Chapter 911

It was going to be a long night.

Despite the late hour, Alexander Pierce hadn’t gone home. Instead, he remained in his office, waiting for news.

He had personally authorized the assassination of Nick Fury. The operation had been carefully planned, backed by a considerable number of Hydra operatives, and reinforced by the Winter Soldier himself.

Yet Fury had somehow escaped at the last possible moment.

Pierce was furious with his subordinates, but beneath that anger lurked a grudging sense of admiration.

He had never been wrong about Nick Fury’s abilities.

Unfortunately, admiration wouldn’t solve his current problem.

If Fury had genuinely escaped, then Hydra had just exposed its hand without eliminating its greatest obstacle. A wounded tiger was still a tiger, and sooner or later, Fury would come looking for revenge.

That uncertainty plagued Pierce until the early hours of the morning.

Then Sitwell finally arrived with the news.

Nick Fury was dead.

Pierce didn’t celebrate. He simply remained seated, staring ahead in silence for a long moment.

At last, he let out a quiet sigh.

"Is he... really dead?"

There was genuine sadness in his voice, mixed with unmistakable relief.

Fury had been his colleague for years. They hadn’t been inseparable, but they had worked together long enough to develop a certain familiarity. Perhaps even something resembling friendship.

Pierce had always known their opposing loyalties would eventually put them on a collision course. Hydra operatives were trained to sever emotional attachments when necessary, and Pierce had accepted that one day he might have to kill Fury.

But knowing something was inevitable didn’t make it painless.

People weren’t machines. You couldn’t simply switch off years of shared history.

Even the death of an enemy could leave behind a sense of loss.

Sitwell, however, displayed no such sentiment.

He wouldn’t make the mistake of grieving an enemy in front of his superior. Pierce could afford that luxury. A subordinate expressing sympathy for a fallen opponent, on the other hand, might find himself accused of sympathizing with the enemy.

And once someone started questioning your loyalty to Hydra, things tended to go downhill rather quickly.

So Sitwell merely adjusted his glasses and delivered the report in a neutral tone.

"At 1:03 a.m., the attending physicians officially pronounced Nick Fury dead."

Earlier that day, after leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Captain America hadn’t returned directly to his apartment.

There wasn’t exactly anyone waiting for him at home, so what was the point of rushing back?

Instead, Steve Rogers spent the day wandering around New York, finding things to occupy his time.

It wasn’t until late that night that he finally returned to his small apartment in Brooklyn.

He had barely reached his floor when he ran into Sharon Carter.

She was dressed in pink pajamas and carrying a basket full of laundry.

Steve glanced at her, immediately looked away, straightened his posture, and continued toward his apartment as though he hadn’t noticed her.

"Hey! Seriously?"

Sharon called after him.

"Don’t you think this is where you’re supposed to invite me over to use your washing machine? Maybe offer me a cup of coffee while you’re at it? Come on, show a little concern for your favorite niece."

Steve’s expression twitched.

His niece?

Technically, yes. But she was Peggy Carter’s actual niece.

And the last time he’d gotten involved in one of Sharon’s schemes, he’d ended up being thrown out of a window. Dottie had even joined in, making the whole experience considerably more unpleasant.

He had barely survived that disaster.

And now Sharon was trying to lure him into another one?

Letting a young woman in her pajamas into his apartment in the middle of the night, offering her coffee, and spending time alone with her?

How exactly was he supposed to explain that?

Steve forced a polite, distant smile.

"I think it’s better if we maintain a reasonable distance."

"Seriously?" Sharon blinked at him playfully. "You’re going to leave your adorable niece to carry this entire basket of laundry down to the basement alone? What if some criminal jumps me down there?"

"If that happens," Steve replied after a moment’s thought, "I’ll immediately rush downstairs to save the criminal."

Sharon stared at him.

Then she gave an unimpressed wave of her hand.

"Fine. Forget I asked."

She headed toward the elevator, but just before leaving, she glanced back.

"By the way, I think you left your speakers on."

Steve frowned.

Now that she mentioned it, he could hear faint jazz music coming from inside his apartment.

That was strange.

He distinctly remembered switching off the speakers before leaving.

And since nobody was supposed to be home, who had turned them on?

It wasn’t as though a burglar had broken in, gotten bored halfway through the robbery, and decided to enjoy some music.

Steve cautiously unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The living room appeared empty.

He was just about to investigate the bedroom when another possibility occurred to him.

Could it be Peggy?

Had she finally finished her assignment and returned home?

Perhaps she’d put on some music in preparation for a romantic evening.

The thought immediately lifted his spirits.

