By morning, the rain had stopped.
Sunlight streamed through the shattered glass door of the clinic in Hell's Kitchen. The air inside smelled of disinfectant and gunpowder.
A handwritten bill lay on the counter, two dried drops of blood staining its edge.
Fury stood at the counter, looking down at the final figure. Seven and a half million dollars.
Yang Ming sat in a swivel chair. His black shirt was ruined, and he had changed into a loose white coat.
White bandages wrapped both his arms. IV tape covered the back of his left hand, and nutrient solution dripped down the tube.
"The price doesn't include tax." Yang Ming tapped the desk with his knuckle.
"No credit."
Fury said nothing. He took a black encryption device from his coat pocket.
He entered a password and underwent a retinal scan.
Two minutes later, the screen of Yang Ming's phone lit up beside him.
A transfer notification from an anonymous Swiss bank account popped up.
"A private account." Fury put the device away.
"The Council froze S.H.I.E.L.D.'s financial system. This money came from a contingency fund I set up years ago."
Yang Ming glanced at the screen. Exactly seven and a half million.
"Payment received." Yang Ming pulled the IV needle from the back of his left hand and tossed the tube into the trash.
"Are those two trucks parked outside yours too?"
"Field medical supplies and daily necessities allocated by the agency. If I'm renting your clinic as a temporary safehouse, I have to cover the logistics." Fury turned toward the door.
"I'm heading back to headquarters to handle the purge. Contact me if anything comes up."
The door closed.
Yang Ming stood and called toward the waiting area.
"Thor, Peter. Get to work."
Thor had been dozing against the wall