(A/N) Hey guys, we're back after a short delay, and while I know you're all dying to see the bloodbath, we're still not quite there yet, as we return to our subplot with Nick Fury and Skye. There is a method to my madness regarding seeing what's going on with them, and with the rest of the Capitol in general, and it'll be interesting to see if anyone works it out before we reach the end of the fic! Anyways, we might have a slower update schedule over the next two weeks, as I'll be heading off to Florida with Deep (my girlfriend, who writes for Storm in this fic), but I'll be getting someone in to take over updates while I'm gone – you'll all get your ITEYAK fix, don't worry!
Big thanks to Idalove2read (thanks for calling out the Wade mistake, we fixed it since!), WhoPotterAvenge-X Kane, VengefulVixens, sailorraven34, GeekyComicBookGuy and Random Reader 17. So glad that you guys have stuck with us this long, and we're gonna pay you back tenfold with what we've got planned for the Games.
Enjoy!
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Chapter Thirty-Seven – When a Plan Comes Together
Director Nick Fury & Skye
Written by NicKenny
Director Nick Fury
"Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe."
― Abraham Lincoln
"Sir, your twelve o' clock is here to see you – she's looking impatient, probably best not to keep her waiting," his intercom informed him, snapping him out of his thoughts.
He promptly filed away the recent reports on one of the Tech Department's latest projects, the Ultimate Robotic Operating Network, sent on by Hiro and Tadashi Hamada, a pair of young and very gifted scientific engineers. He made a mental note to send the file on to Leopold Fitz, on Coulson's team, to have a look over – maybe that kid could make something of it, because the report may as well have been written in a different language as far as Fury was concerned.
"Send in her in, Hill," he replied, pressing down on the intercom button, and turned around in his chair in order to receive his visitor. The door opened a moment later, and Bobbi Morse, the victor of the twenty-second Avenger Games, now a mentor for District Two, walked in, a determined expression on her face.
Morse stood before him, her feet planted firmly on the ground, arms crossed behind her back, brushing against the ends of her long, blonde hair, standing at attention. "I'm here to make my report, Director," she announced, and he nodded slowly.
"Go ahead, Bobbi," he said, with a level of familiarity that he usually reserved only for a precious few. However, he regretted that a moment later, as there was a certain hint of hostility to her tone when she replied.
"I've continued to insert myself into the confidence of those victors you blacklisted at our last meeting, with some success, mainly within the context of my own district, as I've unfortunately had minimal opportunity to interact with the others, for obvious reasons. With regard to your plans for this year's tributes, I'm afraid I must-"
He held up his hand, tiredly, cutting her off. He had heard this argument countless times before, from her, from the other victors that worked for him, year after year. He understood their position - they wanted to bring the kids they were responsible for home safe. He might wish otherwise, as they certainly did, but it wasn't something he had power over - twenty-three kids had to die. "The Games are not up for discussion here, Morse – you're viewpoint has been corrupted by your closeness to those involved, which is why I haven't ask for your involvement in that area. Please make your report, and leave the future of the tributes to me."
Morse paused, evidently displeased with his dismissal, but swallowed her anger and continued on.
"I'm afraid Ophelia is still proving stubborn and frustratingly loyal to the current administration. When push comes to shove, I'm not sure what she's gonna do, but she won't be doing it on our side – she'll be on her own, like always. Masters, on the other hand, is a much better bet. He always tries to play both sides as long as he can, but if we look like we're gonna be the ones left standing when the smoke clears, he'll make sure to be standing there next to us."
Fury smiled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "Of course, if he thinks we're not going to prevail, he'll throw his lot in with the others."
The victor nodded. "It's still better than what we had a year ago. If this year's victor ends up on our side, it may be all we need to swing things in our favour. Jessica's said that Osborne has been in constant communication with Schmidt ever since the two arrived in the Capitol, and Octavius and Creed will probably throw their lots in with them, too. Other than that, though, everyone else is just waiting for the first coin to drop."
