The sterile hallways of the Triskelion annex smelled like recycled air and bad decisions. I kept that thought to myself as we followed Natasha. Gwen's hand was in mine in a way that one couldn't notice, her palm a little sweaty. I could feel her fingers twitch every few steps. Natasha moved ahead of us like she owned every shadow, her boots clicking softly on the polished floor. She didn't look back.
It had been three days since the diner. Three days holed up in the new mansion, dodging school calls with "family emergency" excuses, and cleaning up the last bits of the Widow mess. Gwen and me… things had changed. Leveled up. We'd spent late nights on the roof, her head on my shoulder, watching the city lights. We'd talked about life before all this crap. She trusted me more now, leaned into me without that first bit of hesitation. But moments like this, walking into the belly of SHIELD, brought all the nerves right back to the surface.
I squeezed her hand, trying to ground her without words. The elevator ride up had been dead silent, just the hum of machinery and the faint, angry buzz of the lights overhead. Now, as we turned another corner toward Fury's office, I felt the new pull in my gut. The skill I'd unlocked two nights ago. Mind Connect. Uncommon rarity, sure, but it drained energy like a phone with a cracked screen—ten points a minute if I pushed it. Still, worth it.
I focused, letting the HUD flicker in the corner of my vision for just a second, and reached out. It was like dipping a toe into a cold, dark pool. Her thoughts brushed against mine. They were anxious, looping things. What if they know. What if they take us. What if this is all a trap.
Peter: "Gwen. No worries. They don't know our identities. Yours or mine. And if anything goes sideways, I promise I'll protect you. No one's touching you. I swear"
There was a pause. Then her mental voice came back, soft, like someone whispering in a crowded room.
Gwen: "Okay, Pete. I trust you."
Her fingers relaxed in mine, just a little, and she gave my hand a quick squeeze back. Physically, she was still tense, shoulders up near her ears like she was bracing for a punch. But that mental thread? It felt like progress. We'd fought the Widows together, sure, but this was SHIELD. The big leagues. The guys who could turn "hero" into "lab rat" with one signature.
Natasha stopped at a heavy door. It was matte black steel with a retinal scanner that beeped a cheerful green when she leaned in. It slid open with a hydraulic hiss. She stepped aside and gestured us in.
Natasha: Director's waiting. Play nice.
Gwen shot me a look half nerves, half that stubborn spark I was starting to really love—and we walked in.
Fury's office was exactly what you'd expect. Big desk piled with encrypted tablets and half-empty coffee mugs. Walls lined with monitors showing silent feeds from god-knows-where. One huge window overlooking the Potomac, like he needed a constant reminder of how deep the water ran. He sat behind the desk, all leather coat and eyepatch. Maria Hill stood off to his left like a shadow with a clipboard. He looked up, and his one good eye locked onto us. For a second, I swear the air in the room got heavier.
Peter: Well, if it isn't the chairman of SHIELD. Or whatever the hell you're calling yourself these days.
I kept my voice light. Casual. Like we were meeting for lunch, not walking into what could easily become a custody hearing.
Fury didn't crack a smile. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
Fury: Vector. Ghost-Spider. Let's cut the crap. What do you want? Or what do you need SHIELD to do about you two running around my city like it's a playground?
Gwen shifted beside me. Her grip on my hand tightened. I kept my stance easy, hands in my pockets.
Peter: Straight to business. I like that. Does anyone else know about this little powwow?
Fury's eye narrowed.
Fury: Apart from me, Romanoff, and Hill? No one. This stays in the room.
I nodded slowly, like I was filing that information away for later.
Peter: Let me guess. Some of the so-called World Security Council and the higher-ups in SHIELD are already whispering about me. Thinking I'm some new-gen Captain America experiment gone rogue. Planning how to bag and tag me for study, right? Poke around, see what makes the mind tricks tick.
Fury sighed. It was a low, tired rumble that filled the quiet room. He rubbed his jaw before giving a single, slow nod.
Fury: A superhuman who moves like a perfected version of Cap on steroids, but with telekinesis thrown in? Yeah, that's got bells ringing. There's been talk. Capture. Containment. Not my call, but it's out there.
Gwen's fist clenched at her side. I felt it through the link a sudden spike of anger, hot and sharp.
Peter: "It's okay, Gwen. I know what I'm doing. Breathe."
I kept the thought gentle, the connection light to save energy. She let out a soft exhale and unclenched her fist, just a little. But her eyes stayed locked on Fury like she was memorizing his face for a wanted poster.
I turned back to him and pulled on a half-smile.
