In a forgotten corner of New Mexico, far from any road marked on a map, stood an abandoned cemetery.
Its newest headstones dated back decades. Many older ones had weathered so badly that the names carved into them had long since faded away.
The cemetery itself likely dated to America’s westward expansion, when settlers pushed into untamed land at terrible cost. Countless similar graveyards had been swallowed by time, their dead forgotten alongside the frontier that claimed them.
This one, however, was different.
A small chapel and a weathered caretaker’s cottage still stood among the graves.
The weeds were trimmed.
The paths were clear.
Someone still tended the dead.
It was nearly noon when a convoy of five unmarked SUVs rolled down the dusty road toward the cemetery.
None of the vehicles carried license plates.
Every identifying mark had been removed.
Inside, black tactical gear replaced ordinary clothing. Every operator wore a balaclava, urban combat armor, and carried an assault rifle fitted with an under-barrel grenade launcher.
No one here was a rookie.
The quiet confidence with which they checked weapons and watched their sectors belonged only to veterans.
In the third SUV, Melinda glanced sideways at Evenson.
"I wasn’t expecting... this."
She had assumed he’d drive his sports car to the location, handle whatever business awaited him, and leave.
Instead, S.H.I.E.L.D. had deployed enough firepower to assault a terrorist-held cargo ship.
She looked him over.
"Your magic still hasn’t recovered?"
"It has."
Evenson turned the issued balaclava over in his hands.
"By the way..."
"Has anyone actually washed these?"
Melinda rolled her eyes.
"They’re new."
"We issue fresh equipment for every operation."
"What a waste."
Evenson sighed dramatically.
"So this is where taxpayers’ money goes."
Ignoring the complaint, Melinda asked the question she actually cared about.
"So why bring an assault team?"
"Is the target that dangerous?"
"Or are you just enjoying the feeling of giving orders?"
"Neither."
Evenson laid the mask across his lap.
"I simply don’t want anyone connecting this operation to me."
His magic was distinctive.
His car was even more distinctive.
Discretion demanded something less memorable.
Then he picked up the radio.
"All teams, listen up."
"Operation codename..."
He smiled.
"High Noon."
"Remove all unit patches."
"This operation never happened."
"I want a complete black operation."
"Roger, sir."
Acknowledgments came back one after another over the radio.
Evenson grinned at Melinda.
"I’ll admit..."
"Giving orders is kind of fun."
Twenty minutes later, the convoy stopped outside the cemetery.
One of the operators scanned the grounds through a thermal optic.
"Sir."
"Single heat signature inside the cottage."
"Request permission to breach."
"No."
Evenson shook his head.
"Level the house."
"If the target resists..."
"Lethal force is authorized."
"Understood."
Melinda frowned.
"I’d rather we didn’t kill anyone."
S.H.I.E.L.D.’s background investigation had turned up surprisingly little.
The man lived in isolation and rarely interacted with anyone.
Beyond that...
Nothing.
No criminal record.
No known atrocities.
No obvious reason to justify an execution.
"Relax."
Evenson smiled calmly.
"He won’t die."
Then he remembered something.
"Oh."
He keyed the radio again.
"One more thing."
"If you’d like to stay alive..."
"Keep him in direct sunlight."
The channel fell silent for a moment.
The order made absolutely no sense.
Still...
"Roger, sir."
Melinda finally understood.
"So that’s why you waited until today."
"You had the location yesterday evening."
"You could’ve attacked overnight."
"But you deliberately waited until noon."
"Exactly."
Evenson nodded.
Then pressed the transmit button one last time.
"Execute."
The remaining four SUVs roared forward, surrounding the caretaker’s cottage.
Operators spilled out almost simultaneously.
Each carried a square breaching charge.
Instead of placing them on the doors...
They fixed them directly to the exterior walls.
Three.
Two.
One.
The explosions merged into a single deafening blast.
Dust and shattered brick erupted skyward.
