Marvel: Video Game Templates!

Maxim stood in the shadow of a crumbling alleyway, the only other inhabitants being vagrants and druggies as he watched the sun sink below the horizon and the moon rise into the sky.

The port town, now draped in the moonlight, took on a more darker edge. The streets, which were once crowded with vendors and fishermen, were now patrolled by the people who really controlled this place, the ones who operated in the dead of night.

Still, Maxim didn't worry. There was no way these normal humans could catch him anyway. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, the mask still in place as he silently moved towards the docks, shifting through the shadows.

Deacon, the man from the bar, had told him to meet there, promising information on Klaue in exchange for assistance with a rival gang trying to muscle in on his shipment.

The job was simple enough: take out the competition, make sure Deacon's goods were secure, and then get the information Maxim needed.

The docks were a hive of activity, even as night fell. It was natural, the docks were always a major force in the crime game of any city or town due to its usability of transporting not so legal cargo.

Cargo ships lined the waterfront, their hulking shapes casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Men moved about, loading and unloading crates under the watchful eyes of heavily armed guards.

To any ordinary observer, this would look like a busy port. But Maxim knew better. He had already scoped out the place during the day and recognized the subtle signs of a criminal operation running in the background. Unmarked vans, suspiciously discreet shipments, and men who looked more like hired muscle than dockworkers.

Maxim's enhanced senses picked up on the details most people would miss. The faint click of a hidden weapon being loaded in an alley across the street. The smell of gunpowder mixing with the salty air of the sea. The way they constantly checked over their shoulder.

Conversations in the shadows about "moving the goods" and "making sure the boss doesn't know." Deacon's rivals were already here.

Moving like a ghost, Maxim slipped through the maze of shipping containers, sticking to the shadows. He made his way to the designated meeting spot, a small, dilapidated warehouse at the far end of the docks.

The structure had once been used to store fishing equipment, but now it seemed to serve as a staging area for whatever illegal activities Deacon had his hand in.

Deacon was waiting inside, leaning against a rusted metal beam, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His demeanor was tense but focused, the kind of look a man wears when he's used to watching his back.

"You're on time," Deacon said, exhaling a cloud of smoke as Maxim approached, "Good. I wasn't sure you'd show."

Maxim merely nodded, his expression unreadable beneath the hood and mask. He wasn't here for small talk, this was just business, and Deacon seemed to sense that.

"Alright," Deacon said, pushing himself off the beam and flicking the cigarette onto the ground, "Here's the deal. There's a gang that's been trying to muscle in on my operation. They've got a small group waiting at the docks tonight, planning to intercept my shipment. My men can handle the cargo, but I need you to take out the competition before they even get close."

"How many?" Maxim asked, his voice low and calm.

"Five or six. Maybe more, depending on how many reinforcements they bring in," Deacon replied, adjusting his coat as if preparing for the night ahead, "They're holed up near one of the old warehouses, not far from here. We hit them before they can make their move."

Maxim considered the situation briefly. It was a straightforward mission—, take out a small gang and secure the shipment. Simple. Efficient.

Compared to the bonkers attempt to escape a heavily guarded Hydra base, this was easy, straightforward and simple. But Maxim had learned long ago that even the simplest jobs could go sideways. He needed to be ready for anything and everything.

"Lead the way," Maxim said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Deacon gave him a sharp nod and gestured for him to follow. The two of them moved silently through the maze of containers and ships, the sounds of the docks fading as they neared the old warehouse district.

It was quieter here, more isolated, the perfect place for a confrontation away from prying eyes, it seems alot of thought had been put into this.

As they approached the target, Maxim slowed his pace, his eyes scanning the surroundings. His training, combined with Omen's abilities, allowed him to see and sense things others couldn't.

He felt the faint tremor of footsteps in the ground, the subtle shift in the air that indicated movement. There were men nearby, hidden among the shadows of the warehouse.

Others may not be able to sense them, but with Omen's abilities, trying to hide in the shadows from him was actually like placing a Glowing Beacon of Light on themselves.

"They're here," Maxim said quietly, his gaze sweeping the area, "Six of them, three positioned near the entrance, two on the roof, one inside."

Deacon raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed, "You sure about that?"

