Two days later, in Queens District, New York, inside a motel room.
Heavy curtains shut out the sunlight completely, leaving only a narrow crack through which pedestrians and vehicles on the street could be seen.
A man in a black coat pressed himself against the wall, nervously watching the outside through the gap. At the same time, he held his phone tightly to his ear and lowered his voice as he spoke to the person on the other end.
"I told you that contacting that little bastard was a mistake! Fury is already on alert. What are we supposed to do now?"
"Damn it, they're about to catch up! Think of something and get me out of New York, now, immediately!"
"Don't worry."
The dispatcher's voice came through the phone. "Headquarters has sent a specialist to handle it. They should arrive at your location in about two minutes."
"Hurry up!" The man gritted his teeth and hung up.
A day ago, he had still been an elite S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. His daily work involved shootouts, high-speed chases, and occasionally saving the world, all while enjoying a hefty salary and public admiration. Yet less than twenty hours later, he had become a stray dog with nowhere to go.
All because he had another identity—an agent of Hydra.
And now, Nick Fury was hunting them across the entire city, determined not to stop until they were dead.
He did not know how deep Hydra's roots ran in New York. He only knew that the noose around his neck was tightening inch by inch. His only hope was the "headquarters specialist" who claimed he would arrive within two minutes.
"When the hell is he coming..."
The man waited anxiously, the cramped room making him feel as though he had been locked inside a coffin.