Peter: See? That's why we're not signing on the dotted line today. We're gonna have a second meeting. Just not right now. Let's use this one to show we've established contact. I'm not making any demands yet.
Natasha uncrossed her arms from where she leaned against the wall.
Natasha: And why wait? You drag us here, drop hints like breadcrumbs, then pump the brakes?
Peter: Until you finish clearing out the traitors in SHIELD.
The words just hung there. Natasha's brow furrowed.
Natasha: You said SHIELD isn't the SHIELD we know. What the hell does that mean?
I met her gaze, then Fury's. I let the silence stretch for a beat, letting it sink in.
Peter: You don't know? Hydra's got a huge hold on SHIELD right now. Infiltrated deep. Like, foundational deep.
The room went perfectly still.
Fury's eye widened a fraction. Just a tiny bit, but I caught it. Maria Hill's clipboard lowered slowly. Her mouth opened slightly, like she'd been slapped. Natasha just stared, her green eyes sharp as broken glass.
Fury: You're kidding.
His voice was low, flat. Like he was testing the words to see if they were real.
Peter: Wish I was. But nah. You're planning the Avengers Initiative already, right? Got files on tracking down Captain America frozen in the Arctic, last ping from '45. Supposed to be classified black. With me and Ghost-Spider popping up, you figure recruit us first, build the team quiet. Don't bother asking how I know. I don't plan on disclosing methods. Let's just say I've got good intel.
Gwen's mental voice hit me, panicked.
Gwen: "Pete, how—?"
Peter: "Later. Trust the play."
The drain was starting to tug at the edges of my focus. My energy dipped to 690.
Fury leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk.
Fury: That means you know who the traitors are. Spill it.
Peter: Yup.
I reached into my pocket slowly—no sudden moves—and pulled out the folded piece of paper I'd printed last night in the workshop. Gaia had cross-referenced everything. The names had popped up like ugly weeds. I slid it across the polished desk.
Peter: Start with these.
Fury snatched it up and unfolded it slowly. Maria stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. Natasha pushed off the wall and came around the desk to read.
The list was short. Brutal.
· Alexander Pierce
· Brock Rumlow
· Senator Stern
· Arnim Zola
· Jasper Sitwell
· Most of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team
Fury's jaw tightened. The paper crinkled in his fist.
Fury: This… no. You're joking.
Maria's voice came out sharp, almost a whisper.
Maria: Pierce? He's on the Council. Zola's a ghost—we thought he drowned in the war. And STRIKE? That's half my counter-terror unit.
Natasha snatched the paper from Fury's hand. She scanned it like it might bite her.
Natasha: Rumlow's solid. Or was. I've run ops with him. Sitwell's a pencil-pusher, but this? Hydra? How the hell do you have this?
I shrugged and leaned against the wall, trying to look casual. My heart was pounding. Energy at 530 now. The link to Gwen flickered like a bad wi-fi signal.
Peter: Told you. Methods are off-limits. But think about it. The delays on your ops. The redacted files that shouldn't be redacted. The chatter that goes quiet when it shouldn't. It's them. Feeding intel back, slowing you down, waiting for the right moment to flip the switch.
Gwen stepped forward. Her voice was steady, even though I could feel the nervous energy bleeding through our fading link.
Gwen: You really didn't know? After everything SHIELD's supposed to be?
Fury shot her a look. It wasn't hostile. More like he was appraising her.
Fury: Kid, if I knew, heads would've rolled already. But this list… it's surgical. You got proof? Timestamps? Comms logs?
Peter: Wouldn't be here if I didn't. But handing it over blind? Nah. You clear 'em out. Quiet. Clean. No ripples. Then we talk recruitment. Full access, no strings. Until then, Ghost-Spider and I keep doing what we do. Neighborhood watch, minus the bake sale.
Maria crossed her arms, mirroring Natasha's posture.
Maria: And if we don't? You leak this too? Like you did Hammerhead?
The room tensed up again I was radiating a bit of pressure that was felt throughout the entire room. Gwen's hand found mine and squeezed, hard. Her thought brushed against mine, worried.
Gwen: Pete, easy.
I kept my cool and met Maria's stare.
Peter: Leak? Maybe. But that's not the play. I want SHIELD fixed, not broken. You three? You're the good ones. Fury, you built this from the ground up. Natasha, you clawed your way out of worse and came out swinging. Maria, you're the one who keeps the wheels from falling off. Use that. Start with Sitwell. He's the weak link. Easiest to flip or bury.
Fury set the paper down. He folded it with precise, deliberate movements, like he was committing every name to memory.
