Agent Coulson leading S.H.I.E.L.D. into full alignment with Congress wasn't exactly unpredictable. At least, this intelligence didn't cause any hypertension among the upper ranks of the Undying City's intelligence division. Many of them were once S.H.I.E.L.D. agents themselves, and they fully understood Coulson's decision. Ever since the HYDRA uprising, Coulson's goal had been to restore the old glory of S.H.I.E.L.D. by reconnecting it directly with the World Security Council. But reality said otherwise. The current S.H.I.E.L.D. had lost most of its facilities, manpower, political leverage, and most importantly—trust.
Those who opposed HYDRA believed S.H.I.E.L.D. had always been HYDRA's puppet and still was. Those who were HYDRA and knew some inside details believed S.H.I.E.L.D. had always been Nick Fury's hand—and still was. The bystanders weren't surprised by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s downfall. Ever since its funding was approved mostly by the U.S. Congress, this supposed UN-affiliated agency was effectively just a Congressional lapdog. Only someone like Nick Fury had the cunning to maneuver through the military and sixteen U.S. intelligence agencies using Congressional funding to pursue his own agenda.
Coulson could never pull that off, even with the little black vibranium box that Fury left him.
That box contained all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s old archives. The reason Nick Fury always secured his budget was because he held blackmail material on congressmen, senators, Supreme Court justices, and their children. Drug use, murder, incest, pedophilia, bribery, treason, abuse of power, human trafficking, organ harvesting—countless sins, all cataloged. Fury only needed to pick a target and leak a whisper of it to the media during an election cycle. The subject would fall perfectly in line, especially when it came to budget approvals.
As for the inevitable retaliation that followed, Fury never cared. Those blackmailed officials were disposable.
After the HYDRA uprising, Congress threw everything it had into tracking down S.H.I.E.L.D. remnants, in part because some wanted that little black box back. But Coulson couldn't even maintain a façade of neutrality. He allowed a congressionally-appointed general to take over as Director and even handed over the black box. That was what angered Fury most. He had been monitoring the box's location constantly, using it to track Coulson's movements. When it appeared in Washington without Coulson there, Fury knew that Coulson had played his last card.
If he still had the means, Fury would've sent a team to steal it back. But now, he had nothing. He remembered Salomon's assessment of Coulson—even after the book theft incident, Salomon hadn't changed his mind: "He's a good man, and will always be a foolishly good man."
A terrible judgment—especially in the world of espionage.
Fury tried to imagine what Salomon would have done under these circumstances.
Most likely, he'd replicate the blackmail material, leak it bit by bit through independent media, infiltrate the target's home with weapons, eliminate the guards, then sit down for an intimate chat—offer benefits, and decide by dawn whether the man before him was an enemy or an ally. Those tactics reeked of mafia methods, but when dealing with American politicians, they were nearly foolproof. Direct action worked better against unchecked corruption. Ethics, family ties—none of that mattered to such people. Wealth and lifelong social standing were all that counted. When faced with losing those things, politicians would grovel to kiss his boots.
And that's exactly what the Undying City had done. Except now, they were kissing Gideon Malick's boots. And Gideon Malick was Salomon's proxy. The fact that Stephanie Malick could even become one of Salomon's closest aides said it all.
Now, with S.H.I.E.L.D. powerless to deal with an increasingly dangerous world, Nick Fury had created S.W.O.R.D.—but that organization had been wiped out in one sweep by Salomon. All Skrull employees had been thrown into dungeons; the human ones were screened—those who submitted became low-ranking intel staff, and those who didn't became laborers inside plasma reactors. The Undying City's raid had crushed all of Fury's hopes. Now, he could only follow Salomon's methods—like in this mission, where Fury didn't even know what Salomon had ordered the Praetorian Guard to retrieve or what the projected civilian casualties were.
He hated being kept in the dark but had no choice. He sent a signal to Constantine to open comms.
"Wanda Maximoff, Daisy Johnson, and Robbie Reyes' conversation in South Ridge Prison has been sent to your data terminal," he reported.
"Good," Constantine said. Satellite surveillance showed Mike and Fitz had returned to the S.H.I.E.L.D. base to investigate victims of 'spirit possession.' The two had spent an hour and a half at the base, checked in with logistics and the quartermaster—informing them that they wrecked a Quinjet—and then Fitz got thoroughly chewed out. Constantine had watched it all through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal surveillance. Now, they were airborne again, headed toward Dr. Radcliffe's residence to check in on Melinda May.
Constantine blinked and opened the file, watching the footage.
"How's my baby doing?"
"You mean our baby, right?" Robbie Reyes smiled. "Changed the fan belt. She was overheating a lot lately. Don't worry."
"How's your brother?"
"He's fine."
"Good to see you, Roberto," Elias Morrow said in Spanish. In L.A., Spanish was practically a mandatory second language. "But this isn't Christmas, or my birthday."
"Can't a guy just drop in to see his uncle on a whim?"
"Oh please, Robbie. I never expected you to forgive what happened," Elias Morrow said calmly, holding the phone behind the bulletproof glass. "Those gangsters came for me, not you or Gabe."
Robbie sighed. The first time he was bonded with the Spirit of Vengeance had been when hunting those same gangsters—the ones responsible for Gabe's paralysis. They were after Elias, but since Robbie had inherited Elias' Dodge Charger, they mistook him for the intended target.
"I want answers."
Elias Morrow couldn't say no.
"This woman—your former colleague—she's killing people." Robbie pulled out a photo. "But it's not that simple. I just want to understand what's going on. All I know is what you told me. You beat up your boss. Said he deserved it. Why?"
"Dr. Lucy Bauer. Joseph's wife," Elias Morrow said with a heavy sigh, pointing to the woman in the photo. Joseph was the man Elias had nearly beaten to death.
"What did they do?"
"Crazy things," Morrow's voice darkened. "They were leading a private think tank project."
"The energy lab?"
"Yeah. New tech development. They needed an engineer to build their design. Told me they were impressed with me," Elias said. "But all they really wanted was someone who wouldn't ask questions."
"What did you build?"
"A particle generator… based on their design, it was basically a machine that violated the law of mass conservation—creating matter from nothing," he said. "I didn't know the science, but I knew something about that machine was wrong."
Wanda Maximoff placed a hand on Robbie's shoulder, signaling him to pass the phone to her.
"Mr. Elias Morrow, I'd like to talk about that machine," she said, taking the receiver. "And everything you saw in that lab."
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