He-El, We Screwed Up

"Evans cannot die!"

Nick Fury's expression tightened. It was simply unimaginable—the former president had died after inspecting S.H.I.E.L.D. because of Hydra within S.H.I.E.L.D.

Now the vice president had come to inspect S.H.I.E.L.D. and had gotten his right leg blown off by the people inside it.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had practically become a presidential assassin organization. Nick Fury did not even know what use such a S.H.I.E.L.D. had to the United States.

Did it need to kill a president every so often just to prove it still existed?

If Evans died and S.H.I.E.L.D. was not disbanded to accompany him to the grave, Nick Fury would find it absurd beyond belief.

S.H.I.E.L.D. absolutely could not bear the responsibility for directly causing the deaths of two presidents.

"Hill, immediately arrange emergency treatment for Evans on the spot!" Nick Fury gave the order nervously, his heart more tense than when he had arranged the trap.

One of Evans's legs had already been smashed apart. Flesh and bone had been pulverized, blood flowed everywhere, staining the floor red, and the stench of blood reached everyone's noses. The sight was incomparably brutal and bloody.

Evans, who had fallen into shock, was about to die.

He could not die!

"Understood, sir." Hill hurriedly issued orders through the personal communicator on her arm. "All chief physicians from the medical department, report to Room B on the thirteenth floor. Logistics, prepare a sterile operating room and blood transfusion equipment. Perform surgery on site..."

Hill made arrangements in an orderly fashion, issuing one command after another, determined to preserve Evans's life as quickly as possible.

Everyone knew how important the real vice president Evans was. They hurried to his side to administer first aid. Natasha rushed over, pressing down on the wound on his thigh in an attempt to stop the bleeding,