The entire cottage collapsed.
"Move!"
"Move!"
"Search the target!"
Twelve operators swept through the rubble.
The building had been small.
It didn’t take long.
"Target located!"
One of the soldiers pointed toward a figure pinned beneath broken beams and masonry.
Only the lower half of the body remained trapped.
The rest lay motionless.
No movement.
No sound.
It looked like a corpse.
One operator cautiously approached to check for signs of life while the others covered him.
The instant he stepped within reach...
The body exploded into motion.
The man rolled onto his back.
A Winchester shotgun appeared from beneath him.
The barrel snapped toward the approaching soldier.
"Shi..."
The warning never finished.
BOOM!
The shotgun roared.
The operator reacted on instinct, twisting aside at the last possible instant.
Instead of taking the blast to the face, he caught it in the armored shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
The impact hurled him several feet through the air.
"Fire!"
Eleven assault rifles answered instantly.
Automatic gunfire tore across the rubble.
Round after round slammed into the target without pause.
The barrage continued until the ruined cottage echoed with nothing but the metallic click of empty magazines.
Hearing the gunfire through his headset, Evenson immediately keyed the radio.
"Report."
"One wounded operator, sir."
The team leader sounded steady.
Not ideal.
But manageable.
"The target?"
A brief pause.
"...Dead, sir."
Evenson’s voice turned skeptical.
"Dead?"
"He absorbed at least a hundred and fifty rounds."
The team leader sounded almost offended by the question.
"Nobody survives that."
Evenson ignored the certainty.
"Is..."
He searched for the right wording.
"Is the body still mostly intact?"
"...Yes, sir."
The answer came much more hesitantly.
The team leader stared at the corpse.
A normal human being would’ve been shredded into unrecognizable remains.
Instead...
The man simply had over a hundred bullet holes.
There was something profoundly unnatural about it.
"Hold your positions."
Evenson pulled the balaclava over his face.
"We’re coming in."
He looked toward Melinda.
"Our turn."In a forgotten corner of New Mexico, far from any road marked on a map, stood an abandoned cemetery.
Its newest headstones dated back decades. Many older ones had weathered so badly that the names carved into them had long since faded away.
The cemetery itself likely dated to America’s westward expansion, when settlers pushed into untamed land at terrible cost. Countless similar graveyards had been swallowed by time, their dead forgotten alongside the frontier that claimed them.
This one, however, was different.
A small chapel and a weathered caretaker’s cottage still stood among the graves.
The weeds were trimmed.
The paths were clear.
Someone still tended the dead.
It was nearly noon when a convoy of five unmarked SUVs rolled down the dusty road toward the cemetery.
None of the vehicles carried license plates.
Every identifying mark had been removed.
Inside, black tactical gear replaced ordinary clothing. Every operator wore a balaclava, urban combat armor, and carried an assault rifle fitted with an under-barrel grenade launcher.
No one here was a rookie.
The quiet confidence with which they checked weapons and watched their sectors belonged only to veterans.
In the third SUV, Melinda glanced sideways at Evenson.
"I wasn’t expecting... this."
She had assumed he’d drive his sports car to the location, handle whatever business awaited him, and leave.
Instead, S.H.I.E.L.D. had deployed enough firepower to assault a terrorist-held cargo ship.
She looked him over.
"Your magic still hasn’t recovered?"
"It has."
Evenson turned the issued balaclava over in his hands.
"By the way..."
"Has anyone actually washed these?"
Melinda rolled her eyes.
"They’re new."
"We issue fresh equipment for every operation."
"What a waste."
Evenson sighed dramatically.
"So this is where taxpayers’ money goes."
Ignoring the complaint, Melinda asked the question she actually cared about.
"So why bring an assault team?"
"Is the target that dangerous?"
"Or are you just enjoying the feeling of giving orders?"
"Neither."
Evenson laid the mask across his lap.
"I simply don’t want anyone connecting this operation to me."
His magic was distinctive.
