He'd torn up his Avengers ID card months ago, when it had quickly become apparent that they weren't going to help the way he needed them to--and when it had become apparent they would put more effort into stopping him if he went about things the way he wanted to.
In the months since then, he'd rattled every underworld cage he could, until he'd discovered the exact extent of the Mandarin's empire. And then he'd begun a one man crusade toward taking it down. Gone were the fancy trick arrows. Gone were the gimmicks. In their place was muscle and cold steel. He was what the soldiers of the Mandarin feared in the night. The ghost who struck without warning and nothing but arrows in the chest.
And he would keep it up, until he had the Mandarin in his sights and plunged his sword through his chest.
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