Nick Fury ran. He was on leave from the US army, and was moving his muscular body through the suburban streets at a strong but steady rate. He was moving at little more than a jog, a speed he felt like he could keep up more or less indefinitely.
He received an ugly look from a middle aged man casually watering his front lawn. Even after his service in Korea, there were plenty in this kind of serene suburban setting who were intent on making a black man feel unwelcome.
Fury was wearing his neatly pressed running kit, its khaki green making clear to the most casual observer that he served his country, if nothing more.
Fury ran directly in front of the gardener's lawn, half expecting to be sprayed as he did, but refusing to alter his course to accommodate a bigot. He avoided eye contact, despite being halfway tempted to pick a fight.
A block or two further, Fury became certain of what he was seeing. A smart black car was slowly following him. It had been for a few minutes now - when he first spotted it, he thought it may be a coincidence. But the car had now followed him on a couple of sudden turns, moving much more slowly than it was capable of.
Not slowing down, Fury took in the car's path in his peripheral vision, and considered his options. He turned a corner where a couple of pine trees blocked the view to the street he'd just left. As soon as Fury calculated that he'd be invisible to the driver of the car he accelerated, running flat out down the new street. He ducked into an alley – one he knew connected into another. Fury took a moment to regain his composure, clinging close to the wall as he calmed his sweat-drenched body, and looking out.
His breath restored, Fury left his hiding hole. The alley broke out right next to a grocery store - an obvious place for any urban hunter. Fury turned in the opposite direction, jogging back in the general direction he had just run.
It wasn't long before he spotted the car again, appearing a few blocks to Fury's left. This time there was nowhere to hide, just suburban gardens, with not so much as a single civilian in this area. Without missing a beat, Fury began sprinting in the opposite direction, pumping his muscular frame as fast as it would go, the sweat rolling down his face as he did. He could hear the car screeching after him. Fury pushed the muscles in his legs harder and harder as he passed the point from euphoria back into agony, but it was in vain – the car quickly overtook him, coming to a halt at the end of the block.
Fury halted, doubled up in pain as he thought through his options. He watched helplessly as the driver's door opened, and a tall, muscular middle-aged soldier stepped out. Beneath his tidy, well-cropped hair, the driver smiled broadly, boyishly.
"Well, Fury, that was much easier than I expected. I expected much more of a challenge catching you!"
Sitting in the passenger seat and panting, Fury used a towel to wipe the sweat from his face, the rubbed it across his short, military standard hair.
"I expected you to be able to put up more of a challenge Nick," the driver said, never taking his attention from the road. "An athletic young man like you – I hope you've not let yourself get rusty these past few weeks?"
Fury smirked, becoming a man totally at ease.
"Hell, no. Have you thought that the fact you used to do this with Captain Rogers might mean you're judging me on too steep a curve?"
"You never seemed like a man to make excuses, soldier."
The pair broke into laughter, the comfortable, understated laughter of men who'd put their lives in each other's hands, who trusted each other totally.
James Buchanan-Barnes had been Fury's commanding officer, and a legend for his actions in World War Two. The men were close – seeing that Fury's talents were wasted because of racial assumptions, the Major insisted that he be transferred under his command, and had given him opportunities he would get nowhere else. Fury idolised the man known as Bucky to an extent that was rare even for this legend. But that didn't prevent him giving a bit of cheek back.
"I'll excel at evasion training in time. It's going to take time for me to reach the standards of America's greatest supersoldier, that's all."
Fury didn't believe the more far-fetched stories about 'Captain America', but his record stood for itself – he had clearly been quite a man.
Buchanan-Barnes smiled.
"I've got an offer for you Fury. You can follow me out of the army, see things you had no idea of."
This struck Fury, who turned his attention fully towards his superior.
"Who are you working for?"
The boyish smile appeared again.
"They don't officially exist. A top secret government organisation called SHIELD."