Police Commissioner George Stacy had a pounding headache.
Just months after two brutal massacres, the city was now seeing a string of bizarre and chilling incidents. Every 911 call followed the same pattern: a witness claiming a group of armed soldiers stormed a home, dragged out a family member, and executed them. Stacy, drenched in sweat, had double-checked—New York SWAT had no operations that night. He even used personal connections to contact military sources, all of whom denied any involvement in black ops missions.
What made the situation even stranger was that, aside from eyewitness testimony, not a single camera—traffic, security, or street—had captured footage of the mysterious strike team. Even the armored vehicle was invisible to surveillance. Every time, right before the emergency call, phone and internet systems in the vicinity would go offline. The only sliver of relief was that these incidents had not yet been picked up by the press. If they had, the city's news media would have swarmed the scene like stray dogs catching the scent of food, citing press freedom to obstruct police investigations.
But what truly unsettled the department was what followed the calls—an anonymous tip made via voice synthesizer, pointing them to a specific location where human remains were buried. Each time, evidence near the remains matched personal belongings of the "abducted" family member. Yet medical examiners consistently reported that the person had been dead for years.
If the victim died years ago, who had been living with the reporting witnesses all this time?
Every investigator privy to the details broke out in goosebumps. Soon after, the FBI somehow caught wind of the cases and moved to take over. Declaring the files classified, heavily armed agents—who drove armored vehicles—stormed into the police precinct before Commissioner Stacy even arrived. They seized all related files and departed without delay. When Stacy arrived at the 8th precinct, Detectives Carter and Francesco told him that the agents had entered the precinct armed and made it clear that if they weren't handed the files, they would take them by force.
Chubby Detective Francesco had even been threatened at gunpoint for trying to block their access to the archive room.
"They looked more CIA or military than FBI," Carter whispered to the commissioner. He had combat experience and a tour in Afghanistan. "I know their style—blunt and direct. I'd bet anything they're tied to that strike team. This case is seriously messed up. I want to investigate it privately."
"This is dangerous, Carter. You're a good cop. You shouldn't risk your life," Stacy said with a conflicted expression. Unlike most officers, Carter didn't like writing petty citations for easy revenue, even if it was legal income. "We haven't solved the two massacres from a few months ago. Focus on that. There's something about this case that reeks of things we're not meant to know. I don't want you to end up dead. Understand?"
"Sir…"
"No debate. Detective Francesco, keep an eye on your partner. I don't want to hear about any unauthorized investigations." After watching the two detectives leave his office, Commissioner Stacy applied a nicotine patch to his arm, then resolutely picked up the phone and dialed a number.
This was a colossal undertaking. Eternal City's server array cooling tanks had already boiled over more than once.
Everyone knew that the Skrulls in the dungeon wouldn't spill all their secrets until the final stages of interrogation. Applying the six degrees of separation theory to the captured and executed Skrulls required enormous computational power. Investigators combed through social media use, unusual travel stops, and even the newspapers the Skrulls subscribed to—looking for hidden codes. Nick Fury, standing by a shimmering, ice-blue coolant pool, tasted the acrid tang of burnt circuitry in the air. The smell of scorched PCB stung his throat. Bile rose into his mouth. Once again, he had failed. Victoria Hand said nothing to accuse him. She simply laid the evidence on the desk.
"I'll help," Fury said to Solomon as he entered the office. "I'll make good on my promises."
"Your promises are worthless, Nick Fury," Solomon replied coldly. His obsidian-like eyes showed no warmth. "If that's all you came here to say, you can return to your cell and reflect. The Skrulls' sins are being reckoned. Yours will have to wait."
"I have more tricks inside S.H.I.E.L.D. than you know," Fury said. "You don't think I've planned for a counter-strategy against S.W.O.R.D.? It was founded to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. in check, and vice versa. I never let myself go blind and deaf."
"Good," Solomon replied, calm as ever. "Victoria Hand will handle your countermeasures."
"If you don't trust me, why bring me here?"
"You know why, Nick Fury. People have died because of your negligence. Human lives—precious lives—have been lost at the hands of aliens." Solomon's head remained down, eyes focused on documents. "You might not see it, but I'll tell you plainly: I'm angry. I would trade the lives of every last Skrull for one worthless human drifter. To me, a human life is worth more than a thousand Skrulls—even if the Skrulls are useful. And don't think your countermeasures include alerting the Kree. I suspect they're involved. Even if Asgard's in chaos, the Kree have no business in this solar system. If they come, I'll kill them first—then the Skrulls."
In a certain room of Avengers headquarters, the phone began to ring. No one answered.
After a short pause, it rang again. This time, someone picked up.
"This is Falcon. Okay, fine—it's Sam Wilson. I should stop using the nickname. I mean, I'm not even officially called that yet… Captain is out on a mission. Whatever you need from him, he's unavailable. If you want media access, call the Avengers PR line. If you want to buy merch, visit our official site… Oh? Oh! I get it. Don't worry. I'll help. I'll check with my friends in the military. Maybe Stark Industries' AI can help too… Yeah. Got it. I understand."
Secret War – First Stage: Day 17
"Captain, Commissioner Stacy might need our help." After a day of repeated attempts, Sam Wilson finally got Steve Rogers on the phone. Before George Stacy became commissioner, he had visited Avengers HQ and had a conversation with Rogers. The purpose of that talk was to establish whether the NYPD could call on the Avengers in the event of a major emergency.
As a response force faster and better equipped than the National Guard, SWAT, or most special units, George Stacy hoped the Avengers could handle some of New York's anti-terror responsibilities. Rogers agreed without hesitation. No matter how broken the country seemed, ordinary people were innocent—they had done nothing wrong.
Thus, the information on the two massacres from a few months prior, as well as the five bizarre cases from the previous day, was now fully integrated into the Avengers' intelligence network.
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