The graveyard of giants

The air in Washington, D.C., still carried the distinctive scent of destruction.

Three full weeks had passed since Project Insight's earth-shattering fall. The Triskelion-once S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters-was now a shattered shell, standing beside the river like a gravestone split down the middle. At its feet, three Helicarriers that had soared through the sky for less than half an hour had become metal carcasses sprawled across the riverbank and the Triskelion's ruins. They had once symbolized Hydra's ambition to rule the world. Now they were the world's largest illegal structures, and America's biggest scavenging ground.

Three weeks ago, this place had been the world's focus, the stage for the final battle between superheroes and Hydra. Now it was America's largest scar.

"Careful! The structure over there is unstable! That main beam is still connected to a reactor coolant pipe. Break it, and we'll all get crushed!"

Old Dog Jose's voice echoed through the noisy worksite over a loudspeaker. He wore an advanced powered exoskeleton bearing the D.O.D.C. insignia-a civilian model retired by Stark Industries. Though it could neither fly nor fire lasers, it let a fifty-year-old man like him easily lift half-ton steel plates and spared him the torment of arthritis.

He was now the field foreman for S.C.U., the Special Resources Recovery Unit, directing roughly fifty contracted cleanup workers in hazmat suits. All had undergone rigorous screening and signed nondisclosure agreements thicker than the Bible.

"Boss, the radiation reading over here is a little high." A cleanup worker held a Geiger counter, his voice trembling slightly. "Seems like there's something underneath."

"Move aside, rookie."

Zhao Fan stepped out from behind a pile of twisted titanium-alloy plates. Rather than a bulky hazmat suit, he wore black tactical workwear beneath an unmarked Kevlar tactical vest. A pair of specially made tactical goggles covered his eyes, and he carried an alloy crowbar.

A closer look would reveal fine patterns covering the crowbar's surface, faintly exuding a dangerous air. D.O.D.C. engineers had reforged it using the Chitauri metal Zhao Fan had brought back. It was hard enough to pry open a tank's armor.

Zhao Fan walked to the rubble pit with the abnormal readings and narrowed his eyes slightly.

[Weak Energy Perception] activated.

In his vision, the originally dim world of rubble instantly lit up. Chaotic radiation trails resembled a tangled ball of yarn, but beneath the debris, a cluster of eerie blue light pulsed faintly and steadily.

That was no ordinary reactor waste. The frequency of those energy fluctuations carried a strange phase shift.

"Hydra's private stash," Zhao Fan murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

During these weeks of cleanup, he had discovered that Hydra had smuggled far more undeclared cargo aboard these carriers than the blueprints indicated. That old fox Pierce had treated them as his mobile arsenal.

"Ben, scan these coordinates." Zhao Fan pressed his earpiece.

"Copy, boss." Benjamin's voice came through clearly. He was sitting in a mobile base station converted from an armored command vehicle five hundred meters away, enjoying air-conditioning and soda. "Thermal imaging shows a sealed compartment about three cubic meters in volume underneath. High-density lead alloy. This thing blocks most signals, but it can't escape our deep scan."

"Something good." Zhao Fan turned and beckoned to Old Dog. "Clear the area. Have the regular cleanup workers handle the wing wreckage in Zone C. The S.C.U. core team is taking over here."

Old Dog understood immediately and began shooing everyone nearby away. Within this new D.O.D.C. framework, S.C.U. had absolute priority, a privilege Dr. Evelyn Reed had secured for them: handling "extremely dangerous" items. Naturally, a few things being "accidentally damaged" or "lost" during the process also counted as reasonable losses.

Once the crowd dispersed, Zhao Fan jumped into the pit. He used no superpowers, instead taking the hydraulic cutters Old Dog handed him and deftly cutting through the surrounding rebar.

Ten minutes later, a pitch-black metal crate bearing Hydra's octopus-and-skull emblem emerged.

"That emblem sure looks like bad luck." Old Dog jumped down and tapped the crate. "What's inside? More experimental weapons like the ones we saw before?"

"No, something more valuable." Zhao Fan's fingers gently brushed the crate's seam.

[Analyzing...]

[B+ grade technological creation detected: Hydra Phase-Change Energy Rifle (mass-production model/sealed).]

[Quantity: 12.]

[Status: fully charged, extremely unstable.]

Zhao Fan's eyes lit up.

