[DUBLIN – STREET LEVEL, 4:39 PM]
Darren landed hard, boots skidding slightly on the slick cobblestones. Ankles protested sharply, his body reminding him that superhero landings were stupid and terrible and why does he keep doing this?
Too late now.
Smoke stung his eyes, the heat from fires scattered around the square baking through his hoodie. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath fogging the inside of his mask, pulse pounding behind his temples.
Focus. Breathe.
It was chaos down here, far worse than it had looked from the rooftops. Shop windows blown out, alarms shrieking through shattered storefronts. Sirens wailed in the distance. The tram had crunched straight through a café, he could smell burnt coffee mixed with smoke, see twisted metal gleaming wetly under the rain.
People scrambled in panic, instincts overriding every drill they'd ever done. "Go, go, move!" someone screamed. A bloodied woman pointed frantically toward an alley marked with a faded green sign: "SUPERHUMAN INCIDENT SHELTER →"
Right. Shelter. Dublin had shelters. They'd practiced. It wasn't supposed to look like this, though.
Darren's gaze whipped across the square, scanning frantically. He spotted a small girl, curled tightly under a bench, sobbing, eyes huge with terror. Above her, the damaged tram groaned ominously, metal and concrete shifting dangerously.
His gut lurched, instincts propelling him forward—
Then Diaz stepped through the smoke
"Oh, fuck me," Darren muttered, stomach sinking.
The mech suit was way worse up close, a jagged nightmare of welded scrap, sparking cables, and stolen Chitauri tech glowing purple like a toxic heartbeat. Diaz moved stiffly, as if the armor was dragging him along more than the other way around, but it didn't matter. Each step cracked pavement beneath his bulk.
"HEY! MASKED LITTLE SHIT!" Diaz's distorted voice boomed, echoing off the buildings. "You cost me my shipment. Time to pay up!"
Diaz raised the butchered Chitauri rifle, barrel crackling violently. Darren barely threw himself aside as a bolt of energy exploded from the gun, vaporizing the bench he'd just passed.
Heat singed the side of his face, pain blooming sharply, nerves screaming beneath his skin as his body struggled desperately to heal the burn as fast as it appeared. His ears rang with the explosion, balance wobbling as adrenaline surged.
Too close. Move faster.
Diaz lunged forward, armor hissing as servos whined.
Darren moved—faster than most, faster than he'd thought possible—but not fast enough.
The first fist screamed past him, a near miss that sent a shockwave rippling across his chest. But the second—
Crack.
Pain exploded through Darren's ribcage, blinding, raw. Ribs fractured beneath the blow, lungs seizing instantly. He flew sideways, landing brutally, body skidding painfully across the cobbles. Rainwater flooded his mouth, metallic and bitter.
He gagged, coughing violently, tasting copper, vision doubling for a terrifying heartbeat.
Through pain-fogged eyes, he saw her again. The little girl. paralyzed with fear, curled beneath the metal bench, eyes wide, locked on him and the monster looming behind.
Above her, the damaged tram wreckage shifted ominously, metal and stone shrieking as structural integrity gave way.
No time. No choice.
Darren lunged forward instinctively, pure adrenaline drowning pain, fear, everything but the moment. He surged toward her as the debris toppled downward-
His shoulders absorbed the impact first, muscles screaming, tendons tearing with the effort. The weight crushed downward, knees buckling, spine arching brutally beneath the impossible strain. Teeth ground so hard he tasted enamel dust. His vision exploded white-hot.
Just hold it. Just a second longer…
"RUN!" he roared, voice raw, almost animalistic with desperation. "Get to the shelter! GO!"
With a feral yell, he heaved the debris aside, concrete and steel crashing violently into the street, shaking the ground. The girl shrieked, small voice piercing through the din.
She bolted, tiny footsteps splashing through puddles.
Safe. For now.
But Darren never got the chance to stand.
Metal fingers locked onto his hoodie, jerking him off his feet. Diaz's brutal grip stretched Darren's spine, agony exploding down his nerves, vision reddening dangerously.
Then…
SLAM.
His back met pavement brutally, the impact shattering stone. His shoulder wrenched out of its socket with a sickening pop. Pain radiated outward in waves, overwhelming every thought. The pain nearly caused him to black out. Then the second slam whipped Darren's skull into concrete, the world whiting out, hearing reduced to a deafening, howling ring.
Diaz tossed him aside casually, like a broken toy.
"Come on, Sentinel!" Diaz taunted,
pacing slowly closer, voice dripping with malice. "Where's the fight you showed my boys? You're letting me down."
Darren clawed himself upright, left arm dangling uselessly. Blood pooled inside his mask. His knees trembled beneath him, every breath shallow, fiery agony stabbing through his ribs. He blinked rain and blood from his eyes.
Stay standing. Just stay standing.
Diaz laughed again, heavy and metallic. "All that talk. All those flashy moves. And you're just a scared kid in a hoodie."
Diaz stepped forward, towering over him, armored bulk blotting out the grey sky. "Maybe after I'm done with you, I'll go find your little friend from that alley, thank her personally."
Another strike coming. Move. MOVE.
Instinct alone saved him. He rolled aside at the last second, Diaz's fist cratering the spot where his head had just been. Scraping desperately upright, Darren's breath was short, harsh, his body battered, pushed to the absolute edge.
He struck up blindly with his right arm, left hanging useless, pain flaring anew with every shift. His fist bounced harmlessly off metal armor, no reaction, no acknowledgement. His knee strike glanced off Diaz's thigh plating, sending fresh agony through his joints.
"Is that it? All that superhero bullshit, and that's your best shot?"
