Fury picked up his coffee and took a sip. It was cold and bitter.
He put down the cup, picked up the remote control on the desk, and turned on the display screen on the wall.
The screen lit up, displaying a file.
It was a personnel file. The man in the photo was in his sixties, with graying hair and a smile, looking amiable.
Alexander Pierce.
Former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and current senior advisor to the World Security Council.
Fury's mentor, his guide, and the person he once trusted the most.
But recently, Fury had discovered something.
Not evidence, not concrete clues, just some subtle, hard-to-detect anomalies.
One of Pierce's former subordinates had suddenly disappeared, a budget report handled by Pierce had inexplicable errors, and Pierce's speech at a security meeting didn't match the information he learned from other channels.
Each of these anomalies could be explained on its own.
But put together, it was like a few colors appearing on a painting that shouldn't be there—unnoticeable unless looked at closely, but once seen, impossible to ignore.
Fury stared at the smiling face on the screen for a long time.
He turned off the screen and turned to walk to the window.
The glass reflected his shadow—dark skin, a black eyepatch, and a furrowed brow.
He looked exhausted, but in that single eye, there was a sharp, unyielding glint.
He had already asked Coulson to investigate.
Coulson was his right-hand man, cautious in his actions, tight-lipped, and would not alert the enemy prematurely.
Right now, he could only wait.
His phone vibrated.
Fury glanced down at the screen; Coulson had sent a message.
Fury narrowed his eyes. He picked up his coat and pushed open the door to walk out of the office.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, underground archive room.
This was where top-secret documents were stored. Coulson stood in front of a row of iron cabinets, holding a yellowed folder with a complex expression on his face.
When Fury walked in, Coulson didn't turn back. Hearing the footsteps, he just said softly: "Director, you should take a look at this."
Fury walked up to him and took the folder.
It was a mission report from twenty years ago.
Mission code-named "Insight", the content was to study a new type of global monitoring system—predicting and eliminating "potential threats" through satellites and data analysis.
The author of the report was Alexander Pierce.
Fury flipped through it page by page, his brows furrowing tighter and tighter.
The conclusion section of the report stated: "The system is currently not feasible, and it is recommended to shelve it indefinitely."
"And this." Coulson handed over another document.
"The Lemurian Star. Loaded."
Fury's hand tightened slightly.
The Lemurian Star was a freighter that sank in the Atlantic Ocean five years ago, and all the cargo on board sank to the bottom of the sea.
S.H.I.E.L.D. participated in the salvage at the time, but didn't find anything of value.
Now it seemed that it wasn't that it wasn't found, but that it had been hidden.
"Pierce..." Fury muttered in a low voice.
Coulson looked at him. "Director, what should we do now?"
Fury was silent for a long time.
Then he spoke: "Do nothing."
Coulson was stunned for a moment. "What?"
"Do nothing." Fury repeated, "We have no evidence, no conclusive evidence. Pierce is a senior advisor to the World Security Council. Without conclusive evidence, we can't touch him."
He returned the folder to Coulson.
"Keep investigating, but be careful. If Pierce really is a man of HYDRA, then HYDRA's infiltration inside S.H.I.E.L.D. is far deeper than we imagined."
Coulson nodded. "Understood."
The two left the archive room and parted ways.
What Fury didn't know was that the moment he left his office, his computer was remotely activated.
A line of text appeared on the screen and then disappeared, so fast that even the monitoring system didn't capture it.
When Fury returned to the office, it was already 3:00 AM.
He sat down in the chair, closed his eyes, and tried to rest for a while.
Then the alarm sounded.
The harsh alarm sound that tore through the night sky came from the corridor, from the speakers on the ceiling, and from every corner.
The red lights began to flash, illuminating the entire building.
Fury suddenly opened his eyes and rushed to the window.
Downstairs, in the direction of the parking lot, gunshots were ringing out.
Not one or two shots, but dense, continuous bursts like popping beans.
Interspersed with screams and explosions, flashes of fire flickered in the night sky.
Natasha's voice came through the communicator, urgent and calm: "Director, headquarters is under attack! The underground parking lot, the first-floor lobby, the top floor—multiple locations were simultaneously ascended!"
Fury's fist slammed against the wall. "Who?"
"HYDRA!" There was a hint of grinding teeth in Natasha's voice, "It's HYDRA! They opened the defense system from the inside!"
Fury narrowed his eyes.
"Natasha, how long can you hold out on your end?"
"I don't know!" Natasha's voice was half-drowned out by gunshots, "There are too many people, and they have heavy weapons—"
The communication cut off.
Fury stood in front of the window, watching the dark shadows pouring into the building downstairs, his brain running at high speed.
HYDRA chose to make a move tonight. Why? Because Pierce knew he had started investigating him? Or because they had intended to make a move tonight anyway?
It didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that they had already come.
In a quiet street on the outskirts of Washington, Steve and Bucky had just come out of the training Base and were preparing to return to their residence.
Steve was driving the car, and Bucky was sitting in the passenger seat, holding a bottle of water and occasionally taking a sip.
Neither of them spoke, but that silence was not awkwardness, but the tacit understanding that only veteran comrades of many years could have.
Steve's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen—it was Fury.
"Director?"
Fury's voice was urgent and deep. "Steve, S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters is under attack. It's HYDRA. I need you guys to get over here immediately."
Steve slammed on the brakes.
"What?"
"No time to explain, hurry over."
The call hung up.
Steve put down his phone and turned to look at Bucky.
Bucky had already put down the water bottle. In those gray-blue eyes, the laziness from earlier was gone, leaving only a sharp, combat-ready glint.
"HYDRA," Steve said.
Bucky's hand tightened slightly: "They finally couldn't hold back anymore?"
"Yeah."
Steve turned the car around, the tires emitting a harsh screech, and sped toward the direction of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.
But before they arrived, they were intercepted halfway.
As the car drove through a quiet street, a person stood in the middle of the road.
A young man, his silver-white hair reflecting a chilling luster under the streetlight. He wore a dark sportswear outfit, with his hands in his pockets and an irreverent smile hanging on the corner of his mouth.
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