Phase-change energy weapons. He had seen this conceptual weapon in the Hydra Base's database. Using isotopic energy from the Tesseract, it could bypass most defenses and disintegrate targets at the molecular level. If these reached the black market, a single rifle could fetch a penthouse in Manhattan.

More importantly, their energy cores held tremendous reference value for his [Phase Blink] ability.

"Guns. A lot of good guns." Zhao Fan lowered his voice. "Have the boys from Team Two bring 'that' truck over. Use the special route and take them straight back to the New York base."

"You got it!" Old Dog rubbed his hands excitedly.

But just as Old Dog was about to call for transport, a noisy roar of engines disrupted the cleanup zone.

Vroom-vroom-

Three camouflage-green Humvees mounted with heavy machine guns brazenly smashed through the outer warning posts and barreled straight toward S.C.U.'s work area, throwing up dust. A black armored command vehicle followed behind them.

Zhao Fan straightened, frowning slightly.

"Ben, what's going on? Is perimeter security just sitting on their asses?"

"Boss, they can't stop them." Benjamin sounded urgent. "It's a military convoy. Leading it is that newly established Special Tactical Response Force. They've got high-level clearance, directly authorized by the Department of Defense."

"The military?" Zhao Fan sneered. "Caught the scent and came running."

The convoy screeched to a halt less than ten meters from the pit. Doors opened, and over a dozen fully armed soldiers jumped out. They wore dark gray combat uniforms and face paint. Though their M4 carbines pointed down, their fingers rested on the trigger guards, and undisguised aggression filled their eyes.

These were no ordinary National Guard troops. They carried something Zhao Fan knew well-the viciousness found only in men who had crawled out of piles of corpses.

Finally, the armored command vehicle's door slowly opened.

First, a black metal combat boot with a distinctly mechanical look stepped onto the rubble-strewn ground.

Then a tall, somewhat misshapen figure emerged.

He wore a black tactical vest, his exposed arms wrapped in bandages, though glimpses of mechanical structures remained visible beneath them. A half-face tactical mask concealed his lower face and neck, leaving only eyes filled with brutality and hatred exposed.

An externally mounted hydraulic exoskeleton covered his upper body. It felt less like something meant to enhance his strength than something supporting a body that had nearly fallen apart in that disaster.

Zhao Fan's pupils contracted slightly.

He knew this man.

Or rather, he had seen him on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s list of traitors and in the chaotic battlefield footage from the day of Project Insight.

Brock Rumlow, former commander of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s special rapid-response team and one of Hydra's top enforcers. When the building collapsed, he had been buried beneath the rubble, suffering severe burns across his body and multiple comminuted fractures.

Everyone had thought he was finished, or dead.

Yet here he stood, like a fiend that had crawled back from hell, wearing the military's guise and standing in the sunlight again.

Crossbones... Zhao Fan silently repeated the name.

Rumlow swept his gaze across the site before fixing it on the black metal crate behind Zhao Fan. Without speaking, he waved a hand.

The dozen-odd soldiers immediately spread out, advancing toward Zhao Fan and Old Dog in a partial encirclement.

"Everyone, stand back!"

Rumlow's voice, processed by the speaker beneath his mask, carried a metallic rasp and electrical static. "The military is taking over this site. Under Article 47 of the Special Homeland Security Act, all high-risk items involving Hydra must be immediately handed over to the military."

Old Dog instinctively reached for the stun baton at his waist, but Zhao Fan stopped him.

Zhao Fan dusted off his hands, jumped up from the edge of the pit, and walked toward Rumlow without servility or arrogance.

"The military?" Zhao Fan raised an eyebrow and pointed at the identification on his chest. "Under Article 7 of the Postwar Special Assets Disposal Act and United Nations Resolution 114, signed just yesterday, D.O.D.C. has full responsibility for all recovery operations involving alien and supernatural technology. Even the military has only oversight authority, not enforcement authority."

"Sir, I think you may have come to the wrong place." Zhao Fan pointed to the D.O.D.C. badge on his chest. "This is an exclusive D.O.D.C. work zone authorized by Congress and the United Nations. Our work isn't finished, and I don't recall any special act superseding congressional and United Nations agreements."

Rumlow turned his head and stared hard at Zhao Fan.

There was not a trace of an officer's reason in those eyes, only beastlike madness.

"You're Zhao Fan?" Rumlow approached with heavy steps, his exoskeleton humming mechanically. "That cleanup foreman stirring up trouble in New York?"

