After hanging up, Peter was still reeling in shock when Natasha walked in, tossed a set of keys onto the desk, and said, "Peter Parker, the car is waiting outside. I can't go with you, to avoid suspicion. Take your little yellow rodent friend and get to work."
"No, wait, this is too sudden. Why me...? I can't... How could I possibly be the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.?! Are you kidding me??" Peter kept backing away. "This is insane! Why would they make me Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.??"
Natasha crossed her arms and smiled at him. "Has it occurred to you that you're the only one left?"
"The only one left? You mean everyone else died?"
"No. Think carefully. Is anyone else really more suitable than you?"
As Peter pondered that, a reality identical to the scene in his mind had unfolded two days earlier.
Nick Fury was dead. At least, after confirmation from multiple sources, it was not a staged death. Genetic tests from multiple samples were a perfect match, and the autopsy proved that he was the genuine Nick Fury—and genuinely dead.
But his death did not mean the turmoil had ended. It meant even greater turmoil was on the way.
First of all, who had killed him?
Everyone thought it was the military. Even the military thought it had been them. They all believed someone from the Tartarus faction had done it, while everyone in the Tartarus faction believed it had been one of their own colleagues.
As they cursed that reckless idiot for acting without considering the consequences, they also appreciated his rashness. With S.H.I.E.L.D. gone, there was one less force capable of checking the military.
Congress understood this as well. It could not sit by and let things continue this way. The Tartarus faction had always been