"What about your own tributes?" he asked, and Morse lips tightened for a brief second upon mentioning them. "Where do you think they'd fall?"
There was a brief pause as Morse weighed up her reply. "Clint would join us – he's a good guy, deep down, and he doesn't like seeing bad people go unpunished. Natasha, however…well, she is…headstrong. She looks out for herself, and herself only – that's how she's been trained. I don't know about her, but I think Natasha will do whatever's best for Natasha."
A moment of silence passed, and then Fury nodded slowly to himself. "Thank you, Morse. I'll take that on-board. Please continue to monitor the situation with the other victors, and ask Drew to do the same. As you know, we're moving forward with plan – Coulson should be talking to our…partners as we speak."
He frowned, deep in thought, and then gestured towards the door behind her. "Time to get moving. Back to the trenches, soldier – you're dismissed."
Skye
"The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for."
― Bob Marley
Somehow, after vowing never to venture down there again, after seeing the giant spiders that Fitz and Simmons had created, Skye found herself in their lab complex once more, staring at the latest batch of mutts.
"Those are some seriously ugly apes, Fitz," Skye murmured softly, not quite as disturbed as she had been when first seeing the spider mutations he had been so proud of, but still notexactly at ease. "What the hell did you guys do to them?"
Fitz leant back against one of the table, and glanced over at her. "Actually, we haven't done anything to these guys, except for chipping them and giving them a bit of a wash – they smelled even worse when they first came in then they do now, which was a real achievement. Gemma thinks it might be some kind of pheromone secretion, in order to mark territory or perhaps to signal availability to mate…"
He trailed off, blushing furiously as Skye raised an eyebrow, and cleared his throat loudly. "Anyway, I just think they're doing it to spite us – they definitely are more intelligent that any of the mutts we've ever produced here. I told you about the guy who was almost strangled by one of them, didn't I?"
Skye nodded. "You said Ward saved him, right?"
Fitz and Simmons nodded, before glancing uneasily at the cage, where the pack of apes continued to stare at them, unmoving, with thinly-veiled hostility evident in their non-human eyes.
"Like Fitz said, we didn't make them here," Gemma explained, continuing on where Fitz had left off. "One of the heads of the Research Department discovered them while he and his team were on an investigation of a region just outside of District Six – found a whole colony of the things living out there, apes that had been mutated by prolonged exposure to radiation, to the point that we believe they've become very nearly sentient."
"Well, Gemma does," Fitz added, cutting in. "I'm still not willing to believe that they're anything other than really, really, really ugly-looking monkeys. Dr Strange – the guy Gemma was talking about – said that they had organised themselves into some kind of hierarchy, with their leader assuming total control over the others. Apparently he swapped the ones we have here for some of the weapons Strange's team had with them – it's all ridiculous, really. Strange probably lost the weapons and came up with all of it as a half-assed excuse – dude always seemed more than a little off to me."
"What part of Research is he in charge of?" Skye asked curiously, as she stared at the apes, wondering whether which of Fitzsimmons were correct.
"Conditioning and Rehabilitation," Simmons quickly replied, looking slightly uneasy about the topic of conversation. "But it's all pretty hush-hush, Skye – top secret, and far beyond our clearance levels. So, I am going to step out and feed our ravenous, venomous monstrosities down the block, before they decide to try and eat one another, which would be just my luck. And Fitz, for the last time, they're apes, not monkeys!"
With that, she stepped of the lab, leaving Fitz and Skye waiting awkwardly for the other to break the silence that had fallen between them, all the time being observed by the sullen group of caged apes. However, after barely a moment had passed, the door opened again and Ward stepped into the lab, and the pair sighed internally in relief.
"So, no one being strangled by your freaks today, Fitz?" Ward asked, walking over to them. "Damn shame really, was hoping for some excitement. Things have been pretty quiet ever since we got back – everyone's waiting for the Games to begin."