Diaz swung again, gauntleted fist cracking brutally into Darren's jaw. Stars exploded in his vision. Injuries stacked, compounding pain on pain, overwhelming him.
He stumbled backward, vision spinning, legs barely holding him upright. His legs collapsed, trembling uncontrollably. He surged upright anyway, pure adrenaline and defiance driving him forward despite every nerve screaming surrender.
One-two punches cracked against Diaz's armor, knuckles splitting open beneath his gloves, joints straining dangerously near tearing point. Pain radiated through his hands, wrists, forearms. Nothing worked. Diaz simply cocked back—
BOOM.
The armored fist drove deep into Darren's chest, the impact cataclysmic. His ribcage caved inward, air expelled violently from collapsing lungs. He hurtled backward, momentum unchecked until metal and glass abruptly halted him.
A tram car. Glass shattered. Bones rattled. He dropped limply, unable to breathe, pain flooding every fiber of his being.
He lay there, rain and blood pooling around him. His left shoulder screamed uselessly, dislocated, nerves raw. His breath came shallow, panicked, blood and rainwater choking him.
Move. Move or you die here.
He dragged himself weakly behind nearby wreckage, every inch searing fresh pain through shattered ribs and torn muscles. The world spun, shadows dancing at the edge of his vision.
Have to fix this. Fast.
He braced himself against the metal wreckage.
He gritted his teeth, braced, and rammed his shoulder hard into the steel. The joint popped back in with a sickening crunch, blinding agony whiting out everything for a terrifying heartbeat.
He gasped desperately, forcing air into tortured lungs. Each second his healing took longer, each wound deeper. His body was faltering, pushed far beyond its limits.
Diaz strode casually toward him, savoring every step. "Look at you. Pathetic. All this time thinking you mattered, huh? Thinking you're special?"
Diaz loomed closer, a walking inferno of arrogance and rage, weapon raised casually. Darren scrambled backward, slipping, scrambling again—pure animal instinct now, trying desperately to steer Diaz away from civilians. Every movement felt impossible, left arm weak, numb. Legs trembling beneath his weight.
Diaz fired. Darren dove aside, shrapnel slicing deeply into his thigh, blood soaking down fabric. Healing fought weakly, struggling to knit torn muscles faster than they could tear anew.
Diaz stepped through flames, armor gleaming maliciously.
Darren's fists clenched, knuckles raw, bloodied beneath torn gloves. His legs shook violently, exhaustion and agony overwhelming his battered body.
He tasted blood, thick and hot. Heard the wet rattle in his chest as he breathed. He was strong, he was tough, but even he had limits. Limits rapidly approaching.
Darren dragged himself up, blood dripping down his chin sinking into the fabric of the mask, hands shaking violently. He could barely see straight, every instinct screaming to run, hide, collapse.
But he didn't have that choice.
With a strangled, ragged breath, Darren clenched his fists, glaring at Diaz through bloody lenses. The pain faded into a distant roar as raw, stubborn defiance surged upward.
Fuck you, Diaz. I'm not done yet.
"You gonna finish crying, or are we gonna fight?" Darren rasped, voice shredded and thick with blood.
Diaz paused, helmet cocked slightly. Then he laughed, slow and cold, relishing every moment.
"Alright, kid. Let's see how much longer you last."
He charged again.
[SHIELD TEMPORARY OUTPOST – 4:35 PM]
Inside the mobile command van, the air buzzed with low hums and tight breath. Flickering feeds from drones, streetcams, police dash units, all synced into a web of surveillance over Dublin's downtown.
Blue and green displays flickered in dim lighting. Rain streaked across the reinforced windows. A hum from the satellite dish overhead. The tension was palpable.
Dr. Malhotra hovered over a tablet, one hand buried in cables, the other scribbling notes.
"Rookie!" he snapped. "You plugged the output into the diagnostic! Fix it. Now."
The young agent flinched and stammered. "Yes, right away, Doctor."
Kwan's voice cut through. "Target visual. Camera six. Rooftop entry. He's in."
Park tapped the terminal. "Confirming. That's Diaz. Exosuit signature is a match."
The screen locked onto grainy drone footage — Diaz stomping into frame. Glitching armor. Exposed core. Purple power flaring through the fractured metal.
Malhotra's tone dropped. "Former Raft inmate. Suit specialist. Should've disappeared. Didn't."
Hill's silhouette loomed behind them. Arms crossed. Eyes cold.
"Somehow he got his hands on alien tech. Again."
Park toggled cams. Another angle. Another feed.
Darren hit street level.
Leaping. Darting. Slipping.
Hill's jaw tightened.
"Sentinel's in. No backup."
Kwan: "He doesn't need backup?"
"No," Hill said. "He's the test."
Park: "Ma'am?"
Hill's gaze stayed locked on the feed. "Let them fight. We watch. We learn."
Malhotra: "Suit's running too hot. Power core's unstable. If it ruptures, that's a street-level explosion."
Hill: "Good. Push him."
They watched.
Sentinel thrown. Slammed. Pinned.
He crawled behind cover.
On screen: Darren pressing his dislocated shoulder to a dumpster.
The rookie leaned in, eyes wide. "He's not... he's not gonna..."
Pop.
Darren's scream was silent on the feed. The motion wasn't. The shudder. The recoil. The face twisted with raw pain.
The rookie turned away, gagged, then bolted toward the rear of the van.
A retch.
Hill didn't move.
Malhotra didn't blink.
He simply said, "Mark the timestamp. Run biomechanics comparison. That joint shouldn't be usable."
The drone feeds kept rolling.