S.H.I.E.L.D. Ground Base - Late Night
A sharp roar split the silence of the tarmac as a fighter jet tore into the sky, taking off without prior clearance.
It hadn't even been a full day since the ambush on Director Nick Fury, and with his communication device lost in the attack, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s command center was thrown into disarray. No one had been able to contact him since.
And even if someone could reach him… it was unlikely he'd pick up. Fury now knew too well that S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised. Almost completely infiltrated by Hydra.
The only agent Fury had been able to reach before the attack was Maria Hill. She had been deployed on a mission outside of HQ, but he ordered her to return immediately.
Hill had obeyed, but by the time she got back, Fury had vanished without a trace.
And with his disappearance, the authority to run the organization defaulted to her. As the only remaining ninth-level agent, she took control in his absence, doing everything in her power to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. together.
But there had been no rest.
And now, an unsanctioned takeoff.
Hill had been reviewing tactical logs, her eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion, when the roaring jet engine caught her attention. She stiffened, her tired brain struggling to process what she'd just heard. A fighter jet? Taking off without her permission?
That shouldn't even be possible.
She slammed her hand onto the desk and grabbed the communicator, immediately patching into the airborne jet's channel.
"This is Agent Maria Hill, S.H.I.E.L.D. Level Nine. Who authorized your takeoff?"
Her voice, while sharp, was taut with urgency. She already suspected something was wrong.
The aircraft in question wasn't just a surveillance jet, it was carrying a payload. A massive one.
Not a nuclear warhead, but powerful enough to wipe out multiple city blocks. A weapon designed for warzones. Not cities.
After a brief moment of static, the pilot's voice came through the comms, confident and composed:
"Order came directly from Director Fury."
Hill froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach.
"Director Fury?" she repeated in disbelief.
She hadn't been able to reach him.
She gritted her teeth. Something was very, very wrong.
"The order was forged," she snapped. "Director Fury did not authorize that launch. I'm giving you a direct order, return to base immediately. That's an order from a Level Nine agent."
But the pilot didn't budge.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he replied firmly. "But I received a direct command from Director Fury. And I trust his orders above anyone else's."
The funny thing is, he actually wasn't lying.
This pilot wasn't Hydra. He was one of Fury's loyalists, a soldier who believed he was doing the right thing. The problem was, the order hadn't come from Fury at all.
It had been forged by Alexander Pierce.
As Secretary of the World Security Council, and with Hydra assets embedded deeply within S.H.I.E.L.D., Pierce had the ability and resources to fake the communication.
Hill clenched her fists, realizing she wouldn't be able to stop the launch.
She took a sharp breath and switched tactics.
"If you won't abort, then tell me your mission target. Now."
The pilot hesitated, but this time he couldn't refuse.
"Coordinates are 40°42′41.27″N, 74°13′1.51″W," he recited.
Hill's fingers raced across her keyboard, inputting the numbers into the mapping system. The moment the map zoomed in, her eyes went wide.
"That's Consultant Yale's grocery store!"
Her voice trembled. The blinking red dot on the screen confirmed it.
She knew that shop. She'd been there herself. And she hadn't forgotten how strange, how unbelievable that place was.
This wasn't just about Consultant Yale.
That store was located on 58th Avenue, Manhattan, a densely populated neighborhood in the heart of the city.
If a missile dropped there…
Her mind raced through estimates.
Casualties in the hundreds of thousands.
This wasn't just a tactical strike.
This was an atrocity waiting to happen.
Hill's breath caught in her throat. "What do I do? What do I do?!"
She paced the room like a caged animal, panic rising. And then, her eyes lit up.
If anyone could stop this, it was Luke Yale.
She didn't have his number, but, Sharon! Sharon Carter had been assigned to assist Luke.
'Please let her answer.'
Hill scrolled through her contacts and quickly tapped Sharon's number.
The high-pitched ringtone echoed through the grocery store like a cartoonish warning bell.
"Nyanyanyanyanyanyanya~"
Luke winced. "Seriously, Sharon?"
Sharon shrugged and laughed. "what? You're the one who picked the ringtone."
She picked up the phone, surprised to see Hill's name flashing across the screen.
"Hill? It's so late, what's going on?"
Outside, the sounds of chaos and distant screams still rang through the air. But Sharon, now wielding the powers of Thor, seemed almost unfazed.
On the other end of the line, Hill's voice was frantic.
"Sharon! Put me on speaker, NOW!"
Sharon didn't hesitate. She tapped the button and raised the phone.
"Listen carefully," Hill's voice came through, clipped and panicked. "There's a missile-carrying jet heading straight for you. It'll be over your location in under two minutes!"
Luke's expression froze.
Fury, standing by the door, visibly recoiled.
Sharon blinked in disbelief. "What?"
Hill continued, words rushing. "It's a S.H.I.E.L.D. jet. But the pilot says he received the order from Director Fury."
Sharon slowly turned her head.
Fury's mouth fell open.
Hill's voice came again, still rattled: "I'm trying to stop it, but the pilot won't listen. He's convinced it's real. I… I can't reach the Director to prove it's false."
Sharon slowly raised a finger and pointed toward the grocery store entrance.
"Um… Hill," she said, glancing at Fury standing dumbfounded by the door. "Director Fury's… right here."
There was a long pause on the other end.
Sharon snapped a picture of Fury's bewildered face and sent it to Hill.
In the photo, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. stood awkwardly in the doorway, mouth slightly ajar, full of bandages and one hand still holding a half-empty cup of coffee.