He strode forward, passing Fitz and Skye by, and made his way over to the cage, hunkering down and staring into its depths. One of the apes stood up and came a little closer, its lips bared back into a soundless snarl, and Skye could see Fitz twitch slightly, displaying his concern.
"Hey, check out this guy!" Ward said back to them, half-laughing, as the ape shuffled a little closer once more, coming within a few yards of Ward.
"Um…Ward, I'd move back a little," Fitz murmured, "that one there…well, he's a bit of a pain in the ass, to be honest. He thinks he's special, or something."
Ward glanced back at him and smirked. "Fitz, come on. I'm not one of your lab assistants; I think I can handle myself against some stupid monkey."
Those words had no sooner left his mouth than the ape in question darted forward, its arms reaching through the bars of the cage, far longer than Ward had anticipated, and clasped its hands around Ward's left arms, yanking him towards so that he slammed into the cage door.
"Fitz, it's got his arm," Skye yelled, as Ward grunted and struggled with the ape, while its companions hollered and whooped behind it. Fitz glanced around him, in a panic, before he noticed something out of Skye's field of vision and rushed off. Skye rushed forwards and grabbed Ward's free arm, pulling him back away from the cage, though with little success.
Fitz reappeared a moment later, with a hose nozzle in his hands, which was generally used for washing out the cages after the mutts had been sent off, the rest of the hose trailing out behind him to where it connected to the wall, and then to the water mains. Skye let go of Ward and backed away, and Ward tried to look back to see what was happening, but was jammed forward into the bars once more by his attacker.
Fitz took a deep breath, and his knuckles whitened around the lever of the hose. "Get your hands off him, you damn dirty ape!" he yelled, before pulling back the lever and sending several gallons of high-pressurised water flying towards the cage, where it slammed into the ape and knocked it onto its back, losing its grip on Ward.
Ward fell back onto the floor of the lab, and backed up quickly, pressing his back up against the table behind him. "Damn it, Fitz, you need to get those hairless monkey freaks under control."
Fitz turned off the hose, the stream of water fading to a trickle, and then drying up completely, and he turned to Ward. "I told you not to get too close, Ward. Those apes don't play around."
Ward grunted and inclined his head slightly, the arm that the ape had grabbed still held close to his chest, almost protectively, as he pulled himself up to his feet with his other arm. "Just sort them out. Sooner we get them out of here, the better." He groaned as he rotated his arm a little, grimacing as it clicked at each movement. "Anyway, what did you call me down here for – you said you had something for me?"
The smaller agent stared at him for a moment, before his eyes suddenly widened and a smile lit up on his face. "Ah, yes, I'll just be a moment!" he declared, before rushing over to a nearby table, and opening the silver briefcase that lay on top of it. He lifted out a sleek, black object with a certain degree of reverence, and held it out to Ward. "Here's the new night-night pistol."
Ward and Skye stared at him in disbelief, and Fitz's smile froze in place, uncertain as to what he had done wrong.
"You had this here all along…" Ward began, barely able to keep the anger out of his voice, "and instead of using it, you ran off to the get a hose instead?"
Without waiting for an answer, he snatched the pistol out of Fitz's hands, and weighed it critically for a moment, before shaking his head. "Sorry, Fitz. It's close, but it's just not right."
"'Cause Agent Coulson had no problems," Fitz muttered under his breath, frowning at the criticism in Ward's voice, and still rankling over the fact that he had forgotten about the gun during the ape attack.
Ward's brow furrowed, having heard Fitz's reply but deigning to ignore it. "It's an ounce too heavy," he explained, and Skye couldn't help but smile, unable to believe that he was being serious.
"An ounce? Seriously?" she asked, half-laughing, but stopped when Ward turned to her and raised an eyebrow, looking entirely serious.
"It's the difference between success, and failure. When you're on a rooftop with a fifteen-mile-an-hour wind, your target is five hundred yards away..."
