M103- Operation Guillotine

In an unknown location, deep underground, Erwin sat at the long table surrounded by HYDRA’s highest-ranking executives. The air was tense. The recent attacks had put everyone on edge, and they were waiting for him to speak.

Erwin let the silence stretch, making them feel it before speaking. “Reports.”

The first to speak was a man from the European sector. “Three of our major facilities are gone. Vienna, Warsaw, and the Prague site. Hit within forty-eight hours.”

The second followed immediately. “South America’s no better. The base in Argentina—wiped out. And the one in Colombia? Our forces abandoned it before they even got there. Whoever’s feeding them information, it’s coming from the inside.”

Murmurs passed around the table. The betrayal was obvious, but no one had been caught. Not yet.

Viper exhaled sharply. “Asia’s holding for now, but we’ve lost our safe zones in Japan and Korea. The Seven are tearing through everything.” She leaned forward. “So, what’s our great hidden overseer planning to do about it?”

Erwin remained still. “What do you think?”

One of the men scoffed. “It’s easy for you to be calm. Your position wasn’t just burned to the ground.”

Erwin tilted his head. “You think I showed myself because I wanted to? SHIELD finally realized HYDRA never fully died, and they started a purge. If I hadn’t intervened, we wouldn’t be sitting at this table.”

That shut them up.

Viper studied him, fingers tapping idly. “And yet, SHIELD is still standing.”

Erwin met her gaze. “Because they don’t know how deep I run. They think they’re just now discovering HYDRA’s remnants. Let them think that.”

A man on the left, bald, scarred across the eye, spoke next. “And what of the Seven? Do we just wait for them to find the rest of us?”

“That’s your first mistake,” Erwin said. “You’re treating them like a rogue faction. They’re not.”

Silence.

Viper arched a brow. “Then what are they?”

Erwin leaned back. “A controlled demolition.”

The room shifted. A few exchanged glances.

Viper smirked. “Someone set them loose?”

Erwin didn’t confirm or deny it. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you keep assuming they’re operating without direction. They have access, funding, tech. Every strike is surgical. You don’t fight something like that with brute force.”

The bald man scoffed. “You suggesting we just let them keep going?”

Erwin gave him a bored look. “I’m suggesting you stop thinking like idiots.”

More silence.

Viper chuckled. “Not used to being talked down to, are you?”

The bald man gritted his teeth but didn’t respond.

Erwin continued, “You want to stop them? You don’t react. You make them react. Right now, they dictate the pace. You need to take that from them.”

Viper drummed her fingers against the table. “That’s one approach.” She glanced around, then leaned forward. “But I prefer something simpler.”

She slid a tablet across the table.

The screen displayed a contract. An open bounty.

Ten billion per head.

Twenty if alive.

A few of the executives stiffened. Some looked intrigued.

Erwin picked up the tablet, skimmed it, then set it down. “That’s a lot of money to burn.”

Viper smirked. “Not our money. Private investors. Some very rich, very angry people want them erased.”

“Who approved it?” Erwin asked.

“Cabal,” she said simply.

A few murmurs spread through the table again. The name carried weight.

Erwin showed no reaction. “And you think this will work?”

Viper shrugged. “I don’t care if it works. I care that it makes their lives harder.”

Someone on the right spoke up. “Every bounty hunter, mercenary, and assassin worth a damn is going to be looking for them.”

Erwin tilted his head. “And you think that’s a good thing?”

The man hesitated. “It means pressure.”

“It means desperation,” Erwin corrected. “You don’t control rabid dogs. You throw enough of them in one direction, and they start biting each other.”

Viper didn’t seem concerned. “That’s their problem.”

Erwin exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Then by all means, try.”

She smirked. “Not worried?”

Erwin let out a chuckle. “Not at all. Catching them all alive is a high order, but at worst, HYDRA can make seventy billion with this.”

The room was silent for a beat. Some of them looked at him like he was insane.

Viper leaned back, amusement playing at the edges of her smirk. “You think HYDRA benefits from a hunt against them?”

Erwin placed his hands flat on the table. “I think we benefit from anything that puts them under pressure. And if someone actually gets lucky? We cash out. Either way, we win.”

The bald man’s jaw clenched. “You make it sound simple.”

“That’s because it is,” Erwin said.

Some of them weren’t convinced. He could see it in their faces. But they had no choice but to listen. Not after what he’d done.

When he first revealed himself, his words had shut down any doubts.

"Look at this face. I am your Führer’s wet dream."

He hadn’t been wrong. His features were exactly what the old bastards at the roots of HYDRA had fantasized about when they spewed their purity propaganda. Blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, strong features—their idea of perfection. And unlike the failures that came before, he was shrewd, ruthless, and competent.

He had risen through SHIELD, planted himself at the top, gained Fury’s full trust, and still stood untouched. That alone made them listen.

But more than that, they had seen what he did to Pierce.

