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The city’s night wraps around you, a cloak of shadows and whispers. Your mind spins with Red Skull’s cryptic words as you probe your informants. "Sending a message? What message? America is fucked or fuck America?"
Your next suspect is Nick Fury, the boss of S.H.I.E.L.D. The man likes to be always in control, always on top. What could excite a narcissist like him more than holding down Rogers, America's most beloved hero, and violating him?
Your inquiries hit brick walls. Informants turn tightlipped, glancing over their shoulders before slipping away into the night. The cover-up is tighter than you expected. You down a whiskey, the burn a familiar comfort as you mull over the Red Skull's words. Nick Fury's feuds with the military and intelligence establishments can be guessed at. If anyone knows anything, Fury knows. If anyone did anything, Fury did.
But digging into Nick Fury is a death wish. Always has been. He’s a ghost, a shadow that whispers through the corridors of power, unseen yet ever-present.
One night, the tension snaps like a brittle wire. You’re in your apartment, the whiskey bottle half-empty on the table, the city’s heartbeat a dull roar outside your window. You don’t hear him come in. One moment you’re alone, the next, he’s there. Nick Fury, in the flesh. He’s an imposing figure, the room’s dim light glinting off his eyepatch.
“You need to stop, Malone,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as polished steel. “Digging for snakes can get a man killed.”
You keep your composure, masking the jolt of surprise. “Funny, coming from a man with a nest of them.”
Fury’s single eye narrows. “You think you’re onto something, but you’re playing a game out of your league. Rogers is off-limits.”
You lean back, feigning ease. “Off-limits, huh? Funny how many lines have been crossed already.”
He steps closer, the weight of his presence palpable. “You’re smart, Malone. Smart enough to know when to back off.”
You meet his gaze, unwavering. “Smart enough to know when someone’s hiding something.”
He smiles, a thin, dangerous curve. “I like you, Malone. But push too hard, and you’ll make enemies you can’t handle.”
The air between you crackles with unspoken threats. Fury’s warning hangs heavy, a grim promise. You know he’s right—digging into Fury is playing with fire. But you’ve never been one to shy away from the heat.
He turns to leave, pausing at the door. “Last warning, Malone. Drop this, or I’ll drop you.”
As he slips back into the shadows, you know the stakes have risen. Fury’s appearance isn’t just a warning; it’s confirmation. You’re onto something big, something dangerous. But you’re not backing down. Not now.
You pour another whiskey, the liquid catching the dim light as it fills the glass. The city outside pulses with hidden dangers, unseen threats. You’ve got a lead, and a target on your back.
It’s time to dive deeper into the abyss. The hunt continues.
