Chapter 1: The Golden Storm

Hello! For those of you that don't know, my name's LittlePond, nice to meet you! I hope you stick around with this fanfic and that you enjoy it! By without a further a-do, let's begin!

Chapter 1: The Golden Storm

If there's one thing I know for certain, one constant that never changes in this dynamic world of powered people, aliens and secret agents, it's that S.H.I.E.L.D lies.

It's true.

They say their mission is to protect the world from this murky threat or the next. Especially the infamous forces of HYDRA. But what they don't tell you, is that they hide information from those outside their child-like club, their own agents without enough clearance, the innocent public who've committed no crime.

They keep us in the unbearable dark.

They don't tell us about the magnificent, untouched and suppressed miracles of this world; the Enhanced.

They keep them catalogued, monitored, and pretend like they don't exist, as if their existence has no effect on us.

You're saying this isn't true? Then explain why my mother, her entire village, died at their hands.

Hail HYDRA.

My name's Aurelia Tempest.

Technically, I have no name. My biological mother died too soon to bestow a name upon me.

That was when HYDRA flew into my scene. They took me in, named me and raised me as their own.

The man who adopted me, Daniel Whitehall, played the part my mother never had the chance to. He gave me the first name of Aurelia, which is Latin for 'golden.'

For the entirety of my life, he's always been going on huge tangents whilst I trained to become HYDRA's most deadly assassin- that I 'signalled a golden age for HYDRA.' That, I guess, was why I chose my last name, Tempest; Latin for 'storm.'

Essentially, I've been trained to take down S.H.I.E.L.D an agent at a time.

Kind of a hard task?

"Agent Tempest, mission report on Victim #108," Whitehall ordered from his glossy desk. The leader's grey hair stood on edge, dusty black glasses stood on his nose.

Bored at the debriefing I had completed 108 times now, I twirled a lock of blonde hair around my finger, "The target was dispatched easily using a standard semi-automatic hand gun." Daniel grinned in satisfaction,the leather of my mission gear tightened against my sweating skin. "Well done, Aurelia."

Sensing the end of the report, I stood up from the auburn leather chair. "That's all?" I asked, eager to leave.

"Yes, Aurelia. That is all."

I turned to leave, pulling my hair back into a simple ponytail as that was how it was most comfortable. Turning the door's knob, I was about to exit when Whitehall called out, "Aurelia? I'm proud of how far you've come." He knew that it irritated me when he said that, and the habit persisted even though I was turning 23 this year.

Smiling through the annoyance, I left Whitehall's office.

There are two facts I love about being HYDRA: the fact the Whitehall had raised me, and that whenever I leave my victims, I leave S.H.I.E.L.D agents running away screaming.

S.H.A.D.O.

That is all they know me by. They don't know what I look like, who I am. I could be Nick Fury himself and they wouldn't have a clue.

That is another name I'm known by;  S.H.A.D.O. It stands for Strategic Hazard Assassination Directorate Operation. I'm proud of it too.

HYDRA isn't as bad as everyone thinks. We don't fight for world domination. We fight for free distribution of information. So that no one is ever left without knowledge. So that no none is ever again, brutally murdered or inhumanely silenced simply because they brandish information.

That's what I fight for. That's what I kill for. That's why I have the blood of 108 people and counting on my hands.

Freedom.

Equality.

Independence.

I guess that's why I don't feel guilty for the 108 murders I've committed. I guess that's why I enjoy the missions I am granted.

The soothing routine was a hobby of mine. Study, learn, follow, kill. Study, learn, follow, kill. Over and over and over again.

Every single mission was a success. Every single mission never took more than a month.

Sometimes I stretched the mission out a little, learned a little more, followed a little extra, studied a little more hours. I never ceased to be entertained and disgusted by their ways.

Call me an insane, murdering psychopath, but if you could kill the devil 108 times, would you?

In a flash, I was out of my constricting gear specifically designed for the cold-blooded and murderous nature of my missions and into civilian clothing. A tank top, jeans and boots was my favourite combination, and so I walked out in navy, black and brown.

Whitehall never ceased to stop talking about how he found me.

Alone in the wreckage of a small Chinese town in the Guangdong province. Crying out for a mother long gone, murdered and long dead beside me, her blood dripping onto my feeble form, staining the white silk blanket I had been wrapped in. Screaming for the town that lay in ruins around me, the only house that was spared, that still bore a sign of life was the one that dripped in my mother's lifeblood.

