Secret War: Phase One · Ten Days Prior
Although Nick Fury had been granted permission to move about freely, Eternal City had placed no shortage of restrictions on him. His cherished pager had been locked away in a safe by Solomon, and an electronic collar had been fastened around his neck to monitor his status at all times. The former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. chuckled to himself—these were the very same methods S.H.I.E.L.D. once used on others. He had never imagined he'd one day end up on the receiving end. Still, compared to the captured Skrulls, he was incredibly lucky. No torture, no heavy constraints—aside from being forbidden from contacting any Skrulls, he was free to roam Eternal City, as long as he avoided the restricted zones.
Which included the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the Sisterhood Convent, Research and Development, Armories, Power Stations, Virus Labs, Biochemical Weapons Facilities, and all their auxiliary structures... basically, half of Eternal City.
But outside these no-go areas, there were quite a few remarkable sights. The public observatory and library, a bar run by disabled war veterans, a museum displaying relics of the Brotherhood of the Holy Shield, Da Vinci's manuscripts, early drafts of the Mona Lisa, Isaac Newton's handwritten notes on gravitational theory—items that would send any collector into a frenzy. There were also geothermal hot springs, a deserted opera house—Eternal City's architects had gone to great lengths to recreate the full spectrum of human history's wisdom. The brilliance of science and art still shone from the preserved ruins.
Nick Fury looked up, squinting. Gemstone stars sparkled across the pitch-black stone dome above, like a vast ocean of eternal night. A massive shadow passed silently overhead, like a whale gliding through the depths. Red and green lights blinked from its head, middle, and tail, resembling the mythical Leviathan. If not for the patrolling airships standing ready for battle, this city would've been paradise.
"Damn it, I can smell war," muttered the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director, walking under the amber streetlights like a rain-soaked stray dog. Even without seeing the whole picture, his instincts told him what direction things were headed. The only thing still obscured to him was the true scale of Eternal City's power. Ever since the S.W.O.R.D. space station had been captured, Fury had been mentally raising Solomon's power ceiling. He had read early reports on the Battle of Fimbulwinter, which described Solomon facing off alone against towering, extra-dimensional monsters. The outcome? That didn't need a report. Solomon was still alive and kicking—and annoyingly active.
Fury sat down at the edge of an empty street.
Only cleaning bots passed through here. Nearly everyone in Eternal City had tasks to complete. Except for the women rescued by the Sisterhood, no one loitered after work. Even those women had received basic military training, knew how to handle firearms and knives.
Fury didn't lack emotional ties to the Skrulls. After all, they had been allies for years.
He leaned against a lamp post and closed his eyes. But the memory of that conversation broke in regardless.
Betrayal always came unexpectedly. Even if the Skrulls thought they were merely making things better for their kind, it crossed the line for Solomon—and for the entire human race. This wasn't a matter of welcoming refugees from a war zone. It was about two species fighting over survival resources, even over societal dominance. One U.S. congressman had been assassinated—because he was a Skrull. The real congressman had been buried six feet under long ago. That was Fury's biggest fear: that the Skrulls intended to seize control of human society by replacing world leaders.
"If one day, a Skrull gets their hand on a nuclear launch button, what do you think will happen?" Solomon had asked.
"Nuclear winter," Fury had sighed, finally answering the question.
"Still think I'm too harsh on the Skrulls?"
"No. But I still hope you can distinguish between them—not all Skrulls want to colonize Earth."
"Whether they do or don't is irrelevant to me," Solomon had replied coldly. "What matters is that they can. I refuse to entrust humanity's survival to the mercy of another species. Have you ever seen a buffalo entrust itself to a crocodile's mouth? A herd of cattle rely on the butcher's blade? Any species capable of humanity's extinction must be destroyed. Knowledge will belong to humans. This planet will belong to humans. Any survivors will be caged and displayed in zoos."
Solomon hadn't even bothered to look up.
"If we're lucky, there might be a 'Protect Alien Life' act in the future. But not now. Only when my goals are achieved will humanity have the space and reason to preserve its essence. Only when humans are the sole lions on the savannah can we afford to sleep soundly—and maybe, just maybe, pity the weak. Even if I must shatter planets and ignite stars, I will finish my mission. Nick Fury, don't let me see a coward who claims to protect humanity—that would only make me laugh. But if you've got more jokes like that, I wouldn't mind hearing them—as long as you don't mind offending me."
"There'll always be people who oppose you, Solomon. You'll never please everyone. What are you going to do about your dissenters?"
"Eternal City once suffered a minor betrayal."
"And?"
"If you get the chance, take a look at the reactor workers."
Fury felt the streetlight burning beneath his eyelids. He could never forget that nightmare.
Muscles modified by biochemical means clung grotesquely to human frames. Cancerous skin had chunks of crude metal embedded into it. Their brains were removed, replaced with circuitry and processors. Blood drained, organs gutted and replaced with nutrient fluids, oil, electrolytes, and machinery to power movement. In Eternal City's most dangerous underground reactor, where plasma pools emitted lethal radiation constantly, no one could survive—except those half-human, half-machine monstrosities.
They were the traitors—followers of Dr. Whitehall. Those who weren't turned into monsters became experimental subjects. By comparison, death had been a mercy. Their skulls now adorned the bookshelves of the Ministry of Internal Affairs.
"A brutal age is coming," Fury muttered, fishing Eternal City currency from his pocket. He used it to buy a bottle of liquor from a bar run by wounded veterans. He raised the bottle and tugged at the skin rubbed raw by his electronic collar—Eternal City never designed for comfort, whether it was tracking collars, assault transports, or sky dreadnoughts. He took a swig of cheap whiskey. The alcohol clawed at his throat, and for a moment, he couldn't think of a single toast.
"Here's to our survival." He smacked his lips, realizing he had nothing more to say. "You hear me? That's it. Pass it along to your master."
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