Eddie Brock — Roleplayer Guild

THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL
DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
LOCAL TIME 1237 (EST)

Steve Rogers sat on the steps where not even a week prior, he had faced the ultimate test -- a test which thankfully he passed. As he sat, he shifted uncomfortably in his sling. He hadn't wanted to wear it, but the doctors at SHIELD had insisted. Thanks to Captain America's heroics, he was already facing the very real possibility of setbacks in his recovery. Steve wasn't worried. He had survived worse and though he was older now, slower to heal, the one thing he didn't lack for was time. The threat had passed, and he could recuperate for as long as he needed. What he would do after… even Steve could not yet say.

Footsteps approached, and somehow Steve already knew to whom they belonged. He glanced only briefly to see Diana Prince lowering herself down to sit beside him. There hadn't been many quiet moments between them, many chances to reconnect. Steve lamented that, just as he lamented letting such a long gap in their friendship to pass. He had kept intermittent touch with Jay and some of the others; why not her? Perhaps some part of him still carried that guilt for the role he played in her banishment from Themyscira. It had been her choice -- no one told Diana what to do -- but he felt responsible all the same. Perhaps he always would.

“They start to blend together after a while, don't they?” Steve began, squinting into the afternoon sun. “All the years, the fights, the scars… Does it ever get easier?”

Diana lowered her eyes. While looking at her feet, she answered softly, “No.” As she lifted her head, she looked out over the National Mall. In the distance, workers set to the task of repairing the damaged Washington Monument. The crowds had dwindled significantly, fearing another attack, but there were still some who came out to enjoy this late September day. Soon, the biting winds of autumn would be upon them, with the cold and snow to follow. For their sake, Diana hoped it would be a quiet winter. “But you find new reasons to fight,” she added, turning to consider Steve.

He sighed. “I don't know that I can, Diana. Not after all this time.” He looked to his friend and found an understanding gaze. It felt cheap to use this argument around Diana of all people, but Steve was no Amazon. He was only a man -- and a tired one at that. Still, he couldn't deny that this outing had awakened something long dormant in him, something he had almost forgotten was there. It gave him a purpose he would never find in Wyoming. Could he live with that?

Diana looked at him kindly. “So, what then?”

It was the question of the hour. Steve could only shrug. Scratching his beard with his good hand, he said, “I don't know. I guess I'll go home, rest up. Figure out what I want to do next.” He did have to admit that an evening in his recliner, watching baseball with Scout curled up at his feet? It sounded pretty nice. He considered Diana. “What about you?”

“The work goes on,” she answered, almost resigned. She leaned back on her palms. “Fury will be interrogating the Colonel soon. We'll find out who was backing the Liberators and take the fight to them. Then, there's the matter of Qurac. There will be those seeking to take advantage of the upheaval.” That sounded all too familiar. Given enough time, certain patterns started to emerge. Steve only hoped that SHIELD would handle it better the second time around. “We'll be sad to see you go,” Diana finished.

“Barton won't be,” Steve smirked.

“You intimidate him,” Diana admitted, “but I think deep down, he admires you.” A silence passed between them. Each of them knew that this would be their last conversation for a while, yet neither wanted to broach the topic of a goodbye. After a moment, Diana said, “I missed you, Steve. Perhaps I'll try to find time to visit you in Wyoming? You can take me hunting.”

Steve smiled. No, things weren't the same as they were in the forties, but that didn't mean everything had to change. Some friendships were timeless. “Anytime.”

SHIELD BLACK SITE
LOCATION UNDISCLOSED
LOCAL TIME ???

Abdul al-Rahman sat alone in the dark. He could hardly say whether he had been in this place for a day, a week, a year… Time lost all its meaning in this void of SHIELD's creation. With no windows or clock, there was no way to mark the passage of time except to count the seconds. He had tried, but the Americans’ penchant for disruption -- flashing strobe lights, pumping saccharine country music into the room, etc. -- made concentration all but impossible. He had no contact with anyone except the agent who came to bring him water, the barest offerings of food, and occasionally check his bandages. They were keeping him alive, but only by the strictest definition of the word.

The Colonel held strong. The Americans’ ploys were a child's idea of torture. He had truly suffered to pursue his vengeance; nothing SHIELD could do would ever rise to the level of making him uncomfortable. In a way, his stoicism in the face of their deliberate attempts was a last act of defiance. He would not give them the satisfaction of watching him break, the amusement at his discomfort. The only feature in the otherwise featureless room was the security camera perched on the ceiling. Abdul stared it down as if to say, “I will never be defeated.” It was more confident than he had any right to be, given the circumstances, but it was the one thing he could control in this place.

So it was that when the door opened on this day, the Colonel initially thought very little of it. He might not have even heard the footsteps over the deafening tones of “Proud to be an American" if not for his enhanced senses. It was only when the figure turned the corner, and Abdul realized that it was not his handler, that the Quraci took notice. The music stopped, and as the American with an eye patch took a seat opposite the Colonel, al-Rahman shifted in the restraints that bound him to his chair. He had never met this man, but he knew him all the same.