Steve practically shed his jacket on the spot. Dressed in a sleeveless undershirt, he grabbed his shield and headed toward the bedroom.

Why the shield?

Well, there happened to be an old World War II uniform in their bedroom, along with a woman’s military uniform from the same period.

Ahem.

There were certain memories he preferred not to discuss.

Unfortunately, the scene waiting for him had absolutely nothing to do with romance.

"Damn it."

A figure sat on the sofa in the darkest corner of the room.

Even Steve’s enhanced eyesight struggled to make out the details. He could only distinguish the silhouette of someone sitting motionless in the shadows.

After staring for several seconds, he finally recognized the man.

"I don’t remember giving you a key."

It was Nick Fury.

Seriously?

Steve had taken off his jacket and everything, and this was what he got?

Fury slowly rose from the sofa.

"Do you think I need one?"

Considering the man’s abilities, Steve supposed the answer was obvious. If Fury wanted to get inside a bank, he could probably pick the lock with a piece of celery.

"My wife kicked me out."

Well, you probably deserved it.

Steve nearly said it aloud, but stopped himself.

Instead, he frowned.

"I didn’t even know you were married."

"There’s a lot you don’t know about me."

"Yeah, Nick. That’s actually the problem."

Steve’s irritation returned as he remembered their earlier disagreement at S.H.I.E.L.D.

But when he switched on the bedside lamp, his expression changed.

Fury looked terrible.

His clothes were covered in dirt and dust, as though he’d crawled through a sewer. Bruises covered his face, and blood remained at the corner of his mouth.

He was clearly injured.

Considering the number of people who had been hunting him, the fact that he was still standing was impressive enough.

But somehow, Fury had managed to escape all the way from Washington to New York.

That was no small achievement.

He had also been fortunate that America’s surveillance network wasn’t quite advanced enough to track every movement he made. Otherwise, he might not have made it three blocks before someone caught him.

Fury raised a hand, signaling Steve to remain quiet.

Then he switched off the lamp.

Steve frowned at the sudden darkness.

Fury glanced at him, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Why’d you take your jacket off?"

He then pulled out his phone and began typing.

"It’s hot. Mind your own business," Steve muttered.

A moment later, Fury turned the screen toward him.

THE WALLS HAVE EARS.

Steve’s expression changed immediately.

He glanced around the room, suddenly alert.

Fury raised his voice, deliberately making the conversation sound casual.

"Sorry for showing up unannounced. I just couldn’t find anywhere else to spend the night."

Then he showed Steve another message.

S.H.I.E.L.D. HAS BEEN COMPROMISED.

Steve’s expression hardened.

Nick Fury was the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Yet someone within the organization had tried to kill him.

Worse, the man who had mentored and promoted him throughout his career was apparently the biggest traitor of them all.

If that was true, who could Fury possibly trust?

After considering his options, there was really only one person left.

Steve Rogers.

If even Captain America turned out to be Hydra, Fury might as well give up on life altogether.

Steve looked at the message for a long moment before asking, seemingly out of nowhere, "Who else knows you’re married?"

"Only my friends."

Fury’s voice remained calm, but his single visible eye betrayed his frustration.

He had lost control of the situation.

And he knew it.

BANG!

A muffled gunshot suddenly erupted from outside.

The bullet tore through the wall, punched straight through Fury’s body, and continued into the room.

Another shot followed.

"Oh, motherfucker..."

Fury collapsed.

Steve immediately rushed forward, dragging him away from the exposed area.

Fury struggled to remain conscious. With what little strength he had left, he shoved a small silver USB drive into Steve’s hand.

"Don’t... trust... anyone."

His words were barely audible.

Steve tightened his grip on the device.

Before he could say anything, Sharon rushed into the apartment with a pistol in her hand.

"Captain Rogers!"

She froze when she saw Fury lying on the floor.

Her expression changed instantly.

"F is wounded! He’s unresponsive! We need medical personnel!"

She grabbed her radio.

The response came almost immediately.

"Do you have eyes on the shooter?"

Sharon turned toward the window.

Through the blinds, she caught sight of a figure moving away across the rooftop of the opposite building.

For a split second, something on the figure’s arm reflected the light.

She couldn’t make out any further details.

"Tell them I’m pursuing the shooter," Steve said.

Before Sharon could react, he grabbed his shield, charged toward the window, and launched himself straight through it.

He landed in the opposite building.

What followed could only be described as demolition disguised as parkour.

A locked door?

He smashed through it.

Furniture blocking the hallway?

He flipped it aside.

A wall in the way?

He went straight through it.

Steve Rogers had apparently decided that repairing the building could become tomorrow’s problem.

