Thirty kilometers north of Washington, D.C.., on Interstate 95.
The world was shrouded in a murky haze, with only the car headlights barely piercing through the thick curtain of rain.
Three heavily modified black Chevrolet Suburban were speeding at 160 miles per hour.
That's Hydra's style—even when they're running for their lives, they still put on an act as if they're going to crush everything.
In the back seat of the middle car, a bald man wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. was yelling into an encrypted communicator.
"Damn Fury! How dare that one-eyed bastard!"
The leader roared as he wiped away cold sweat.
"This is what they call a 'peaceful handover'? Pouring poison gas into the building is called a handover? Has Baron Strucker not replied yet? Tell that old geezer with the monocle that if we die here, we'll detonate Pierce's 'legacy'! We'll all die together!"
Only a despairing static could be heard from the communicator.
Since the Triskelion was sealed off, the entire North America Hydra network has been like a chicken with its neck snapped, struggling in vain.
"Captain! There's trouble ahead!"
The driver slammed on the brakes, and the three cars spun out on the slippery road, nearly colliding.
The inertia nearly caused the bald man to crash headfirst into the front seat. He was about to curse when his pupils suddenly contracted.
Just two hundred meters ahead, in the middle of the road, stood a black Porsche 356A.
It was an old car that seemed out of place in modern society.
The car headlights were a stark white, piercing straight into their eyes.
"Run it over! Mind your own business!"
The bald man roared, a ruthless glint in his eyes, "Whether he's a rich kid passing by or some lunatic, if he dares to block Hydra's path, he'll be turned into scrap metal!"
The driver gritted his teeth and floored the accelerator.
The SUV roared as it prepared to ram the fragile old car.
When the two cars were less than fifty meters apart, the Porsche rolled down its window a crack.
"Bang."
A gunshot was drowned out by thunder.
The SUV, traveling at high speed, suffered a front tire blowout, lost control of the vehicle, rolled across the road, and crashed into the roadside guardrail, bursting into flames.
The remaining two cars immediately braked to a stop.
The car door opened, and seven or eight fully armed Hydra agents rushed out, using the car door as cover, their guns pointed at the black car.
"Who's there! Come out here!"
The windshield wipers swung monotonously across the Porsche's windshield.
The car door slowly opened.
A shiny black leather shoe stepped into the puddle.
Gin held up a black umbrella, his long silver hair swaying slightly in the night breeze, his eyes, hidden by the brim of his hat, were devoid of warmth.
He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the flame flickering in the rain and mist.
"Is this all Pierce's dog is capable of?"
"Kill him!"
A hail of bullets rained down, but Gin was no longer in the same spot.
The black trench coat cast a long, blurry shadow in the rainy night.
He didn't use any high-tech weapons; he only held an ordinary-looking Beretta M92F.
"Bang, bang, bang."
The rhythm was frighteningly consistent.
Each time a gun spat fire, an agent fell dead, shot between the eyebrows.
He seemed to be taking a stroll in the rain, leisurely moving through the blind spots of the hail of bullets.
An agent attempted to throw a grenade, but just as the pin was pulled, a bullet from Gin pierced his wrist.
"Damn it! A grenade! Blow him up!!"
In a panic, an agent pulled a high-explosive grenade from his waist and was about to throw it after pulling the pin.
Gin casually flicked the muzzle of his gun.
"Bang."
The bullet pierced the agent's wrist with pinpoint accuracy.
The agent screamed as the grenade flew from his hand, but instead of flying forward, it landed straight at his feet.
No! No, no, no!
The two companions around him stared wide-eyed in despair.
"Boom--!!"
An explosion rang out, and the three people's bodies were torn apart by the shockwave, their severed limbs and fragments scattering in all directions amidst the rain.
Less than thirty seconds.
Except for the man who was leading the group, everyone else lay in pools of blood, and the rain had stained the ground dark red.
Gin walked up to the trembling man.
The man leaned against the wheel, his gun long since fallen from his hand, trembling as he stared at the silver-haired grim reaper before him.
"No... don't kill me... I'm Level 7 Agent... I know many secrets... I'm valuable..."
Gin looked down at him, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust.
That's contempt for the incompetent, and mockery of the losers.
"Value?"
Gin sneered, pressing the dark muzzle of his gun against the bald man's forehead; the icy touch sent the man crashing down.
"Your only value is to make those self-important Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. think that this is all Hydra has to offer."
"What..."
The bald man's pupils were unfocused; he couldn't understand the meaning of those words at all.
Go ask Pierce in hell.
"Bang."
The gunshots subsided.
The bald man's body twitched, then he slumped softly into the muddy water, his eyes still wide open.
Gin took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the gun, which was not covered in dust.
He walked to the trunk of the SUV that hadn't been destroyed yet and opened the lid with one hand.
Inside was a silver metal box bearing the S.H.I.E.L.D.. top-secret logo.
"Heh, that saves me a lot of trouble."
Gin checked the biolock on the box, and after confirming it was intact, he picked it up and turned to walk towards his Porsche.
Just then, the sound of sirens and the roar of helicopters came from the distant highway.
S.H.I.E.L.D..'s rapid response team has arrived.
"His sense of smell is fairly keen, but unfortunately, he's always a step too late."
Gin remained completely calm.
He pulled a black card from his trench coat pocket and casually tossed it among the pile of corpses.
The card was printed with that menacing Shocker logo.
"Snort."
The Porsche started up and quickly disappeared into the thick rain, leaving behind only a mess and the conspicuous Shocker logo.
One minute later.
A Quinjet hovered above the road.
The rope was thrown down.
Clint Barton rappelled down with a team of heavily armed agents, splashing water everywhere.
Looking at the corpses scattered on the ground and the burning vehicles, the S.H.I.E.L.D.. ace agent's expression was not good.
He walked over to the leader's body and picked up the black card that was wet from the rain.
"It's Shocker again..." Barton clenched his fist. "How many of them are there? That marksmanship... how could they take out a fully armed tactical squad in thirty seconds?"
Hill's voice came through the earpiece. " Barton, any discoveries?"
"Too late. The goods have been intercepted."
Barton looked at the empty trunk.
"They were very professional; all the shell casings were recovered, and nothing was left except this card."
"They didn't even bother to hide it. This is a provocation, Hill. This is a blatant provocation against S.H.I.E.L.D.."