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Knock, knock!
"Co in!"
Maria Hill, deep in a stack of reports in her office aboard the Helicarrier, didn't even look up as she answered the door.
It opened, and Commander Victoria Hand walked in. There was a weird glint in her glance—a mix of undeniable, vindictive glee and genuine tension.
"Hill. Hawk is back."
"..." Hill froze. She slowly raised her head, setting her pen down on the desk.
"Back in New York?"
"No. Trajectory indicates he's heading straight for D.C."
"...D.C?"
Hill lifted an eyebrow.
Hand quickly updated her in: the new S.H.I.E.L.D. New York Commander shows up at Hawk's door, gets instantly vaporized, and Hawk subsequently turns the fifty-plus agents assigned to watch Westview into a localized fireworks display. And now, Hawk was currently tearing through the upper atmosphere, making no attempt to hide his approach, on a direct heading for the nation's capital.
When Hand ntioned the recently appointed New York Commander, her voice oozed with contempt.
Actually, her contempt extended to the Commander's father, the newly minted US Representative to the World Security Council.
The reason was simple. The mont the new Commander took over, he had taken the smoothly running, highly efficient New York office that Sharon Carter had built and turned it into an absolute, disorganized clusterfuck.
Like father, like son.
Let's just look at the facts.
This whole Sokovia Accords ss was the brainchild of the new Councilman... David Harris was pushed through imdiately after he took the seat.
And everyone who was paying attention knew exactly who David Harris's Accords were truly aid at.
After all...
The mbers of the Security Council were the elite of the elite, the apex predators of the geopolitical world. They were all thousand-year-old foxes playing in the sa den.
Okay.
Maybe not all of them.
But the Representative from China had undoubtedly fought his way up through an army of rivals, so he knew exactly what David Harris—a forr Wall Street heavyweight nominated by the President—was trying to pull.
However!
China had S.P.E.A.R, and Russia had the Winter Guard. They had their own superhuman assets under control. So, even though they knew exactly what David Harris was plotting, they did what they always did: they abstained from the vote.
Let the West tear itself apart. Why should they care?
So, with China and Russia abstaining, David Harris had rallied Paris and London, twisted the arms of a hundred and fourteen smaller nations, and proudly announced that the Sokovia Accords had passed with the backing of 117 countries.
The Accords required all superhumans operating on Earth to register with and submit to the oversight of a UN panel.
But his real target was Hawk.
In David Harris's own words:
Hawk is too dangerous. He must be brought under our control.
Why hadn't he cared before? Because he hadn't known he existed.
But now he did.
So... On paper, the Accords looked like a righteous crusade for global security and accountability.
But in reality?
"The Wall Street vampires think the wind has died down, so it's safe to co out and play again. They saw the spaceship Hawk built, propped up Harris as their puppet, and figured they could use legislation to steal it from him."
"It makes sense. Before, Hawk was a lone wolf. He had no weaknesses."
Hand listened to Hill's cynical assessnt and let out a dry laugh. "But things are different now. He has parents. He has a sister. He has a wife. He's going to have kids. So, they did the math and decided he could be leveraged."
Hill scoffed.
"What twisted logic led them to believe Hawk could be leveraged?"
"Was it the ruins of Quantico?"
"Or the crater in Wakanda?"
"Or the scattered ashes of Hydra?"
"Or maybe the bottomless trench in the Atlantic Ocean?"
"They probably figured it was worth a shot. If they leverage him, it's a massive win. If they can't, well, Harris takes the fall."
"Heh." Hill looked at Hand, her look dead serious. "That's exactly what Alexander Pierce thought, too."
Hand shrugged. "Either way, it's not our problem. After he branded Sharon a traitor, Harris pushed to completely separate the New York office from Headquarters."
It was true.
S.H.I.E.L.D. New York and S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters were officially divorced.
While the New York office technically still operated under the S.H.I.E.L.D. banner, Harris had already authorized a fifty-million-dollar budget to rebrand them as the 'Departnt of Damage Control.' They were literally waiting on the new signs to be delivered.
"Sharon..."
Hill frowned at the reference to the na. "Any word on her?"
Hand just shrugged, saying nothing.
Hill arched an eyebrow.
"You found her?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"..."
Hill listened to her Commander's deliberate non-answer, paused for a mont, then shook her head with a smile. "Fair enough. As long as she can be reached when we need her."
A thought then struck her. She looked at Hand.
"You said the satellites caught Hawk heading for D.C.?"
"Yes."
"Projected destination?"
"You're not going to like the answer."
"...Right."
Hill saw the look on Hand's face and nodded. "I haven't taken any vacation days this month, have I? You know what, I think I'll take a personal day today."