Fury: You talk like you've read my playbook. Avengers, Cap—that's need-to-know. And you know it all. How?
Peter: Like I said. Methods stay mine. But here's a freebie. Zola's not as dead as you think. Digital ghost in the system, bouncing around servers. Find him, you find the roots.
Natasha's eyes lit up. I could see her connecting dots.
Natasha: The delays on the Room extractions. The leaks to the Maggia. It tracks. But kid Peter, whatever you're 17 or 18 or even 20. How deep does this go for you?
I glanced at Gwen. Her face was pale but set. I dropped the Mind Connect link. My energy steadied at 625, but a dull throb started behind my eyes.
Peter: Deep enough.i could have Lost people to guys like this before they even got started. Won't let it happen again.
Gwen nodded and squeezed my hand.
Gwen: We're not experiments. We're just trying to keep our city from eating itself.
Fury stood up slowly. His chair scraped back against the floor.
Fury: Alright. Contact established. We'll verify your list. Quiet. If it's solid, we move. But you two? You stay visible. No vanishing acts. And no more leaks without a heads-up.
Peter: Deal. But if I smell a double-cross—
Maria: You won't. We're not them.
Her voice was firm. Natasha pushed off the desk.
Natasha: Meeting adjourned. Escort out, kids. And Peter? Thanks for the wake-up call.
We turned for the door. Gwen's shoulder brushed against mine. Her mental voice was soft, one last time before I let the skill fade completely.
Gwen: You okay?
Peter: Yeah. We just bought time.
Fury's voice stopped us at the threshold.
Fury: One more thing. That list—if it's real, we're in your debt. Don't make me regret it.
I looked back over my shoulder and met his one good eye.
Peter: You won't. Just do the work.
The door hissed shut behind us. Natasha led the way back down the long, empty hallway. Gwen leaned into me as we walked.
Gwen: That was insane. You really have all that?
Peter: Enough. Enough to keep us breathing.
She smiled. It was small, but it was real.
Gwen: Then let's go home.
Peter: Home sounds good.
Third person view
The door hissed shut behind Vector and Ghost-Spider, and the office felt wrong. Too big and too small all at once. Fury didn't move from where he stood. He just stared at the folded piece of paper on his desk like it was a live grenade with the pin halfway out. His knuckles went white where they gripped the edge of the wood. That one good eye was locked on the top name. Alexander Pierce. The ink didn't move, but it felt like it was burning a hole right through to his soul.
Fury: Alexander Pierce.
His voice came out rough, like he hadn't used it in years. He shook his head slowly, the motion full of a heavy, awful disbelief.
Fury: He's my mentor. Pulled me up when I was just some hotshot lieutenant with more balls than brains. He taught me everything. How to read a room. How to spot a lie three levels deep. How to build something that's supposed to last. A double agent? For SHIELD? How could... how could there be so many traitors and I didn't even know? Right under my damn nose. All this time.
Maria Hill set her clipboard down on the side table with a soft, deliberate click. She crossed her arms tight over her chest but didn't speak. She just watched him, her face a careful, neutral mask—the one she wore when things got too personal. Natasha stayed by the door, leaning against the frame, but her eyes were on Fury too. Sharp. Waiting.
Maria: Do you think the intel is correct?
Her tone was even, professional. But there was an edge to it. The kind that came from spending years sifting pure fact from mountains of clever bullshit.
Maria: A kid drops a list like he's ordering a pizza. Walks out. And we're supposed to buy it wholesale? Pierce is at the top. Zola? That's not just a list of names, Nick. That's history. War ghosts and World Security Council seats. If it's real, we're looking at a full-scale purge. If it's not...
Fury let out a breath. It was short and sharp. He finally dropped into his chair. The leather creaked loudly under his weight, but he didn't seem to notice.
Fury: If it's not, then we've been played. But look at it, Maria. Just look. Sitwell? He's a weasel. Always has been. Sniffing around ops reports he has no business touching. Rumlow's got that look. The one that says he's loyal right up until a better paycheck shows up. And STRIKE? Half that team was hand-picked. Or so I thought. But Pierce...
He trailed off, rubbing his jaw hard enough to leave red marks.
Fury: He recruited me after the Gulf War mess. Said I had an eye for the shadows. Turns out he was the biggest damn shadow of them all.
Natasha pushed off the door. She walked over to the desk and picked up the paper. She unfolded it again, her fingers perfectly steady.
Natasha: It's most likely correct.
Her voice was calm, analytical.