“Here's what's gonna happen,” Director Nick Fury began, leaning back in his seat, “You and I are gonna have a conversation about the missing years in your file. Where you went, what you did, who you met. That sort of thing. You're gonna paint me a picture. And with that picture, I'm gonna find the people who gave you your abilities. The people who bankrolled your little insurrection. The ones who gave you the schematics to the resonance generators, as well as the synthesized vibranium to power them.” He stared across the table. “And at the end of that conversation, we'll have a second one about what happens next for you.”

The Colonel said nothing. He allowed not even the slightest emotion to color his face. His phantom hand twitched.

If Director Fury thought anything of his silence, he pressed on anyway. “I know that you and your brother were picked up by a splinter group testing a new Super-Soldier serum. Who approached you? Where did they take you?” He waited for an answer he knew was not likely to come. “Obviously, your brother didn't make it. Were there other survivors, or just you?”

Abdul only blinked.

Fury scowled. “These people: were they the ones who supplied the Liberators’ tech, or did they put you in contact with another group?” he asked. “What did they promise you in return for attacking Washington?”

Though his mouth was dry, al-Rahman worked up enough saliva to turn his head and spit. He looked back at Fury, cold anger in his eyes.

The Director nodded in the direction of the bandages around al-Rahman's stump. “You want your arm back? SHIELD has a line on some of the best prosthesis experts in the world. You cooperate, and we can make you whole again,” he offered.

“I would rather die a cripple than help you,” the Colonel answered in a voice raspy from disuse.

Fury shrugged. “Fine by me. I didn't really want to waste taxpayer dollars on an upjumped little bastard like you, anyway.” He leaned in, putting his elbows on the table. “You wanna know the irony in all this? You wanted to show that Qurac was strong, that Qurac could run with the big dogs. But in the end, you needed to be propped up by a benefactor just to take your shot. That's weakness.”

The barb got under the Colonel's skin. In spite of himself, he said, “Your organization is a sham. You trade in intelligence, yet you know so little. You glimpse the serpent's tail and think you have the full measure of the beast? You know nothing of what they are.”

“Then enlighten me,” Fury answered.

“They are without faces or names. They wave no flags, swear no oaths. They are everywhere and nowhere. And you cannot hope to stop them.”

Fury ground his teeth. “I want a name.”

“They have but one name--”

Just then, the door to the room burst open. Both men turned to consider the intruder: the agent who had been assigned to guard this place. The Colonel recognized him for what he was right away. Director Fury, however, could not see it. Flaring with anger, Fury stood from the table and barked, “Stand down! This is an active interrogation!” The Colonel could only close his eyes.

BANG!

A shot from the agent's pistol put Director Fury on the ground. Gasping for air, he could only watch, dumbfounded, as the agent crossed the room towards the prisoner. Abdul was whispering a prayer in Arabic. The agent raised his pistol again. “They warned you what would happen if you talked,” he admonished.

BANG!

The Colonel's lifeless body fell to the floor. A pool of blood crept out from beneath his head. Director Fury felt the darkness closing in. As the agent's footsteps receded, Nick reached into his pocket. He found the transmitter not a moment too soon, as his vision began to fade.

THE MAYFLOWER HOTEL
DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
LOCAL TIME 1523 (EST)

Steve stood at the entrance of the hotel, carrying his bag. A taxi was parked at the curb with its trunk open. SHIELD had offered to take him back on the Quinjet, but Steve had opted to fly the old-fashioned way. He was honestly looking forward to just being a normal passenger on a normal flight. Perhaps he'd pick up a book at the airport or watch one of those awful in-flight movies. If nothing else, it would give him the time and space to think about what he would do once he was home.

As Steve loaded up the taxi, he saw an unmarked SUV flying down the street. He knew right away that it was here for him. Closing the trunk, he walked over to the driver side window and told the driver, “Give me a minute.” The taxi driver shrugged, clearly in no hurry, and Steve stepped back onto the curb to greet the government vehicle which had just parked. As the passenger hopped out, Steve said, “What happened? I forget my toothbrush?”

“Captain Rogers, I've been ordered to bring you back to the Triskelion right away,” the agent reported. “Special Agent Bordeaux needs to see you.”

That got Steve's attention. Sasha was calling him back? “Special Agent Bordeaux?” he repeated. “Why not about Director Fury?” Even through the agent's sunglasses and trained expression, Steve could tell that question in particular struck a chord. Now starting to feel tense, Rogers asked, “Has something happened?”

The agent hesitated. “It's best if we wait until you're back at the Triskelion, sir.”

Steve nodded. Whatever this was, it was serious. Serious enough that Sasha rushed to stop him before he could get out of town. He walked back over to the taxi and tapped the trunk. The driver popped it open, and Steve retrieved his bag. As the taxi pulled away, Steve shouldered his bag over his good arm and followed the agent back to the SHIELD vehicle.

