Frank stared at the unfamiliar old white man for a full three seconds.
Then, with a flick of his thumb, he switched off the pistol's safety and holstered it at his waist, as though he had no doubts whatsoever.
Nick Fury watched Frank put away his gun, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes.
"You still believe it's me, looking like this?"
Frank tore a relatively clean piece of cloth from a corpse nearby and wiped the blood from his hands.
"The world's changed, old man. These days, aliens are lining up to come to Earth, and superheroes fight in the sky all day. If you turned into a talking dog tomorrow, I wouldn't find it strange."
"Faces can change, and genes might mutate," Frank let out a cold sneer, "but that self-righteous Fury stench on you is something I can smell from three blocks away."
Fury gave a noncommittal snort.
He knew Frank. This was just the man's style. He then tucked his pistol back inside his trench coat.
Two veterans who had crawled through trenches together more than two years ago had reunited in this unusual way.
"Enough catching up." Frank pointed his chin at the Mafia boss still barely clinging to life on the ground. "You said you wanted me to hand him over to you. What do you want with him?"
Fury stepped past Frank and walked toward Costa, who was already lying in a pool of blood.
"You'll find out soon enough."
Fury grabbed his suit collar and hauled him up.
Costa stared at the one-eyed man before him in terror as an inexplicable fear rose within him.
A ring of orange fire, like Hell magma, suddenly ignited around Fury's pupil.
His voice deepened, as though it were an echo formed from countless voices layered