Natasha: The kid—Peter—he wants something from SHIELD. But not this version. Not the broken one. He wants it clean. No moles gnawing at the foundation. That's why the wait. He leaked Hammerhead first. It wasn't just a warning to the Maggia. It felt like it was aimed at other factions, too. Including us.
Fury looked up at her, his eye narrowing to a slit.
Fury: Us? You're saying he clocked us before we ever clocked him?
Natasha: Think about it. The leak hit global. Every server, every dark web corner. The Maggia crumbles overnight, but the echo… it's loud. Remnants of The Room go radio silent. Old contacts on the Council start sweating through their suits. He timed it perfectly. Right after the Widows went down. It was a statement. 'I know your games. And I play them better.' That diner meet? He wasn't recruiting. He was vetting.
Maria took a step, paced, then stopped with her hands on her hips.
Maria: Vetting for what? He's a kid, Nat. Seventeen, tops. Powers like that—telekinesis, that suit, whatever the spider-girl's packing—they're not factory-made. But he's got resources. An AI, he mentioned. 'Gaia.' That's not some off-the-shelf software. And now this list? It's too clean. Like he had it queued up, waiting for the right moment to drop the hook.
Natasha: Exactly. Clean means calculated. Hammerhead wasn't personal. It was proof of concept. He could've killed the guy a dozen ways after the Widows. But no. Public execution. The legal way. Lets the whole world watch an empire rot. The message was received: I find the dirt, I use it. And if SHIELD is dirty? Same treatment.
Fury leaned back. The chair groaned in protest. He stared at the ceiling tiles for a long second, as if the answers were written up there in the dust.
Fury: Pierce. Goddamn it. The last big op we greenlit together… Project Insight. He pushed for it. Hard. Said it was the future. Eyes in the sky to spot a threat before it even takes a breath. I bought it. I trusted the pitch because I trusted the man. Now? If he's Hydra… that project isn't a shield. It's a Trojan horse. A loaded gun, sleeping right in our belly.
Maria shot him a look. It wasn't gentle.
Maria: You regret pulling the trigger on that one?
Fury: Every single day since the specs first crossed my desk. But regret doesn't scrub code. If Zola's in there—digital ghost or not—we need to gut it. And we need to do it quiet. No alarms.
Natasha folded her arms, mirroring Maria's posture without even thinking.
Natasha: Quiet is the problem. The kid has eyes everywhere. How do we move without him knowing? Or worse, without tipping off the people on this list?
Fury's mouth twisted. It wasn't a smile.
Fury: We don't. We use him. We feed him just enough to keep him hooked. Tell him we're verifying the list—buy ourselves some time. Meanwhile, we start with the low-hanging fruit. Sitwell first. Bring him in for a routine budget audit. See if he cracks. If he does, we flip him. If not…
Maria finished the thought, her voice flat.
Maria: Black bag. Off-books site. We make it look like an accident if it goes south.
Fury: Right. Rumlow is next. Nat, you ran with him. Any tells?
Natasha was quiet for a moment. Her mind flashed back to sandy ops in the Middle East, to sharing a smoke in the dark after a messy extraction.
Natasha: He's solid in a fight. Doesn't freeze. But his eyes… they wander. Always checking exits, even when there's no reason to. The loyalty is there, but it's thin. Give him an out—a full pension, a new life in witness protection—and he might sing. But if he's in deep, Nick? I mean, really deep? He'll fight dirty.
Fury drummed his fingers on the desk. A slow, steady rhythm. Like a countdown.
Fury: And the Senator? Stern's a politician. Slippery as they come. Council oversight means we can't touch him directly. We'll need leverage.
Maria: I might already have some.
She picked up her clipboard again, scrolling on a small tablet attached to it.
Maria: Old audits from his last reelection cycle. Shell companies. Donations that don't add up. If we can tie even one of those threads to a Hydra slush fund… boom. It's resignation or indictment.
Natasha let out a soft, dry snort.
Natasha: Boom. The kid is already halfway there. He knows about the Avengers play. Captain America in the ice—that's classified deeper than black. How does a street-level vigilante from Queens pull that thread?
Fury's eye flicked to her.
Fury: Same way he pulled Pierce's number. He's got reach. Hacks. Who the hell knows. But he's right about the Initiative… we need him. Cap is a symbol. But symbols aren't capable of dismantling an entire organization with intellect alone. Vector does. Ghost-Spider, too. She's got that edge. The unpredictability.
Maria stopped pacing and leaned on the desk, her palms flat on the surface.
Maria: Do you trust him? After this?
Fury: Trust?
