VCM "Quick! Tell me whose car this is!" The masked gunman barked, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against a frightened bystander's forehead.
He wasn't the only one on edge. The two other robbers with him were just as frantic, constantly glancing over their shoulders.
They had broken out of prison only minutes ago, knocking out a guard and stealing his weapon in the process. If they didn't get out of here fast, the authorities would be on them in no time.
"I have the key," a calm voice interrupted their panic.
Melinda stepped forward, holding up a set of keys as she studied the robbers. Their erratic breathing, their shaky hands—she had seen it all before. Desperation made people reckless. That would be their downfall.
"Give it to me! And step back!" One of the men shouted, waving his gun at her.
Without hesitation, Melinda tossed the keys into the air. The moment all three robbers instinctively turned their heads to follow its arc, she moved.
In a flash, she lunged forward, grabbing the closest gunman's wrist and twisting it hard. A sickening crack echoed as the weapon slipped from his grip, and before he could even cry out, she drove her fist into his jaw. He crumpled to the ground. Without missing a beat, she spun around, snatching another robber's gun with a precise backhand before leveling it at the last man standing.
"Damn it!" the leader hissed, his hands trembling. His panic took over—he fired off two wild shots before spinning on his heel and making a break for the door.
"Hey, who said you could leave?" A new voice cut in, laced with amusement.
Standing casually by the side of the road, Ethan Hunt smirked.
The rush of adrenaline still thrummed in his veins after being held at gunpoint, and he figured this was as good a time as any to test out his powers.
A faint shimmer rippled through the air around him.
Though invisible to the naked eye, the shifting vectors of the atmosphere twisted and surged, bending to his will.
Within moments, a powerful force pulled at the running robber, yanking him backward as though he were caught in the grip of a hurricane.
The man's feet left the ground. "W-What the hell—?!"
Ethan grinned, watching the leader flail helplessly midair. "Come back here." He flicked his wrist.
"AAAAHHH!" The robber's terrified scream echoed as he was violently hurled backward.
Unfortunately, Ethan hadn't quite refined his control, and instead of stopping in front of him, the man was flung clear across the street.
Ethan winced as a loud thud followed. "Whoops. That was a bit much," he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "Eh, no big deal. He probably won't be getting up anytime soon."
But before he could take a step forward, another agonized wail cut through the night air.
This time, it wasn't from the robber.
Ethan tensed.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered before rushing toward the sound.
When he stepped outside, his smirk disappeared.
A lone motorcycle sat idling on the darkened road, its engine growling softly.
A man straddled the seat, his gaze locked onto Ethan.
At his feet, the robber leader lay crumpled, trembling, his face twisted in sheer horror.
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "That scream just now… didn't sound like someone being knocked out."
The biker tilted his head slightly. "I can feel it." His voice was low, gravelly, like embers smoldering in a dying fire.
"The corruption clings to you. The darkness from another world. And all evil must be purged."
Ethan arched a brow. "You serious? You think I'm evil?" Then he scoffed, crossing his arms. "And what, you're the executioner? You gonna take me down all by yourself?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, a slow, eerie chuckle rumbled from his chest.
Then the flames ignited.
Bright, hellish fire engulfed his entire body in an instant.
But instead of consuming his clothes, the inferno burned away everything else—his flesh, his muscles, his very essence—until all that remained was a gleaming skull wreathed in unholy fire.
"Am I qualified now?" The skeletal figure spoke, his hollow voice resonating like a distant thunderclap. Flames danced along his skull, casting eerie shadows across the pavement. The fire's glow reflected off his smooth, bone-white head, making it almost impossible for Ethan to look directly at him.
"Yeah… you've got it," Ethan muttered, still caught off guard by the sheer intensity of the flaming specter before him.
With a deafening roar, Ghost Rider revved his hellish motorcycle. Fire erupted from its wheels as he tore forward, the flaming tires scorching the asphalt beneath him.
Ethan, shaking off his shock, scoffed. "I've seen transformations before. If you want to fight, bring it on."
He raised his foot and stomped hard on the ground.
A shockwave of kinetic force exploded outward, shattering the pavement. Jagged chunks of asphalt and debris hurtled toward Ghost Rider like a cannon blast.
But the Spirit of Vengeance was unfazed. With precise control, he pulled back on his handlebars, launching his motorcycle off a chunk of airborne rubble. The flaming bike soared through the air, flipping effortlessly over Ethan's head before landing smoothly on the other side.
Ethan couldn't help but smirk. "Alright, I'll admit, that was a damn good trick."
"What's going on?"
Melinda and Yuriko burst onto the scene, both immediately tensing at the sight of the flaming skeleton on the demonic bike.
"What the hell is that?" Melinda demanded, instinctively drawing her pistol. Beside her, Yuriko bared her razor-sharp claws, ready to attack at a moment's notice.
Ethan turned to them, his expression dark. "Ever heard the legend of the Ghost Rider?"
Melinda's face paled. "You mean that old Texas myth about a demon on a motorcycle?"
"That's the one." Ethan nodded grimly.
"Oh my god… this thing is real? And why is he after us?" Melinda's voice was laced with both disbelief and growing concern.
Ethan hesitated.
Deep down, he knew the answer.
The mark that the Ancient One had placed on him—whatever it was—had clearly drawn the Rider here like a beacon. As soon as he set foot in New Mexico, the Spirit of Vengeance had come calling.
Ghost Rider's flaming eyes swept over Melinda and Yuriko, assessing them in silence before he spoke once more.
"You are guilty."
With that ominous declaration, he twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle screamed forward, heading straight for them.
"Move!" Ethan shouted as Melinda opened fire.
The bullets had no effect, passing harmlessly through the Rider's burning frame. Yuriko, ready to fight, lunged at him, claws bared—
But the moment she locked eyes with him, she froze.
Ethan's heart dropped.
The Penance Stare.
"Get out of the way!" he roared, shoving Yuriko aside just before Ghost Rider could seize her soul.
She tumbled to the ground, shaken but unharmed.
Now, the Rider was almost on him.
Ethan had only seconds to react.
With a flick of his wrist, the air around him shifted violently.
BOOM!
Ghost Rider and his motorcycle were suddenly hurled backward as if struck by an invisible force.
He tumbled and skidded across the pavement, flames scorching a blackened path behind him, before finally coming to a stop hundreds of feet away.
Ethan exhaled sharply, dropping to one knee.
A burning sensation ripped through his body, his skin slick with sweat as searing pain coursed through his veins.
He clenched his fists, looking down at his trembling hand—his palm was red-hot, as if scorched from the inside.
"That… hurt," he muttered, his voice strained. He had fought powerful enemies before, but this was different. This wasn't just brute strength—this was magic.
And magic… hurt like hell.