The windshield wipers swung tirelessly across the windshield, emitting a monotonous screeching sound.
Gin gripped the steering wheel with one hand and stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette in the car ashtray with the other.
Instead of heading into the bustling city center, the Porsche 356A turned into a long-abandoned industrial tunnel.
The surveillance cameras here had been replaced with looping footage by Motoko Kusanagi ten minutes ago. Even if S.H.I.E.L.D.. zoomed in on the satellite to the maximum, they could only see an empty concrete road.
"If you had been twenty seconds later, I would have had to send someone to collect your body."
The monotone electronic voice of Motoko Kusanagi emanated from the car stereo.
Gin did not respond to Motoko Kusanagi's teasing.
He reached out and turned off the communicator.
In this world, only the Deadman can keep secrets.
The silver briefcase on the passenger seat vibrated slightly with the bumps in the car.
That was Alexander Pierce's coffin money, built up over half a century of intrigue and scheming.
"Snort."
Gin glanced at the empty tunnel in the rearview mirror; S.H.I.E.L.D..'s reaction was slower than he had anticipated.
It wasn't just because Fury was cleaning house, but also because this massive bureaucracy had become completely complacent and rusty.
As the vehicle exited the tunnel, the torrential rain pounded against the roof.
Ahead lies a private helipad in the suburbs of New York, belonging to the "Asset Management Department" of Vought International, nominally a logistics transit station.
The beam of the searchlight pierced through the rain.
Several fully armed security personnel cleared the area.
Gin slammed on the brakes.
The vintage car was parked steadily next to a helicopter.
The car door opened.
Gin stepped into the rain, carrying his silver case.
The helicopter rotors were already spinning, and the swirling air currents were pulverizing the rainwater.
At the cabin door, Tifa Lockhart, dressed in a black combat suit, extended her hand.
"The boss is waiting for you."
Gin ignored the hand, jumped onto the plane, threw the suitcase on the seat, and sat down opposite.
"Take off."
He pulled a lighter from his pocket; it was an old-fashioned DuPont, and its crisp "ding" was still clearly audible in the noisy cabin.
Tifa shook her head and closed the cabin door. The helicopter took off and flew towards the towering black tower in Manhattan.
Not long after, the helicopter landed on the private helipad on the top floor of the Vought Tower.
Gin jumped off the landing gear carrying a silver case.
The elevator doors closed in front of me, shutting out the noisy, rainy night.
The numbers jumped rapidly.
"Bite."
The office doors slid open to the sides, and Lynn stood by the window, looking down at the city below.
Gin walked to his desk and gently placed the still-dripping silver case on the surface.
Click.
The box was opened.
Inside were only a few black solid-state drives and a paper ledger with yellowed edges.
Lynn put down his wine glass, picked up the ledger, and flipped through a few pages.
His fingers paused for a moment.
"Interesting."
Lynn closed the ledger and tossed it back into the box.
"That old fox Pierce has left himself a way out."
Gin has absolutely no interest in politics.
He just wanted to know who the next target was.
"That one-eyed guy is cleaning house; S.H.I.E.L.D. is a sieve right now. Should I go and give him a push?"
"No."
Lynn picked up the report that Victoria Hand had sent back from the table.
"The fire is already burning bright enough; any hotter and it'll burn through the bottom of the pot."
" Fury just killed Pierce, and he desperately needs a victory to prove himself right and that S.H.I.E.L.D.. still has value."
We must give him this victory.
Lynn threw a photo on the table.
That was an abandoned military base in New Jersey.
"This place was originally a waste disposal center for Human Torch Project, where dozens of failed experimental subjects were kept."
"Just half an hour ago, Victoria 'accidentally' allowed S.H.I.E.L.D.. to intercept these coordinates."
Gin glanced at the photo and understood Lynn's intention.
"You want to use someone else to do your dirty work?"
"Those test subjects are useless now, and disposing of them would cost money. It's better to have S.H.I.E.L.D.. rescue them as 'innocent civilians harmed by Shocker '."
"When Fury sees the victims who have been transformed into monsters, his hatred for Shocker will reach unprecedented levels."