"I'm just the guy who takes out the trash," Zhao Fan replied flatly.

Less than two meters separated them.

The air seemed to freeze.

"Takes out the trash?"

Rumlow let out an ugly sneer, sounding like a rusty saw scraping bone. He raised his right hand, covered in hydraulic actuators, and pointed at the pit behind Zhao Fan.

"That's mine."

His tone took it for granted, carrying a habitual sense of plunder. "Every Hydra bullet, every chip, is evidence of a threat to national security. What, you junk collectors want to pocket the evidence and sell it on the black market?"

"If you have evidence, you can fill out a form at the complaints office." Zhao Fan pulled a tablet from his pocket, opened an electronic document, and shoved it right in front of Rumlow. "This is a top-level recovery order issued by Dr. Evelyn Reed. The contents of this crate are classified as a 'level-one biochemical contamination source' and must be rendered harmless by professionally qualified S.C.U. personnel. Your trucks..."

Zhao Fan glanced at the Humvees, which had no protective measures whatsoever.

"...don't even have lead seals. If anything inside leaks, you'd be gambling with your soldiers' lives."

Rumlow did not even glance at the tablet. His hand shot out, knocking it from Zhao Fan's grip.

Smack!

The tablet fell into the rubble, its screen shattering.

"On these ruins, I am the law." Rumlow advanced another step, his huge body almost swallowing Zhao Fan in shadow. A pungent mixture of burned skin, ointment, and machine oil hit him.

"Listen, kid." Rumlow lowered his voice so only he and Zhao Fan could hear. "I know what your people do. That woman Evelyn is playing with fire, and you... you're just a dog she keeps. Don't think wearing that uniform makes you somebody. On a real battlefield, I could crush ten pretty boys like you in a minute."

Zhao Fan looked at him expressionlessly.

Three months ago, Zhao Fan's legs might have gone weak facing a top mercenary who had fought his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

But now?

Through his [Weak Energy Perception], Rumlow might look terrifying, but the energy flowing through his body was a complete tangle. His exoskeleton provided immense strength, but it had also become his shackles. His nervous system was severely damaged. Though his reactions remained faster than an ordinary person's, Zhao Fan saw nothing but openings.

If Zhao Fan wanted, he could activate [Phase Blink] and get behind Rumlow in 0.5 seconds, then use another 0.3 seconds to activate [Kinetic Repulsion], shattering the exoskeleton and turning the big man into a heap of scrap.

But he could not do that.

At least not now.

If he attacked here and displayed powerful supernatural abilities, S.C.U.'s newly established legal standing would be affected. He would also go from "cleaner" to "threat," becoming the next target to be hunted down.

This was a trap. Rumlow was provoking him.

"Pick it up." Zhao Fan pointed at the tablet on the ground, his voice terrifyingly calm.

"What did you say?" Rumlow seemed to think he had misheard.

"I said, pick up that tablet." Zhao Fan looked straight into Rumlow's murderous eyes. "That's D.O.D.C. property, worth twelve hundred dollars. Even military observers have to pay full compensation for damaging public property."

The air around them instantly dropped to freezing.

Old Dog had already flicked off his stun baton's safety. Even the cleanup workers who had been working in the distance stopped, slowly gathering with wrenches and crowbars in hand.

They might fear the army, but they listened to Zhao Fan more. Over these past months, he had led them to good money and given them dignity. On these ruins, S.C.U. was their gang.

Rumlow looked around at the ragged cleanup workers with their fierce eyes. Rather than fear, a hint of a bloodthirsty smile appeared on his face.

"Trying to rebel?" Rumlow roared. "Everyone! Chamber a round!"

Clack! Clack!

Over a dozen carbines rose together, their dark muzzles aimed at Zhao Fan and Old Dog.

"So that's your attitude?" Rumlow grinned viciously. "A bunch of trash-picking thugs trying to assault an active-duty officer? I have the authority to shoot you on the spot!"

"Go ahead and try." Old Dog spat. Though his calves were cramping slightly, he still steeled himself and stood beside Zhao Fan. "When I was crawling through Vietnam's jungles, you were still in split-crotch pants!"

The situation hung on a hair trigger.

One gunshot would turn this place into a massacre. Though Zhao Fan was confident he could survive and kill all these men, that was absolutely not the outcome he wanted.

Ben. Zhao Fan remained still, silently calling out. Not ready yet?

