embarrassing. After a brief hesitation, the remaining men shouted and charged forward. Yet within the next few blinks, one had his arm twisted apart, another had his jaw shattered, and a third was tripped by the man mid-charge. He crashed face-first onto the ground and broke his nose, curling up and groaning as he clutched it.

After disposing of these hulking men, who hardly even counted as trouble, in a few moves, Michael Passo straightened the collar of his coat and turned around.

"All right, I didn't actually need help." Scarlet Witch glanced at the groaning men sprawled all over the ground. "But thank you for stepping in anyway."

"I'm quite certain you didn't need to act, Miss Maximoff," Michael said. "But I was merely saving time for both of us—we both know that using your abilities just now would have caused a disturbance."

"You know about my abilities. Wait, you know my name too?" The girl was surprised, and at the same time became wary. Quicksilver was the same. Upon hearing this, he casually lowered his folded arms, as though guarding against the man suddenly making a move.

"Wanda Maximoff and Pietro Maximoff. Of course, I know most things about you. Besides, we have technically met before."

Michael casually formed a hand seal, and sparks swirled in his palm to form a simple Magic Circle.

"It's you!" Wanda said in surprise.

"It's me. Don't bother—you know you can't read my mind." Michael spread his fingers, extinguishing the Magic Circle, then cast a glance at Pietro, who looked ready to fight. "And by the way, you owe me your life. No need to thank me."

"Since you're here, Strucker must already be finished," Wanda asked cautiously. "What do you want?"

"Strucker is indeed finished, and so is Hydra. But I'm reorganizing and consolidating Hydra's remaining forces, building a new organization atop the ruins. A better organization." Michael said, "And I'm offering you an invitation. I hope you'll consider joining."

"'A better Hydra.' That's almost a joke," Pietro quipped.

"I'm working on that." Michael did not mind the sarcasm. "You can be surprised once I'm finished."

"So why do you think we'd agree?" Wanda frowned. "Whether you want to create another Hydra to control the world, or turn it into another S.H.I.E.L.D., why do you think we'd care?"

"Because you don't look like you have anywhere better to go, and I'm offering you a job with food, lodging, and pay." Michael paused, then added with special emphasis to Wanda, "Also, I know you want greater power, and I happen to be very interested in your abilities. So here's the deal—you let me study your power, and I can teach you how to control and use it better. Trust me, you haven't even uncovered the surface of your own potential."

Wanda said in surprise, "You understand my power?"

"Not extensively, but far better than you understand it yourself. We can figure it out together later." Michael slipped both hands into his coat pockets. "Of course, assuming you don't reject the offer."

Wanda instinctively turned to look at her brother. The instant their eyes met, they understood each other's thoughts.

She nodded lightly.

"Excellent. I didn't think you would refuse."

Michael lightly drew a circle in the air with his right hand. A circular magic portal spun open in a shower of sparks before the twins' astonished eyes. He took the lead through it, only to find that the siblings had stopped at the other side of the portal, still staring in shock rather than following.

"What?" Michael spread his hands. "Were you expecting to take a plane?"

Daniel Whitehall, one of Hydra's last surviving leaders, was sitting behind a mahogany desk, reviewing a thick file through round lenses that reflected a cold gleam.

Not long ago, the branch under Whitehall's command had also suffered a sudden strike from S.H.I.E.L.D. More than half of Whitehall's main forces had been wiped out. Although he himself had luckily evaded capture by S.H.I.E.L.D., he now lacked both men and weapons. It could be said that he was merely struggling to survive.

A knock sounded at the door. Whitehall raised his eyes and said, "Come in." A tall, dark-skinned British man entered.

Sunil Bakshi, Whitehall's most trusted subordinate, had likewise been fortunate enough to avoid arrest during S.H.I.E.L.D.'s sweep.

But no one else had been so lucky.

"The situation is... very bad, sir." Bakshi shut the door, his expression grim. "I sent people to investigate in secret. Most of them seem to be finished. Chief was captured, and three other leaders were shot dead on the spot. Baron Strucker's whereabouts are unknown, but there are reports from his territory that Dr. Norton personally killed him."

Whitehall nodded slightly. "Understood."

Bakshi had always revered his superior almost as a god. Seeing him remain so calm, he could not help feeling somewhat reassured himself. He asked tentatively, "Then... sir, what do we do next?"

"Whatever happened to the others, what we need to do has never changed."

Whitehall spoke calmly as he casually closed the large file in his hands and handed it to Bakshi. The latter accepted it respectfully and carefully flipped through several pages.

He saw an old photograph. In it was an iron-colored object of unknown material, lying quietly inside a black case. Its shape looked rather like an ancient Egyptian-style obelisk.

"What is this?"

"The Obelisk. An object possessing incomparable power. According to our founder Schmidt—Red Skull—this thing may be able to explain death itself." Whitehall stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a beastlike greed gleaming in his eyes behind his glasses. "Get the Obelisk, and we will... get everything!"