Don't Let Your Eye Pop Out from Shock

Nick Fury shot He-El a strange look, then rose from beside the coffee table and headed for his desk.

The encrypted line for contacting the S.H.I.E.L.D. director did not ring often. Under normal circumstances, it would not ring at all, and ordinary agents would never use such encrypted communications to report directly to him.

Such encrypted communications were usually used between powerful figures—between the president and Nick Fury, or for warnings issued by the World Security Council and other matters Nick Fury needed to handle on the political front.

Once it rang, it meant trouble was coming.

Not world-ending trouble, but the sort of extremely troublesome situation like the last time, when the president had asked Nick Fury to go to Kabul and apologize to He-El—petty human wrangling that gave people headaches.

Nick Fury walked over to the desk and expressionlessly picked up the receiver. The president's voice came through.

Nick Fury responded into the receiver from time to time. After a while, he said, "All right, Mr. President."

After the other side hung up, Nick Fury put down the receiver. His expression immediately turned grave.

He left the desk, turned toward He-El, and walked over. His single eye fixed tightly on He-El. Reaching the black leather sofa nearby, he dropped heavily into it before communicating through brainwaves.

"How much do you know about S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Brainwave communication conveyed tone as well. Nick Fury's words carried the weight of a stern interrogation.

Just now, the president had called him through the encrypted line and said that if the Helicarrier He-El had set his sights on had all sorts of difficult problems, and if repairing that "defective" Helicarrier would consume vast amounts of money, manpower, and resources, then there was no need to keep maintaining it. They could sell it, recover some