The sound of Benjamin frantically hammering his keyboard came through the earpiece. "Give me ten more seconds! These bastards use dynamic communications keys. This is one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s old advanced encryption algorithms!"

"Five seconds." Zhao Fan watched Rumlow's finger slowly tighten on the trigger.

"Four."

Rumlow's mouth spread into a grin, revealing uneven teeth. He enjoyed the thrill of controlling life and death. Since his devastating injuries, it was the only thing that made him feel he was still "alive."

"Three."

[Hard Carapace] had already begun forming beneath Zhao Fan's skin, and his muscles were stretched to their limit.

"Two."

"One."

Beep-!

A piercing electronic buzz suddenly blasted through the earpieces of Rumlow and every soldier under him. The high-frequency interference sounded like fingernails scraping a blackboard, amplified a hundredfold.

"Aah!!!"

Several soldiers clutched their ears in agony, nearly discharging their weapons. Rumlow also shook his head painfully. Through his bone-conduction earpiece, the noise directly battered his damaged auditory nerves, leaving him dizzy.

"What's going on? Why are communications down?"

"Sir! Our tactical displays have gone black!"

In that instant of confusion, Zhao Fan moved.

He did not attack.

He merely stepped back, raised his right hand, and snapped his fingers.

Whirr-whirr-

Around the cleanup site, several seemingly ordinary "light poles" suddenly flipped over, revealing the gun barrels hidden underneath.

They were four camouflaged automated sentry machine-gun turrets.

Red laser sights instantly wove a web of death, each dot locking precisely between a soldier's eyebrows. The thickest beam rested steadily on Rumlow's mask.

"Don't move." Zhao Fan's voice remained calm, but now carried an oppressive weight. "These are D.O.O.C.'s newly developed Tarantula defense systems. They're AI-controlled. If they detect any intent to attack within 0.1 seconds, they'll fire. Trust me, their reactions are faster than yours."

Rumlow froze.

He might be a madman, but he was also a professional soldier. He could tell those turrets were not for show.

"You'd dare open fire?" Rumlow gritted out through clenched teeth. "You'd dare kill military personnel?"

"No, I wouldn't." Zhao Fan shrugged. "But what if a 'system malfunction' caused an accidental discharge? Or... the automated defense system determined it was under attack by 'terrorists disguised as soldiers'?"

Zhao Fan walked up to Rumlow. This time, he was the one looking down on him.

"Rumlow, times have changed. This isn't the old S.H.I.E.L.D., when you could kill people to silence them whenever you wanted. There are cameras everywhere here, and satellites overhead. Open fire here, and tomorrow morning your picture will be on the front page of The New York Times under the headline 'Military officer massacres civilians.'"

He reached out and gently patted Rumlow's hard exoskeleton breastplate.

"It seems this was a misunderstanding." Rumlow waved for his men to lower their weapons. "Since D.O.D.C. is capable of handling these hazardous materials, there's no need for us to assist."

He gave Zhao Fan a long look, as though trying to carve his likeness into his bones.

Zhao Fan had spoken the truth. Rumlow had military backers, but that depended on his usefulness. Once he became the face of a political scandal, he would be a disposable pawn.

"Captain Zhao, I'll remember this debt."

"Don't trouble yourself," Zhao Fan replied flatly. "Safe travels. I won't see you out."

Rumlow turned and climbed into his vehicle. The black convoy roared away from the ruins as it had arrived, trailing dust and resentment.

Only when the convoy had vanished completely from sight did the tension finally ease.

"Phew..." Old Dog plopped onto the ground and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. "Scared the hell out of me. Fan, what if that mad dog had really opened fire?"

"He wouldn't dare." Zhao Fan watched the direction the convoy had disappeared in, a gleam flashing through his eyes. "Someone like him, who's only just crawled back out of hell, values his current 'legal cover' more than anyone. He won't openly break with us without absolute confidence. Besides..."

Zhao Fan opened his hand.

A silver patch no bigger than a grain of rice lay quietly in his palm.

It was a tracker he had silently attached inside a gap in Rumlow's exoskeleton joint during their brief encounter, using [Kinetic Repulsion] as cover.

This was Benjamin's newly developed "Nanobug," built using leftover S.H.I.E.L.D. technology. It could not only track locations but also eavesdrop on communications within a certain range.

"Besides, I gave him a little gift." Zhao Fan's lips curved upward. "From now on, wherever this 'mad dog' goes, whoever he meets, and whatever he says, we'll know it all."