"Fury's dead? When?"
Natasha's voice was steady—too steady.
"This morning. He was attacked at Steve's apartment. Three shots. Shooter's unidentified."
Karl said nothing.
His mind rapidly sifted through everything he knew about the timeline of events.
Right.
This was it.
Fury wasn't dead.
He was staging it.
A trap to flush Hydra out of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Karl glanced at the three corpses on the floor.
No wonder these agents had ignored his earlier warning to Fury. With Fury "dead," Hydra had stopped pretending.
"Figures," Karl muttered. "Three agents just came here saying their superior wanted to see me. Guess the clowns finally crawled out of the shadows."
He nudged one of the bodies with his foot.
"And you're calling because…?"
"I need your help," Natasha said. "Help me find whoever's behind this."
---
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters
Steve arrived at the top floor—Alexander Pierce's domain.
When the elevator doors opened, he saw his neighbor—Agent Thirteen—speaking with a man in a suit. She left as soon as she noticed Steve.
"Captain Rogers."
"Neighbor."
Their exchange was polite, but Steve's tone was cool.
He stepped forward.
"Captain," the man said, offering his hand. "Alexander Pierce."
"Sir."
They shook hands and entered the office.
Pierce began by showing an old photograph—himself and Fury decades younger—emphasizing their long friendship.
Then he moved to the point.
"Why was Nick at your apartment last night?"
Steve remembered Fury's final warning.
Don't trust anyone.
"I don't know."
Pierce studied him.
"You were aware the apartment was bugged?"
"Yes. He told me."
"And did he tell you that he was the one doing the bugging?"
The question was sharp.
Steve kept his reaction controlled.
Pierce turned on a large screen.
Footage appeared.
A bound man being interrogated.
Batroc.
Steve's eyes narrowed. Rumlow had reported Batroc killed during the ship operation.
"Is this recent?" Steve asked evenly.
"Yesterday. North Africa. One of my safe houses."
On screen, an interrogator's voice asked:
"Who hired you, Batroc?"
Pierce handed Steve a file.
"Anonymous contract. The satellite launch platform was the target. Payment routed through multiple international accounts before landing in a securities firm. That firm belongs to this man."
Steve flipped through the file. The face was unfamiliar.
"Look at the address."
Steve read it.
Nothing special.
"1435 Hurst Avenue. Fury's mother lives at 1437."
Pierce let that sink in.
"You're suggesting Fury hired Batroc?" Steve asked flatly. "Why?"
"To stage the hijacking. Cover for selling intelligence. Deal went bad. Someone retaliated."
Steve set the file down.
"If you really knew Nick Fury, you'd know that's not possible."
Pierce stood and walked to the window.
"Sometimes," he said thoughtfully, "to build a better world, you have to tear down the old one. That creates enemies. People willing to go into dark places for what they believe is the greater good."
He turned back.
"You were the last person to see him alive. This assassination wasn't random. So I'll ask again—why did he go to your apartment?"
Steve met his gaze.
"I don't know, sir."
He slung his shield onto his back.
"Excuse me. I have matters to attend to."
As he reached the door, Pierce spoke again.
"Nick was my friend. I will find who did this. And anyone who stands in my way will regret it."
"Understood, sir."
Steve left.
---
"Operations."
Inside the elevator, Steve stated his destination.
Rumlow stepped in with four STRIKE team members.
"Forensics," Rumlow added casually.
The elevator descended.
"Good timing, Captain," Rumlow said, angling his body slightly. The others mirrored him subtly. "Forensics found some fabric fibers on the rooftop. They want us to take a look. Should I put the tactical team on standby?"
The confined space felt suddenly smaller.
Tighter.
Four men.
Positioned just a little too carefully.
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