TEAM 7 BRIEFING ROOM
THE TRISKELION
LOCAL TIME 1547 (EST)

“Abdul al-Rahman is dead,” Special Agent Bordeaux reported from the podium where Director Fury gave his briefings. The room buzzed as Team 7 took in this news. Bordeaux continued before the speculation could spiral out of hand. “A rogue agent at the black site put a bullet in his head… and one in Director Fury's chest.”

That prompted an eruption.

“What?!”
“Is Fury dead?”
“Why would he do this?”

Bordeaux held up a hand to silence the group. “Director Fury has been moved to a secure facility for treatment. He is in critical condition, and his prognosis is unclear. The doctors were forced to put him in a medically-induced coma. Until such time as he recovers -- if he recovers -- Maria Hill is the Acting Director of SHIELD,” she explained.

“So, why have you called us?” Diana asked.

Bordeaux bit her lip. “Director Fury sent the distress signal to me. I was the first to arrive on the scene. And before the EMTs took him away, he… he said something to me. It was only one word.” She paused. “Hydra.”

Evidently, Steve was the only person in the room for whom that name carried no meaning. The rest of the group seemed to shift in their chairs at the sound of it. Sam Wilson let out a low whistle. Confused, Steve asked, “What's ‘Hydra?’"

“Hydra is Nick Fury's conspiracy theory,” Barton answered. “The story goes that there exists a secret cabal of bad guys who incite and manipulate global conflict towards some unknown, unseen end.”

“Supposedly, there are Hydra agents embedded in organizations around the world. Politicians, businessmen, celebrities… anyone with power or influence of any kind. Their network is so decentralized that they're impossible to trace,” Sam chimed in. “Or so the theory goes.”

“Of course, no one actually believes it,” Barton adds. “Everyone agrees that years of working in intelligence have made Nick a little jumpy. He's seeing patterns where none exist, making connections without a shred of solid evidence. And of course, not a single suspected Hydra agent who's been captured has ever avowed any knowledge of the organization.”

“But maybe al-Rahman did,” Diana countered. “Maybe that's why they silenced him.”

Barton rolled his eyes. “So, what, you're suggesting that not only does Hydra exist, they also have plants inside SHIELD, and one of those plants just put Nick Fury in a coma?”

Diana shrugged as if to accept the possibility.

“Regardless,” Agent Bordeaux called out, retaking control of the meeting, “our only lead rests with that agent. If he is in fact Hydra, then tracking him down could lead us to his cell. It could be our only chance to find them before they slither back into the shadows.”

“So, what's the problem?” Wilson asked.

“The problem is that Director Hill has issued a standing kill order on the rogue agent,” Bordeaux explained. “If someone else gets to him first, we lose our only lead and only hope at answers.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Do you think Hill is complicit?”

Bordeaux shook her head. “No. No, Maria Hill is many things, but she's not a traitor,” she insisted with a high degree of confidence. “The only thing she's guilty of is wanting to close the book on the Liberators quickly. She doesn't want this business hanging over her head as she tries to lead SHIELD in Director Fury's absence. She never put much stock in the Hydra theory, anyway.”

“Nor has she been a fan of this task force,” Diana reminded everyone. It was true; Maria Hill did not share Nick Fury's optimism regarding the use of metahumans and Super-Soldiers. She saw Team 7 as a liability waiting to happen and would likely not prove as trusted an ally as Director Fury had.

“So, what is this, then?” Barton asked. “A meeting to discuss undermining the Acting Director of SHIELD by conducting an unsanctioned investigation into a clandestine organization that may not even exist? I got that all right?” No one could find room to correct him. Barton shrugged. “Yeah, fuck it. Hill never liked me, anyway.”

“If Barton's in, then you're definitely gonna need me,” Wilson quipped. Barton flicked a paper ball at his teammate's head in retaliation.

“What about you, Tatsu?” Bordeaux asked. “You've been quiet.”

The swordswoman thought a moment. “Director Fury deserves vengeance. Not just against the man who pulled the trigger but against the one who gave the order.” She nodded to herself. “I will join this fight.”

Bordeaux looked to Diana next. “My participation was never in doubt,” the Amazon answered. She turned in her chair, looking up at Steve who had been sitting with his chin in his hands. “Steve? I know you believed the fight was done, but we could use you still.”

Rogers weighed everything he had just heard. Finally, arriving at a decision, he leaned back and looked at the team. “Nick Fury is a friend; and in matters of espionage, he's one of the smartest men I know. If he believed that Hydra is real, then I know it is.” He clenched his fist, feeling the sling strain against his shoulder. “People like this think they can operate in the shadows, that they can divorce themselves from the consequences of their actions. They think they're above justice. Well, maybe the law can't reach them… but we can.” He looked at Tatsu. “How did you put it? Nick Fury has to be avenged?”

“Seems to me I'm surrounded by Avengers.”

THE AVENGERS

WILL RETURN IN

"IN THE SHADOW OF HYDRA!"
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