A/N: Alrighty, folks! So...here's the deal. KHIII is kinda stuck in a rut for a little while, so I've decided to switch gears for a little bit and write my first Marvel Cinematic Universe story. This little gem is centered around one of the OCs mentioned in KHIII. But don't worry! There'll be cameos by several familiar faces from the movies. A word of warning, however; this particular work will take a "survival-horror" twist. There will be guns, blood and acts of violence galore. Oh, and swearing! (and maybe a few jump-scares if I can write 'em correctly, hehehehe...!)
So, without further ado, I present my first Marvel work!
Disclaimer: I, of course, do not claim ownership of Marvel's characters or organizations as they are depicted. That honor goes to Disney's Marvel Studios, the directors, and the MARVELous Stan Lee-the man who started it all. I write this story in honor of those who created the blockbuster franchise that is the MCU.
Allies of SHIELD: The SANCTIS Reports
September 13th, 1989
Thunder rumbled and rain lashed at a small home on the great open plains of Montana. Inside, however, an entirely different storm erupted.
"HRAH!" WHAM! With an angry yell, a tall, swarthy figure with distinctive Native American features, a man dressed in a red plaid flannel shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, hurled a second smaller man through a doorway with a heavy roundhouse kick. A set of military dog tags glinted briefly in the dim light as they bounced off the big man's collarbone. As the second man tried to rise, he tackled the smaller man to the floor and nailed his opponent across the jaw with a wicked right cross with a fist the size of a bear's paw. The brief struggle knocked a wicked-looking combat knife from the smaller man's hand.
"Who the hell are you?!" the big man growled savagely, hauling the darkly-clad man up by his collar in the middle of the darkened room. His craggy, weather-beaten face was a deadly mask of anger and grief. The room in question -along with the rest of the house- was in complete disarray, lit only by the beams from dropped flashlights, laser gunsights and a ruined floor lamp. Blood dripped freely from the second man's arm, staining the patch on his shoulder (a crimson, evil-looking six-tentacle skull) an even darker red. "Why'd you come here?!" the bigger man roared, and when he received no answer he swung his other fist in a backhanded swing. The organic crack of cartilage sounded as the wounded man's nose broke, before the big man hauled him up again. "WHY THEM, GODDAMN IT!?"
The wounded man cackled. It was a harsh, evil croak, made more so by his injuries. He twisted his head to one side as blood bubbled thickly from his broken nose and bit down on something in his mouth. Almost immediately he began to shake and foam at the mouth; the stench of burned almonds wafted up from between his jaws. "I am only the first…of many, you foolish s-savage," he choked in a faintly Germanic accent. "Cut off one head—hhk!—T-two more shall…take its place." The taller man snarled and cocked his fist back in frustration, but the other man only had two more words to say before he expired. "H-Hail HYDRA…"
"…Damn it." The tall man let the fresh corpse thud to the ground and got up, eyeing the body with distaste. Then he crashed to his knees and hollered, "DAMN IT!" Hammering a fist against the carpet, each blow brought a cry of rage from the man's throat. When he was spent and breathing hard, he looked up in surprise. A tiny sob to his right had caught his attention. he swiveled slowly to look towards the far corner of the room.
What he saw broke his heart. A little girl with burgundy-red hair, dressed in a toddler's set of footie pajamas, was sitting up next to the blood-stained body of a woman—her mother. Clutched in her free arm was a battered, well-loved teddy bear.
The little girl, whose name was Jessie, heard the man get up and approach, but she didn't care; all her attention was on her mother's still form. "Mommy…Mommy, wake up…M-Mommy?" she whimpered. She shook her mother's shoulder, but got no response.
The big man knelt down nearby and opened his arms to her. "Jessie…I'm sorry, sweet-pea."
Jessie looked up at him. "U-Uncle Larry…?" she sniffled. Her short, slightly chubby fingers curled into the blood-soaked fabric of her mother's shirt. "Why…why won' she wake up…? Why won't Mommy wake up?"
Larry Leavenworth, half-Dakota Sioux, gently reached out to his 5-year-old niece while fighting back his own burgeoning tears. "I don't think she's going to wake up again, sweetheart. Same for your dad," he said softly. Jessie paused, and then got up and ran to her uncle's open arms. Her body and face were splattered with her mother's blood. "Right…let's get you out of here and cleaned up," Larry told her.
"But what about…? What about mommy?" Jessie murmured as she cuddled up against her uncle's broad shoulder, looking over her own shoulder at her mother's body.
Larry sighed and got to his feet. "Right now, we gotta leave, okay? But don't worry, I called some old friends of mine from the Marines, and they're going to take good care of your mom and dad, okay?"
"B-but...Why do we haf'ta leave...?" Jessie whimpered as she was picked up. She wriggled and looked around her uncle. "N-No, Uncle Larry, we gotta bring Mommy!" As her uncle carried her away, Jessie squirmed in his arms, reaching out for her mother. She started to cry again. "Momma! Mommy! Mommy, wake u-u-up!"
"Shhh…" Larry hushed her. He shook with the effort of hiding his tears at the plaintive cries of his niece. Crying silently, he carried the squirming little girl away from the sad scene of carnage in his dead brother's battle-torn house.
As they left the scene, Jessie's last wail for her mother echoed on the air.
Present Day: July 26th, 2004
"NOOO—!" With a scream, 20-year-old Jessica Leavenworth sat bolt upright in bed, panting in terror. When she felt something wet on her cheek she scrubbed at it with a fist, half-fearing that she might find her mother's blood spattered there. But no; it was merely the trickle of her own salty tears. "Oh, God..." Still crying, Jess buried her head in her arms and sobbed. It had been so long since that god-awful night. So goddamn long. She barely remembered half of it, but the aftermath still lingered.
Soon her old grief turned into anger. Rolling over on her side, Jess reached out and her fingers found a small object on a chain sitting on her bedside table. She lifted it up; it was a heart-shaped locket. Opening it, she stared at the two tiny images inside. One picture was of her uncle and his wife and son; the other was of the parents she'd lost fifteen years ago.
"Fucking HYDRA..." Jess sniffled, staring at her parents' still, smiling faces. Her jaw clenched and she snapped the locket shut before she tossed it back on the bedside table and rolled over. She gathered the blankets up, curling up in a ball as she tried to drift back to sleep. A tear tricked down her face.
"Damn them all..."