Pierce hadn't left since issuing the order to continue hunting down Nick Fury.
For some reason he couldn't quite explain, there was a trace of unease lingering in his chest.
He and Fury had always been rivals. Fury, the head of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he, the shadowy master of Hydra. Over the years he spent as his fake friend and boss, Pierce had learned how the other man thought. And one thing was certain:
Nick Fury never made a move unless he was absolutely sure of it.
Even when he was attacked earlier, by Pierce's own arrangements, Fury had somehow managed to slip away. Caught off guard, yes, but still too slippery to finish off.
And now, after escaping, Fury had many options. He could've vanished into one of his many secret bunkers. He could've gone to trusted allies like Black Widow or Captain America. He could've even reached out to the U.S. military or other international contacts.
But instead… he chose that place.
A rundown little grocery store in the middle of Manhattan.
No defense systems. No reinforcements. Not even a reinforced door.
One armed squad could've easily leveled it.
But Fury still picked it in such a dire situation.
That thought alone twisted tighter in Pierce's chest, his unease growing stronger by the second.
He may be the current Secretary of the World Security Council, but he had long retired from S.H.I.E.L.D. way before the Battle of New York. There were many details he never received. For example, who exactly was that terrifying green monster, Gul'dan, who had turned the tide of the whole battle?
Because Nick Fury never filed a full report.
Because much of what Fury discovered about Luke had been kept hidden, even what he had recorded previously was wiped from the system.
Fury had protected that Consultant Luke Yale like a precious secret. An ace in the hole. A hidden card buried so deep even Hydra's most embedded spies didn't know his true strength.
All they knew was that S.H.I.E.L.D. had a quiet, mysterious "Consultant" named Luke Yale.
Pierce now sat in his private office, eyes locked on the screens in front of him. Live footage streamed from the body cams attached to his strike team, the very team dispatched to eliminate Fury.
The video began to display the street where the grocery store sat.
Pierce leaned forward with interest.
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just a dim, quiet road.
Then the camera picked up a husky lying by the store's door.
Pierce raised a brow.
"Who leaves their dog outside at this hour?" he muttered. "Cold streets like that... is it being used as an early warning?"
He narrowed his eyes, quickly piecing it together. Dogs had excellent hearing, using one as an alert system wasn't such a stretch.
Sure enough, the husky slowly raised its head and let out a few soft, frightened whimpers as the soldiers crept closer.
Even through the mic, Pierce could hear the fear in the dog's voice.
"Tch. What kind of idiot relies on a cowardly mutt for security?" he scoffed with disdain.
Then, one of the soldiers took aim.
A sniper rifle. Overkill, really. But they weren't taking any chances.
The faint report of the rifle rang out. On-screen, the husky collapsed with a dull thud.
Didn't even bark properly.
Pierce's lips curled into a satisfied smirk.
Everything was going according to plan.
With the dog gone and the team in position, it was only a matter of time before Nick Fury and Consultant Yale were dragged out, or buried in rubble.
But he celebrated too early.
The feed was still rolling, the soldiers preparing to breach the entrance.
When suddenly, the screen lit up with a sickly green glow.
A wave of dark green fire surged across the street, casting an eerie light over the entire scene.
Hundreds of soldiers were caught in it, bodies bathed in green.
A massive, three-headed monster appeared from the flames.
Even Hydra's elite squads, trained for war and death, recoiled at the sight of that flaming beast. Screams filled the audio. Cam footage shook violently.
The three-headed dog wasn't just large, it was terrifyingly fast and angry.
Pierce's eyes widened. His heart rate spiked.
In the glitchy, shuddering footage, he saw it.
Right there, before his eyes, the three-headed dog separated into three equally massive, blazing monsters.
And the massacre began.
Hydra's formation collapsed. Soldiers were tossed aside, burned alive, swallowed whole.
Pierce could barely breathe.
His earlier smugness had completely vanished, replaced with a heavy silence.
That damned dog, was that really the reason Fury trusted Luke so much with his security?
But he hadn't given up hope. Not yet.
These soldiers were equipped with heavy weapons. Pierce had made sure of that.
And just then, one of them stepped into view, a rocket launcher hoisted on his shoulder.
The missile launched, hissing toward one of the hellhounds.
Pierce's eyes lit up. Yes! This was it!
Hydra's creed was absolute: Complete the mission, no matter the cost. Even wounded soldiers nearby didn't matter.
But then something insane happened.
The monster turned its head…
…and opened its mouth.
"What…?" Pierce muttered, blinking.
Was the dog trying to eat the missile?
No creature could survive a warhead exploding in its face, let alone in its mouth!
But the laughter froze on his lips.
"…What?" Pierce's smile twitched. "Where's the boom?"
Finally, a muffled thump echoed from the feed, like an explosion buried deep under rock.
On screen, the dog casually opened its mouth and exhaled a small puff of smoke.
A lazy, satisfied burp.
Pierce stared, speechless.
"That… that was a missile!" he hissed.
The dog acted like it had just eaten a snack.
He slumped back into his chair.
For a brief moment, he felt… old. Tired. Like he'd aged ten years in one sitting.
Could this really be Consultant Yale's trump card? A lazy-looking mutt that could split into monsters and swallow missiles like treats?
"No!" he suddenly growled, shaking off the thought. "No! I won't accept this!"
Hydra's future was on the line.
If Nick Fury lived, the trouble he could cause Hydra would be endless.
Pierce clenched his fists. He couldn't let this dog or that stupid Consultant get in their way.
Setbacks only fueled his resolve.
Slowly, his breathing steadied.
His face hardened into a cold calm.
Then, he made his choice.
His eyes darkened as he picked up the communicator from his desk and tuned it to a special encrypted frequency.
His voice came out low and sharp:
"Send in the bombers."
"Level the entire 58th Avenue in Manhattan."