He almost laughed. It was a hollow sound.
Fury: Hell no. But I respect the play. The kid isn't in it for glory or a pat on the back. I saw it in his eyes. He's protecting something. Someone. That spider-girl is his anchor. You lose her, he unravels. Completely.
Natasha nodded slowly.
Natasha: I saw the same thing. The way he shielded her in the hallway. The hand-holding. It's not just partners. It's family. It's leverage if we ever need it… but I'd rather not go there. The Room taught me one thing for sure—you push too hard on the personal, and they push back twice as mean.
Maria: Agreed. So we play it straight. We verify the list. We purge, but we do it quiet. But what if he's wrong, Nick? What if this is a setup? Him feeding us ghosts just to watch us chase our own tails?
Fury picked up the paper again. He folded it, once, twice, and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat.
Fury: Then we own the mistake. But my gut says no. The kid is too sharp for fakes. And the Hammerhead data drop? That was real. It took down a whole syndicate without him firing a single shot. If he turns that kind of fire on us…
Natasha cut in, her voice firm.
Natasha: We don't let it get there. We clean our house. Then we offer him the deal he clearly wants. A clean SHIELD. A full alliance. But Nick… Pierce. Are you going to confront him?
Fury stood up. He grabbed his long leather coat from the back of the chair.
Fury: Not yet. We watch him first. The next Council meeting is in four days. Eyes on. If he so much as twitches wrong…
Maria's comm unit buzzed sharply on her hip. She glanced down at it, frowning.
Maria: Sitwell is requesting an urgent brief. Says it's about asset recovery in Queens. Wants your ears ASAP.
Fury's jaw set into a hard line.
Fury: Convenient. Stall him. Tell him I'm tied up with the Senate oversight committee. Nat, you're with me. War room. Now. We pull every file, every mission log, every financial transfer for every name on that list. Cross-reference everything. I want timelines that would make a historian weep.
Natasha was already heading for the door.
Natasha: On it. But one thing—the kid mentioned Zola being digital. If there's even a chance that's true, we need Coulson on this. He's got a nose for tech ghosts.
Fury gave a sharp nod.
Fury: Get him on a secure line. Tell him it's a Priority Aegis. Maria, you coordinate the audit on Sitwell. Make it thorough. Make it hurt.
As they moved toward the door, a current of grim purpose filling the room, Maria hung back for a second.
Maria: Nick? You okay? Pierce… that's a gut punch.
Fury paused, his hand on the door knob. He didn't look back.
Fury: I've been punched before. This one just landed deeper. But we don't bleed in front of the sharks. We cut them out first.
The door swung open, and they filed out into the bright, sterile hallway, their footsteps swallowed by the hum of the Triskelion. Fury was the last to leave. He glanced back once at his desk, where the monitors still flickered with silent, secret images. He touched the pocket where the list was folded.
Fury: Old man.
He muttered it to the empty room.
Fury: What the hell did you do?
Then he was gone. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving the office quiet. But not empty. Not anymore. The ghosts were in the room now. And they had names.
In the hallway, Maria fell into step beside him, her tablet already active.
Maria: First move is Stern. I can have the financial correlations compiled by end of day. It'll be enough for a warrant.
Fury: Do it. And Nat? For Rumlow—use the Odessa protocol. If he's Hydra, he'll bite on the bait.
A faint, cold smirk touched Natasha's lips.
Natasha: Odessa it is. But if the kid is watching…
Fury: Let him watch. It means he's invested.
They turned the corner, their voices fading into the vast, humming expanse of the headquarters. Plans were stacking up like bricks in a wall. A wall that now had to hold against an enemy that had been living inside it.
Back in the tactical war room, screens lit up one by one, bathing them in a cool, blue light. Decades of shadows began to spill out onto the displays. Fury took his seat at the head of the table, his eye fixed on the central monitor.
Fury: Start with Pierce. I want everything. From his first day at SHIELD to what he had for breakfast this morning. I need to know how deep this goes.
Natasha's fingers flew across a keyboard.
Natasha: My guess? Deep as the grave.
Maria slid into the chair beside her, connecting her own tablet to the main system.
Maria: Then we start digging.
The first file popped onto the main screen. It was Alexander Pierce's official recruitment photo. He was young, hair still dark, his smile sharp and confident. Like he already owned the future.
Fury stared at the face of his friend, his teacher. The silence in the room was thick enough to choke on.
Fury: Begin.
He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. The purge had started. Not with a bang, but with the whisper of data streams and the cold, hard light of a truth they could no longer ignore.