Chapter 12:
[Steve Rogers POV]
[The VA, Washington DC, USA]
I decide to make a stop at the VA to visit Sam, maybe even lend him a hand to impress that girl he's interested in. It's important for me to connect with ordinary folks outside of SHIELD. As I walk through the exhibit showcasing my old unit, memories of Bucky and Peggy flood my mind, leaving me in a somewhat melancholic state. I feel like I'm drifting, but then Sam reaches out. In fact, Sam, Spartan, Karai, and even Natasha all reached out. Their simple gestures of support mean something to me.
I make my way through the halls and come across Sam running a support group for Veterans. One woman shares her story, expressing her belief that things are worsening. Sam attentively listens to her, fully engaged in her narrative. She describes how a police officer pulled her over, mistaking her swerving to avoid a plastic bag for drunkenness. "I thought it was an IED," she concludes. I linger by the door, not wanting to intrude. Sam addresses the group, saying, "Some things you leave behind, while others you carry with you. It's up to each of us to determine how we bear those burdens." His words resonate with the support group.
After concluding the meeting and seeing the attendees disperse, Sam approaches me. "Look who we have here, the running man," he playfully remarks. I nod towards the now empty room and say, "Caught the last few minutes. It was quite intense." Sam responds, "Yeah, brother, we all face similar challenges: guilt, regret." He trails off, his expression growing somber. Curious, I ask, "Have you lost someone?" He sadly nods and replies, "My wingman, Riley. We were on a night mission, and he was shot down by an RPG. I could do nothing but watch helplessly." Feeling empathetic, I offer my condolences, saying, "I'm sorry." It's the only response I can offer at that moment. Sam continues, sharing his struggle, "After that, I found it difficult to find a reason to stay over there, you know?" I glance around the meeting room, seeing the signs of someone trying to reintegrate into society, and say, "But now you're happy, back in the world?" Sam grins and responds, "The number of people giving me orders has dropped to almost zero. So yeah, I'm doing well." He then teases me, "Are you considering retirement?" I quickly respond, "No," and correct myself, "Well, I never really thought about it." Sam playfully jokes, "MMA," and we both share a laugh.
[Rogers's apartment, Washington DC]
As I ascend the stairs to my apartment, I encounter my neighbor Kate, who is carrying a laundry basket and engaged in a phone conversation. It seems like everyone is constantly on their phones these days. After a brief exchange with the person on the other end, she ends the call and sheepishly looks at me. "My aunt, she's kind of an insomniac," she explains. "Yeah. Hey, if you want, feel free to use my washing machine. It might be cheaper than the one in the basement," I offer, feeling a sudden nervousness. Maybe Natasha was right. I contemplate asking Kate out, but I struggle with how to broach the subject. Bucky was always better at this than I am. Kate raises an eyebrow and asks, "Yeah? What's the price?" I confidently reply, "A cup of coffee." She smiles and responds, "Thanks, but I already have a load downstairs, and you don't want my scrubs in your machine. I just finished a rotation in the ER. It was quite messy." I catch her hint. 'Thanks, but no thanks.' "Well, I'll keep my distance," I say. "Hopefully not too far," she replies, adding, "Oh, I think you left your stereo on." Kate heads off to do her laundry, and I turn to face my door. I'm certain I didn't leave the stereo on.
Inside my apartment, I cautiously enter through the window, my senses alert. I grab my shield, which is nearby, adopting a more defensive stance. The stereo is indeed playing. Someone is clearly inside, but who and why? It doesn't take long for me to find out. Seated on the recliner is Nick Fury. "I don't remember giving you a key," I remark, feeling a tinge of irritation. "You think I'd need one," he sassily replies. 'No, I suppose not.' "My wife kicked me out," he reveals, surprising me. I can't quite discern if he's telling the truth or not. "I didn't know you were married," I comment. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he cryptically responds. "I know, Nick. That's the problem," I tell him, switching on the lights. The illumination reveals Fury's bruised face, which shocks me. I'm about to inquire about what happened, but he raises his hand to silence me. Fury turns off the lamp, quickly types something on his phone, and shows it to me. The text reads, 'Ears everywhere. SHIELD's compromised.' "I apologize for intruding, but I had nowhere else to go," he explains. He types again, 'The PARAGADES are MIA.' "Who else is aware of your wife?" I ask, playing along.
