Back at the Xavier Academy, Charles was feeling like a master of the universe. He was still deep in his telepathic trance, blissfully unaware that General Ross had already figured out his game and was currently planning to use David Banner as a counter-move. Charles didn't even bother to open his eyes; he just let his consciousness drift, riding the mental currents until he reached the heart of the Triskelion—the headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D.
"The grapevines in this town are shorter than I thought," Charles mused to himself. He had just slipped into the mind of a high-ranking agent who was on his way to see the big boss, and he immediately hit a wall of frantic thoughts. The news of his 'diplomacy' with the President wasn't just leaking; it was a flood. His identity was already being circulated among the intelligence elite.
But Charles didn't sweat it. In his mind, being feared was just a different form of respect. These people were already looking for ways to cage mutants; if they were a little more terrified now, maybe they'd think twice before actually trying it.
He guided the agent into the inner sanctum, where the man with the most secrets in the world was waiting. Nick Fury, the one-eyed director of S.H.I.E.L.D., stood by the window, his back to the room. Charles knew this man was a fortress. Fury's mind was a labyrinth of black-ops, hidden bunkers, and contingency plans for everything from alien invasions to a coffee shortage. Charles had no intention of digging into those memories—not because he couldn't, but because some doors, once opened, could never be closed. He wanted a partner, not a war.
The agent stopped mid-sentence during his report. Fury, sensing a shift in the air, turned around, his lone eye narrowing as he studied the man's stiff posture. "Why the sudden silence, Agent? Did you forget how to talk, or did Charles Xavier finally decide to drop by for a visit?"
Charles, speaking through the agent, felt a flicker of genuine surprise. "I have to hand it to you, Director. Your intuition is as sharp as they say. I didn't expect you to pick me out so fast."
Fury didn't look impressed. In his head, he was already running through 'Protocol X'—a series of mental shields and physical countermeasures designed specifically for telepaths. He'd been thinking about how to handle the "Xavier Problem" the second the news from the White House hit his desk.
"Cut the crap, Charles," Fury said, his voice like gravel. "I've spent the last hour wondering when you'd show up. Control-alt-deleting my agents isn't exactly a subtle way to say hello. What do you want?"
"Just a friendly professional courtesy, Director. I've heard you've been doing some... interesting research on my kind. I'm here to suggest you put those files in the shredder. Evolution isn't a science project you can control, and trying to do so usually ends with someone's lab blowing up." The agent's voice was calm, but the authority behind it was undeniable.
Fury let out a dry, humorless snort. He didn't look the agent in the eye, choosing instead to focus on a spot on the wall. He knew better than to give a telepath an easy window into his soul. "So, you came all this way just to give me a lecture on ethics? You're starting to sound like a broken record, Professor."
"Not just a lecture, Nick. I'm here to give you a tip," the agent said, a slight, knowing smile appearing on his face. "I know you're a collector of 'special' individuals. You've been watching the military chase their tails looking for the Hulk, haven't you? Well, I'll save you the satellite time. Bruce Banner is in New York. Chinatown, to be exact."
Fury's interest was piqued, though he didn't let it show. "Chinatown? That's a lot of collateral damage waiting to happen."
"It's more than that. The person who took him in... let's just say he's the reason I'm talking to you instead of dealing with it myself. He's an enigma, Director. Someone even you would find fascinating. But don't take too long to decide. General Ross is already on his way. If you want a seat at the table, you'd better move fast."
Fury leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. "That's a nice story. But I have to wonder—what kind of monster is so big that the Great Charles Xavier is calling for backup? You're trying to start a three-way fight so you can pick up the pieces, aren't you?"
