"Where's Fury?" Steve Rogers asked.
"I'm right here."
From the shadows stepped the man in the black trench coat and eyepatch—Nick Fury. He looked darker than ever, the lone eye bloodshot with exhaustion.
"Unbelievable," Fury snarled, slamming a thick stack of documents onto the table. "Those bastards even froze my Cayman Islands contingency accounts!"
Steve didn't look up. "I was under the impression that the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't supposed to have offshore secret accounts."
"That's emergency funding!" Fury jabbed at a newspaper headline plastered with his face:
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Rat: Nick Fury's Hundred-Billion Embezzlement Empire
"Pierce, that son of a bitch—he doesn't just want me dead, he wants me ruined. Every Hydra agent they grabbed? Their testimonies suddenly line up perfectly: 'Director Fury ordered us.'"
"Me? Embezzlement?" Fury scoffed. "I have to file reimbursement paperwork just to buy a new eyepatch! And now I'm supposedly the invisible tycoon with twelve private islands? Motherf— If I had those islands, I'd be sipping rum in the Bahamas, not drinking instant coffee in a moldy hole!"
In the corner, Clint Barton, adjusting arrowheads, couldn't help but chuckle—only to freeze when Fury shot him a glare.
"This isn't funny, Barton."
"Sorry, boss," Clint shrugged. "Just thinking about my wife being pregnant."
Fury turned back to Steve, who had remained silent.
"Listen, Cap. We need to strike back. Public opinion's against us—but I still have a card to play."
"What card?"
"You," Fury said, pointing. "You're Captain America. Pierce tried to smear you, but no one really bought it—especially after you signed with Vought. Hell, even President Ellis is openly backing you."
Fury leaned in. "All you have to do is stand in front of the cameras and tell the world: 'Nick Fury is innocent. I trust him.' The narrative flips overnight."
"What if I don't?"
Steve finally raised his head. His eyes held no heat—only a chilling calm.
Fury blinked. His good eye narrowed. "What did you say?"
"I said… no."
Steve set his shield down and stood.
"I won't vouch for you, Nick."
"Why?" Fury's voice rose. "We're comrades! We fought aliens together! You know who I am!"
"Do I?" Steve met that single eye without flinching. "Do I really know you, Nick?"
"Just now, you were complaining about those frozen secret accounts. Were they truly 'emergency funds'? Or were they for some other project I was never told about—Phase Two, Phase Three… weapons I wasn't supposed to know existed?"
Fury opened his mouth to explain—but Steve cut him off.
"You've never told me more than thirty percent of the truth. Not even me. You have too many secrets, Nick—so many that you probably can't remember which are lies anymore."
Steve stepped closer. Less than twenty centimeters separated them.
"Maybe Pierce is lying. But can you look me in the eye and swear you've never used public money to do things… that couldn't stand the light of day?"
Fury fell silent.
Because he had. Many times. For Earth's sake, he'd done plenty of dirty work.
"See?" Steve stepped back, disappointment flickering across his face. "That's the problem."
"I can't stake my credibility on someone I can't fully see through. That would be betraying the people who trust me."
"If you want to prove you're clean…"
Steve lifted his shield and slung it onto his back.
"…then prove it with action. Like a man. Not by hiding behind PR."
The bunker sank into a graveyard hush.
Perched on the table, Natasha Romanoff swung her legs lightly, watching the standoff with a faint smile. She knew this was Captain America—stubborn as stone, and exactly why he deserved the title.
At last—
"Ha…" Fury exhaled slowly, as if dumping the weight in his chest. He straightened his coat, the familiar cool authority returning.
"Fine. You're right, you fossil."
He walked to the tactical map and jabbed a finger at Washington, D.C.
"If PR won't work, we do this the old-fashioned way—a coup."
Everyone leaned in.
"Pierce wants to play dirty? We'll play dirtier. But he's forgotten one thing…" Fury's eye gleamed. "This version of S.H.I.E.L.D.? I built it."
"Every brick. Every camera. Every ventilation shaft—I know them better than he does."
"And I know the people."
Fury turned to Clint. "Barton. You're with me. We infiltrate the Triskelion."
"Just the two of us?" Clint raised a brow. "Sounds like a suicide mission."
"No." Fury smiled coldly. "We hijack internal comms. I speak directly to every agent still inside—tell them who Pierce really is. Wake up the ones being played. Remind them where their guns should be pointed."
"And you three—"
Fury opened a high-tech case, projecting a holographic map. His finger slid across it, stopping on a hidden site in Virginia.
"My inside source just confirmed it."
"Pierce kidnapped four World Security Council members. Took them here. He's planning forced 'neural restructuring.'"
Brainwashing.
A blurry photo filled the air.
Three heavily built men were escorting hooded hostages into a facility. One of them had a metal arm glinting coldly.
Steve shot to his feet, chair crashing back.
"The Winter Soldier?!"
"Yes," Fury said. "And not just one."
"They've been sleeping in cryo for decades. Pierce woke them up."
"But the good news—" Fury continued, voice tight. "Most of the newly thawed ones are mentally unstable. They can't handle complex orders. Pierce had to shove them back into the freezer."
"So the usable ones…"
Fury raised three fingers.
"Three super soldiers."
He looked straight at Steve.
"And one of them… is your old friend."
"Bucky Barnes."
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T/N:
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