"Just my friends," he informs me. Did he genuinely mean that or was he saying it for the benefit of whoever might be listening? "Is that what we are?" I ask somewhat harshly. "That's up to you," he replies. Suddenly, there's a loud noise, and Fury cries out, collapsing to the floor. I swiftly pull Fury behind cover and kneel beside him. He extends his hand and hands me a USB drive, uttering, "Don't trust anyone." Then, he goes limp. Before I can react, someone forcefully breaks down my door. "Captain Rogers!" I peek out to see that it's Kate, wielding a pistol, "Captain, I'm Agent 13 of SHIELD's special service. I was assigned to protect you." "Whose orders?" I question. She approaches and notices Nick, "His." Kate tends to Fury, checking his condition. She retrieves a radio from her pocket and speaks into it, "Foxtrot is down. I need EMS at my location." "Do we have a location on the shooter?" the voice on the other end asks. I gaze out the window and spot the shooter. "Tell them I'm in pursuit," I declare.
[Rooftop.] I burst out of the front window, propelling myself across the street and gracefully landing inside an office. Without wasting a second, I sprint through the building, my determination unyielding. I smash through windows, walls, and doors, effortlessly plowing forward, never once losing sight of the assassin. With each powerful punch, I carve a path of destruction in my wake. Suddenly, the shooter vaults onto the adjacent rooftop. Without hesitation, I leap after him, effortlessly transitioning from the ground to the elevated platform. Rolling upon landing, I swiftly hurl my shield toward the assassin's back, anticipating victory. To my utter disbelief, he catches it with a single arm, his eyes gleaming with malice. My shield, a symbol of impenetrable defense, has been effortlessly intercepted.
In an instant, the killer retaliates by hurling my shield back at me with incredible force. The impact sends me stumbling a few steps backward, struggling to regain my balance. As I steady myself, I realize with disappointment that the assassin has vanished, disappearing into the shadows. Caught off guard by his unexpected strength and agility, I'm left standing in the aftermath, my senses heightened and mind racing. The encounter has left me with more questions than answers, fueling my determination to unravel the truth and bring the mysterious assassin to justice.
[Hallway, Hospital, Washington DC]
I stand alongside Hill, our eyes fixed on the doctors as they fight desperately to save Fury's life. The tension in the room is palpable. In the midst of this critical moment, Natasha storms into the observation room, her presence commanding attention. Her usually composed demeanor is replaced by vulnerability and raw emotion. Her voice barely above a whisper, Natasha asks the question that weighs heavily on all our minds, "Is he going to make it?" I meet her gaze, my own expression reflecting the uncertainty we all feel. "I don't know," I respond honestly, my voice filled with concern.
Seeking answers, Natasha turns her attention to me, her eyes filled with determination. "Tell me about the shooter," she demands. There isn't much I can offer in terms of information. "Strong, fast, skilled, and equipped with a metal arm," I inform her. A flicker of recognition crosses Natasha's eyes, hinting at a deeper understanding. However, before she can delve further, Hill interjects, her tone urgent, "Ballistic analysis reveals three slugs. No rifling. Completely untraceable." Realizing the implications, Natasha mutters to herself, "Soviet-made," her voice heavy with significance. Hill's surprise at Natasha's deduction is interrupted as our attention is drawn back to the doctors battling to save Fury's life. Time seems to slow as the machine tracking Fury's vital signs plummets rapidly. Urgency fills the room as the doctors call for a crash cart, their movements becoming increasingly frantic. "Don't do this to me, Nick," Natasha whispers, her voice filled with a mix of desperation and sorrow.
