The humidity in D.C. was bit high today. I was a few blocks away from my place in Georgetown, carrying a bag of tea from a shop near the Mall, when the noise started.
It wasn't just city traffic. It was the screech of tires, vehicle hitting vehicle, and then the sudden, rhythmic pop of automatic gunfire.
People on the sidewalk stopped. Some started running toward the sound; others turned and bolted the other way. I walked to the corner. A block ahead, a black SUV was being rammed into an intersection by several police cruisers. It wasn't the police though. Their gear was too advanced and their coordination too good.
Fury's reinforced truck was holding up, but barely. Tactical teams stepped out of the cars and began spraying the driver's side window with high-caliber rounds.
I stepped off the curb and into the street.
The chaos was loud. Drivers were abandoning their cars in the middle of the road, scrambling for cover. I just kept walking. A man in a tactical vest turned his submachine gun toward me, but I didn't wait for him to decide if I was a target.
I looked at the car engines surrounding the SUV. I didn't need a gesture. I just felt the pressure of the machinery and tightened my focus. The engine blocks of the cruisers groaned and buckled. One after another, the cars stalled, smoke beginning to hiss from under the hoods as the metal parts fused.
The gunfire trailed off as the mercenaries realized their vehicles were dead.
Then the man in the mask appeared.
He walked through the exhaust of a stalled bus, moving with a silent grace. The long coat, the goggles, and the metal arm glinted in the afternoon sun. He didn't look at the dead cars. He looked at the SUV, pulled a compact launcher from his back, and fired the magnetic disk meant to flip the truck.
I didn't move my feet. I just reached out and caught the disk.
The impact was heavy, but I absorbed the momentum. The device hummed in my hand, trying to arm itself. I squeezed it, feeling the internal electronics snap, and tossed the scrap of metal onto the street.
The man in the mask stopped. He tilted his head, his mechanical arm whirring. He didn't have a backup plan for someone catching his equipment. Around us, the street was filled with witnesses. Dozens of people were standing behind parked cars, holding up their phones, recording the entire thing.
The door of the SUV groaned open. Fury stepped out, looking ragged. He was holding his side, his suit jacket torn. He looked at the smoking cars, then at the man in the mask, and finally at me.
"I told you the locks wouldn't hold, Nick," I said.
Fury leaned against the frame of his car, his breathing shallow. He looked at the crowds of people filming. He knew exactly what this meant. The secret war was now a public spectacle.
"Adrian," Fury coughed, leaning against the frame of his SUV. "You could have stayed in home."
"And let you deal with this mess alone?" I shook my head. "You're better at the paperwork."
I looked back at the man in the mask. He was reaching for a sidearm and he didn't care about the cameras.
"You're exposed," I told him. "Go back and tell them the lights are on."
The man didn't move. He stared at me, his eyes remain empty, but for a second, I felt a flicker of something in his presence, a total lack of understanding.
I took a step toward him, letting just enough of my weight press against the air to make the pavement beneath my feet crack slightly. The mercenaries nearby staggered, their faces going pale as they struggled to stay upright under a pressure they couldn't see.
The man in the mask held his ground for a moment longer, his metal hand clenching into a fist. Then he reached for a grenade at his belt and slammed it into the ground.
A thick cloud of grey smoke filled the intersection. By the time it cleared, he was gone.
Fury stood there, looking at the wreckage of the street and the people still recording from the sidewalks. He looked older than he had that morning. He had spent his whole career keeping the world in the dark, and in five minutes, I had ended that.
"This is going to be a problem," Fury muttered, looking at a girl nearby who was livestreaming.
"No," I said, picking up my bag of tea from where I'd left it. "The problem was the secret. Now everyone knows."