Whitehall said when he picked me up, he knew I was the one to bring down S.H.I.E.L.D.

It seemed something out of a fairytale, but I had been told it by bedside for longer than I could recollect. The image of Daniel Whitehall, a saviour, picking up a helpless child from the wreckage of her home and taking her away to become an angel of death.

It had become the story I recounted to myself as I trained. Whitehall knew you were a born assassin from the moment he held you. Whitehall knew. Whitehall knows. You know. So suck up the pain, and go harder, faster, angrier.

I didn't look as if I was from China, they even tested my blood to make sure. Both my parents were from somewhere in the Americas, so Whitehall, the geneticists and I came to the conclusion that my parents must have been immigrants, or fugitives. It didn't matter either way- they were dead now.

Whitehall always taught me 3 simple rules to survive. I followed them like I might protocol and many times they had saved my life.

1. Kill without hesitation.

2. Nothing matters more than the job at hand.

3. Don't trust anyone.

The walls of the base were a pristine white, thankfully the blood of infiltrators had never stained it's purity, and they shone like snow in the sunlight as I made my way to the cafeteria.

Even from the mediocre distance between the assorted foods and I, their aroma had wandered through and I was entranced by the smell of burgers and chips. After four weeks in the field, I only ate the street food of Mumbai. Which was great, brilliant, stellar even but I had deeply missed the simplicity of the American burger and chips.

As if I was attracted my a magnet, I soon stood by the stand holding perhaps the most appetising burgers I've seen with no recollection of how I got there. My stomach somehow became a boom box of hunger and giving in the beats of starvation, I yanked one off the shelves.

The cafeteria itself looked like a random one from any American high school, except instead of students, it housed a selection of the greatest agents and scientists the world had ever seen.

And then there was me, but Whitehall had raised me to look down upon them. Even in HYDRA, not everyone was trusted with the identity of S.H.A.D.O, we couldn't run the risk of an agent getting caught and betraying me.

It was no secret I was the best weapon we had. If there was no counting of the extra-terrestrial equipment we'd gathered, like the sceptre of a certain Asgardian hell-bent on revenge who had laid waste to New York.

Not to mention the Enhanced we intended to create with it.

Finding an abandoned table in the northwest corner of the room, I sat down, almost sighing at the familiar feel of the cafeteria's seats beneath me.

Despite my identity being unknown, not one agent under this base's roof didn't know that I was Whitehall's favourite. Some, mostly scientists, had connected the dots and correctly assumed I was S.H.A.D.O since I returned home from missions with blood stains in my hair and whispers that S.H.A.D.O had fell another victim walked in their wake.

Only the idiots and new recruits didn't realise my affinity with weapons, guns and swords alike, or the common meetings between Whitehall and I.

Soon enough the footfalls of friendly boots crossed the room, and the volume of everyone's chatter about S.H.A.D.O's arrival silenced, confirming my hopes.

"Guess who?" said one of HYDRA's most successful agents, Jason Griffin, hands around my eyes so all I could see was the blackness of night. I could practically sense the grin formed from pure happiness at the sight of me home unscathed. "You," I answered, equally happy to see him. "You're going to have to specify further," Jason answered.

If you saw Griffin instructing a troupe of new recruits, you'd never guess that out of duty, or not in the presence of his students, Jason Griffin became one of the happiest, humorous people alive. The general form of Jason was one that screamed for 100 more pushups.

It was truly intimidating, even for me.

"Jason Griffin, one of the best generals in HYDRA history," I specified, to which Jason released his hands. Once seated, Jason handed over one of my favourite objects on the planet. A packet of Doritos.

"You're welcome," he smiled, brown hair glistening from the sunlight that had streamed into the cafeteria. "You are the best Griffin."

The foil was pleasing, much more than the slick, efficient metal of a handgun. Had it not been for the smell of the hamburger and oil of the fries, I would have devoured it then and there, but I decided to save it for later. Perhaps as a midnight snack later tonight.

"How was your mission?" the general asked, eyes flicking to every body in the room- he never could look at me directly when I bragged about my kills. "Easy enough," I sighed, noting his crossed tanned arms, "I just used a handgun. The target was terminated with one death shot." Jason looked down, as if to mourn the agent, but masking whatever he was feeling, the general continued, "Well done. 108. That's a high death toll."

Grinning, I placed around 3 to 5 fries in my mouth, savouring it's signature flavour of oil, potato, and too many fats and sugars to count. "I wouldn't call it a death toll. Success rate seems to be a more appropriate term."