"Yeah, but we do have a rifle," Fitz broke in helpfully, but faltered as Ward turned and directed his glare at him now.
"Lose the ounce," he repeated, and then left the lab, leaving the other two agents nonplussed.
"Yeah, okay. On it. 'Lose the ounce,'" he muttered, before deepening his voice into a passable imitation of Ward's. "I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I can shoot the legs off a flea from five hundred yards, as long as it's not windy."
Skye laughed, and Fitz glanced up at her, blushing slightly, but smiling all the same. Behind him, the doors opened once more as Simmons returned to the lab, evidently having finished feeding the spiders two labs down and having heard Fitz's impersonation.
"So, Ward was here?" she asked, smiling wryly. "Let me guess – the night-night pistol again?"
"Yeah, and he said it was off by an ounce."
"Of course he did," she replied, before doing her own imitation of Ward. "I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I could rupture your spleen with my left pinky...blindfolded!"
The three of them laughed, and Skye sat down on a nearby table, at ease for the first time since coming on-board Coulson's team. Maybe being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't be so bad, after all.
Skye stepped out into the night, breathing in the fresh air – a welcome reprieve from the manufactured, recycled oxygen that they pumped through the S.H.I.E.L.D. base – and began walking, with no particular aim in mind. She passed by the Sentinels on guard at the perimeter without so much as a second glance, waving her badge as she did so, and earning a nod from Blake, who was on duty once more.
She passed through the quiet streets without incident – those out, like her, walking, barely glanced once at her, despite her lack of the typical adornments and modifications that most Capitol citizens sported. Then again, perhaps she was just letting her prejudices over the inner city blind her – plenty of people here looked normal, with only subtle modifications no stranger than a tattoo here and there, or some piercings.
However, the term 'normal' here, of course, didn't really refer to her usual experience of the word – she walked by a man with cat whiskers, orange skin with black and white stripes, and a long, thin tail trailing out behind him. Two women walked by, their skin a bright green, and their eyes snakelike and unwelcoming. Another was covered in a layer of downy feathers, and her nose had been surgically altered – elongated and strengthened – into a kind of beak.
Doing her best not to stare as each of these people passed by, Skye stepped up her pace a little, as she gradually became aware of the chill in the night. She passed by a Sentinel patrol – even here, they kept a vigilant watch on everything – and nodded to them, her hand half-reaching for her badge in case they stopped her.
However, they passed on by without incident, and she let out a breath that she hadn't even realised she'd been holding. Out in the suburbs, the Sentinels weren't quite regarded in the same way as they were here, in the heart of the Capitol – sure, they were respected and appreciated, unlike what they experienced in the districts, but there was also an undercurrent of fear.
It wasn't unknown for Sentinels to come and drag out families from their homes never to be seen again – of course, it was rare, and those people were…well, they were told that they were terrorists, plotting the downfall of the Capitol and President Thanos.
Looking at the splendour all around her, Skye couldn't help but wonder what kind of threat those people could have possibly been. Having spent the last few weeks in the very heart of S.H.I.E.L.D., the concept of an organised rebellion between the dissatisfied factions of the Capitol and the districts had become more and more laughable. Against the kind of weaponry, armour and training that the Sentinels possessed, not including the Nova Corps and the S.W.O.R.D. air force, the districts wouldn't stand a chance.
And here she was, now part of the system, something that she never would imagined only a few short weeks ago. Coulson-
Coulson.
She froze in place, as she caught sight of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, standing at the very top of a staircase, talking animatedly to a small group of men and woman. Their clothes – all the very latest in Capitol fashion – contrasted starkly with Coulson's neatly pressed suit, and the agent looked more than a little uncomfortable in such a setting.
Skye pressed herself up against the wall behind her, keeping to the shadows as she drew a little closer, fairly certain that Coulson wouldn't approve of her spying on him, but determined to do so anyway. After all, she had been here for weeks now and still had no idea why Coulson had decided to bring her on to his team, rather than simply hanging her out to dry. Perhaps this conversation could shed some light on this situation.
