Chapter 2
“There’s been another one,” Steve said, staring blankly at the data pad in his hand.
“Throw it on the screen,” sighed Tony, who was balancing precariously on the back of a chair and gazing at the screen filled with reports of men being murdered. They’d been cropping up all over the States, but with a large concentration in Las Vegas. Every death was the same; people had had their necks snapped or skulls cracked, and every body was found with a solid gold bullet. Every crime had been committed in the cover of darkness, hidden in a secluded corner with no cameras in sight. It made their job very taxing.
“Maybe he thinks he’s a vigilante,” mused Natasha, reaching over Steve to flick through a file.
“Wait,” Tony was only half-ignoring her, “one of them was stabbed. Through the neck. Nasty.”
“He’s changing his M.O. But why?” Nat mumbled, surprised that they were being so logical about it.
“There is someone new,” offered Wanda as she walked into the room, startling everyone else. “He only killed one.”
“It does make sense, I mean, would he even have something that long and thin on him?” Sam was sat like the rest of them, arms folded and eyes glazing over a file. “What even was it?”
“A stiletto heel,” smiled Nat knowingly; shed done her fair share of using a shoe as a weapon. She had to admit, she liked this person’s style, it wasn’t exactly easy to thrust a heel right through to the jugular.
“Punching our way out of this one will not be easy,” said Wanda, who was now sat next to Vision.
“I fear not,” he replied, reaching for her hand. She took it and squeezed lightly. Whoever he was, he had successfully managed to unsettle every Avenger, even Clint. And he didn’t get uneasy.
“He calls himself Revolver. What kind of ego-fuelled name is that?”
“Says the Iron Man?!” Laughed Clint. He refused to look at the files, for a reason known only to him, but still insisted on being a part of the discussions. Tony huffed, annoyed that he was right. He always had to be right.
“My point is,” he said, salvaging his faux pas at the last minute, “he’s trying to be like us. Can’t he see that he’s not a hero?”
“You gotta start somewhere, Tony,” said Steve, not quite realising what he’d said. He glared back at him before returning his attention to the board. He’d been operating for months without leaving a single clue as to who he was. The only indication was the gold bullets. One for every victim. Somehow this person had enough money to be able to do that, which narrowed down the suspect pool significantly. But there was always the possibility that they were stolen, and had somehow had gone unreported. He had to be strong, and visibly so, or how else could people end up lodged into buildings halfway up? And the force at which some of them where killed…
His new partner appeared to also be causing a problem. Fortunately, there were no other cases of being stabbed with heels, which meant she was new to this. Or at least she appeared to be. Either way, they were a problem. And the rate at which these people were being killed was only growing.
“Boss, there’s reports of another death. A gold bullet, plenty of blood, but no body.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. piped up. Images of the crime scene flashed up on the hologram; a river of blood ran down the street, and a singular gold bullet was stood up on the pavement next to it. The local law enforcement in Vegas couldn’t pull any prints off the bullet, the report said. Tony told F.R.I.D.A.Y. to send a note to them to give him the bullets for analysis. Everyone was racking their brains, trying to figure out what was happening. It was in vain – they couldn’t think. Another addition to the case flashed up on the screen. The owner of the blood had been identified; he was a well-known thug, and more recently, rapist. A news article came with it, and now the press was calling him a vigilante, full-blown. The headline read:
‘City praises vigilante for his work’. The one thing they didn’t want to happen had happened.