"You'll see soon enough," the agent replied. Then, the smile on the agent's face changed. It became something colder, more analytical. "Oh, and as a parting gift... since we're sharing secrets... you might want to look closer at your own house, Nick. This agent? He's been working for someone else for a long time. An organization that supposedly died at the end of World War II. I believe they liked the name 'Hydra'."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Fury's face, usually a mask of indifference, finally cracked. The word 'Hydra' was a ghost story, a myth that had been buried under decades of S.H.I.E.L.D. history. To hear it from Xavier was like hearing someone whisper a death sentence.
Before Fury could respond, the mental grip vanished. The agent's body shuddered, his head lolling for a second before he blinked, looking around the room in complete confusion.
"Director... I'm sorry, sir. I think I blacked out for a second. Where was I in the report?" the agent asked, his voice returning to its normal, subservient tone.
Fury stood up slowly. He walked over to the agent, his boots clicking rhythmically on the floor. He leaned in close, his gaze boring into the man. In a low, testing whisper, he uttered the forbidden phrase: "Long live Hydra!"
The agent's eyes didn't fill with fear. Instead, they lit up with a spark of fanatical recognition. He straightened his back, a small smirk playing on his lips as he whispered back, "Long live Hydra!"
The man was genuinely happy. He thought he'd finally found a kindred spirit in his boss. He figured if the Director was in on the game, then the infiltration was even more successful than the handlers had promised. He was already imagining the promotion.
He didn't see the punch coming.
Smack!
Fury's fist connected with the agent's jaw, sending him spiraling into unconsciousness before he even hit the floor. Fury stood over him, his chest heaving. The Hulk and Chinatown were gone from his mind. Suddenly, the world felt like it was made of glass, and he was the only one not holding a hammer.
He didn't call for security. He didn't call his deputy. If a Level 5 agent—someone who had been vetted, polygraphed, and background-checked for years—was a mole, then who could he trust?
He dragged the unconscious agent to a private, soundproofed interrogation room hidden behind his office. He strapped him into a chair, his movements mechanical and cold. He pulled a syringe of "truth serum"—a cocktail of chemicals that bypassed the conscious mind—and jammed it into the agent's neck.
As the man groaned and his eyes rolled back, Fury leaned in, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "Tell me everything. How many of you are there? How deep does the rot go?"
The agent, caught in a drug-induced haze, mumbled, "I... I don't know the numbers. We don't talk to each other. We just wait."
"Wait for what? Who gives you the orders?" Fury pressed, his hand tightening on the arm of the chair.
"The phone... the codes..." the agent droned. "I've had two missions. One was to monitor the mutant files. The other was to ensure certain reports never reached your desk. Other than that, I'm just an agent. I do my job until the snake wakes up."
Fury felt a chill run down his spine. A Level 5 agent with security clearance to almost every general file in the building was just a "nobody" in this shadow organization. If this guy was a bottom-tier grunt, then who was at the top? Was he reporting to a guy who was reporting to a guy who was currently sitting in the World Security Council?
"Give me the phone. Tell me the cipher," Fury demanded.
The agent complied, his drugged mind unable to resist. He explained the encoding process—a sophisticated, multi-layered encryption that looked like spam marketing on the surface but held complex instructions beneath.
Fury looked at the man, a wave of disgust washing over him. "Why did you do it? You were one of our best. Why betray everything you stood for?"
The agent let out a weak, pathetic chuckle. "Because... the benefits were better. S.H.I.E.L.D. pays well, sure. but Hydra? They've been paying me since the day I entered the academy. They put me through school. They bought my first house. They're consistent, Director. They're the future."
Bang!
Fury didn't hesitate. He pulled his pistol and put a bullet through the man's heart. He didn't have time for a trial, and he couldn't risk this man being rescued or signaling his handlers.
"Well, you don't have to worry about your retirement plan anymore," Fury muttered, looking at the cooling body. He wiped his brow, staring at the agent's phone. His world had just been turned upside down, and the worst part was, he had a "telepathic principal" to thank for the heads-up.
He looked at the map on the wall. Chinatown was calling, but the "Nine-Headed Serpent" was already coiled around his own throat.