Washington, D.C., the Triskelion.
Alexander Pierce stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a glass of red wine.
The phone on his desk had not rung.
He waited two minutes, then checked his watch again.
"Has the strike team still not reported?"
The secretary behind him was about to answer when a ring of blue light suddenly lit up on the office ceiling.
Pierce looked up.
Two missiles emerged from the portal, their exhaust flames illuminating the entire office.
The wineglass fell from his hand.
Boom!
The floor-to-ceiling windows blasted outward, and the desk flipped over. Half the top floor's walls vanished along with the ceiling. Alarms immediately began blaring.
The shock wave knocked Pierce down, sending him rolling into the concealed hatch beneath his desk. Before the wall panel closed, he heard someone outside shouting his name.
There were no lights in the shelter.
He felt along the wall for the emergency switch, and the overhead light came on. His suit was torn, his forehead was bleeding, and wine stained his collar.
He stared at the surveillance screen. His office was gone.
"Who did this?"
His secretary's voice came through the communicator. "We don't know yet, sir. We detected two missile trajectories appearing suddenly inside the room."
Pierce raised a hand and wiped the dust from his face.
"Find out. And don't let anyone know I'm here."
There was a pause on the other end of the communicator.
"Understood."
Hell's Kitchen, Yang Clinic.
The roof had stopped collapsing, but several cracks had already opened in the basement walls.
Yang Ming returned the scalpel he had been holding in his mouth to the instrument tray.
The two missiles were gone, but Hydra outside had not stopped.
"Storm the building!" a commander shouted from across the street. **"Suppress the windows! Breach the