Daisy didn't fully understand Fury's position. If you can see the problems, why not fix them? Why wait until everything falls apart to regret it?
Better late than never still required actually starting.
"Could we just pull back from some of the outposts?" she offered. "The Far East contacts especially—the Japan liaison points don't serve any real purpose. Pull the resources back, reduce exposure, and simultaneously give the politicians less to be paranoid about."
The future was quieter in the East. The major fights would be in the West. If she'd been a civilian in this situation, she'd have relocated to Asia ages ago. New York, of all places—who'd want to stay there voluntarily.
Fury was unmoved. He waved it off. "We're not discussing that today. If you have thoughts, put them in a written report."
A textbook deflection. Effectively a no.
Daisy let it go with a quiet sigh. Her footing here was still too shallow. Even if Fury stepped down tomorrow, she didn't have the people to run this organization.
"If the government moves to mandate identity disclosure for all agents," Natasha said, stepping in at the right moment, "what's your plan?"
Daisy paused. She knew Natasha supported superhero registration—the Black Widow had thought it through. This wasn't a casual question.
She'd run scenarios on the Civil War for a long time. In her assessment, it was nearly impossible to prevent. Stark's stubbornness was matched only by Rogers' idealism. Killing either one of them was straightforward; changing their minds was not. Even without the Bucky factor, their fundamental personalities made a collision inevitable. The only real lever was delay—push the timeline far enough that one of the key players dropped out, and the remaining heroes lacked a figurehead to rally around.
She chose her words carefully:
"The question can be split in two. If we disclose our identities, does the government and military also disclose their secret programs? Both sides simultaneously."
Natasha shook her head. "You're being optimistic. They won't."
"I know they won't," Daisy said, with quiet precision. "Politicians are like hyenas—they want the meat without doing the hunting. Even rotten meat, as long as someone else kills it first."
"But we don't have to play it straight either. We can make selective disclosures—voluntary, case by case. Let the ones who want to be seen live with some dignity. Use that as leverage to get oversight access to the classified programs."
"The people who chose this work—by now, they deserve to have a choice again."
Coulson looked like he was about to weigh in. Fury cut them all off:
"Agents Romanoff, Johnson—I appreciate the strategic thinking. We are still on mission."
Neither woman was particularly intimidated, but they let it go.
On the battlefield below, the dynamic had shifted. The super-soldier serum and the Hulk's blood were reacting in unexpected ways—Blonsky had grown another few inches, his skeleton thickening into something approaching full plate armor, absorbing roughly seventy percent of the Hulk's strikes.
Meanwhile, the emotion modulator they'd deployed was doing its work. The Hulk's unnatural rage had been venting itself, and the manic edge was starting to bleed off. He needed that anger—needed the peak emotional state to match Blonsky's output—but his brain wasn't cooperating. The fury had to cycle down naturally before it could build back up.
The result, externally, was that Blonsky kept escalating while the Hulk started to show cracks.
"We need to intervene," Fury said, with the gravity of a field commander making a decisive call.
"Support who?" Daisy, Natasha, and Coulson said, in near-perfect unison.
Fury looked at them with the quiet exasperation of a man who believed he was surrounded by people slightly below his intelligence level.
"The weaker side. Bring them back to equilibrium."
...Help the one with the shorts, Daisy translated internally. Fight the one without.
She had no moral reservations about hitting Blonsky. He was objectively the worse problem right now.
"I'll go."
Natasha caught her arm. "If you get in there, both of them might turn on you. Let me."
She jogged to the Quinjet, dropped into the cockpit, and the VTOL lifted off and angled toward the fighting.
Daisy considered the mental image of herself in a cage match with two enraged superpowered giants and conceded the point.
Still, she wasn't going to leave Natasha to handle it alone. She followed at a distance, providing backup.
Fury glanced back at Coulson. The look was clear: I outrank you, so I get to hang back. But you should be doing something. Coulson lifted the dog crate, which translated roughly as: I have a critical assignment. Several small dogs added their voices to his argument in high, earnest tones.
On the field, Natasha had assessed the engagement and slipped in from the flank. Her reaction time was something beyond normal human range, and her control of the Quinjet was practically an extension of her body. At high speed, she skimmed past both combatants from the side and put two Sidewinder missiles into Blonsky, then climbed and came back around with the Minigun running continuous fire directly into his face.
Not a single round touched the Hulk. Every bullet landed on Blonsky.
He wasn't going to let his face take that kind of punishment bare. He threw his right arm up.
Which left his chest wide open.
The Hulk drove both fists into the bone armor over Blonsky's sternum, back to back.
Daisy watched Natasha's flying with genuine admiration. She added her own contribution at the right moment—targeting the structural weaknesses in Blonsky's defense.
The town of Culpeper, Virginia—population roughly nine thousand, known for its leisurely pace, homemade wine, and regional reputation as a getaway destination—had been reduced to ruins. The military had evacuated every survivor they could find. There was no longer any sign of life at ground level. Nothing above head height was still standing.
The casualty count was at least a third of the town. Every structure taller than a meter had been destroyed. Sculptures and artwork lay scattered wherever the giants had flung them. Wooden wine barrels rolled and splintered across the rubble. The air smelled of blood and wine and smoke.