His car was even more distinctive.
Discretion demanded something less memorable.
Then he picked up the radio.
"All teams, listen up."
"Operation codename..."
He smiled.
"High Noon."
"Remove all unit patches."
"This operation never happened."
"I want a complete black operation."
"Roger, sir."
Acknowledgments came back one after another over the radio.
Evenson grinned at Melinda.
"I’ll admit..."
"Giving orders is kind of fun."
Twenty minutes later, the convoy stopped outside the cemetery.
One of the operators scanned the grounds through a thermal optic.
"Sir."
"Single heat signature inside the cottage."
"Request permission to breach."
"No."
Evenson shook his head.
"Level the house."
"If the target resists..."
"Lethal force is authorized."
"Understood."
Melinda frowned.
"I’d rather we didn’t kill anyone."
S.H.I.E.L.D.’s background investigation had turned up surprisingly little.
The man lived in isolation and rarely interacted with anyone.
Beyond that...
Nothing.
No criminal record.
No known atrocities.
No obvious reason to justify an execution.
"Relax."
Evenson smiled calmly.
"He won’t die."
Then he remembered something.
"Oh."
He keyed the radio again.
"One more thing."
"If you’d like to stay alive..."
"Keep him in direct sunlight."
The channel fell silent for a moment.
The order made absolutely no sense.
Still...
"Roger, sir."
Melinda finally understood.
"So that’s why you waited until today."
"You had the location yesterday evening."
"You could’ve attacked overnight."
"But you deliberately waited until noon."
"Exactly."
Evenson nodded.
Then pressed the transmit button one last time.
"Execute."
The remaining four SUVs roared forward, surrounding the caretaker’s cottage.
Operators spilled out almost simultaneously.
Each carried a square breaching charge.
Instead of placing them on the doors...
They fixed them directly to the exterior walls.
Three.
Two.
One.
The explosions merged into a single deafening blast.
Dust and shattered brick erupted skyward.
The entire cottage collapsed.
"Move!"
"Move!"
"Search the target!"
Twelve operators swept through the rubble.
The building had been small.
It didn’t take long.
"Target located!"
One of the soldiers pointed toward a figure pinned beneath broken beams and masonry.
Only the lower half of the body remained trapped.
The rest lay motionless.
No movement.
No sound.
It looked like a corpse.
One operator cautiously approached to check for signs of life while the others covered him.
The instant he stepped within reach...
The body exploded into motion.
The man rolled onto his back.
A Winchester shotgun appeared from beneath him.
The barrel snapped toward the approaching soldier.
"Shi..."
The warning never finished.
BOOM!
The shotgun roared.
The operator reacted on instinct, twisting aside at the last possible instant.
Instead of taking the blast to the face, he caught it in the armored shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
The impact hurled him several feet through the air.
"Fire!"
Eleven assault rifles answered instantly.
Automatic gunfire tore across the rubble.
Round after round slammed into the target without pause.
The barrage continued until the ruined cottage echoed with nothing but the metallic click of empty magazines.
Hearing the gunfire through his headset, Evenson immediately keyed the radio.
"Report."
"One wounded operator, sir."
The team leader sounded steady.
Not ideal.
But manageable.
"The target?"
A brief pause.
"...Dead, sir."
Evenson’s voice turned skeptical.
"Dead?"
"He absorbed at least a hundred and fifty rounds."
The team leader sounded almost offended by the question.
"Nobody survives that."
Evenson ignored the certainty.
"Is..."
He searched for the right wording.
"Is the body still mostly intact?"
"...Yes, sir."
The answer came much more hesitantly.
The team leader stared at the corpse.
A normal human being would’ve been shredded into unrecognizable remains.
Instead...
The man simply had over a hundred bullet holes.
There was something profoundly unnatural about it.
"Hold your positions."
Evenson pulled the balaclava over his face.
"We’re coming in."
He looked toward Melinda.
"Our turn."
...
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