If Coulson wanted to hire her on as a spy, then she'd be a spy.
She could just about make out a few of the words being exchanged between Coulson and the group, and was close enough now to recognise some of the individuals. Wilson Fisk, the escort, stood next to and owlish-looking man with white hair, and another, younger man, dressed impeccably in a dark suit, but one that was far more expensive-looking than Coulson's. A blond man dressed in purple stood with them, as did Ian Quinn, the slimeball who had tried to chat her up the day she arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D. Next to him stood a woman with small, reptilian wings, who was whispering something in his ear.
Other men and women stood with them, but the only other one that caught Skye's eye was the one talking to Coulson, who seemed to be functioning as the head of the group – Jacques Duquesne, the Swordsman. Duquesne was one of the richest men in the Capitol, with an entire wing of Sentinels under his private command, distinguished from their brethren by the black armour that they wore. He worked as a trainer in the Tributes Centre each year, and Skye couldn't only imagine how many strings he had to pull in order to set that up.
She crept closer, and could now make out the full conversation, though she soon became aware that she had arrived at the tail end of it, as Coulson's voice rang through the air.
"I understand, Mr Ducard. I'll pass it on to Director Fury – we'll try to have a report prepared for our next meeting. At the very least, we'll have plenty of test subjects by the end of the next fortnight, and Dr Strange has commended his team's recent techniques."
"Very well, Agent Coulson, I'll be awaiting your report. We have a lot riding on the next few months, particularly Adrian and Leland here, whose financial support has been vital towards the endeavour – let us hope that we'll see some progress."
"'Til then, sir," Coulson replied, and dipped his head, nodding to each of the group in turn before making his way down the staircase, and catching sight of Skye. He froze, a fleeting, inscrutable expression darting on and off his face, and then smiled, walking directly over to her.
"Evening, Skye," he said, and Skye forced a smile of her own, though her gaze quickly darted to the stairs behind Coulson, where the Swordsman was staring at them, his face and eyes blank and expressionless. The group that had accompanied him had dispersed, but he still lingered, and Skye shivered, perturbed.
"Cold out tonight," Coulson commented, evidently noticing her reaction. "What brings you out to this part of town?"
She shrugged, and wrapped her arms around her body, conserving heat. "Got bored," she replied truthfully, after a moment had passed. "Fitzsimmons had left for one of the labs after dinner, and Ward and May disappeared soon after. Since I don't have access to most of sectors when I'm unsupervised, I thought I'd take a walk after dinner. Not much for me to do at the moment – still not sure why you brought me into all of this."
"I have my reasons," Coulson replied, before glancing over his shoulder, but Duquesne was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to her, frowning, and then remembered who he was talking to, putting on another smile. "Right now, the Games are just starting – it won't be until they're over until your talents become needed, but you'll be pretty busy then."
"Does it have anything to do with the Swordsman?" Skye asked, nodding to the stairs that Coulson had just descended. Coulson's lips tightened slightly, but his smile never wavered – Skye had to give him points for that.
"It might," Coulson conceded, at last, but there was a warning glint to his eyes as he continued on, "but I think we should drop this conversation, Skye – now isn't the right time. Give it a week or two, and then all will be revealed, I promise. Until then, though, you're just going to have to accept that I can't share everything with you."
Skye frowned, pressing her lips together, but she inclined her head slightly in acceptance after a moment or two had passed. "Two weeks, Coulson, and then you either give me the answers I've been looking for, or I walk."
"Two weeks them, Skye, I promise."
"You've been making a lot of promises lately," she remarked bitterly, and shook her head. "You do realise that you called Jacques Duquesne – one of the richest men in the Capitol – 'Ducard', right? What was up with that?"
Coulson paused, wrinkling his brow, looking even more uncomfortable than he had before.
