New York, Greenwich Village, Central Park Café.
Steve, dressed casually and wearing a baseball cap, sat on a sofa off to the side. He was now a wanted fugitive of S.H.I.E.L.D. An hour earlier, Alexander Pierce, who had taken over Fury's position, had issued an arrest order for him.
If he had not sensed something was wrong beforehand, Steve might have been trapped at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. The situation remained unclear. Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., was dead or alive, and he had to uncover the truth.
Greenwich Village was also known as the West Village. It was the heart of America's counterculture, a gathering place for artists, radicals, and rebels since the end of the last century. Most of those living here were writers, artists, or actors.
Rock singer Bob Dylan had once given voice to the rebellion of the sixties here. Before starring in "The Godfather," renowned Hollywood actors Robert De Niro and Al Pacino had also toiled away in the small theaters here, chasing their dreams of performing.
The streets in this district twisted into a maze, utterly unlike the grid layout of downtown. The relatively sparse surveillance cameras had made Steve choose this place as his hiding spot. After leaving Pierce's conference room, he had taken a USB drive from Fury's office while no one was paying attention. The true content of that encrypted message had been to tell him where it was.
"Captain, your disguise skills are really terrible."
As Steve held a cup of coffee and considered what to do next, a woman dressed just as inconspicuously sat beside him.
"Before S.H.I.E.L.D.'s rapid-response special forces arrive, you have half an hour to decide whether you should trust me," Natasha said softly.
"Fury said you were on a secret mission. He also told me not