Hell's Kitchen, the spire of an abandoned church.
Icy rain mingled with the night wind, lashing against the ancient gargoyles, producing a faint cracking sound.
Matt Murdock knelt alone on the head of a gargoyle, letting the freezing rain soak his dark red battle suit.
His extraordinary senses allowed him to "hear" the city weeping in the rainy night.
Arguments in distant blocks, sobs from deep within alleys, and countless heartbeats sinking or struggling in the darkness.
As he pondered, a nimble red and blue figure, accompanied by the sound of rushing air, deftly landed on another spire not far away.
It was Spider-Man.
Matt didn't look back; his "World" was already ablaze.
He could "see" Spider-Man's battle suit, drenched by the rain.
He could "hear" his heart, beating fiercely with a sense of justice.
And he could "feel" the monstrous rage emanating from him, a rage that mirrored his own feelings at this moment.
North Brother Island, Command Center.
William Rodriguez leaned leisurely in his executive chair.
The screen in front of him displayed two split-screen views.
The red light representing Daredevil and the blue light representing Spider-Man converged on the map of Manhattan, in the Hell's Kitchen area.
Everything was like a precise symphony.
And he was the conductor, holding the baton, determining the rise and fall of every note.
He used the smallest cost to leverage the greatest impact, throwing the big problem of Kingpin to the "professionals" best suited to handle them.
"Perfect risk transfer."
William picked up the coffee cup beside him, muttering softly, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
This feeling of treating the entire city as a chessboard, and those superheroes and supervillains as chess pieces, made him incredibly intoxicated.
This was the highest realm of risk management—not eliminating risk, but making risk itself serve one's own interests.
Just this was not enough.
His gaze shifted from the screen to another encrypted partition in the database.
There lay quietly an inheritance he had "inherited" from Madame Ophelia, enough to overturn the World's order—all the data on HYDRA's Insight Project.
The risk rating of this intelligence was far above Kingpin and The Hand.
It was like a Pandora's Box; once opened, it would unleash monsters capable of plunging the entire World into turmoil.
Announce it directly?
That would cause global panic and chaos, which was not in his interest.
Permanently archive it?
That would be like sleeping with a ticking time bomb, utterly foolish.
William's business logic was always clear: high-risk assets should either be sold or entrusted to a stronger "holder" for safekeeping.
And in his opinion, in this World, there was no more suitable "successor" than Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D..
His mind began to calculate rapidly.
Giving the data directly to Fury would be charity, which did not align with his principles.
He needed to maximize the value of this intelligence.
This was not just a transaction, but also a deep probe and stress test of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Nick Fury himself.
He wanted to see how this legendary top Agent would react when faced with a betrayal that could destroy his life's work.
He also wanted to use this opportunity to elevate the image of "Rodriguez Risk Management Company" in Fury's mind from an "interesting business organization" to an "indispensable but extremely dangerous intelligence provider."
"contract, connect me to an untraceable encrypted line."
William put down his coffee cup, giving the command in a calm tone.
"Target: Nick Fury. I know he has ten thousand safe houses and secret numbers, but there's always one he considers an 'absolute core line' that outsiders could never breach. That's the one I want to connect to."
"Yes, sir."
Inside an unknown S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house somewhere.
The four walls were cold, special alloy, without any windows, and the only sound in the air was the faint hum of the circulation system.
Nick Fury's single eye stared at a huge tactical screen in front of him, which displayed S.H.I.E.L.D. internal personnel loyalty assessment reports, with rows of names followed by green, yellow, or red markers.
He had just finished dealing with an internal HYDRA infiltration incident, and his mood was at its worst.
Just then, a red phone in front of him, which had never rung before and used the highest level of physical isolation, suddenly let out a piercing ring without warning.
Fury's pupils suddenly contracted.
This phone, in theory, had no possibility of being called from the outside.
He hesitated for half a second, but finally picked up the phone, his voice hoarse and wary: "Who are you?"
"Good evening, Director Fury." A young, steady voice, even with a hint of polite laughter, came from the other end of the line, "I am William Rodriguez of Rodriguez Risk Management Company. I apologize for the intrusion, but I wanted to offer you a new, high-value intelligence product."
William Rodriguez!
The name made a sharp glint flash in Fury's single eye.
Motherfucker!
This money-grubbing worm!
"I don't need any products."
"No, you do." William's tone remained unhurried, "Especially when this product's name is 'Insight Project'."
The four words "Insight Project" struck Fury's most sensitive nerve like a lightning bolt!
This was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top secret, an ultimate defense network consisting of three Helicarriers, designed to "preemptively eliminate" global threats! How could he know?!
A monstrous wave surged within Fury.
But his professionalism as a top Agent forced him to suppress all emotional fluctuations, and his voice even sounded calmer: "I don't understand what you're talking about."
"Director, let's be frank."
William chuckled, "Your three 'insurance ships' were originally designed to protect the World, but now, their target lock algorithms have been tampered with by HYDRA."
"Once airborne, they will eliminate millions of targets globally that pose a 'potential threat' to HYDRA."
"Including but not limited to... Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and... yourself."
The other end of the phone fell silent.
Fury's hand, gripping the phone, was bulging with veins.
Motherfucker!
He had been cleaning out HYDRA within S.H.I.E.L.D., but the enemy had already extended its black hand to his most proud "ultimate insurance"!
This infiltration was much deeper, much more serious than he had imagined!
This was no longer betrayal; this was subversion!
After a long while, Fury finally squeezed out a few words through gritted teeth: "...Evidence."
"Of course."
"Complete technical documentation, tampered source code, HYDRA's internal communication records... full service, everything you need."
"Who is leading it?"
Fury's voice was hoarse, as if abraded by sandpaper; this question was what concerned him most.
He had to know who had orchestrated this shocking conspiracy right under his nose.
On the other end of the phone, William finally smiled.
"Director Fury, this falls under 'core intelligence' and requires an additional fee."
William's tone became incredibly "professional," "Five hundred million U.S. dollars. No installments, only anonymous digital currency accepted. Delivery upon payment, reputation guaranteed."
"What?!"
Fury could no longer maintain his poker face; the long-suppressed anger erupted at this moment, "Rodriguez! Do you know this concerns the lives of millions of people! And you're talking about money with me at a time like this?!"
He simply couldn't believe his ears.
On the eve of a catastrophic disaster for this World, this bastard businessman was haggling with him!
This was no longer greed; this was a desecration of human civilization!
"Director, please mind your words."
"My company is in risk management, not a charity."
"To acquire this intelligence, we incurred significant 'risk costs,' and charging a reasonable 'risk premium' is a perfectly legitimate business practice."
"As for the lives of those millions of people, that is your responsibility as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., not mine."
"I am only responsible for selling intelligence, not for saving the World."
Fury was trembling with rage; he slammed down the phone, violently smashing that special phone onto the table!
Motherfucker!
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