An exchange of interests over a top-secret channel, the sidelined former Director's

The hum of electricity at the other end of the line sounded like dust from a century ago.

Lynn did not speak.

He simply listened, listening to the subtle static from the analog signal era, and beneath that static, the old man's deliberately slowed breathing.

Time stretched out endlessly in this silence.

For someone of Nick Fury's stature, silence itself is a message, a test. He's waiting for Lynn to speak first, to reveal his purpose. Whoever speaks first will be at a disadvantage from the start.

But Lynn seemed very patient.

He leaned back on the Bone Throne, his fingers lightly tapping the armrests, his gaze fixed on the empty center of the hall, as if watching a silent drama unfold.

Finally, there was a barely perceptible change in the breathing on the other end.

"Your line is very old."

Nick Fury's voice sounded somewhat dry, like a piece of sandpaper that had been repeatedly crumpled.

Lynn stopped tapping her fingers.

"Old things are cleaner."

His voice was flat, transmitted through an encrypted channel, devoid of any emotion.

Another silence fell.

"I thought you didn't need these old things anymore." There was a subtle barb in Fury's words.

"Whether I need it or not is my business," Lynn said, "But if something is left out and not cleaned up properly, that's your problem, former Director."

Former Director.

These three words, like a precise thumbtack, were driven into a sensitive spot.

The person on the other end of the phone paused for half a second.

"I have already transferred all of S.H.I.E.L.D..'s assets according to procedure. If you're referring to the Hydra is in, you should know that list better than I do." Fury's tone remained calm and impeccable.

I wasn't talking about Hydra.

Lynn shifted to a more comfortable position.

"I'm talking about some... temporary workers who are doing 'municipal maintenance' on the streets of New York without any prior registration."

Lynn's choice of words was very particular.

Municipal maintenance. Temporary worker.

Fury didn't respond immediately. This seasoned veteran understood instantly that the other party possessed information beyond his expectations. He didn't know which matter Lynn was referring to, nor how much Lynn knew.

This information gap is the biggest disadvantage.

"New York is a complicated place; there are always some people who don't follow the rules." Fury's voice was completely flat, as if he were talking about the weather.

"Those who break the rules must be governed by rules."

Lynn's voice turned cold.

"But the problem now is that this group is not under my jurisdiction, not under your jurisdiction, and not even under the jurisdiction of any registered organization on Earth. They use strange tools to deal with people and things that 'shouldn't exist,' and after they're done, they don't even leave a scrap of paper behind."

Lynn paused, then added the most crucial sentence.

"Their energy signature is orange."

After he finished speaking, there was a deathly silence on the other end of the line.

Even the faint hum of electricity seemed to be swallowed up by the silence.

Lynn waited quietly.

He didn't need to mention TVA or the Timeline. For Nick Fury, a single, precise detail was enough. This veteran intelligence chief, who had spent his entire life dealing with secrets, must have come into contact with, or at least sensed, Silk to, such things.

After a long while, Fury's voice rang out again, carrying a weariness that came from letting go of his pretense.

"... What do you want to know from me?"

He didn't ask Lynn how she knew, nor did he deny it. In this level of confrontation, acknowledging the facts is the first step in negotiations.

"I want to know where their hideout is," Lynn said bluntly.

"I don't know," Fury answered quickly. "I've only seen similar descriptions in some archived Cold War cold case files. 'Pruning,' 'resetting.' But those are all baseless rumors, without any evidence."

"Your ' Hive ' database now belongs to the Lin family," Lynn reminded him. "The cost of lying is very high."

Fury chuckled softly on the other end of the line, a laugh tinged with self-mockery.

That's why I'm calling you.

This made Lynn raise an eyebrow slightly.

Fury admitted it himself. He had planned to contact him before Gwen Stacy intercepted him.

"It seems that you, a retired comrade, have a very high level of ideological awareness," Lynn commented casually.

"I just want my old buddies, who've risked their lives for me, to have a place where they can retire peacefully." Fury's voice was honest. "Lynn, let's make a deal."

"Explain."

"I can give you the leads I've found. In exchange, I need you in New York to reserve a place for my people. It won't be big, just a Safe House and an information channel, that'll be enough. They won't interfere with anything you do, they'll just be observers, recording... what's happening."

This is Nick Fury's bargaining chip.

He transformed his remaining value—his loyal old agents—from a potential nuisance into a tradable intelligence asset.

He wanted to use this asset to obtain a "license to survive" under Lynn's rule.

"Make a deal."

Lynn answered decisively.

He needs informants, especially in a place like New York. Fury's men, the most professionally trained and absolutely loyal to Fury, are the best tools for dirty work.

"Very good." Fury seemed relieved. "I don't know their exact location. But for such an organization to operate in the secular world, it inevitably needs a legitimate physical shell as cover. Energy, finance, technology... these are the best disguises."

Lynn listened quietly.

"In the past six months, one company has been making unusual acquisitions on Wall Street. They don't care about losses; they only acquire companies that have specialized physics laboratories or geological exploration projects. Moreover, their management team appears out of nowhere, with resumes as clean as a blank sheet of paper."

Fury paused, seemingly considering his words.

"This company's connections extend directly to some closed committees of the United Nations World Security Council. When S.H.I.E.L.D.. was still in existence, I wanted to investigate, but was stopped by higher authorities."

"Name?" Lynn asked.

Roxxon Energy Group.

After saying the name, Fury added a sentence.

"Lynn, they're looking for you. Or rather, they're looking for ' Variant ' like you and me. My value ends here."

After saying that, he unilaterally cut off the communication.

Beep--beep--

The busy sound echoed in the empty hall.

Lynn lowered his hand, looking calmly at the communication line slowly disappearing into the void.

Nick Fury is a smart man. He used a highly valuable piece of intelligence to not only secure the survival of the remaining forces, but also successfully and clearly handed over the hot potato that is TVA to Lynn.

This was an exchange of benefits.

It was also an insurance policy that a retired bureau Director bought for himself and his subordinates.

A slight smile curved the corners of Lynn's mouth.

Roxxon Energy.

He lightly tapped his finger in the air, and a document about the multinational corporation began to scroll rapidly across the skeletal surface of his desk.

Numerous mergers and acquisitions, complex shareholding structures, and a long list of security experts with military and intelligence backgrounds who have recently been hired at high salaries.

The bait has been attached.