"Well, looks like even when you're running for your life, you don't travel light."
Seeing Fury lying in bed yet still cracking jokes, Steve felt that maybe—just maybe—the man wasn't in too terrible a condition.
"How could I not be in trouble?" Fury continued lazily. "Spinal damage. Cracked sternum. Shattered clavicle. A punctured liver. And my head hurts like hell."
"Don't forget acute respiratory failure," the doctor said calmly while bandaging Natasha nearby.
"Right. Can't forget that," Fury nodded. "Other than all that, I'm doing great."
He listed his injuries with biting self-mockery. Clara couldn't help covering her mouth in shock. With wounds like that, he was still alive—this director's vitality was downright terrifying.
Using a pufferfish toxin developed by Dr. Banner, Fury had lowered his heartbeat to fewer than one beat per minute. The drug was originally designed by Banner to help regulate stress responses.
Surrounded by enemies, unable to tell who was friend or foe, Fury chose to fake his death. After all, no matter how ruthless HYDRA was, they wouldn't waste resources on a man who was already dead.
-----
Deep inside a hidden HYDRA underground base, technicians were repairing the Winter Soldier's slightly damaged mechanical arm.
The Winter Soldier sat silently, his thoughts drifting. He remembered the man with the shield during the firefight—familiar. Far too familiar. As though he had known him long, long ago.
His unstable mental state began to show signs of loss of control. The technicians quickly reported the anomaly to their superior—Alexander Pierce.
When Pierce demanded a routine status report, the Winter Soldier merely stared ahead, unresponsive.
Pierce understood immediately. The Winter Soldier had been unfrozen for too long. His buried memories were resurfacing. If this continued, he would remember everything.
Pierce gave the order without hesitation.
Reconditioning. Full memory wipe.
Electric currents surged through the Winter Soldier's body. He let out a hoarse, agonized scream as pain ripped through his mind. Steve's once-clear face blurred again—fading into a shapeless shadow.
-----
Inside Fury's secret base, the adults gathered for urgent discussions. Clara noticed no one had asked her to leave, so she straightened her posture and silently decided that she, too, counted as an adult—at least for today.
As the discussion unfolded, she finally pieced everything together.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had built several massive Helicarriers, planning to launch them into orbit. Their purpose was simple and terrifying—to eliminate criminals before they committed crimes.
But those Helicarriers had fallen under the control of HYDRA.
Once launched, HYDRA could kill anyone they wanted.
Anyone.
"Tom," Clara whispered, leaning toward the intern beside her, "who do you think came up with such a stupid plan? Did they seriously not consider it might fall into the wrong hands?"
Intern Tom, allowed to observe but not speak, knew no more than she did.
"I'm guessing some kind of megalomaniac," he whispered back. "Someone who thought everything was under control—until it all blew up in his face."
"And kind of naïve," Clara added. "Crime isn't something people either definitely do or definitely don't. Human nature's unpredictable."
"Exactly! That's what I was thinking!" Tom grew animated. "Pointing guns at people's heads and calling it peace? That's how you create resistance. That's how wars start!"
In the middle of an already tense meeting, finding someone who shared his views made Tom forget himself.
Meanwhile, Fury's expression darkened steadily.
He badly wanted to kick both of them out. While he was dealing with heartbreak and betrayal, these two were happily tearing his life's work apart.
"Young man. Young lady," Fury said slowly. "I'm the megalomaniac."
Tom and Clara froze, stared at him for a few seconds—and then sat bolt upright, instantly transforming into model students.
-----
To counter Project Insight, Fury and his team spent days developing three new control chips. If they could be inserted into the Helicarriers' core servers, Agent Hill would be able to remotely override their targeting systems.
"We have to assume everyone on those ships is HYDRA," Fury said gravely. "We get past them, upload the blade chips, and then—maybe, just maybe—we can save—"
"This isn't about saving it," Steve cut in sharply. "We don't just take down the Helicarriers. We destroy S.H.I.E.L.D."
Fury stiffened.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was his life's work. He had poured decades into building it. Destroy it—just like that?
"S.H.I.E.L.D. has nothing to do with this!"
"You gave me this mission," Steve said coldly. "And this is how I'll complete it. You said it yourself—S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised. HYDRA grew right under your nose, and you didn't see it. Even if you see it now, how many people already died because of it?"
The truth about Bucky burned in Steve's chest.
His closest friend had been turned into a weapon, forced to commit acts he never would have chosen. And HYDRA had risen under the protection of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s unchecked power.
"I didn't know about Barnes," Fury said quietly.
He truly hadn't. Learning that the Winter Soldier was Bucky Barnes—Steve's best friend, a Howling Commando, a hero of World War II—had shocked him as well.
"And if you had known," Steve shot back, "would you have told me? Or would you have buried it under another layer of compartmentalization? S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA—both of them have to go."
The others voiced their agreement.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s influence had grown to godlike levels. And HYDRA, feeding off it, had become utterly lawless.
Fury scanned the room, hoping—just a little—to find someone on his side.
"Don't look at me," Clara said quickly, shaking her head. "I'm just a kid."
She saw the sharp, predatory edge in Fury's gaze fade into something weary and old.
"And… don't look at me either," Tom added nervously. "I'm more worried about what happens to me if S.H.I.E.L.D. disappears. I've got two months before I'm official—"
"Hey," Sam said sympathetically, clapping Tom on the shoulder. "You can always check out a reemployment center. Plenty of jobs out there."
"Thanks," Tom said sincerely. "I'll… think about it."
With the decision made, Fury could only accept it. In that moment, the ever-commanding Nick Fury seemed to age ten years.
"Looks like we're all taking orders from you now, Captain," he said at last.
-----
After receiving basic treatment, Natasha headed out. She claimed she had a way to infiltrate Project Insight's launch ceremony the next day.
Steve needed a uniform. So he "borrowed" a wrinkled old suit from the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian. It wasn't really stealing—after all, it was one of the suits he had worn seventy years ago.
Everyone else rushed around preparing for the coming battle.
Only Clara and Intern Agent Tom had absolutely nothing to do.
"Is there anything I can help with, sir?" Tom asked eagerly, desperate to appear useful.
"Oh," Fury said flatly, "since you're so free, why don't you clean the base?"
Aside from Fury's medical room and a few operational areas, the entire base was filthy—clearly cleaned in a rush.
"…Sorry, sir," Tom said instantly. "Pretend I didn't ask."
And with that, the lazy intern retreated at record speed.
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