Knowing now that the smuggler was just a nobody, Fury felt like he had made the biggest mistake of his life.
Not only Natasha, Steve, and Hill—but even Lock, Stark, and Rhodey had been involved back then.
But none of them were Hydra.
To save Fury's face, none of them said a word about it, not even in private.
In the eyes of the outside world, this incident had become an irrefutable fact.
And since Lock himself had been on the scene, who would dare question it?
Even Pierce fell into this trap.
If it had been some other event, a sly old fox like Pierce would have double-checked, maybe even discovered the truth.
But this was just days after the Battle of New York.
The prestige of Lock, the so-called King of Apocalypse, was at its absolute peak—terrifyingly so.
He had personally been there. Many agents had witnessed the arrest.
Among them were also Hydra plants.
Even Pierce, as head of Hydra, had no thought of doubting it.
Instead, he kept turning over one question in his mind:
What kind of ability does this criminal have?
What kind of man requires Lock to step in personally, call in almost every superhero except Thor, and yet somehow causes no catastrophic destruction in the process?
Pierce had reviewed the smuggler's file personally.
All he saw under the "Power" column were rows of UNKNOWN.
He mentally cursed Fury.
Old fox! Hiding information even from his own directorate.
Pierce never dared think the guy was just an ordinary man.
He convinced himself that the smuggler's powers were simply too bizarre—or too dangerous—to be listed.
Because there was so little intel, Pierce assembled Hydra's best analysts.
After weeks of study, they came to a single conclusion:
The smuggler must be a psychic powerhouse.
It explained everything.
Why did his battle with Lock cause almost no damage to the physical world?
Why did it all seem so eerily quiet?
And why Lock, even after defeating him, apparently had to call in every other hero available to fully subdue him.
Hydra simply refused to believe that anyone could rival Lock in raw strength.
No one could forget the scene where Lock shattered the sky with one punch.
The only way to resist such a monster was to attack where brute strength didn't matter—the mind.
Pierce also remembered that three people had been arrested that day.
Two of them were dead not long after, executed by Fury after the raid on S.H.I.E.L.D.
Fury was never one to leave threats lingering.
So if this one was still alive…
The only logical answer was that he couldn't be killed.
Otherwise, why execute the lesser two but keep the most dangerous one breathing?
It wasn't that Fury didn't want him dead.
It was that even Lock couldn't finish him.
And this thought made Pierce's heart race.
Since World War II, Hydra had been suppressed by every kind of superhero.
Pierce had always dreamed of having a superweapon of his own—something Hydra-controlled that could fight fire with fire.
Behind the scenes, he had overseen years of human experiments, recruiting gifted candidates from all over the globe, attempting to create a new generation of Hydra-enhanced operatives.
Some had succeeded.
But before they could reveal themselves, the wormhole war happened.
And then came Lock.
Lock eclipsed every hero in existence, turning Hydra's ambitions into a joke.
The organization had been forced to hide its claws again.
But now…
Not long after the wormhole war, Lock himself had been forced to ask for assistance—and this mysterious man, this "Snakehead," appeared.
Suddenly, there was hope again.
Pierce wasn't the only one watching.
At least ten other global powers had taken an interest in this man.
But none of them had Pierce's resources or position.
None could access the Raft, none could get near the prisoner.
And now Lock was off-world.
Pierce felt the window of opportunity open.
If Hydra could seize control of the U.S. government, fill key positions with its own operatives, it would become a legitimate power.
Hydra would rise—not as terrorists—but as the rightful rulers of the country.
And with a weapon strong enough to rival Lock…
Even when Lock returned, he would be forced to accept defeat quietly.
What would he do, slaughter an entire new government in front of the world?
He would stop being the savior—and become the devil.
So Pierce set his plan in motion.
He used the Helicarriers as bait, laying a half-true, half-false empty-city scheme to tie Fury's hands.
If the carriers launched—good.
If not, it didn't matter.
Even a failed launch was enough to keep Fury busy.
Then, invoking his authority as World Security Council Secretary, Pierce approached General Ross directly, demanding to interrogate the smuggler.
The "interrogation" was a lie—Pierce intended to take the man for himself.
Ross might suspect something, or send a monitor along for oversight, but that didn't matter.
The goal was simply to get into the Raft.
But Fury's quick resolution of the carrier battle ruined Pierce's timing.
Before he could get in cleanly, Fury was already free to respond.
...
On Fury's side, the situation became clear.
"It's obvious," Fury said grimly. "Pierce wants a weapon that can fight Lock."
"If Hydra can't counterbalance Lock's strength, their entire plan is worthless."
"When Lock returns, they'll all be wiped out in one night."
Fury's voice hardened.
"Ross, Pierce is Hydra. He's coming to take that prisoner. You cannot let him succeed. If you get the chance—kill the whole operation at the root."
"Send us the coordinates. We're heading there now."
Ross was silent for a long moment.
Finally, he replied, calm but firm:
"I don't know if what you're saying is true, Fury. Maybe Pierce is Hydra, maybe not. But I know my duty. Nobody gets in. Nobody gets out. Not until this mess is settled."
Ross had spent years at the bottom of the ocean.
He knew better than anyone how hard it was to tell who was the hero and who was the villain on the surface.
So he would do the simplest thing: lock down.
Guard the door.
Make sure none of the prisoners escaped—Hydra or otherwise.
Just as Ross cut the call, Pierce's voice came through another channel:
"General Ross, open up. I've brought a bottle of your favorite old red wine."
Ross' tone was flat.
"Pierce, I'm sorry. I can't confirm your intent, so I can't let you in. Turn back."
"Humph."
Pierce sneered.
Ross was already suspicious.
He might have even been speaking with Fury.
That left only Plan B.
Pierce clenched his fist.
"Depth charges. Blast Ross out of the water."
Almost all the firepower Pierce had left was now focused here.
Three warships surrounded the Raft.
Torpedoes, depth charges, sonar tracking, and a dozen helicopters waiting above—everything ready.
The first wave began.
"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"
The explosions rolled like thunder beneath the surface.
Waves churned violently overhead, but the real terror was the undercurrent below.
The shockwaves slammed into the Raft, making the entire prison groan and rattle.
Ross' face hardened.
"Move the prison. Evasive maneuvers. Don't engage yet!"
The Raft was both a prison and a submersible, designed with limited mobility and weaponry.
But Ross wouldn't surface to fight.
If the Raft came up, it would lose its underwater advantage and become a sitting duck for Pierce's air and sea forces.
Unfortunately, the Raft was enormous and slow to move.
And Pierce's sonar locked on tight—there was no shaking them.
Wave after wave of depth charges fell, explosions growing closer and closer.
"Beep—beep—beep—!"
The Raft's alarms blared.
"Seal integrity compromised! Immediate danger!"
"Warning—structural pressure rising. Automatic float sequence initiating!"
Ross cursed under his breath as the entire Raft began its slow, inevitable rise to the surface…
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