Inside the secret Hydra base, Whitehall stood frozen.
His own subordinate, eyes glowing faintly red, had a pistol raised and trained on him—completely under Kurogai's control.
Across the room, Kurogai observed silently. Despite his appearance, there was nothing childlike about the cold confidence in his gaze.
At that moment, Daniel Whitehall looked less like a Hydra leader and more like a lamb before the slaughter—completely powerless.
"Just one question before this ends," Kurogai said calmly, holding up an aged parchment scroll between his fingers. "What's written in this thing you worked so hard to retrieve?"
This scroll was the spark behind it all. It had set off a chain reaction of bloodshed and pursuit. Now, with Whitehall cornered, Kurogai wanted answers.
Whitehall stayed silent for a moment, his mind racing.
"…If I tell you, will you let me go?" he asked finally.
Kurogai didn't respond—his expression didn't even shift.
The silence said everything.
Whitehall let out a breath and smirked bitterly.
"Of course not. Should've known." He looked up, voice low. "You're like me… selfish, calculating, merciless. You won't hesitate. That's why I know you'll walk the same path one day."
Suddenly, with a sharp twist, Whitehall snapped the neck of the controlled Hydra soldier beside him.
The body crumpled.
Whitehall wasn't going to surrender. Not without a fight.
Before Kurogai could react, Whitehall bolted for the metallic briefcase he had brought in earlier. With a heavy slam of his fist, he shattered the casing, grabbed what looked like a sleek, metallic helmet, and slammed it onto his head.
"Hahaha! Got you, kid!" Whitehall roared, grinning manically. "You let your guard down just long enough. And now you've lost your only chance to kill me!"
He tapped the helmet with a finger, pride gleaming in his eyes.
"See this? A psychic-blocking helmet. Built to counter abilities like yours."
Whitehall wasn't bluffing.
He had long suspected that Kurogai possessed some kind of mental manipulation ability. Hydra had records—during World War II, they'd encountered mutants like Professor X, whose powers had terrified even Hydra's upper ranks.
Magneto had worn a helmet to block such powers.
Hydra had studied that. Replicated it.
And now, Whitehall wore the result of those experiments.
He wasn't just confident. He was certain. He'd undergone minor biological enhancements—much like John Garrett—making him stronger, faster. Now, shielded from mental influence and enhanced beyond human limits, he believed victory was inevitable.
"You think you can control me now?" he sneered. "Try it."
Kurogai didn't flinch.
His lips curled faintly, and his crimson eyes shifted—transforming into the distinctive inverted V-shaped symbol of Geass.
A flash of red light radiated from his eyes—and for the briefest second—met Whitehall's gaze directly.
"Whitehall," Kurogai said quietly, "I grant you full awareness. Remain conscious. Answer my questions. And don't move… until death."
Whitehall's grin vanished.
His limbs locked. His muscles froze. Panic surged in his chest.
"…What?! I… I can't move…!"
Terror spread across his face.
He could feel every part of his body—but none of it obeyed him. Even the augmented implants refused to activate.
"This helmet was supposed to block you…!"
But Kurogai's voice cut in, calm as ever.
"My ability doesn't operate like traditional telepathy."
"It doesn't invade the mind."
"It only requires eye contact."
That was the terrifying truth of Kurogai's Geass. It bypassed mental shielding entirely. The helmet was useless.
Whitehall, fully aware, fully conscious, could only stand paralyzed—watching the scene unfold.
"Now," Kurogai said softly. "What's on the scroll?"
Whitehall struggled to resist—but his lips moved involuntarily.
"…It's a map. A treasure tied to the Inhumans." He choked out the words, horror in his eyes. "Coordinates. Artifacts. It leads to their sanctuary…"
Kurogai narrowed his gaze.
Just as he suspected. Whitehall's experiments, his obsession—it all aligned with Hydra's interest in the Inhumans.
"Then you're no longer useful."
Kurogai reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol—an old Hydra sidearm he'd taken during his first real encounter with the organization. Until now, he'd never used it.
But for Whitehall, the first real threat in his life—he'd make an exception.
"As my first true enemy…" Kurogai said, leveling the weapon. "…I'll be the one to end you."
He pulled the trigger.
Bang.
Whitehall collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Even in death, his face held a final trace of disbelief and bitter regret.
He had chosen the wrong enemy.
And paid the price.
---
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