Dusk settled, normal enough, but the forge's atmosphere was tense.
Steve borrowed the space to confront Bucky about Howard's death. Bucky, splashed awake with beer, sat with Steve, reminiscing. Their nostalgia irritated Burkasso.
Gil returned from school with Frank, who'd bought liquor. Sensing shady agents, Frank stayed close to his son. They hadn't decided their next move.
Outside, chaos reigned. Hand and other gangs scrambled to save themselves. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Hydra purge stirred a mess—wherever crime lurked, Hydra followed. In stories, Hydra was the go-to villain when culprits were unclear. Now, ninety percent of gangs fought for survival. Money solved most gang issues, but Hydra ties spelled trouble.
Gang leaders awaited interrogations, meek as chicks. Even Wilson Fisk raged in his office, his enforcer Bullseye dead days before near the forge, where Hydra corpses piled high. The Hand and Fisk's empire faced heavy scrutiny.
"Let's drive around," Burkasso said, half-done with Hit-Monkey's corpse, wanting to clear his head and keep his promise to Gil.
"Your car's got no windows. Won't it get flagged?" Rumlow asked, arms crossed.
"I'm heading home. Clothes are filthy," Matt said, blood wiped off but attire ruined. Burkasso's clothes didn't fit him.
"I need to tell Tony. We can't hide this," Steve said, gripping Bucky's good hand, sounding like a counselor.
"I failed Tony, failed Howard," Bucky sobbed, tears streaming, evoking pity.
"You were controlled, Bucky. Not all your fault," Steve consoled, knowing words couldn't erase the betrayal of one trusted friend killing another. His goal: secure Tony's forgiveness and save Bucky's life.
Though the death penalty was gone, Tony's wealth could buy assassins—experts in trick shots and ambushes. Steve, fresh from cryo, knew modern ways only through S.H.I.E.L.D. files and Rumlow's intel.
"I have to do something!" Bucky shouted, resolve firm, his mangled mechanical arm clanging.
"Can you make one of those?" Rumlow nodded at Bucky's arm.
"I could replicate it if I dismantled it, but how it works? No clue," Burkasso said, dragging Rumlow outside, annoyed by the emotional talk.
"I'm heading back. I'll sort things and return to the Holy Mountain tomorrow," Matt said, bloodied suit over his shoulder, walking off. No tie, or Burkasso might've sent him to meet Talic.
Burkasso didn't care for goodbyes—barbarians rarely did.
"Leaving them in the shop's fine?" Gil asked, pointing at Steve, Bucky, and the forgotten Kasilius.
"Nobody steals from my shop. Good stuff's locked in the basement," Burkasso said. His gear there wasn't even that great to him.
"I mean the guy on the floor," Gil started, but Frank tugged his hand.
Frank, cautious and reserved, wasn't close to Burkasso. "You're too distant," Burkasso said, taking the liquor bag.
Frank stayed silent, not one to warm up fast.
Rumlow hauled Kasilius out, grabbing his belt, scraping his forehead. "Can't you grab the neck? He's Ancient One's student, meant for training," Burkasso frowned.
"You want me to train him? And did Matt forget to wash your car?" Rumlow tossed Kasilius into the truck bed, landing in gore with a splat.
"He can't run. He'll wash it tomorrow," Burkasso said, taking the driver's seat, unfazed by the bloodied interior.
Frank gripped Gil's hand tighter, worried about his son's exposure. "It's fine, Dad. I'm used to it," Gil said, tugging back.
Frank ruffled Gil's hair. "Let's get you a haircut tomorrow, same place."
"Get in! I know traffic rules!" Burkasso called, laying a beast hide blanket on the backseat for Gil—a trophy from an elite beast with thorns, overlord, shield, and teleport traits. He'd smashed its skull, keeping the hide as a memento, forgotten until now.
Rumlow struggled with the passenger door. "This car's barbarian-standard. Weaklings can't open it, like mages with the Hammer of Judgment," Burkasso said, opening it for him after Gil and Frank climbed in.
"How strong to open it?" Rumlow panted.
"Strong enough to crush that guy's metal arm," Burkasso said, eyeing Bucky's limb. He understood its material, not its mechanics.
"Why no keys?" Rumlow asked.
"Barbarians don't need keys," Burkasso replied. Keyless cars were a gift to them.
Rumlow's phone rang. "Hello?"
"It's just a dog! S.H.I.E.L.D. needs your—" Nick Fury's voice cut off as Rumlow hung up.
Earlier, Fury sped toward the Howling Commandos' base when an SUV rammed him, flipping both cars. High-speed collisions were unforgiving, but Fury's S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle held strong.
"Vehicle integrity: 90%. Call support?" the system asked.
Fury, suspecting a Hydra hit, stayed put, gun drawn. "Not yet."
A bearded man in a suit emerged—John Wick, legendary assassin. Fury relaxed; Wick's pistol couldn't pierce S.H.I.E.L.D. glass.
"You're retired, aren't you?" Fury asked through a tiny window slit.
"I was," Wick said, firing repeatedly, leaving marks.
"Window integrity: 97%. Emergency protocol?"
"Not yet," Fury said, eyeing Wick. "What brought you back? Everyone's too busy for this."
Fury connected dots—Hydra's reach extended beyond S.H.I.E.L.D., into old families, per Dugan's intel. They weren't done.
Wick jammed a pencil into the window seam. "You think a pencil will break this?" Fury scoffed.
"You killed my dog!" Wick roared, wedging the pencil deeper.
"Window under pressure. Offensive measures?"
"Not yet." Fury knew bulletproof glass weakened unevenly, but Wick's method was absurd. Still, he was serious. "This is big trouble," Fury muttered.
Wick fired again, deepening cracks. "You bastard! You killed my dog!"
"Don't blame the dog! I'm a cat guy! Who sent you?" Fury snapped.
"Window: 81%."
"No!" Fury trusted his cat-lover status cleared him.
Wick reloaded, eyes murderous. Cracks spread.
"Window: 61%."
"No! I'm Nick Fury!" He flashed a fake ID, verifiable anywhere.
Another clip hit the glass.
"Window: 30%."
"No! Let's talk compensation," Fury said, teeth gritted. A dog lover was worse than PETA.
"Killers are nuts," he cursed inwardly.
"I want your life!" Wick emptied another clip, cracks glaring.
"I'll get you a dog to kill," Fury muttered, dialing. His forces were thin, and he couldn't reach the base. Few agents had clearance.
Wick kicked the glass as Fury called Blade. "Nick, send the Commandos! I found Hydra's trail—they're after me! Location: XX." Blade hung up.
Fury froze. Before S.H.I.E.L.D.'s purge, Hydra was quiet. Now, they were everywhere. "Motherfucker! A hive? Where are the Beekeepers?" he swore, unaware MODOK was clearing Vanguard's Beekeepers.
A hole broke in the glass. "What functions work?" Fury asked.
"Air conditioning operational."
"Motherfucker!" Fury dialed Rumlow.
As the window neared breaking, Rumlow answered. "It's just a dog! S.H.I.E.L.D. needs you—Hydra's alive!"
"But it was my dog!" Wick roared.
"Motherfucker! Execute!" Fury yelled, raising a machine gun from the car's center, aiming at Wick.
(End of Chapter)
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