Despite their valiant efforts, the doctors eventually cease their attempts and step back. The room falls silent, the monitors displaying flatlines and zeros. Fury is gone. We all stand there, surrounding Fury's lifeless body, sharing a moment of mourning and reflection. As Fury's body is wheeled away, I find myself lost in thought, contemplating the significance of the USB drive tucked away safely in my pocket. Its contents undoubtedly played a role in Fury's demise. But who can I trust with this vital information? The PARAGADES would have been my first choice, but Fury had informed me they were missing. Cloak-and-dagger operations were never my forte; I am a soldier, not a spy.
Interrupting my thoughts, Hill approaches me with a purpose. "I need to take him," she declares, referring to Fury's body. Natasha places a hand on Fury's head, bidding her final farewell to our fallen leader. It is a profound loss, not only for Natasha but for all of SHIELD. Setting aside our grief for the moment, I know I must seek answers from Natasha. She possesses the skills and instincts necessary to unravel this conspiracy swiftly. However, I need to determine if I can trust her completely. Fury's final words echo in my mind, 'Don't trust anyone.' Which among us are the traitors, and who remains loyal to SHIELD?
Steeling myself, I hide the USB drive in a secure location, ensuring its protection. I approach Natasha as she exits the room, ready to continue our conversation. "Natasha," I call out, stepping into the middle of the hallway. She swiftly turns to face me, her gaze hardened and suspicious, "Why was Fury in your apartment?" Without missing a beat, I respond to her skepticism, "I don't know." But Natasha sees through my words, recognizing my inability to deceive her effectively.
Before our discussion can progress, Rumlow approaches from behind, his voice demanding my attention. "Cap, they want you back at HQ," he asserts, the presence of the STRIKE commandos reminding us of the danger that still lurks. I request a moment, needing to conclude my conversation with Natasha. She has the capability to unravel this conspiracy faster than I ever could. However, the question of trust lingers heavily in my mind. "Give me a second," I assert to Rumlow, determined to finish this crucial exchange. Echoing Fury's mindset, I consider my next move. Storing away the USB drive in a hidden place, I make my way towards Rumlow and the waiting STRIKE commandos, aware that time is of the essence.
[Spartan POV]
[Pakistan]
As we touch down near the new model quinjet, the resemblance to the pelican from the Halo games doesn't escape my notice. Rhodey, visibly concerned, questions the situation after receiving an encrypted message from Fury. "An attack from within SHIELD," I respond, sharing the limited information we have. We are just as much in the dark as he is. Karai's regenerative abilities have finished healing her injuries, and we prepare to explain the chaotic events that unfolded before Rhodey arrived.
Rhodey, being in the Air Force, hasn't had many opportunities to interact with us. Aside from the Battle of New York, we have only teamed up on two missions in the past. Just then, EPYON tags an SOS call, and Karai swiftly accesses her holo-computer to investigate. "The SOS is coming from the Excalibur," she informs us. Rhodey's expression shifts to one of worry, "That's the ship I serve on!" Determined, he strides toward the quinjet, commanding us to get on board. Without hesitation, Karai and I follow closely behind, fully aware of the urgency.
[Steve Rogers POV]
[Triskelion, Washington DC, USA]
[Office.] I stride into Alexander Pierce's office wearing my uniform. Pierce rises from his seat, extending his hand to introduce himself. We exchange formalities, but my skepticism of politicians and their agendas lingers beneath the surface. However, I maintain a professional demeanor, listening attentively as he begins to recount a story about an incident involving him and Fury in Bogota. My eyes narrow slightly as Pierce speaks, his self-importance and political charm apparent. It's difficult to gauge the authenticity of his words. Despite my reservations, I remain composed and absorb the details he provides.
