The cabin trembled slightly, filled with the ceaseless hum of machinery, yet the sound of steel striking steel remained unmistakably clear.
The cramped space offered no sense of security. Melinda, for one, had become jumpy and guarded. She looked toward the rear hatch, then at Fury under the cabin lights, waiting for orders.
Egghead closed his lone eye, dropped the body bag in his hand, straightened up, and sighed.
"Open the door. Damn it."
"But sir, we're at an altitude of seven thousand meters. Who would knock on the outside of an aircraft cabin?" Cavalry looked as though she had seen a ghost. She had a very bad feeling about this.
Fury composed his expression and returned to his poker-faced state. "Who else could it be but him? I'm an idiot. I still fell for his trick. I focused all my attention on the fake Coulson, only for Deathstroke to tail him and expose the Quinjet's existence."
When the boss called himself an idiot, it was best not to respond. Melinda was not Sitwell; she did not love talking that much.
So she gave an awkward laugh, wiped her hands on her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, and returned to the cockpit to open the door.
Fury grabbed a safety strap in the rear cabin, wrapped it several times around his arm, and stared toward the hatch.
As the red warning lights flashed continuously, the massive black bird opened its embrace amid the screech of metal grinding. Just as Fury had said, the one who arrived was Deathstroke and his pet sidekick.
The sidekick was even holding a cat, like a servant from Japan's Warring States period assigned to warm a daimyo's wooden clogs, fully demonstrating his status as a plaything.
The high-altitude winds, driven by the pressure differential, sent Fury swaying inside