After a rather destructive pursuit, he finally caught sight of the assassin on the rooftop.

The figure was preparing to leave.

Steve didn’t hesitate.

He drew back his arm and unleashed his signature move.

The shield flew.

But before it could connect, a mechanical sound rattled from the assassin’s left arm.

Ka-chunk.

The figure caught the shield with one hand.

Then, with almost insulting ease, he threw it straight back.

Steve caught it with both hands.

The impact forced him backward nearly a full meter, his boots scraping against the rooftop.

By the time he recovered and looked up, the assassin was gone.

Nick Fury was rushed to the hospital.

Natasha arrived shortly afterward, making her way to the operating room as soon as she received the news.

Through the window, she saw Fury lying unconscious on the operating table.

Her expression tightened.

"Is he going to make it?"

Steve stood nearby, his shield still in hand.

"I don’t know."

He shook his head.

He and Fury had disagreed plenty of times, but Steve had never forgotten how much the man had done for the world.

Whatever their differences, Fury didn’t deserve this.

Natasha turned toward him.

"Tell me about the shooter."

"Fast. Strong. And he had a metal arm."

Steve recalled what little he’d managed to see during the encounter.

"An enhanced soldier?" Maria Hill asked as she approached.

She had received Fury’s emergency orders and rushed to the hospital immediately. She hadn’t expected to arrive to find him fighting for his life.

"Most likely," Steve replied. "His strength and speed were at least on par with mine."

Hill’s expression darkened.

"Umbrella..."

The name immediately came to mind.

Fury had personally assigned her to investigate the corporation, whose biotechnology and biochemical research had long raised serious concerns.

But the investigation had produced almost nothing.

The deeper she dug, the more it felt like chasing shadows. Every lead had gone nowhere, and she hadn’t managed to uncover anything substantial.

Now Fury was lying on an operating table, and she couldn’t help wondering whether her failure had contributed to this.

If she’d done her job properly, perhaps none of this would have happened.

Natasha, however, seemed preoccupied with something else.

"The bullets..."

Steve looked toward her.

"Three shots," he explained. "No visible trajectory. We couldn’t trace them at all."

"Former Soviet manufacture?"

Natasha’s expression changed subtly.

She seemed to have recognized something.

Or, more accurately, someone.

But before she could explain, a commotion erupted inside the operating room.

The medical staff moved around urgently.

Then the lead surgeon removed his gloves.

He pulled a white sheet over Fury’s body and stepped back.

Nick Fury had been pronounced dead.

That was the report Alexander Pierce received.

After allowing himself a moment to reflect on the loss of his former colleague, he turned toward Sitwell.

"How did the doctors confirm his death?"

Sitwell pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"They opened his chest during surgery. The attending physician personally witnessed his heart stop beating. I can assure you, sir. Nick Fury is dead."

"You’re sure?"

Pierce gave him a cold smile.

"If I were the surgeon, I’d have taken the scalpel and driven it straight into his heart myself. Then I’d know for certain."

Sitwell’s expression became rather strange.

Fury had barely been dead long enough for his body to cool, and Pierce was already suggesting a little postmortem stabbing.

Was that really necessary?

More importantly, how exactly was Sitwell supposed to explain such a procedure?

He hesitated before offering a solution.

"Well, his body is still at the hospital. I could retrieve it discreetly. You could personally unload a machine gun into him, and then I could take him to the crematorium and make sure there’s nothing left."

Pierce stared at him.

Then he waved a hand.

"Forget I said anything."

He was a villain, certainly, but that didn’t mean he had to indulge in something quite so grotesque.

Besides, the Winter Soldier had already reported hitting Fury at least twice. Combined with the doctors’ confirmation, that should have been more than enough.

There was no reason to go digging around in a corpse.

"Notify the American government. We should prepare a state funeral," Pierce instructed. "I’ll personally attend and deliver the eulogy."

He paused.

Then reconsidered.

"Actually, keep the news under wraps for now. We’ll announce his death after everything is ready and the Insight Program has officially gone online."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

"I want the Insight purge to begin alongside his funeral. Let the world welcome its new beginning while remembering the great contribution Nick Fury made to bringing it about."

Sitwell listened carefully.

He couldn’t help thinking that Pierce intended to dance on Fury’s grave.

"Then... should we release the activation phrase now?"

"Exactly."

Pierce nodded.

"Step out of the shadows and welcome the light."

His expression turned cold.

"Of course, some people aren’t worthy of seeing that light. Those people can simply die in the darkness."

"Understood, sir."

The light reflected off Sitwell’s glasses as he nodded.

He knew exactly what needed to be done.

And Hydra was finally ready to emerge.