Washington, D.C. Wind swept up the leaves along the street.
Steve rode his Harley, its engine running steadily along the tree-lined boulevard.
The military had set up a roadblock at the intersection ahead. Two riot-control vehicles straddled the double yellow lines, sealing off the road. Five fully armed soldiers held their rifles ready and signaled for him to stop.
He did not slow down. Steve kept one hand on the handlebars and pulled his access card from his belt with the other, holding it out beside him.
The card reader flashed green. Highest-level clearance.
The soldiers stepped aside. The barricade lifted. His tires rolled through standing water, splashing it onto the riot-control vehicles' steel plating.
This was already the third checkpoint he had passed.
Since last night's nuclear bomb incident, security in Washington had been raised to its highest level.
The military was trying to control every major traffic artery, but that could not stop Captain America.
The Triskelion stood at the end of his sightline. Steve parked his motorcycle outside headquarters' main entrance.
He pulled out the key and strapped the Vibranium Shield, its rim scratched, back onto his forearm.
His uniform still bore dust and blood from the streets of New York the night before. The wound on the outside of his thigh seeped blood, darkening the fabric.
The lobby security guards reached for their sidearms, then withdrew their hands when they recognized Steve's face.
Steve walked toward the elevator. He did not press a floor button, letting it stop on the floor occupied by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s senior leadership.
With him standing here, Pierce and Hydra's senior leaders would be unable to mobilize the building's guards when Fury began his purge.
He was making a show of force. As long as he remained standing, the politicians and agents lurking