General Offensive

New York, a financial firm on Wall Street.

Level Seven S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Phil Coulson followed a blonde woman in a round-neck suit and black patent leather pumps as they weaved through the bustling office workers, the rapid clatter of keyboards and ringing phones rising and falling around them.

The woman led him into an empty private office and closed the door behind them. The nameplate on the door read "Bill Walter"—the office's owner.

It was a well-lit, tastefully decorated office. Agent Coulson immediately put his professional skills to work, sweeping his sharp, knife-like gaze across the room inch by inch, missing no detail, like a trained hound sniffing for any suspicious scent.

But after about two minutes of observation, he had to admit a fact: there wasn't a single thing in this office that could even be called suspicious.

It looked utterly ordinary. Stacks of neatly organized files sat on the desk, a set of keys left in the lock. A potted plant rested on the windowsill, and a cute seahorse ornament adorned the filing cabinet. On the wall hung awards Bill Walter had earned over the years—clearly a model employee.

Agent Coulson even spotted photos on the cabinet of Bill Walter dining with colleagues and attending parties.

He turned to the woman beside him. "How long have you known Mr. Walter?"

She thought for a moment. "At least... two years, since he started working here. He keeps a low profile, but he's diligent and responsible, often commended. A real nice guy. Everyone likes him."

She paused, then asked curiously, "Is Mr. Walter in some kind of trouble?"

"No, nothing, ma'am," Agent Coulson said politely. "He's involved in a case, but this is just a routine check. Nothing major."

After a few more simple questions, Agent Coulson took his leave from the company. He went back downstairs, crossed the street, and returned to the black Porsche parked at the curb.

He dialed Nick Fury.

"How'd it go, Agent Coulson?" Fury asked.

"That identity you had me verify, Bill Walter? I checked his ID, driver's license, diploma—all the info seemed flawless. Then I went to his office, and all his coworkers confirmed he exists. One told me he's been working there for two years. I didn't use professional equipment, but based on experience, I don't think she was lying."

"And the people in the office?"

"Their identities checked out too. Seems legit."

"So you believe Bill Walter's identity is clean?"

"From what I saw, sir? Flawless," Coulson said. "Honestly, if everything tied to that identity is fabricated, the forger is either a genius we've never heard of, or a magician who can bend reality."

"I understand."

"May I ask, are you sure you don't need me to know who this Bill Walter really is?" Coulson asked.

"That's classified, Agent Coulson," Fury said. "Thanks for your help, but your mission's over."

Nick Fury ended the call, frowning deeply as he pondered in his office for a long while.

A few hours earlier, the mysterious figure codenamed "Black Knight" had finally agreed to step out of that dark metal shell and meet him face-to-face. Contrary to his expectations, inside the armor was a young man with thick stubble, around thirty to forty years old, wearing a standard white-collar suit.

He called himself Bill Walter and claimed that since leaving Hydra, this had been his cover identity. The elite agent Fury had sent to verify it had just confirmed it. And it did seem plausible—as a cover, this Bill Walter was indeed low-key.

Then this "Bill Walter" gave him another address: a warehouse on the outskirts of New York. The company that owned it had gone bankrupt years ago, leaving it abandoned. Walter said it had been his secret base all these years, storing his gear, tech, and armor.

This "Black Knight" wore a high-tech suit daily, so naturally, he'd have a secret base. Fury had also sent a team to investigate that location, and the feedback matched the description. It seemed this "Bill Walter" was showing genuine sincerity—even a super-spy like Nick Fury couldn't find any flaws in the info he'd provided.

But what Fury didn't know was that Michael had prepared far more than just this one complete identity. Each was flawlessly designed, with a different face for each. He'd pre-made digital masks for all of them; putting one on instantly gave him a completely different identity.

So, in a way, Michael hadn't lied to Fury. He'd indeed revealed his identity—just one of many.

From now on, Fury could register "Bill Walter" on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s watch list, monitor the accounts and movements of this nonexistent fictional character around the clock, without it burdening Michael's future actions.

As for whether Fury would decide to trust him? Michael wasn't too worried about that.

Because honestly, given the current situation and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s predicament, they might not have many options in this matter.

After mulling it over for a moment, Fury sat up, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.