Now it was Hand's turn to raise an eyebrow.
She stared at the Acting Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., who was casually preparing to desert her post at the first sign of trouble. Her jaw dropped.
"Wait, if you bail, what am I supposed to do?"
"You can take a personal day, too."
Hill was already pulling on her coat. She flashed Hand a bright smile. "Just make sure you bring Sharon back. I'm out of here."
S.H.I.E.L.D. belonged to the Security Council, not to her personally.
So...
As long as the world wasn't actively ending, if God Himself called and ordered her to cancel her vacation, she'd hang up on Him.
Hill moved fast.
She walked out of her office, walked onto the flight deck of the Helicarrier, and instantly saw a streak of bright light tearing through the clouds in the distance.
Hiss!
Hill smoothly powered off her phone and sprinted toward a prepped Quinjet.
BOOM!
That wasn't the sound of a Quinjet breaking the sound barrier.
That was the sound of the roof of the White House being caved in by what sounded like a teor strike.
Instantly.
Deafening alarms shrieked through every corridor of the White House.
The Pentagon, located just 2.6 miles away and a 9-minute drive, imdiately went into high alert.
The Secretary of Defense rushed into the Situation Room. The various military brass, who had already assembled, quickly stood to attention.
"Mr. Secretary!"
"Sit."
"What's the situation?"
"The White House has been breached."
Hiss!
The Secretary, an older man with white hair who had just been napping in his office, felt a chill of dread run through him.
"The National Guard is—"
"I'm already here."
Just as a four-star general was reporting that the National Guard had been mobilized, a voice rang out in the tense, highly secure Situation Room.
The next second—
Hawk, holding a man by the neck, appeared in the center of the room, his look utterly blank as he looked at the assembled military leaders.
CRACK!
With the sickening, clear sound of snapping bone, the generals watched in stunned disbelief while Hawk casually crushed the man's throat.
"The Presi—"
"He's dead. Elect a new one."
THUD!
Hawk interrupted a general who was about to scream, his voice cold as ice. He snapped his wrist and tossed the lifeless Commander-in-Chief onto the Situation Room's main table, then fixed his cold gaze on the Secretary of Defense.
"You have two choices."
"Option One!"
"I am giving you three hours. In the first hour, I want David Harris brought to . Alive."
"In the second hour, I want to see the Sokovia Accords officially repealed."
"And in the third hour, I want the heads of every single person backing David Harris brought to ."
"I will not accept any delays. And I will not accept any convenient 'suicides.'"
"Of course, if you don't like Option One, you can always choose Option Two."
"Go to war with ."
"Trust , you don't want Option Two. And don't think I'm bluffing. I leveled Quantico. I slaughtered Wakanda. I wiped the Vatican off the face of the Earth. If you think you can take , be my guest."
"But I strongly advise against it."
"Now!"
"The clock is ticking."
Hawk finished his ultimatum. Ignoring the heavily ard soldiers who had just burst into the room, drawn because of the commotion, he calmly closed his eyes.
The Secretary of Defense panicked, screaming at the soldiers.
"Hold your fire! HOLD YOUR FIRE!"
The other generals, especially those who had survived the disaster at Quantico, repeated the order, shouting as loud as they could. They were terrified that a nervous rookie might get them all killed.
Soon.
The situation was stabilized. Under the furious, panicked orders of the Secretary and the top brass, the confused soldiers were shoved back out the door.
As the heavy doors of the Situation Room sealed shut once more.
The gray-haired Secretary looked at the body slumped on the table—the man who had been the most powerful man in the free world just that morning, now looking like a discarded rag doll. With a quivering hand, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
His mind was spinning, and he was silently cursing.
He knew who David Harris was, and he knew all about his precious Sokovia Accords.
But he was just the Secretary of Defense. David Harris was the puppet of the real power brokers, the financial elite. Even though he had warned them the Accords would cause trouble, he couldn't stop them.
Well, now the trouble was here.
Except...
The Secretary looked at Hawk, who had delivered his terms and simply closed his eyes. He gulped hard.
"Mr. Phoenix, I assure you, the military had absolutely no involvent in—"
"I know."
Hawk didn't even let him finish. He opened his eyes, his gaze flat and uncompromising.
"I know you weren't the ones who provoked ."
"But the people who did, the only reason they had the courage to try, is because they believe the United States military has their back."
"So..."
"I'm killing the ssenger, and I'm threatening the boss. I'm only dealing with you."
"David Harris. Alive. The Accords. Gone. The puppet masters. Dead."
"You have two hours and fifty minutes left."
"..."
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