As it happened, every agent dispatched happened to be either a Hydra operative or someone carrying enough guilt to make them nervous around a supernatural judge.
When Nick Fury received the reports, he cursed them all as hopeless idiots.
Not that he moved an inch himself.
Meanwhile, Johnny charged straight into the criminal stronghold.
He reached behind him and pulled a shotgun from his motorcycle. Under the influence of the Black Hole Dimension's power, the weapon had become something far beyond an ordinary firearm.
A true weapon of slaughter.
BOOM!
One shot.
The gangster closest to him exploded.
His upper body vanished into a crimson spray that painted the wall behind him.
"Kill him!"
The remaining gangsters reacted immediately, drawing their weapons and opening fire.
Bullets filled the air.
Johnny didn't bother dodging.
Instead, he pulled out another weapon from the dimensional arsenal Drex had granted him.
An M79 grenade launcher.
THUMP!
BOOM!
A single corrupted grenade landed in the center of the casino.
The explosion swallowed everything.
When the smoke cleared, every gangster inside was dead.
Their souls rose from their corpses and were instantly absorbed by Johnny before being transferred into the Black Hole Dimension.
Drex had been monitoring the process closely.
The results pleasantly surprised him.
These souls possessed remarkable value.
Compared to the pure souls generated through the Soul Stone, even ordinary criminal souls provided roughly one percent of the energy.
The truly wicked ones were far more impressive.
One particularly depraved soul delivered as much energy as over a thousand pure souls combined.
The man's crimes had stained him so deeply that demons and devils would have fought over ownership of his soul.
Johnny finished cleansing the casino.
Then he kept going.
The criminal organizations throughout Hell's Kitchen had already received word.
The moment Johnny stepped outside, a storm of bullets descended on him from every direction.
Johnny remained calm.
This time, he pulled a GE M134 Minigun from his arsenal.
The six-barreled monster looked nothing like a normal military weapon anymore.
Black Hole Dimension energy had warped it into something nightmarish.
Its frame resembled twisted bone.
Skull motifs covered the weapon.
Dark flames crawled across the rotating barrels.
Johnny squeezed the trigger.
The Minigun roared.
A torrent of bullets erupted from the weapon, vastly exceeding what its ammunition capacity should have allowed.
Walls disintegrated.
Concrete pillars shattered.
Vehicles were torn apart.
Everything touched by the black-flame-coated rounds began breaking down at a fundamental level.
Gangsters hiding behind cover were shredded before they even realized their protection was useless.
Those hiding deeper inside buildings fared no better.
Johnny's burning eye sockets functioned like a soul-detection radar.
No sinner could escape his sight.
Then a rocket slammed directly into him.
BOOM!
The gangsters cheered.
For exactly one second.
Johnny stepped out of the flames unharmed.
Then he calmly reached into his own chest and pulled out a rocket launcher.
"Oh, shit!"
The man who had fired the rocket barely managed to curse before Johnny returned the favor.
His rocket moved faster than artillery.
BOOM!
An entire floor of the building disappeared.
The blast consumed everything in its path.
Then Johnny switched weapons again.
An M60 machine gun appeared in his hands.
What followed was less a battle and more a massacre.
Anyone who showed themselves died.
Anyone who stayed hidden died too.
Gunfire echoed far beyond Hell's Kitchen.
Across New York, countless civilians assumed another terrorist attack was underway.
The situation had grown too large to ignore.
Fury finally gave up on sending disposable agents and dispatched one of his most trusted people.
Phil Coulson.
The panic wasn't limited to S.H.I.E.L.D.
Wall Street's elite had already learned about the black-flamed rider tearing through Hell's Kitchen.
Many were deeply unsettled.
One particularly deranged proposal suggested launching a missile at the so-called Hell Messenger and seeing what happened.
Nobody supported the idea.
If the missile worked, great.
If it didn't?
Nobody wanted the attention of whatever that thing was.
And judging from the footage, it didn't look interested in negotiation.
The transformation of the Ghost Rider was entirely Drex's doing.
He had always thought the traditional chains and whips were inefficient.
Why spend minutes swinging chains around when firearms existed?
As a result, Johnny had been gifted a dimensional armory.
Weapons could be summoned from his body or directly from his motorcycle.
The signature weapon of the collection was a massive revolver inspired by Hellboy's famous hand cannon.
Each round was as long as a man's middle finger and nearly as thick as a thumb.
Thanks to the Black Hole Dimension's energy, these weapons required no conventional ammunition.
As long as dimensional energy remained available, every firearm effectively possessed unlimited ammo.
Far more practical than trying to kill enemies with a chain.
The armory's contents were absurdly extensive.
It included fighter jets.
Nuclear submarines.
Orbital weapons platforms.
If Drex ever felt particularly creative, he might even stuff a Death Star or a Gundam into it.
By the time dawn approached, Johnny finally collapsed.
The black flames vanished.
His skeletal form reverted to that of an ordinary human.
But the damage had already been done.
Stories of the Hell Messenger who had swept through Hell's Kitchen spread rapidly.
S.H.I.E.L.D. and the United States government worked desperately to suppress the information.
Unfortunately for them, the Rising Tide existed.
The hacker collective specialized in exposing hidden truths.
And one of its members was Skye.
A hacker capable of breaching S.H.I.E.L.D.'s databases with little more than a laptop.
Even Stark-designed firewalls had failed to stop her.
The footage spread across the internet at an alarming speed.
Johnny himself didn't get far.
Coulson arrived shortly afterward and took him into custody.
He was transported to a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. facility and placed under constant observation while waiting to regain consciousness.
During that time, while Coulson reported the situation to Fury, poor unconscious Johnny Blaze became the most popular research subject in America.
Hydra.
Military factions under General Ross.
Corporate interests.
Members of Congress.
Wall Street financiers.
Vampire organizations.
The Hand.
Wilson Fisk.
And countless other groups.
Officially or unofficially, all of them managed to obtain samples.
Blood.
Saliva.
Hair.
Skin cells.
Anything they could get.
Once they learned that the terrifying Hell Rider had originally been an ordinary human, their interest exploded.
Everyone wanted to uncover the secret behind Johnny's transformation.
And, ideally, claim it for themselves.
Fortunately for Johnny, he didn't remain unconscious for long.
His eyes slowly opened.
"Hello there, Hotshot Johnny."
A warm smile greeted him.
Phil Coulson stepped into the room.
The first impression was overwhelmingly positive.
Johnny's exhausted mind immediately reached a simple conclusion.
This guy seemed like a genuinely good person.
"Where am I?"
His throat felt like sandpaper.
Every word burned.
It was as if he hadn't had water in days.
"You're in a medical ward," Coulson replied.
His sharp eyes immediately noticed Johnny's condition.
"Do you remember what happened last night?"
He poured a glass of water and handed it over.
"Thanks."
Johnny grabbed it without hesitation.