"Oh, you know me with names, I'm all over the place," he admitted bashfully. "Ducard, Duquesne, Dufresne, Duqeutte, it's all the same to me. Hell, May can tell you about the time I met Professor X – that is, Charles Xavier – and I found myself calling him 'Picard' for some reason I can't quite recall. He took it with good grace though…" Coulson trailed off, with a thoughtful look on his face. "I also think I called Hank McCoy 'Bones' one day at a banquet – he did not take it so well, probably thought I was commenting on his table manners. I've never seen someone so skinny demolish a plate of chicken wings so…ravenously."
A moment passed, and then he snapped out of whatever kind of reverie he had been lost in, glancing back to Skye and smiling. "Guess 'Beast' was an apt name for him after all – just never let Taneleer Tivan know that I said that. His ego's big enough as it is."
Skye smiled despite herself, and shook her head again, with Coulson chuckling to himself next to her. When he stopped, he turned back to her, and the charm offensive that was Coulson's standard method of procedure was back in place.
"Do you think he noticed? Duquesne, that is? I'm really not at the point where I can burn any more bridges in this line of work – Fury was hesitant enough to fund my team as it was."
"No," Skye replied, rolling her eyes. "I don't think he noticed. And according to Fitzsimmons and Ward, everyone in the Capitol loves you. I doubt you've ever had problems getting money out of wealthy men."
"I could say the same about you," he quipped back, with a smile and wink. "I have seen your file, you know."
She smiled, and the pair walked back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, while only a few hundred metres away from then the tributes for this year's Games slept the last peaceful night of their lives away.
Director Nick Fury
Lights. Camera. Action.
Those were the three words running through Nick Fury's mind as he took his seat, surrounded by a dozen or so television executives, each yammering about different things at the same time, making it impossible for any of them to be heard over the din.
Someone yelled something off-stage, and the executives froze as one, turning their heads towards the source of the noise, and then swiftly darting off of the set, as the countdown began for them to go on air.
Taneleer Tivan turned to him, and smiled widely. "I'm sure all this is nothing to phase you, Director, but can I just say, before we begin, how excited I am for this year's Games. Last year's was so…underwhelming. I think we really needed the fresh blood."
Fury inclined his head towards the announcer, and smiled slightly. "I can only hope we'll live up to your expectations, Taneleer. Just go easy on me, please. It is my first time, after all."
"I'll be gentle, I promise," the Collector replied with a wry smile, and Fury sat back into his chair, chuckling slightly, when the countdown finally ended.
Taneleer introduced him to the cameras with his usual level of panache, and for once, was met with an equal measure of flair and showmanship, as Fury met every one of the questions posed to him in kind, playing the crowd with ease.
After all, he was the man who essentially ran Marvel, or at least, ran the infrastructure that kept it all together – keeping an audience enthralled was nothing to him, not when all he had to do was keep them entertained. Having spent months suppressing seditious figures, within the Capitol and the districts, organising troop deployments, supervising the maintenance of Marvel's borders, and countless other tiring, stressful tasks.
This was practically a holiday, in comparison.
"Now, we've all heard the rumours that you may be using an old, ruined city for this year's Games – something hearkening back to the civilisation of Old America. I've got to ask, because it was always a favourite of mine…" Taneleer paused dramatically, before leaning in slightly closer to Fury. "Is there any chance that we might be seeing Washington later on today?"
Fury smiled, or at least, opened his mouth to show off a pair of dazzlingly white teeth – he had been forced to have his teeth whitened by Taneleer's make-up team, a condition that had been unavoidable, but not one he was entirely pleased with.
"I'm sorry, maybe next year," he replied, shaking his head to the amusement of the crowd. "However, I think you'll like what we have planned instead. It's definitely going to be…well, I can promise that it'll be something special. Something fresh, which I think is what we've been missing these last few Games."