"This is Commander Fury. Notify the Council," he said. "I have something important to discuss."

***

An hour later, aboard the Helicarrier, nine kilometers above the ground.

Nick Fury stood with his hands behind his back, expressionless, in the center of the room. High-ranking members of the World Security Council surrounded him via three hanging monitors.

Unusually, the three representatives remained silent for a full thirty seconds. Over the past period, they'd been pressuring the black director, using every means to force him to reveal what he was hiding. Now that Fury had finally laid it all out, none of them seemed ready to face the truth.

Fury didn't urge them on. He just stood there with his hands behind his back, patiently waiting for them to digest the massive information. In the dark, sealed room, you could hear a pin drop, save for the rising and falling breaths through the stereo speakers.

After a while, one representative spoke uncertainly: "Director Fury, let me confirm. Are you telling us that 'Hydra'—not some other Hydra, but the terrorist organization that limped on from World War II—still exists today? And that it's been nesting inside S.H.I.E.L.D. for the past century?"

"Pretty much," Fury said flatly.

"And over that century, it's become part of S.H.I.E.L.D., infiltrating every aspect, even including former S.H.I.E.L.D. Commander Alexander Pierce as one of its members?" the representative said, his tone sharpening. "Do you realize how absurd that sounds?"

"I stand by every word I've said," Fury said.

"If this is true, I'm afraid it's beyond what you can be held accountable for, Director Fury," the representative said, clearly accusatory. "It means your department has been crawling with Hydra spies for years, and you, as commander, were completely oblivious?"

"We've repeatedly expressed strong dissatisfaction with your tiered secrecy system, Director Fury," another Council representative scolded. "I, personally, have stressed the importance of transparent management. If you hadn't been so stubborn and taken our advice sooner, things wouldn't have come to this."

"And dwelling on that now is pointless," Fury said coldly. "What matters is solving the problem."

"You mean deploying all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s forces to simultaneously take down multiple suspected enemy facilities?" A Council representative shook his head. "But you can't even reveal your source. Such a major decision requires caution. We can't just—"

"You seem to misunderstand something, gentlemen," Fury interrupted. "Through recent contacts, our understanding of Hydra has deepened, and I've come to realize just how unfathomable this organization is. It's no exaggeration to say Hydra has truly infiltrated every aspect of the world—every country, region, and organization has their shadow. Personally, I can't even rule out the possibility that the World Security Council itself has Hydra spies."

The moment he said that, the Council representatives grew restless, firing off words like "absurd" and "nonsense."

Fury ignored their reactions and continued, "This is a decisive battle between us and Hydra. Operational secrecy is critical. So, you see, I'm not here asking for your permission. While I'm standing here wasting time with you—"

He paused, and a sharp, predatory gaze—like a falcon eyeing its prey—shot from his right eye.

"The operation has already begun."

As this conversation unfolded, the Hydra strongholds Michael had listed were all struck by fierce, simultaneous assaults.

Long-range missiles kicked off the battle, raining down from the sky with modern, devastating firepower, bringing billowing smoke and searing flames in their wake.

Then came the Quinjet strikes. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s signature advanced fighters closed in directly above the enemy positions before decloaking, unleashing torrents of gunfire below. The Hydra facilities' fighter jets and laser tanks—heavy weaponry of considerable might—never even had a chance to activate before being blown to pieces. Before a single exchange of fire, their combat strength was halved.

Only after the overwhelming barrage of firepower had reduced most of the base to rubble were S.H.I.E.L.D.'s elite assault squads deployed to breach the site. By then, the outcome was all but sealed; their mission was merely to round up stragglers and secure the area.

Each squad was commanded by an officer personally appointed by Fury, all trusted confidants who had passed his rigorous vetting for loyalty. Beyond them, not a single S.H.I.E.L.D. agent involved in the operation knew the full mission details, and within each squad, individual teams were only informed of their specific tasks upon arrival at the scene.

No one involved had a complete picture of the operation—so no one could leak it. That was Nick Fury's style.

Reports of victory streamed back to headquarters one after another. Within just an hour, the final battle was declared over. By then, the majority of Hydra's most secret high-level divisions had been utterly destroyed, and three of their top Leaders were killed on the spot.

The final showdown had barely begun before it was already drawing to a close.