"You might be able to tell me something," the Winter Soldier said to the man tied to the chair before him. He already knew this man's name, his family, his personality, and the profession he used as a cover. Obtaining this information wasn't difficult—he had to reach the house before the killers' organization learned of their failure and sent another team. Disguised as a delivery worker, he had questioned the neighbors. Since the Hydra uprising, this man had been living under a stolen identity, hiding in plain sight. But the fact that his name was on the list meant he was an important figure.
"I know who you are—Alexander Pierce's dog," the former Hydra agent sneered coldly, his face freshly bruised. "Whatever you want to know has nothing to do with me. I'm retired. It's all over."
The Winter Soldier kicked aside a pile of children's building blocks. He knew how to interrogate now. Everyone had a weakness—especially those with families.
Stephanie, taking a break from the stack of paperwork in front of her, straightened her neck and pressed the fast-forward button. The surveillance footage from their field agents sped up, stopping on a frame of the Winter Soldier leaving the house. She didn't even bother putting on headphones to listen to the wiretap—she could guess what had happened in that house.
"I knew this would happen—some cold-blooded killer suddenly showing mercy when it matters most. What a cliché Hollywood move. I suspect the Winter Soldier's time under Alexander Pierce really did mess with his mind." Wrinkling her nose, she tossed aside the video that had come in with the brief report.
"All men are equal in death, but some just need a little push," she told her secretary—the same university student who had once accompanied her to the White House. "Bring me that agent's head, and his wife and daughter—alive and unharmed. Even if they hate us, they must survive. Punishment is for education. They need to understand why that man died. That is the law of our Lord. One more thing... has Director Victoria Hand initiated the confession protocol?"
"According to protocol, the Intelligence Division operates independently. You shouldn't even know—"
"I should know everything, or how else am I to know what I shouldn't know!" Stephanie locked eyes with her secretary until the young woman, barely out of college, visibly withered under the pressure. "We are the Monarch's eyes. We trust no one. And you are my subordinate. I need you to monitor the intelligence division's intelligence. Dr. List gave up a great deal to get you this position—I don't think he wants to see his granddaughter acting like a fool!" Stephanie growled through clenched teeth, taking a deep breath. "There is no one and nothing in this city that escapes his notice. Understood?"
"The Intelligence Division's administrative personnel and the Fimbulvetr First Secret Corps have indeed activated the confession protocol," the young secretary said stiffly. Though Dr. List was a biologist aligned with Dr. Whitehall, his influence was nowhere near that of the Malick family. Without their backing, she would've had no chance of becoming Stephanie's secretary fresh out of school.
"Special recruits have begun contact with the prisoner designated with Crimson Security Clearance."
Crimson-level clearance was officially the highest classification. Above it was Black Clearance—secrets so sensitive that only Stephanie, Constantine, Maya Hansen, and Malbas knew of them. These included information capable of altering the fate of Earth and the universe itself—such as the Celestial corpses sent to Mars and the Ultron A.I.
To date, the only Crimson-Level prisoner in Eternal City's dungeons was one man.
"What are you doing here?" Nick Fury was shocked—almost as much as when he'd first seen this high-tech subterranean city. He had mentally prepared himself for torture. After all, he'd witnessed—and participated in—the U.S.'s illegal network of black site interrogations. But he hadn't expected to see someone familiar. His mind raced with analysis, drawing conclusions with the ease of a seasoned spy. Though there was no direct evidence, intelligence work was not an exact science—educated guesses were sometimes enough to take action.
"Why shouldn't I be here?" the Punisher asked calmly.
"Before we begin, I have a question," Nick Fury said, rising slowly under the watchful eyes of the Fimbulvetr guards. "Were you involved in the Langley attack?"
"A little," Frank Castle admitted without hesitation. "It helped me find my enemies."
Although Solomon's initial recruitment attempt had failed, someone more qualified—Victoria Hand—had followed up, using a dossier written by Solomon himself. She'd recounted Castle's military service and detailed whom he had truly been fighting for. It had taken nearly ten pages. Although Castle didn't officially join Eternal City, he agreed to take on missions aligned with his values, with Eternal City handling the logistics. This saved manpower and left fewer traces than direct action.
"So it was them who hit the CIA," Fury muttered. He hadn't expected Solomon to make a move so soon. In hindsight, the space station incident paled in comparison. Solomon's visible impatience now made sense—he clearly had bigger plans. Had Solomon been there, reading Fury's thoughts, he might have actually praised the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director. To Eternal City, the S.W\.O.R.D. orbital platform meant little—they didn't lack space-based weapons. What they needed was personnel capable of operating a warship. Once Olympus Mons on Mars was hollowed out and converted into a shipyard, Solomon could begin constructing a new orbital fleet.
"Now it's my job to convince you, Nick Fury," Frank Castle said, closing the door behind him. "We have a lot to talk about—especially what happened after that incident. The Master of this city is waiting for you to speak."
But Solomon was nowhere near Eternal City at that moment. Instead, he was soaking in the silence of the Kamar-Taj Library.
All around him, books bound in enchanted chains lay silent. If anyone else were there, the librarian would've followed closely to prevent unauthorized access. But Solomon had a bit of privilege—not just because of the Ancient One's fondness for him (which had once caused some resentment), but because some of the books chained to the shelves were his own works. After that, all jealousy vanished. He didn't need to apply for access.
Master Daniel had quietly peeked in and left with satisfaction after seeing that Solomon had pulled volumes from the reading list he'd recommended—books on curses he had once used to help the Drum family. But Solomon wasn't reading them. The Drum family's curse was just a minor task. His real concern now was Quetzalcoatl. Focusing too much on counter-curses would only be a distraction from what truly mattered.
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