"I don't suppose there are any details you'd like to share?" Taneleer asked, already knowing that Fury was going to refuse. After all, that was what this show was all about – you weren't meant to reveal anything new to the crowd, you were just meant to explain the things they already knew. They'd get enough to whet their appetites when the launch occurred, in just a few short hours – everything until then was just busy work, reflections and summaries of events so far.
The next few hours passed without incident, as Fury and Taneleer bantered away, accompanied by the oohs and aahs of the crowd, laughing, applauding and cheering at the suitable times. They ran through the contestants, Fury giving the audience little titbits of new information on each of them, all carefully calibrated to ensure that no advantage was conferred on any particular tribute due to what he said.
Of course, the whole show had been a set up for the big reveal of the arena, as the twenty-fourth Avenger Games were finally launched, and eventually they reached the point where Taneleer asked Fury if he had any last words to say, before the Games began.
Fury looked thoughtful, and then turned to the crowd. "I could delay this further and give a big speech, but I know that none of you really want that right now, so I'm gonna keep things brief. I only have one thing to say, to the audience here, to those watching, and to the tributes waiting to ascend into the arena, though of course, they can't hear this."
He paused dramatically, and smiled once more. "May the odds be ever in your favour."
Thunderous applause met his words, and he leant back in his seat as Taneleer took over, waiting until the crowd settled down once more to reveal the big screen behind him, which displayed each of the various tributes within their elevator tubes, and they began to rise towards the arena.
A few seconds passed, and Fury scanned the crowd, as their collective gaze was locked upon the screen behind him.
I've done it, he thought smugly. All that time worrying, and it was just this easy – a little showmanship, good presentation and a solid touch of vagueness. Let's just hope Thanos will be taken in so easily, but I really think he might be.
The crowd held their breath as the cameras within the tributes' tubes began to show sunlight, as they reached the surface. The gasps from the audience behind him assured Fury that they had chosen their location well, as the still-breath-taking skyline of the ruins of New York came into view. His team really had picked the perfect moment for the launch, he had to admit, as the sun was just about visible behind the skyline, framing the view perfectly, and lending an orange glow to proceedings.
"It's…" Taneleer trailed off, his hands curled out in front of him, shaking uncontrollably, before unfurling them and gesturing towards the screen, "beautiful!"
Fury smiled once more – his lips were hurting with all the forced smiling at this point, and he was counting off the minutes he had left – and inclined his head slightly, accepting the Collector's praise.
"You're too kind," he replied, and this time his smile was genuine, but perhaps not for the same reasons as the viewers would expect, "but I have to agree – 'beautiful' certainly is an apt word. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to New York City, the 'Big Apple' of Old America. Home, at its peak, to over twelve million people, but of course, the Infinity War left it a barren ruin, as indeed it left that entire civilisation."
"It must have taken a lot of work to prepare it for the Games," Taneleer mused, and Fury saw plenty of people nodding along to those words, though more were barely paying attention to the conversation on the stage any more, as the ten second countdown began. "While I'm glad to see the rumours were correct, as it's been too long since we've experienced a city landscape, I was under the impression that New York was still basking in a high level of radiation."
Seven.
Fury nodded. "Indeed. We had to cordon off Staten Island – this area here," he said, speaking quickly and pointing to the screen which now displayed a map of New York, highlighting the area in question in a bright red. Six. "The levels of gamma radiation were too high for the Games to take place there, given that it was the site where the nuclear missiles had fallen in the past. Tributes would have suffered the effects of radiation poisoning within mere days – and this, of course, wouldn't make very interesting viewing."
Four.
The crowd nodded to this, unsurprisingly. "However, the levels of gamma radiation within the rest of the city are harmless, barring a small section of Manhattan." He pointed once more, and a few blocks on that island lit up. Two. "We call this 'Hell's Kitchen, and it's been barricaded off to prevent tributes from entering. So, in short, don't worry – we have things under control."
As he finished, so too did the countdown, and he settled back down into his seat to watch the bloodbath begin. Within only a few short moments, blood had already begun to flow.