The brief meeting concluded, and S.H.I.E.L.D. went into overdrive.
The first wave of agents headed to their offices to broadcast Director Fury's orders. All leave was canceled, field personnel were recalled, restricted weaponry was authorized for use, and satellites were repositioned to monitor the entire globe.
Another group took the high-speed elevators to the deepest levels of the Triskelion. Down there, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most guarded secret, Project Insight, was being developed. Currently, the project was still in its infancy, but it remained their most powerful weapon against the Joker organization. Since the current threat was a cosmic deity, Fury was not yet willing to expose it to the world. For this mission, only a single Helicarrier would be deployed—a cloaked, airborne command center.
*
Natasha and Fury parted ways after their talk. One boarded a plane heading toward a secret base in the Midwest; the other headed for a farm in New Jersey.
New Jersey was a short trip. Fury's private helicopter touched down on the farmland ten minutes later. He stepped out alone and walked toward a small wooden cabin by the lake.
Knock, knock, knock.
He rapped hard on the door. A voice from inside grunted, "It's open."
Fury pushed the door open, his boots creaking against the wooden floorboards. The cabin was dimly lit, reeking of stale alcohol and sour laundry—the unmistakable scent of despair.
"Next time, park the bird further away. It's loud."
On a tattered sofa, a broad-shouldered man was pouring drinks into two glasses. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow. Long blonde hair draped messily over his shoulders, framing a rugged, unkempt beard. The definition in his arms had softened, and a grey T-shirt failed to hide a burgeoning beer belly.
Most striking, however, was the advanced exoskeleton he was wearing. Metal braces ran along the exterior of most of his major bones, glowing with a high-tech blue light that looked completely out of place in the dim, yellow glow of the cabin.
Witnessing this, a wave of cold sorrow washed over Fury. The once-spirited, confident hero of WWII had withered into... this. It was tragic, pathetic, and heartbreaking.
He set a briefcase down and sat opposite the man. The cheap leather sofa was lumpy and uncomfortable, but the man didn't seem to care. Fury had offered to renovate the place and buy new furniture multiple times, but the man had flatly refused. He'd say, self-deprecatingly, that everything here suited him perfectly—as if it were custom-made for his new life.
"Try it." Steve pushed a glass forward. "Whiskey I got on sale at the supermarket. The taste is... surprising."
Fury didn't waste his time. He took a sip. The liquid hit his tongue, and a sharp, industrial chemical taste exploded in his mouth.
This is whiskey? How much rubbing alcohol is in this?
Steve didn't drink. He just toyed with his glass, watching Fury with a faint, knowing smile. Fury frowned, forcing himself to swallow the foul concoction. It felt like swallowing a handful of gravel; every inch of his throat burned and scraped. It was terrible—god-awful. No wonder it was on sale. In fact, he doubted any sane person who wasn't a desperate alcoholic would ever touch the stuff.
Seeing him swallow it, Steve's smile widened. He tilted his head back and drained half his glass in one go, his expression never flinching. Looking at the cardboard box beside the sofa overflowing with empty bottles, it was clear this wasn't an act.
Steve set the glass down and refilled it. "Coming here this late... what do you want?"
"I have something. Something important." Fury placed a stack of files on the table and flipped to the first page.
Steve glanced at it. "Hydra's secret weapon."
"Correct. Howard Stark found it in a river under the Arctic ice while he was looking for you. He was convinced it was the key to infinite energy."
Howard Stark.
Steve drifted into memory. Flashes of his younger days in the army surfaced: the drill sergeant's harsh glares, Howard's dashing charisma, and Peggy's captivating smile. They say the past is like the wind, but these memories were etched into his soul; the moment he closed his eyes, they were right there.
His gaze grew mournful, but he quickly snapped out of it and reached for his drink again, refusing to turn to the second page of the file.
Fury continued his pitch. "The Tesseract was stolen. By a man calling himself Loki. He's not from around here."
Steve pointed at the files. "You should have left it at the bottom of the ocean."
If we had left it there, we would never have glimpsed the greatness of the universe.
Fury obviously didn't share that view. He said pointedly, "Avoidance doesn't solve problems. Once we master the Tesseract, human civilization will launch a fourth industrial revolution."
Steve heard the subtext but didn't take the bait. "And what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to find it."
"Heh..." Steve let out a dry laugh, propping a leg up rudely on the coffee table. "If you want me to wash dishes or mop floors at a diner, I'm your guy. I managed to crouch down and sweep under the bed yesterday."
Fury narrowed his lone eye. "I didn't come here unprepared. If you're willing to join us, I can restore your body."
Steve shook his head dismissively. "If you really had a way, I wouldn't be sitting here like this."
Fury didn't argue. He stood up to leave. "Loki has declared war on Earth. I hope you'll stand up and save the world. But of course, the choice is yours. In a few days, it'll be the anniversary of Peggy and Sharon's deaths. On behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm inviting you to the memorial."
He walked slowly to the door, then paused, glancing back. Steve was still on the sofa, not even bothering to see him out. He didn't look affected by the mention of the anniversary.
"Oh, right." Fury pushed the door open but stopped again, lifting his right hand. "Someone asked me to deliver a gift to you. But I suppose you don't need it anymore."
With that, he walked outside and violently hurled the briefcase into the lake.
Splash!
The heavy case sank rapidly to the bottom. Fury dusted off his trench coat and boarded the helicopter. Once the roar of the rotors faded into the distance, Steve finally stood up.
"Didn't even close the door."
He put a hand on the doorframe, his eyes drifting to the quiet surface of the lake. A gift? Who would give me a gift?
He stood there for a long time, locked in an internal struggle. Finally, he walked to the shore and dove into the water. A minute later, he swam back, dragging the heavy case behind him with some difficulty. Back inside the cabin, he didn't even change his wet clothes, placing the box directly on the table.
"How do you open this thing?"
The case was made entirely of a sleek, silver-white metal with no visible lock or keypad. Steve ran his hand along the surface, accidentally brushing against a specific spot.
"Fingerprint authenticated."
A rich, masculine voice spoke. With a sharp click, the case hissed open.
Steve's face froze in absolute shock.
.
.
.
.
You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
500 power stones.
Top 100. All time.