Griffin shrugged, clearly giving no damns about which word I preferred to label the amount of people I had killed since I was 15 years old.

That first mission to New York had been a dream come true. Maybe one more gory than any other 15 year old would dream of. I imagined normal girls dreamed of shoes and make up. Me; guns, knives and the bodies of my victims strolled into my sleep each night.

"How are the twins going?" Griffin asked, trying to keep the subject of our first conversation on lighter, happier tones.

"I haven't heard from them since I had to leave Sokovia, Jason. Whitehall forbids any communication. I thought you knew that," I sighed, partly at the memories of the fights I'd had with Whitehall over the issue and the recollections of the twins.

"Maybe while you're out of a mission you can travel there," Jason suggested, brown eyes alight with hope of me seeing my friends again. "Maybe. Perhaps."

I stared at the burger between my hands and wandered what they were having to eat. But I quickly shoved it off, I had just killed my 108th victim, I could indulge in a simple, all American burger and fries.

A giggle from a nearby table soared above the rest of the others' chatter. If the gossip told me anything, it was either for Jason's good looks, or the rumour that Agent Tempest and General Griffin were in an affair.

Of course, anyone who was attracted to the male gender couldn't deny that Jason rocked the tight shirts he wore, and the cargo pants, and the suits, but I never cared enough to confront an agent to tell them the rumour was worth as much as the blood from the sword I received as a 10th birthday present.

Besides, there was someone else I had in my mind to fill the void those rumours claimed Jason filled. And he was far away in Eastern Europe, surrounded by glass walls.

Scowling, Jason reassured me, "Don't listen to them. They're all idiots." Nodding and taking a bite from the burger, I answered, "I know. We're just friends. Close yes, but not in the way they think." Jason only nodded in response and looked out the nearby window to our right, where the sunlight gushed in, "If only they knew."

With the sound of grenades in a battlefield, an unit of agents armed to the teeth strode in, stern eyes surveying the room. As they entered, the volume was slaughtered. The squad advanced with force in their stride, and managed to walk right up to Jason and I.

At their head as Hadley Geeve, supreme HYDRA torturer.

My heart sped up a portion, but only by a few more beats per minute. Jason and I had nothing to hide, unless they were asking about the rumours about us, since only those with common sense knew it was rubbish.

"Hadley! So nice to see you again!" I welcomed, though it was positively not nice to see her again, I would have preferred to have remained in the bustling, claustrophobic streets of Mumbai than be in the company of this woman. "It is pleasant to see you too, Miss Aurelia. But I have taken it upon myself to make sure you, and all of HYDRA knows we have a traitor in our midst."

At the word of traitor, what little conversation remained silenced instantly.

Middle aged women, always ruining things for us youngsters.

"I'm afraid I have no use for finding this scoundrel, I've killed enough," I sighed, taking another bite into the burger. From the corner of my blue eye, I saw Geeve grin with the likes of an assassin standing over their victim. A position I'd been in 108 times.

This woman was insane. She just wanted a fresh body to abuse with a variety of weapons.

Rolling my eyes, I turned to face her, and the room held it's breath. Agent Tempest and Agent Geeve would be a fight of the century, if you didn't count the Chitauri and the Avengers.

"Geeve, if you're looking for flesh to slowly kill, go somewhere else."

"You truly are an idiot. This traitor I speak of, Aurelia, sits next to you. This traitor is feared and loved by many. This traitor, is Jason Griffin."

What?

Jason sighed, and stood up, "Aurelia, promise me you think no less of me."

His voice was soft, quiet, and he didn't deny the allegations against him. He was S.H.I.E.L.D. Jason Griffin, my only friend in this base, was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, and stood for everything I despised.

"Griffin, I would smite you down now, but it seems that Hadley and her pack of goons and thugs would do the job quite nicely. Perhaps I'll stop by for the killing blow."

His chest caved in as Geeve and her thugs shoved him away. I did my best not to let any sign of distress show, but it was naturally extremely hard, especially with the eyes of several HYDRA agents were on you.

I sat down again, staring at the packet of Doritos, the burger and fries. Previously, I had thought it humanly impossible to have no appetite for such heavenly foods but now it made complete sense.

What were the rules Whitehall always taught me?

Kill without hesitation? Nothing matters more than the job at hand? Don't trust anyone?

Don't trust anyone.

Job well done, Aurelia. Real nice one.