A forcibly hijacked frequency, midnight terror at the Triskelion
Washington, D.C.., 90 meters underground.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion, Strategic Command Center.
The slightly bitter aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air, mixing with the constant, low-temperature airflow emanating from the server units to create a scent Nick Fury knew best—a scent known as "control."
His single eye, sharp as a hawk's, swept across the hundreds of surveillance images displayed on the giant curved screen in front of him. From satellite images of global hotspots to real-time pedestrian traffic on a street corner in Manhattan, New York, everything was analyzed into a cold Data Stream under the gaze of his eyes.
Everything is under control.
This is the creed upon which S.H.I.E.L.D.., and even Nick Fury, live.
"Sir, a report has come from the South America branch that the 'centipede' serum recovery operation has encountered a minor problem..." A Level 7 Agent reported in a low voice, his tone steady and professional.
Fury didn't turn around; he simply picked up the nearly cold cup of coffee on the table and prepared to take a sip.
However, his lips had not yet touched the rim of the cup.
Buzz--
A strange, low hum, seemingly from another dimension, suddenly resounded throughout the command center.
The sound wasn't emitted through a loudspeaker; it exploded directly deep within each person's skull!
What was that sound?!
"Warning! Unknown interference has occurred in all systems!"
"My terminal crashed! Damn it! Not a blue screen, it's a red screen!"
The once orderly command center descended into unprecedented chaos in a mere second.
Fury's pupils suddenly contracted to the size of pinpoints.
The giant, curved screen in front of him, representing the pinnacle of Earth's technology, was now like a virus-infected cell, its hundreds of previously stable monitoring feeds beginning to be frantically eroded from the edges by an ominous, viscous, Scarlet red substance!
It's not a power outage, and it's not static.
It's erosion!
That Scarlet color, as if it possessed a life of its own, carried a bizarre power that distorted reality, devouring and covering the data-driven images, along with S.H.I.E.L.D..'s proud firewall system!
"Sever the external network! Immediately! Physically!" Fury roared, his voice trembling slightly with shock.
"It's no use, sir!" The technical lead's voice was filled with despair and disbelief. "We... all our lines have been hijacked! It didn't come from the external network! It... it's like it appeared out of thin air in our system's core!"
Appearing out of thin air?
Fury's heart sank.
Before the words were even finished, all the screens in the entire command center—whether it was the giant screen, the Personal Terminal in front of each agent, or even the light strips on the walls—were illuminated...
At the same moment, it was completely engulfed by that Scarlet!
The piercing alarm stopped abruptly.
The agents' exclamations and shouts also ceased.
The whole world seemed to have been dragged into a silent Abyss made of Scarlet.
Immediately afterwards, within that pure Scarlet, a touch of Dark Gold light, like ink dripping into a pool of blood, slowly spread out.
The image began to appear.
That's a view of Earth that no satellite could capture.
That was... Hell.
A forest formed from countless intertwined pale bones rose from the ground, and a black swamp churned across the earth, shrouding the landscape in bubbles of despair. In the sky, a shattered blood moon, composed of countless skulls, emitted a chilling green light capable of freezing the soul.
A mournful, inhuman wail seeped from the screen, transforming into a tangible, chilling wind that swept through every corner of the command center.
A young tech agent could no longer bear it, covered his mouth, rushed to the side, and began to gag violently.
Nick Fury stared intently at the screen, his single eye bloodshot. He had seen the Chitauri Fleet, he had seen gods from Asgard, but he had never seen such pure, such visceral... fear.
This is a kind of malice that is like an art form.
Just as everyone was stunned into breathless by the Hell scene, the camera slowly panned and focused on the center of the bone forest.
one person.
A person suspended in mid-air by invisible chains in an extremely distorted posture.
When Fury saw the man's tattered tactical uniform and his bloodied, mangled face, his breath caught in his throat.
Brock Rumlow!
Commander of S.H.I.E.L.D..'s STRIKE Rapid Response Special Forces!
Crossbones!
His most trusted and capable tactical Executive Officer was now, like a broken doll that had been played with to the extreme and then casually discarded, being "displayed" in front of the world's top intelligence organization.
His limbs were twisted in a bizarre backwards, broken bone fragments piercing his skin and exposed to the air. There was a huge hole in his chest, as if his heart had been ripped out alive. His face was expressionless, with only a pair of empty, tearless eyes staring blankly into the void.
This is more than just torture and murder.
This is... an execution.
It was a meticulously planned, humiliating, and intimidating public execution!
Meanwhile, on the top floor of Triskelion, in an elegantly decorated office with the highest level of security.
Alexander Pierce, Secretary General of the World Security Council, stared grimly at the personal computer in front of him, which was touted as "never connected to the internet."
On the screen, the same terrifying images identical to those in the command center were being played simultaneously.
His prized Hydra Empire, hidden beneath S.H.I.E.L.D.., its seemingly impregnable information Bastion, was rendered utterly useless at this moment.
When Pierce saw Crossbones's desperate face, his heart, which had weathered countless storms, felt for the first time an emotion called "bone-chilling cold."
The enemy is not just powerful.
The enemy... knows everything!
Just as the command center and Pierce's office fell into a deathly silence, the scene on the screen changed again.
The camera... or rather, that unknown perspective, began to slowly pull back.
Crossbones' suspended body gradually became a tiny background.
A Throne, constructed from shadows and withered bones and exuding an aura of endless dread, slowly appears in the center of the image.
Seated on the Throne was a blurry figure shrouded in darkness.
He simply sat there quietly, without emitting any energy fluctuations or making any movements.
But his existence was ten thousand times more terrifying than the bone forest, the blood moon, and the Crossbones who had been tortured beyond recognition!
It was as if the entire Hell was merely a courtyard beneath his Throne.
The shadow that had been looming over him began to slowly fade away.
First came the gleaming military boots, then the crisp black combat trousers, and above that, the Pruning black trench coat.
Finally, that face appeared clearly on the screen.
A young, handsome face, one could even say with a touch of languor and affability.
It was that face that, not long ago, was marked as a "Level 3 Agent" in the S.H.I.E.L.D. 'Logistics Department files!
Lynn!
The moment Nick Fury saw that face, he felt as if his brain had been struck by an invisible hammer!
It's him!
The man Scarlet Witch was determined to find, even if it meant tearing down the S.H.I.E.L.D. Building! The enigma who's always surrounded by a group of women capable of destroying the world!
On the screen, Lynn, sitting on his Throne, seemed to feel countless horrified gazes directed at him.
He slowly raised his eyes, those deep, emotionless eyes piercing through the screen, piercing through the barriers of space, and precisely meeting Nick Fury's single eye.
Immediately afterwards, a faint, yet utterly mocking smile appeared on Lynn's lips.
He moved.
He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but through the hijacked frequency, it clearly echoed in every corner of the Triskelion, and resonated in Pierce's cold heart.
The voice sounded like an ultimatum to a group of self-righteous mortals.