"The backstage bosses of several parks have already been marked and can be eliminated at any time. The locations of all Middle Eastern terrorist cells have been verified and sent to Mr. Ethan."
"Marshal, shouldn't we reinforce the Middle East? We have many undercover agents there—pulling out like this feels too hasty."
Jack raised a hand to stop Jasper Sitwell. "It doesn't matter. For the Middle East, you only need to provide intelligence. Tell me about the European setup."
Sitwell activated the projector, displaying a map of Europe densely marked with circles.
"Marshal, our manpower is limited. According to your orders, to guarantee a one-hundred-percent success rate, we can divide into a maximum of sixty-two teams."
"These are the previously confirmed targets? No changes?"
"No changes. In two hours, at midnight in Europe, we strike simultaneously—no one escapes. Record everything," Sitwell replied dutifully.
"Clean things up properly. Have S.H.I.E.L.D. handle the aftermath."
"Yes, sir." Sitwell turned and left to carry out the orders.
Inside, he was panicking. Originally, they had planned to wait for the Helicarriers to eliminate HYDRA's threats. Instead, the new boss had advanced the plan to within half a month. Tonight alone would erase over ten thousand lives—including former partners.
Yet it felt exhilarating. Watching those fools toil in the shadows had been fun, but becoming the mastermind behind global chaos was intoxicating. It reminded him of the days under that Rejected Art Student.
Instead of returning to the lab, Jack went upstairs. He needed Nick Fury's pager—otherwise Captain Marvel might suddenly barge in and ruin everything.
The Skrulls could probably contact Captain Marvel, but they wouldn't. Doing so wouldn't benefit their invasion of Earth.
Jack entered Fury's office without resistance. Nick Fury stood with his back to the door, staring out the window, thinking about world peace—and how to build a safe house barely a few dozen square feet wide with the five thousand dollars that had just hit his account. It was driving him crazy.
The sound of the door interrupted his thoughts. Fury's expression shifted from anger to alarm—only a handful of people could enter his office directly.
He yanked the pistol from beneath the desk and spun around, gun already aimed—then froze.
"Jack? What are you doing here? And how did you open my door? I want an explanation."
Jack smiled faintly, shut the door, and charged straight at Nick Fury.
Fury fired rapidly, but every bullet ricocheted off Jack's body.
"Damn freak!" Fury cursed as he slammed the panic button.
The moment he pressed it, his heart sank.
"Damn it—there's a mole!"
"Argh!"
The big black guy could only lie there screaming. His once-proud combat skills were completely useless. Jack slammed him down with a single overpowering palm and pinned him to the floor.
Jack showed no mercy, snapping Fury's forearm before frisking him and pulling out the Captain Marvel pager from an inner pocket.
He pocketed it carefully. Damaging it might still send a signal—better to hide it.
"You bastard… how do you know about that? Who the hell are you?" Fury's face twisted in pain. He couldn't understand how Jack knew so much, slipped in unnoticed, and even disabled the alarm.
How many moles had he planted inside S.H.I.E.L.D.? Fury didn't dare think. Now everyone looked like a traitor.
Jack slapped the chattering Black Egg, then called Crossbones to clean things up.
Fury kept firing questions: "What's your goal? Taking over S.H.I.E.L.D. through me?"
Jack sneered. "S.H.I.E.L.D.? Too small. Your vision's narrow—no balls, no reach."
A chill ran down Fury's spine. "You plan to use the Helicarriers to hold the world hostage?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Helicarriers? How many nukes can they stop? Weak. Pathetically weak."
Fury's fear deepened. "Then what the hell do you want?"
Standing by the window, Jack gazed at Manhattan's sea of skyscrapers and calmly spoke twenty-four words:
"Freedom, equality, justice, rule of law. Patriotism, dedication, integrity, friendship. Prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony."
Fury was stunned, then exploded in rage. "Then why attack me?! I've been keeping Earth peaceful! S.H.I.E.L.D. works nonstop for that!"
Jack turned and kicked him hard.
"Peace? Regional peace is peace? Peace for your U.S. overlords is peace? That's bullshit."
Fury spat blood, still struggling to argue. "There's no absolute fairness. Wherever humans exist, there are classes and conflict. All we can do is protect peace in some areas."
Jack ignored the sophistry. He only cared about building the world he envisioned.
"I have a plan, and I'm executing it. You're just bugs in my way—easy to crush. Like stepping on a cockroach… or cutting off a cock."
One minute later, after the entire corridor had been secured, Brock Rumlow (Crossbones) knocked. Jack pressed the button to open the door.
"Crossbones?! You're the mole?" Fury stared in disbelief.
This had been his elite unit—now every one of them belonged to Jack. At that moment, Fury realized he had no one left to trust.
Crossbones rolled in a new chair, kicked the old one—polished smooth by Fury's big black ass—into the hallway.
"Marshal, please take a seat." Nearby agents immediately wiped down the desk with disinfectant and alcohol.
Only then did Crossbones crouch, patting the man who used to spray spit at him while shouting orders.
"Director, come with us. Sleep tight. When you wake up, the world will be a better place."
He pulled out a syringe and stabbed it into Nick Fury's neck.
"Crossbones… your plan won't succeed… someone will stop you…"
"Marshal, we're taking him away."
Jack reminded him calmly, "Lock him in the 20-Ton Cell."
Crossbones grimaced at the memory but nodded. "Yes. He'll receive maximum-security treatment." He even took Fury's chair along.
Crossbones dragged Fury away. Every surveillance room was already compromised, so they left without alerting a single S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.
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