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Nick Fury was, of course, not about to tell the whole truth. For situations like this, a man long accustomed to bureaucratic doublespeak replied smoothly:
> "This stemmed from an internal administrative error on our end. The criminal record of a highly dangerous mutant offender was mistakenly entered under another mutant's file. As a result, we mobilized armed pursuit and even issued an incorrect shoot-on-sight order. In short—this was a mistake."
"What?! Fury, are you serious?"
"All right, Owen, I won't hide it from you. I can't go into details, but yes—we screwed this up on our side."
"Fuck! Then what are we supposed to do now?"
Thinking back to what Barbara had reported, Nick Fury had already been considering whether S.H.I.E.L.D. should quietly compensate Henry Brown for the damages caused when an assault team broke into his home.
What he never expected was that S.H.I.E.L.D. would finish tearing the place apart—only for the FBI to come right after and completely ransack it.
So Nick Fury said simply:
"Find a reason and let him go. He's the CEO of Stark Pictures now, a public figure with a reputation. You don't seriously think he's like some homeless drifter who could vanish into a back alley and no one would care, do you?"
"Damn it! You should've told me this earlier. I couldn't get through to you for days!"
"That's exactly because of the 'administrative error.' You understand, right?"
"Jesus Christ! Can't your people step in and clean this up?"
"For that same 'administrative error,' we're in the middle of a full internal purge and renovation. What do you think?"
Carol Danvers had taken the Skrulls away—along with that Kree cruiser in space.
But were they all gone? Were there still aliens left inside S.H.I.E.L.D.?
No one dared take the Skrulls at their word.
According to Barbara Morse's report, both the Los Angeles and Louisiana S.H.I.E.L.D. branches had problems. Internal investigations were underway, and everything was in chaos.
Owen Davis sighed in defeat.
"All right. I get it. I'll handle it on my end."
"Owen."
"What?"
"…Nothing. I'll buy you a drink someday."
"One won't be enough. I'll need to get drunk."
"Bourbon. My favorite."
"Bring plenty. Talk to you later."
Owen Davis wanted to drink himself unconscious and forget reality altogether.
"Yeah. See you."
The call ended.
---
As Nick Fury drove, the man in the passenger seat spoke up.
"Does this have something to do with the Kryptonian you mentioned?"
"You could hear my call?" Black Nick Fury asked irritably.
White Nick Fury replied calmly, "My ears aren't that good—but my brain still works."
"So," Black Fury said, "got any advice for me?"
"Heh. I thought the weaned little brat didn't like people meddling in his business," White Fury mocked.
Black Fury ignored the jab and said seriously:
"If this were our old Cold War enemies—the KGB brats—I'd know exactly how to play them. But an alien? I've got zero experience there. If you can't even help with that, I honestly don't know what you're good for."
White Fury shot back, "You don't know this, you don't know that—then why did you drag me out here so solemnly? Don't tell me you think I'm retired, sitting around playing chess with old men all day. I've got my own mission. I just haven't left yet."
"If this didn't involve aliens, I wouldn't have called you," Black Fury complained. "We don't even have protocols for extraterrestrials."
After some thought, White Fury finally said:
"Henry Brown is a very special case. He's not an alien who just suddenly arrived on Earth with no ties or history."
"You're emphasizing that—why?" Black Fury asked.
"Carter wants us to investigate his life on Earth, and we are. But as long as we can't confirm that this alien is a threat, we don't touch him. Not even a little."
"Why?"
"Because of Stark."
"Tony Stark? That snot-nosed kid?"
White Fury continued:
"That little lion can't wait to show the world his claws and fangs. And the man placed as CEO of Stark Pictures is nothing more than bait.
"Anyone who touches that bait—no matter the reason—will face Stark's full retaliation. Even if Henry Brown murdered someone in broad daylight, I wouldn't doubt Tony Stark's ability to make it go away.
"Just like O.J. Simpson—charged with murder and still walked free. It has nothing to do with whether Henry Brown is an alien. We already know he's special—we just don't know how special."
Black Fury frowned. "You're serious? Their relationship is really that close?"
"It's not about their relationship. I already told you—the cub just needs an excuse to prove he's worthy of being king. Who the excuse is doesn't matter. What matters is that someone gets torn apart."
"You're sure?"
"That intelligence came directly from the Stark family's butler, Edwin Jarvis, to Agent Carter," White Fury replied. "In my opinion, it's highly reliable."
He added, "So now you know what you should've told your friend earlier."
Black Fury remembered how he'd hesitated on the phone with Owen Davis, wanting to say something—but stopping himself because S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't yet finalized its stance on the Kryptonian.
Still, the advice held true.
That man was no nobody. As long as he stood at the center of Stark's web of influence, nothing about him could be treated lightly.
---
Lost in thought, Black Fury drove to a warehouse.
He got out, opened the door himself, went inside, and closed it again personally.
He parked in the empty warehouse, stopping in front of the only object placed at its center.
A coffin-like cryogenic container, thick power cables running from its base.
White Fury stepped out of the car, took one look, and immediately understood.
"This is what you wanted me to see?"
He walked closer, peered through the glass viewport—and swore.
"Fuck! Where did you get this thing?"
Black Fury shrugged. "You remember, right? I just went through a Kree-versus-Skrull incident, with a Kryptonian making a brief appearance."
"Who else knows you have this?" White Fury demanded sharply.
Black Fury replied:
"I learned how important this was from you, so I handled everything myself. No one else touched it—not even the procurement of this cryo-container.
"As for who on Earth might know this existed… probably only the former Air Force test pilot. After all, she's the one who shot it down. But she doesn't know what happened afterward—or who handled it."
Inside the cryo-container lay Minn-Erva, a member of the Kree Starforce—the female Kree who had dogfought Maria Rambeau's Quinjet and been shot down.
She was the only Kree corpse Black Fury had managed to recover.
On the Kree cruiser in space, the Kree casualties had apparently been retrieved by their own forces—not a single body left behind.
There was also whatever Goose the Flerken had swallowed—but until the creature spat up even the Tesseract, no one knew whether it would eventually cough up those "hairballs" too.
White Fury recalled what he himself had revealed before and couldn't help but warn him:
"The Infinity Formula is a curse. I was ordered to use it. If I had the chance to choose again, I never would have.
"You're collecting this now—what are you planning to do?"
"I'm not interested in a drug that has to be used constantly while relying on limited materials," Black Fury said calmly. "But I believe the Infinity Formula has far more potential than just letting certain bastards live longer.
"And no, that wasn't aimed at you, old man."
"…Fine," White Fury sighed. "I'll give you all the data related to the Infinity Formula.
"But understand this—if word of this leaks, the pressure you'll face will be unimaginable. The old-money elites already want to force their way into taking over S.H.I.E.L.D.'s labs."
"I know," Black Fury replied confidently.
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