Pierce wastes no time in cutting to the heart of the matter, probing me about Fury's unexpected presence in my apartment. I instinctively feign ignorance, unwilling to divulge any information that could compromise Fury's plans. To my surprise, Pierce reveals that the apartment was bugged, a revelation that Fury himself had disclosed to me. A brief moment of uncertainty passes through me as I wonder if Fury had intended for this information to be revealed or if there was a deeper motive behind it. As Pierce presses further, asking if Fury mentioned being the one who had bugged the apartment, I weigh my words carefully, unsure of Pierce's true intentions. Silence becomes my ally as I withhold any confirmation or denial, unwilling to provide Pierce with ammunition that could be used against Fury's legacy. The air in the room grows heavy with unspoken implications, and I brace myself for what comes next.
Pierce proceeds to show me surveillance footage of Batroc's interrogation, drawing attention to a particular name mentioned by the mercenary—Jacob Veech. The twist in the tale emerges as Pierce reveals that Veech was believed to have died years ago, and his listed address happens to be in close proximity to Fury's mother's residence. My mind races, connecting the dots as Pierce implies that Fury may have hired the mercenaries involved in the incident.
A surge of anger and disbelief rises within me, and I find myself vehemently defending Fury's character. I refuse to accept the insinuation that he would resort to such tactics, particularly when it comes to endangering innocent lives. Pierce's dangerous worldview becomes increasingly apparent as he speaks of tearing down the old world to build a supposedly better one, his values contrasting starkly with Fury's commitment to balancing security and freedom. As I prepare to leave Pierce's office, the weight of the situation pressing upon me, he delivers a chilling warning. His eyes lock with mine, his voice laced with an underlying threat, as he vows to uncover the truth about Fury's death. The implied consequences for anyone who obstructs his investigation hang in the air, leaving no doubt about the lengths to which he is willing to go to achieve his objectives.
With a heavy heart and a renewed determination, I step out of Pierce's office, the gravity of the situation sinking in. It is clear that the road ahead will be fraught with danger and uncertainty. The truth behind Fury's death must be uncovered, but navigating the web of intrigue and deceit that surrounds his demise will require careful strategy.
[Elevator.] Entering the elevator, I press the button for the ground level. Rumlow and the STRIKE commandos join me, and he informs me about the CSI team finding fibers on the roof. Sensing danger, I observe the tactical positioning of the commandos in the elevator and become convinced that SHIELD has been compromised. The elevator stops again, and more SHIELD agents enter. Sensing that this is a setup orchestrated by Pierce, I take the initiative and ask if anyone wants to get off before we proceed. Jack Rollins attacks me with a taser baton, but I swiftly defend myself, incapacitating the attackers one by one. Rumlow manages to strike me with a taser rod, but I retaliate and defeat him as well. As the elevator reaches the ground, I open the doors, revealing a squad of heavily-armed STRIKE commandos waiting outside.
[Runway.] Refusing to give in to the overwhelming odds, I take decisive action. With a swift strike, I destroy the elevator's control panel, causing it to plummet down the shaft. Taking advantage of the chaos, I make a split-second decision to escape through a nearby glass wall window. The shards shatter as I burst through, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I navigate my way through the facility, evading any SHIELD agents who attempt to impede my progress. The urgency of the situation pushes me forward, driving me to reach my destination as quickly as possible. I finally reach the garage and locate my trusty motorcycle, ready for a quick getaway.
Without hesitation, I kick-start the engine and accelerate onto the open road, racing over a nearby bridge. The wind whips against my face as I maintain a focused speed, aware that time is of the essence. As I push forward, a menacing quinjet approaches, demanding my surrender through the speakers. However, I refuse to comply with their orders. Drawing on my exceptional skills and reflexes, I maneuver my motorcycle with precision, deftly avoiding the barrage of bullets unleashed by the pursuing quinjet. The bullets tear into the surface of the bridge, but I weave and swerve, narrowly escaping their deadly path. Determined to level the playing field, I unleash my iconic shield, hurling it at the quinjet's rotors with a calculated aim.