Viper had made sure they did.

She had shown them the recording—the moment Erwin took out the so-called mastermind of HYDRA’s last major resurgence, all from across the room, without breaking a sweat. It had been fast. Precise. Like swatting a bug.

That’s when they had understood.

That’s when they stopped questioning whether he belonged at this table.

Viper tapped a nail against the surface. “Should we go after them, then?”

Erwin gave a short nod. “Wait until others exhaust them. Then finish them.”

The room remained silent for a beat, processing the plan. They weren’t used to waiting. HYDRA’s playbook had always been about striking first, striking hard. But Erwin wasn’t like the old guard. He understood the difference between ambition and efficiency. The Seven had made enemies of the entire world. Every mercenary, every government-backed assassin, every black-ops team would be gunning for them.

Why waste resources when desperation would do the job for them?

A few of the others exchanged glances, weighing the approach. It was sound. Let the world do the dirty work, let the Seven burn themselves out, then step in and crush whatever was left.

One of the executives spoke up. “And if they don’t break?”

Erwin’s lips twitched. “Everyone breaks.”

Viper chuckled. “You say that like it’s a fact.”

“It is.” Erwin leaned forward slightly. “People like them? They think they’re unstoppable because they’ve survived everything thrown at them. But survival isn’t winning. It’s just delaying the inevitable. We don’t need to win battles. We need to make sure they never stop fighting.”

The room was dim, lit only by the glow of a single overhead lamp. Fury sat across from the man the world now called Taskmaster, though to him, he was still Anthony Masters. The mask was off, placed lazily on the table beside a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

Masters poured himself another drink but didn’t touch it yet. “Been a while.”

Fury leaned back. “Didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“Didn’t think you’d still have my number,” Masters shot back.

Fury gave a half-smirk. “Man with your skill set? I don’t forget.”

Masters finally took a sip. “Yeah, well. Can’t say the same.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Masters could mimic any technique, any movement, any style. But to make room for that, something else always got pushed out. Faces, places, entire stretches of his own history—gone. Fury had known that for a long time, which was why he pulled Masters out of SHIELD before anyone else could start asking questions.

Instead, Masters became something else. A mercenary. A killer-for-hire. A ghost with no real past, just a collection of skills that made him lethal. And through it all, Fury had kept an eye on him.

Masters swirled his glass. “They put a contract on the Seven. Big one.”

“I know.”

“I also know you’re the one who made sure I got the offer.”

Fury didn’t deny it.

Masters set the glass down. “What’s the angle?”

“You tell me.”

Masters exhaled. “This ain’t a standard hit job. Too much money. Too much attention. They’re not just trying to get rid of them, they’re trying to make an example.” He leaned forward. “So, what do you want me to do?”

Fury was silent for a moment. Then, “Play along.”

Masters raised an eyebrow.

“Take the job,” Fury continued. “Get close. See what you can find.”

“And then?”

Fury poured himself a drink but didn’t sip it. “Then, we see where the pieces fall.”

Masters studied him. “You’re hedging.”

Fury met his gaze. “I’m being realistic.”

Masters leaned back. “You think they’re gonna win this?”

Fury didn’t answer immediately. “I think they’re gonna change the board.”

Masters let that sit for a moment. He had hunted damn near everything. Terrorists, warlords, enhanced individuals, rogue operatives. He’d fought alongside heroes, tangled with SHIELD’s best, taken contracts that most would call suicide.

But the Seven? That was different.

They weren’t heroes. They weren’t villains. They were something else entirely.

He picked up his glass, considering. “And if I decide to take the money and do the job for real?”

Fury smirked. “Then I hope you’re getting paid upfront.”

Masters chuckled, shaking his head. “You always did talk a big game.”

Fury stood. “Take the job. Stay alive. And if you find out anything useful, let me know.”

Masters leaned back, tossing back the rest of his drink. “We’ll see.”

Fury turned to leave.

Just before he stepped out, Masters called after him.

“Hey, Nick.”

Fury paused.

Masters didn’t look up. “How many people you playing in this?”

Fury gave a half-smile. “Just enough.”

Then he was gone.

And Masters was left sitting in the dim light, staring at the contract on his phone.

All around the world, the contract spread like wildfire.

Ten billion per head.

Twenty if alive.

It was the kind of payday that made even the most loyal second-guess their allegiances. Mercenaries, assassins, bounty hunters, ex-heroes, ex-villains, whole organizations—every single one of them had just been given the green light to hunt the Seven.

And they were listening.

In Madripoor, a dozen underworld syndicates called emergency meetings, debating whether the reward was worth the risk. Some were eager, others hesitant. The Seven weren’t just strong—they were relentless. Every time someone tried to take them out before, they failed. But ten billion? That made people stupid. That made them greedy.

In Latveria, a few warlords whispered about it, but none moved without Doom’s word.

In the shadows of New York, old names resurfaced—contract killers who had disappeared from the game, coming out of retirement for one last hunt.

