"Loki, as you describe him, cannot possibly wage war on humanity alone. He must have allies."
The voice belonged to a woman—her silhouette the only distinct figure displayed across Fury's wall of screens.
"That brother of his—what's-his-name—Thor? Is he assisting Loki?"
Her tone made it clear she didn't even bother remembering Thor's name.
In her eyes, "Asgard" was little more than a myth.
They had nuclear warheads and weapons of mass destruction.
What god could they fear?
Human arrogance paired with political short-sightedness—nothing was more dangerous.
Some of these council members genuinely believed aliens could be defeated with simple bombs.
After decades of sitting in high chairs, they'd forgotten what threats looked like.
Forgotten vigilance.
Forgotten humility.
All they could see now… was profit.
Fury was running out of patience.
All he wanted was authorization—a mandate to coordinate Earth's defenses.
Yet these fools were still circling the topic, blinded by ego and bureaucracy.
"Our intelligence shows Thor has no hostile intent," Fury said, pacing.
"But we can't count on him to save us. We have to rely on ourselves."
"So we encouraged you to escalate your weapons program. Move to phase two—"
Fury cut him off sharply.
"Phase two isn't stabilized. And we're out of time. The threat is already here. What we need isn't another weapon—we need a team."
His tone was ice.
"These individuals are too dangerous," the woman snapped. "We already rejected your 'Avengers Initiative.'"
The council had dismissed that file without hesitation.
To them, gathering a group of "dangerous individuals" looked like building a private army.
A coup waiting to happen.
Rejected immediately.
"This isn't about the Avengers. This is—"
Again, he was interrupted.
"We've seen your so-called roster," another voice barked. "We've granted you top-level authority, given you the best military force on Earth—and you want to hand humanity's fate over to unstable freaks?"
The accusation was sharp—almost furious.
Fury didn't flinch.
"I haven't handed anything over. And since when is human survival the property of a handful of politicians?"
His single eye burned with disdain.
"We need a team built for threats like this. Yes, they have flaws. Some are reclusive, some reckless, and some couldn't care less about government orders—but they're the only ones capable of stopping what's coming."
Silence filled the room.
Finally, the woman spoke again.
"War isn't fought with intuition, Director Fury. Not with your 'belief.'"
Fury nodded slowly.
"You're right. It's fought by soldiers—bleeding, fighting, and dying. Not by politicians whining in a room and pulling each other down."
"Watch your tone, Fury!" a man snapped. "You're just the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. We can remove you at any time."
Typical.
People who lived above the clouds hated being reminded they were only human.
Fury shrugged.
"You can take my job anytime. Doesn't matter."
He ended the call mid-sentence, turned, and left without a backward glance.
---
Elsewhere – The First Avenger
In a training gym, a tall blond man hammered at a sandbag.
Each punch sent the heavy bag swinging violently, the chain creaking in protest.
Punch after punch, harder each time.
Steve Rogers—Captain America—was exorcising ghosts.
Memories of the war…
Memories of comrades long buried…
Memories of the one woman whose face he could never forget.
CRACK!
The sandbag tore free, slammed into the far wall, and burst—sand exploding across the room.
Steve inhaled raggedly, grabbed a fresh bag, and hung it up.
A neat row of untouched bags lay at his feet—clearly not his first tonight.
From the doorway, Fury watched.
"Still not adjusting to the modern world, Captain?"
Steve turned slightly.
"Director, I slept for seventy years. I think being a little out of place is understandable."
Fury folded his arms.
"Then you should get out more. See the world you woke up in."
Steve steadied the swinging sandbag.
"I'm not used to peace. Not like this. Last time I was awake… the whole world was at war. They told me we won. But I wasn't there to see it."
"Plenty of people didn't get to see victory," Fury replied softly.
"In war, there are no winners. Just casualties… and what's left after."
Fury had survived real battlefields—he knew exactly what Steve felt.
"And now, another war is coming, Captain."
Steve stopped.
"You're asking me to go back to the battlefield?"
"Yes," Fury said simply. "And this enemy is stronger than anything you've fought."
Steve looked down for a moment, thoughtful.
"You're sure the world wants me back? To walk among them again?"
"I don't want you back on magazine covers," Fury said.
"I want you to save the world. Again."
He handed Steve a file.
Inside—reports on Loki, his powers, the Tesseract… and classified details of the current crisis.
Steve froze when he saw the cube.
"So… the thing I died trying to bury… is back. And this time, it's our people meddling with it."
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Then he flipped to the next page.
"His name is Loki," Fury said. "Not from Earth.
If you choose to join us… consider this your refresher course."
Steve's fingers tightened around the folder.
War had found him again.
And he knew he would answer.