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Northern Ontario, Canada. Wilderness.
Snow shrieked and tore at this forgotten coniferous forest.
Wind laced with ice crystals slashed across exposed skin like razors.
Agent Coulson's S.H.I.E.L.D. team slogged through the deep snow.
Behind him, May, Ward, and two penguin-bundled figures—Fitz and Simmons—followed.
Skye brought up the rear, knit cap low, hands in pockets, face twisted in reluctance.
"Right here."
Coulson stopped.
May moved to his side, sweeping the surrounding trees with wary eyes.
Nothing but wind, snow, and dead trunks. No shelter, no building, no trace of human activity.
"Sir, you're sure it's here?" Fitz's words puffed white. "Looks like even bears would skip hibernation."
Skye hugged her down parka tighter, rolled her eyes, and nudged a frozen stone with her boot.
"So?"
"You ignored a direct order from Officer Rumlow, dragged us halfway around the globe—just to play snow-treasure-hunt?"
She flung her arms wide and spun.
"Where's the treasure, Coulson? Or did Director Fury learn to turn invisible, watching from behind some tree while we freeze?"
Coulson ignored the jab. He stepped forward, hands groping the air, hunting an optical-camouflage switch.
Nothing.
Only biting wind.
"Something has to be here…" he muttered. "He wouldn't send those coordinates for nothing."
"Coulson, face facts," Skye said coldly. "There is no Fury. Maybe it's an auto-sent ghost ping, like SOS beacons from wrecked ships. He's probably dead—or, as the news claims, long gone."
"Shut up, Skye."
"No. I won't." Her voice cracked at the memory of that towering figure. "Look outside—Homelander is saving the World while we hunt for a liar in this godforsaken forest."
"Where is Director Fury? Tell me where!"
Coulson spun, face flushed.
"I don't know! I don't know, Skye!!"
His roar cut through the wind; everyone froze.
"But these coordinates mean something!"
"There's something here…"
His voice dropped, as if to convince himself.
"Fury needs us… HYDRA needs stopping… Once we find him, we'll take S.H.I.E.L.D. back…"
Only the wind answered.
No one spoke. May watched him, worry flickering in her eyes.
Coulson looked at the teammates who'd followed him through fire and felt a crushing helplessness.
Maybe Skye was right.
Maybe this was just a crazy old man's last prank.
Silence stretched.
Coulson's hand fell.
He glanced at the S.H.I.E.L.D. badge he'd carried for years. The eagle-and-shield had once been his creed; now it felt like a joke.
Jaw clenched, he snapped his wrist. The badge arced into the trees.
Clack-bzzt—
Beneath the snow, machinery whirred.
A black automated cannon burst upward.
Bang!
The muzzle flashed.
The badge disintegrated mid-air, shards spraying.
"Down!!" May yelled, tackling Coulson into the snow.
The others dove for cover.
Whirr—
The cannon didn't fire again.
Its dark barrel swiveled, searching.
Coulson stared, despair suddenly replaced by hope.
He stood and walked straight toward the gun.
"Coulson, are you insane?!" Ward shouted from behind a tree. "It'll cut you in half!"
"No. It's waiting."
He kept going until the barrel froze level with his forehead.
"State your identity."
A cold synthetic voice rose from the mount.
"Phil Coulson. Level-seven S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent."
Silence.
Three suffocating seconds.
Beep—
"Identity confirmed. Waiting for you, Agent Coulson."
The cannon sank back into the ground.
Then—
Rumble—
The Earth shook.
The rock face ahead slid apart, revealing a brightly lit corridor.
Warm air washed out, easing their chill.
They filed inside.
Bright lights, pristine hallway, a faint scent of coffee in the air.
"What is this place?" Skye asked.
"One of Director Fury's secret Bases," said a stocky middle-aged man in a black suit stepping from a side room.
"I call it Providence, though technically it has no name."
"Because, strictly speaking, it doesn't exist."
"So…" Skye raised an eyebrow. "Since this Base 'doesn't exist,' did you pay for it with 'existing' money?"
"Uh…"
The man's smile faltered, gaze sliding away.
"Well… you know, parts of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget are… flexible."
"Enough finance. I'm Erik Koenig—Level-six S.H.I.E.L.D. I run everything here."
"Welcome. Director Fury is inside. Follow me."
At Fury's name their faces sobered.
"This way."
Erik stopped at huge black double doors, keyed a code, scanned his iris.
Beep.
Green light.
The doors swung inward.
"Go on. He's waiting for you."
Coulson led, stepping through.
"Director Fury, this is Coul—"
His voice died.
Behind him, May, Ward, Skye—all froze in the doorway.
A large room. Center stage: a chair.
In it sat a Black man.
Nick Fury.
Hands cuffed behind him, lashed to the frame.
His trademark black coat now shredded and blood-soaked.
Eyes closed, unconscious, face bruised.
And standing behind Fury—another man.