Maxim didn't bother responding. He didn't need to explain how he knew, he just did. This was business, and everyone had their own ways.

Maxim ditched Deacon, swiftly moving into the darkness, becoming one with the shadows as be prepared to take out the gang members.

Maxim's powers allowed him to manipulate darkness, to blend into it, and to travel through it like a specter. With a simple thought, he vanished from sight, his form dissolving into the surrounding gloom.

The first of Deacon's rivals never saw him coming.

Perched on the roof of the warehouse, the lookout was scanning the docks, completely unaware of the danger lurking below. Maxim emerged from the shadows behind him, silent and deadly.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed the man by the neck, crushing his windpipe with a swift, precise squeeze before letting the body collapse soundlessly onto the roof.

One down.

Maxim moved like a wraith, shifting through the darkness to the second man on the roof. This one had a rifle slung over his shoulder, clearly prepared to provide cover for his allies.

But he, too, was unprepared for the predator stalking him. Maxim appeared behind him, a dark figure in the corner of the man's vision. Before he could react, Maxim snapped his neck with a swift, brutal twist, grabbing the gun to stop it from falling onto the floor and making noise.

Two down.

Below, the remaining men were completely unaware that they were being hunted. Maxim descended from the roof, slipping through the shadows until he reached the side of the warehouse.

He could hear the muffled voices of the men inside, discussing the shipment they planned to intercept.

"Boss said it should be here any minute," one of them muttered to the other.

"Good. I don't wanna be out here all night," another replied.

Maxim positioned himself near the entrance, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect opportunity to engage.

A few seconds later, the door to the warehouse creaked open, and one of the men stepped outside, his hand on his pants zipper as he was clearly planning to take a quick leak.

Unfortunately for him, he would never accomplish that. Maxim struck, his hand clamping over the man's mouth as he dragged him into the shadows, silencing him with a single, precise cut to the throat.

Three down.

The remaining two men inside the warehouse were starting to grow restless after a bit. One of them stepped toward the door, calling out for their fallen comrade, "Hey! You good out there?"

Maxim stepped into the warehouse, his presence hidden by the dim lighting. The two men glanced in his direction but saw nothing more than a dark silhouette in the shadows. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late.

Maxim closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, his movements swift and lethal. He disarmed the first man with a flick of his wrist, sending the gun clattering to the ground before delivering a bone-crushing blow to his chest.

The second man barely had time to draw his weapon before Maxim's hand closed around his throat, lifting him off the ground with ease.

"Please…" the man gasped, his eyes wide with fear as he struggled to breathe.

Maxim didn't respond. He squeezed, feeling the man's windpipe collapse under his grip before tossing the lifeless body aside.

Six down.

The warehouse was silent now, the air thick with the stench of blood and death. Maxim stood in the center of the room, his eyes scanning the area for any remaining threats.

When he was satisfied that the job was done, he grabbed all 6 guns, one for each person he killed, and stepped back outside, where Deacon was waiting.

"That was fast," Deacon remarked, clearly impressed.

Maxim didn't respond, just dropping the guns for Deacon to count. Once Deacon was done, he raised his eyebrow, clearly very impressed in Maxim's work.

Still, Deacon knew his place, a man of Maxim's skill couldn't be hired by him, this would probably be their only interaction, so it was best to keep Maxim on his good side and not overcomplicate anything

Maxim had done his part, and now it was time for Deacon to do his.

"The shipment's secure," Deacon said, lighting another cigarette as he glanced at the warehouse, "You held up your end of the deal. Now it's my turn."

Maxim crossed his arms, his eyes locked on Deacon, "Talk."

Deacon exhaled a puff of smoke, his expression serious, "Klaue's been laying low ever since his last shipment got attacked. But I've heard he's planning a big deal soon. Word is he's meeting with some buyer out in the jungle, near an old mining site. That's where you'll find him."

Maxim nodded, already committing the details to memory, "When?"

"Couple of days, 3 or 4 to be exact," Deacon replied. "You'd better move fast if you want to catch him."

Maxim didn't need any further prompting. Without another word, he turned and melted back into the shadows, his mind already focused on the next phase of his mission. He had what he needed.

Now it was time to find Ulysses Klaue and the Vibranium.