The shield connects with the spinning blades, disrupting their balance and causing the aircraft to dip dangerously low. Sensing an opportunity, I seize the moment and spring into action. With a swift leap, I propel myself onto the quinjet's exterior, defying gravity as I grab hold and pull myself upward. Adrenaline surges through my veins as I wrestle with the forces threatening to throw me off balance. Utilizing my unwavering strength, I wrench my shield free from the wreckage, its familiar weight comforting in my grip. Without hesitation, I hurl the shield toward the quinjet's two main engines, the metal disc finding its mark with unerring accuracy. The impact causes a violent eruption of flames and sparks as the thrusters malfunction, engulfing the quinjet in chaos.
Aware that the voice I heard through the speakers belonged to Sitwell, a familiar face from my previous encounter on the Lemurian Star, the puzzle pieces of this treacherous plot begin to fall into place. The gravity of the situation intensifies, and I realize that time is running out. Redirecting my focus, knowing that the hospital holds vital information on the USB drive that can shed light on these disturbing events. With the throttle of my motorcycle fully open, I race toward the hospital, the roar of the engine drowning out all other sounds. The city blurs past me as I navigate through the bustling streets, driven by an unyielding sense of purpose. The mission to retrieve the USB drive becomes my sole focus as I prepare to face the unknown challenges that lie ahead.
[Wanda Maximoff POV]
[SHIELD HQ, New York City]
[Training Area.] As I step out of the virtual reality training, a sinking feeling grips my heart. The large screen in the training area broadcasts the live press conference with Alexander Pierce, a World Security Councilman, accusing the Avengers of betrayal and implicating them in Nick Fury's murder. My mind races to comprehend the gravity of the situation as Pierce claims that the rogue Avengers planned to sell classified military information to enemies of the country. According to his narrative, the remaining Avengers are now deemed enemies of the state. Before I have a chance to process the enormity of these accusations, the training area is abruptly invaded by a team of soldiers, their stun weapons pointed directly at me. I instinctively raise my hands in a futile attempt to demonstrate my innocence, assuring them that they've made a grave mistake. But my pleas fall on deaf ears, and I'm harshly commanded to get on my knees. It becomes clear that they have already labeled me as a threat.
Just when it seems there is no hope, a mysterious figure cloaked in a hood crashes through the window, sending glass shards flying in all directions. A powerful sonic wave fills the room, disorienting both the soldiers and me. In the chaos, the figure rushes to my side, gripping my arm tightly. Without hesitation, we leap out of the window and onto an aircraft that blends seamlessly with the sky, nearly invisible to the naked eye.
[Quinjet.] The hooded figure takes charge of the pilot's chair, skillfully maneuvering the controls. As the figure pulls back the hood, a sense of relief washes over me, accompanied by a rush of familiarity. It's Clint Barton, my teammate, and fellow Avenger, also known as Hawkeye. A smile of reassurance spreads across my face as I greet him, momentarily forgetting the turmoil surrounding us. We share a brief embrace, finding solace in each other's presence.
With a sense of urgency, I question Clint about the unfolding events, desperate to understand the chaos that has erupted around us. He explains that he was on a mission when everything went haywire, triggered by an encrypted message he received: "SHIELD Compromised." Confusion swirls within me as I try to piece together the fragmented information, searching for our next course of action.
Clint shifts his focus to the controls of the quinjet, revealing our plan to regroup with Agent Coulson and his team, the only remaining individuals within SHIELD whom we can trust. I absorb the gravity of his words, understanding that the world as we knew it has drastically changed. The bond of trust among the Avengers has been shattered, and we must navigate this treacherous landscape with caution. As the quinjet soars through the sky, I find solace in knowing that I'm not alone in this uncertain journey. With Clint by my side, we will reunite with those we can trust, uncover the truth behind the accusations, and protect what remains of our shattered team. The weight of the world rests upon our shoulders.