Watson clenched his fists, his mind racing as he surveyed the chaotic scene. Scott had narrowly escaped death, Uncle Polk was gasping for air on the ground, and the two fierce jackals loomed like spectral guardians. Watson's resolve hardened,this wasn't over yet.
Scott had been moments away from being torn apart, his neck nearly crushed under the fangs of one of the jackals. But as Watson signaled, the jackal obeyed, releasing its grip and spitting Scott unceremoniously onto the ground. Uncle Polk collapsed, coughing and struggling to breathe, as Watson turned his attention to the barely conscious Scott, fury radiating from his every pore.
Derick strode forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "Let him go! I'll kill him myself!" he growled, stepping past Uncle Polk. Behind him, Watson's fierce jackals snarled, their predatory instincts mirroring their master's wrath.
The jackal hesitated, sensing Watson's wishes, then spat Scott onto the ground with a guttural growl. Watson crouched low, locking eyes with the beaten and bloodied man. "You…" Watson began, his voice sharp and icy. But before he could finish, Scott bit down hard on something hidden in his mouth.
Watson's eyes widened as foam bubbled at Scott's lips, his body convulsing. Recognition flickered in Watson's mind. "Cut off one head, two grow in its place," Scott whispered hoarsely, his trembling voice echoing Hydra's infamous mantra.
At that moment, Watson knew—Scott was Hydra, a twisted pawn in their vast, insidious game. Worse, it was clear Scott had been altered, enhanced by Hydra's cruel experiments. Watson gritted his teeth, his mind spinning. Killing him outright would be too easy, too clean. Hydra would simply replace him, like always.
Watson's decision was made in an instant. "System," he called inwardly. "Give me a healing potion and an antidote."
A small vial of shimmering liquid materialized in Watson's hand. Without hesitation, he poured it down Scott's throat, followed by the antidote. Within seconds, Scott's wounds began to close, the jagged bite marks mending as if they'd never existed. The poison coursing through his veins dissipated, and his ragged breathing steadied.
Scott's eyes fluttered open, filled with terror and disbelief. He glanced at his healed body, then back at Watson, his face pale. Even Hydra's most potent toxins had been neutralized in mere seconds. And the monsters—those horrifying creatures—stood at Watson's command. Scott knew then that Watson was no ordinary man. He was a force Hydra could not afford to underestimate.
Scott twitched, attempting to rise, but a massive paw slammed him back to the ground. Watson raised a hand, and the jackal eased its grip, pinning Scott firmly but without delivering a fatal blow. Watson sighed, his brow furrowed. "What am I supposed to do with you? Killing you won't send Hydra a strong enough message…"
The system chimed in, its mechanical voice breaking the tension. "Monster Space and backpacks cannot store living creatures. However, the fierce jackals can temporarily swallow creatures less than two-thirds of their volume and store them in Monster Space. Creatures not returned to Monster Space will be digested within one hour."
Watson smirked at the absurdity of it all. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath. He glanced at Scott, then at the jackal. "Alright. Time to get creative."
Derick, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. "What are you planning, Watson?"
Watson gestured toward Scott and the jackal. "Hydra thinks they're invincible, that no one can touch them. Well, from now on, their grave is in the stomachs of my monsters."
Watson turned to the jackal, pointing at Scott. "Store him. He'll make a nice little 'gift' for S.H.I.E.L.D. later." The jackal growled in understanding, its jaws opening impossibly wide. Scott screamed as he was swallowed whole, his muffled cries disappearing into the void.
Watson dusted off his hands, satisfied. "That takes care of him, for now."
He turned his attention to Uncle Polk, who had finally caught his breath. Watson knelt beside him, his voice softening. "Uncle Polk, are you alright?"
Polk coughed but managed a laugh. "I'll live. You gave me quite the scare, kid. But don't worry—I've faced worse in my younger days. Might've even beaten you back then!" he chuckled, though his eyes betrayed his lingering unease.
Watson smiled faintly, though the weight of the situation lingered heavily on his shoulders. Polk's expression grew serious. "Watson… does anyone else know about your… abilities?" He gestured subtly toward the jackals, still lurking in the shadows.
"No," Watson replied firmly. "No one's seen them. And I intend to keep it that way."
Polk nodded, though his worry was evident. "Be careful, kid. You're playing with fire."
Watson's gaze hardened. "Maybe. But Hydra's been burning the world for long enough. It's time someone burned them back."