Hatred is the best whip.
"It will whip that old donkey, S.H.I.E.L.D.., and keep running forward even if it's exhausting."
Gin took out a cigarette and held it in his hand.
"I'll keep an eye on it."
After saying that, Gin turned and left.
Tifa, who had been standing to the side, only stepped forward after the elevator doors closed.
" Tony Stark has just hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D..'s database."
"Is he looking for Barnes?"
"More than."
Tifa brings up the screen.
That's surveillance footage from the underground laboratory in Stark's mansion.
Tony was shirtless, wildly waving his arms in front of the control panel.
The design in front of him was a streamlined, yet heavily armed, steel monster.
In particular, it was equipped with a large number of cutting weapons targeting biological bodies at the shoulders and wrists.
"He's making torture devices," Tifa commented. "He's searched the database for all the weakness analyses of 'human enhancement' and 'super soldiers.' He even downloaded autopsy reports of superhumans from World War II."
"Then let him investigate."
Lynn looked at the genius who had gone mad.
"Place that fabricated eyewitness report about ' Rider No. 1 ' appearing in New Jersey in a corner he can easily stumble upon."
"Since he wants to be a hunter, let's show him the way."
Abandoned arsenal in Camden, New Jersey.
" Alpha Squad, in position."
" Beta Squad, cut the power."
" Charlie Squad is in charge of the demolition."
A deep, professional command came through the communication channel.
Without Rumlow, there would be no Rapid Reaction Special Forces.
Surrounding this place is Nick Fury's last trump card, personally led by " The Cavalry " Melinda May.
Fury sat in a makeshift command vehicle a few kilometers away, his right eye wrapped in thick gauze, his only remaining left eye fixed on the thermal imaging transmitted from the drone.
"Action."
No nonsense.
"Boom!"
The rusty iron gate of the arsenal was blown away by a directional blast.
Dozens of Flash and tear gas were thrown in at the same time.
Then came a burst of gunfire.
But strangely, there was no fierce counterattack from within.
Only the roars of Beast and the sound of heavy objects clashing against metal could be heard.
"Chief! Something's wrong!"
"What's wrong?"
Fury gripped the Mike tightly.
"There are very few guards here. Only about a dozen Shocker Combatant. They retreated without much resistance."
"But... we found it in the basement... Oh my God."
Video signal input.
Fury's pupils contracted.
The screen shook violently.
It was an underground hall filled with cages.
Dozens of scantily clad people were locked inside.
These people were once human.
Some had bone spurs growing on their backs, still oozing pus.
Some had their skin turn into a transparent gel, revealing their internal organs. Others had their arms replaced with sickles resembling insects.
Seeing the agents rush in, these "monsters" did not attack.
They huddled in the corner, emitting muffled sobs.
The camera zooms in.
A man with scales covering his face gripped the railing, his fingernails scraping against the bulletproof glass with a harsh sound.
"Help... help me..."
"Kill me... please... kill me..."
"It hurts... it hurts so much..."
This is a desecration of human dignity.
"Search!" Fury's voice was extremely calm. "Take all the documents! Rescue these people! If they don't cooperate... then use anesthesia!"
"Chief, there's something here."
An agent discovered a document that had not been destroyed next to an operating table.
The camera focused on the blood-stained paper.
It was printed with the Shocker logo and a prominent German title:
"Interim Experimental Record on Super Soldier Serum Variants and Human Rejection Response - Summary of the 142nd Failure"
At the end of the document, there was a red stamp:
"Dispose of it properly. We recommend transferring it to Slaughterhouse."
" Slaughterhouse..."
Fury chewed on the word, his teeth grinding together.
" Shocker."
The two words were forced out of his throat, tinged with the metallic taste of blood.
"What do they take living people for? Parts? Consumables?"
The image on the screen changed.
Melinda discovered a wall.
The walls were covered with photos.
That was how these experimental subjects originally looked.
There were students carrying schoolbags, workers in overalls, and mothers holding their children.
Below the photo, their serial numbers and "expiration dates" were written in red marker.