And then, there were the real monsters.

The kind that didn’t work for money, but for sport.

Kraven the Hunter sharpened a blade, checking his equipment with the slow patience of a man who had already decided he was going hunting.

The game had changed.

The Seven weren’t just being hunted.

They were being declared.

This wasn’t just a bounty. This was the world making it clear: the Seven were the enemy now. No diplomacy. No negotiations.

Kill or be killed.

Inside their underground base, the Seven weren’t exactly panicking.

The news was on, headlines flashing, experts weighing in. The split was clear—half the world calling for their heads, the other half questioning why the world’s most corrupt were suddenly so invested in erasing them.

Nero was flipping through the latest reports when Anthony walked in, tossing a tablet onto the table. "Guess who just got commissioned to hunt us?"

The room turned toward him.

Diego leaned forward, intrigued. "Let me guess—HYDRA? SHIELD? One of those wannabe world-controlling cabals?"

"Take your pick," Anthony said, crossing his arms. "It’s not just one contract. It’s everyone. Every major player, every high-profile killer, every black-ops unit worth their salt got the same message."

Donald picked up the tablet, scrolling. "Ten billion per head. Double if alive." He let out a low whistle. "That’s a lot of pissed-off rich people."

Nigel barely glanced at the screen. "Cabal?"

Anthony nodded. "That, and a few other familiar names."

Maria leaned back against the couch. "Figures. They got tired of waiting for us to die naturally."

Sofia swiped through her laptop, bringing up different channels. "They made it public on the dark web. Every mercenary, bounty hunter, and lunatic with a gun is gonna take a shot at us."

Diego grinned. "Finally, some excitement."

Nero shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” He tapped the table. “They know we’re impossible to find. They’ll lure us out. And who do you think they’ll use as bait?”

Donald clenched his fist. “Innocents.”

Nero nodded. “This might look like a simple kill order, but it’s more than that. They’re shifting the narrative. The longer we stay hidden, the more people get hurt, and at some point, even the ones who support us will curse us for hiding. They’ll beg us to come out and die just to stop the suffering.”

Sofia exhaled through her nose, scrolling through updates. “It’s a hostage situation, but on a global scale.”

Maria crossed her arms. “They’re going to start targeting anyone even remotely connected to us. Journalists, whistleblowers, sympathizers. Hell, anyone who said something nice about us online five years ago is probably on a watchlist now.”

Diego leaned back, twirling a pen between his fingers. “They’ll play the long game. Start small. Random ‘accidents.’ A fire here, a ‘mugging gone wrong’ there. Make it seem disconnected at first.”

Anthony set his phone down. “And if we don’t bite?”

“They escalate,” Nero said. “It’ll start looking like terrorist attacks, gang wars, uprisings. People will believe it because they need to. It’s easier to blame a shadow enemy than admit the ones in power are the real problem.” He glanced at the screen. “Think back to the way things played out in Aleppo, or even before that—when entire cities were erased, and people justified it because the alternative was too inconvenient to believe.”

Nigel clicked his tongue. “It’s textbook.”

Sofia frowned. “The worst part? It works.”

Donald ran a hand through his hair. “So what’s the move? We can’t just sit here and let them kill civilians until the world turns against us.”

Nero’s gaze turned cold. “That’s the neat part. Heroes will take to the streets to protect the innocent. At first, they’ll blame the ones responsible, but slowly, their anger will shift to us. They’ll justify it—say it’s all happening because of us. And some will think removing us, even if it’s wrong, will save lives. For the ‘greater good,’ they’ll hunt us down. Free super soldiers for their cause.”

A silence settled. Not from shock—none of them were naive—but because it was the truth.

Maria sighed helplessly. “So we don’t just have mercs and assassins after us. We’ve got the moral brigade too.”

Nigel exhaled through his nose, scrolling through his tablet. “Cap’s already making moves. He’s not part of Operation Guillotine, but he’s keeping his eyes on us.”

Sofia didn’t look away from her screen. “Some heroes will resist, but not all. The pressure’s gonna mount, and they’ll have to choose. SHIELD, the Avengers, the X-Men—when they realize people are dying because of this manhunt, they’ll either step in to stop it or step in to stop us.”

Donald ran a hand through his hair. “And let me guess—enough of them pick the wrong side, and suddenly, we’re the villains in every story being told.”

Diego snorted. “Didn’t take much for that to happen, did it? The world’s got a short memory.”

“Short and selective,” Nigel muttered. “We took down human traffickers, corporate scum, and warlords, but now we’re the greatest threat to global security?”

Anthony leaned forward. “People believe what’s easiest to believe. It’s easier to accept the Seven as a problem than admit the world they live in is broken.”

Nero tapped a finger against the table. “Doesn’t matter. We knew this was coming.”

Maria tilted her head. “So what’s the play?”

Nero leaned forward, elbows on the table. "We die."