Bang!
"What the hell are you talking about? Someone tried to take away the Goddess of Judgment? Or worse, it was someone inside our own ranks?!"
Alexander Pierce, former director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and now Minister of the World Security Council, slammed his palm on the mahogany desk, rattling a glass paperweight near the edge. Dressed in a sharp custom-tailored Zegna suit, the elderly man's face was a mask of fury.
In front of him stood Nick Fury, calm and composed as always, unflinching in the presence of his former superior.
"It seems we've been infiltrated," Fury said evenly. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s power and reach have always drawn scrutiny. Other agencies in Country M are already beginning to question whether we've grown too autonomous. If we don't act swiftly and decisively, they'll use this situation to tighten their grip—or worse."
Pierce's expression darkened, lips pressed into a thin line. He rubbed his temple and turned his gaze toward the large windows behind his desk, overlooking the capital.
"Damn it," he muttered. "The Goddess of Judgment is a wildcard, yes. But this?" He turned sharply back to Fury. "You're telling me our agents were in contact with foreign elements?"
Fury gave a curt nod. "According to the preliminary interrogations, the captured agents have undergone anti-interrogation training. But we recovered evidence suggesting they were communicating with individuals tied to overseas organizations. Possibly rogue factions. Possibly Hydra."
Pierce clenched his jaw.
"No matter who's behind this," he growled, "they will face the full wrath of Country M. Anyone who dares interfere with S.H.I.E.L.D. from the outside must be eliminated."
Then, after a beat, he softened his tone—just slightly. "I'll handle the pressure from the top. You find out who's behind this."
Fury gave him a slow nod, then turned and left the office without another word.
Behind him, Pierce removed his glasses and slumped into his leather chair. The gears in his mind were already turning—calculated, cold, and dangerous.
Despite the severity of the breach, S.H.I.E.L.D. had managed to keep it under wraps. The news was suppressed with ruthless efficiency. Outside of the few agents involved in the incident, no one else knew what had transpired.
Even the interrogations were conducted in deep shadow.
Later that evening, Pierce returned to his estate—a sleek, high-end villa hidden behind layers of security. Wearing a black sweater, he walked into the kitchen, poured himself a cup of black coffee, and nodded to the housekeeper as she took her leave for the night.
He stood alone at the bar, watching the steam rise from the cup.
Ding.
His phone vibrated once on the marble countertop.
A message blinked on the screen: "Safe."
That was the cue.
Pierce took a long sip of coffee, then headed for the underground garage. He drove himself—no escorts, no staff—toward Long Island, Manhattan.
There, tucked between rows of corporate buildings, stood the headquarters of a mid-sized company known publicly as a tech firm: AOL Corporation.
To the world, it was a generic corporate entity with a modest footprint. In truth, it was one of the many shells shielding Hydra's operations.
Inside the heavily-guarded building, Pierce entered the top-floor meeting room, where a group of stern-faced individuals stood as he walked in. Armed guards flanked the hallways outside.
Pierce took his seat at the head of the long oval table, his tone sharp and direct.
"Our plan failed. Our presence has been exposed."
Murmurs ran through the room. A few looked away, others stiffened.
One white-haired man with a crew cut stepped forward. "Leader, should we activate the backup plan?"
"Yes," Pierce said coldly. "As of now, the primary operation is compromised. Begin phase two."
The man nodded and asked, "What about the Goddess of Judgment?"
The room fell silent.
The very mention of her name sent a visible ripple of unease through the group.
Before, they'd viewed her as a powerful but manageable threat. But after the events in the town of the undead—after she annihilated Mephisto's forces and held back death itself—they saw her for what she truly was:
A humanoid nuclear weapon.
Pierce tapped his fingers against the polished surface of the table. "She can't track us directly—not yet. Redirect blame toward factions hostile to us. Frame the Chaos League. Even Kingpin. Let her eliminate our enemies for us."
It was the classic Pierce playbook: weaponize confusion, sow chaos, and stay three steps ahead.
"Understood."
While Hydra's undercurrents flowed through S.H.I.E.L.D., Bella, the very center of the storm, remained quietly focused.
She wasn't one to shout or posture. Instead, she studied, observed, and waited.
In her apartment, she sat casually on a cream-colored sofa, legs tucked beneath her. A laptop rested on the coffee table in front of her, displaying a corporate database: ACCI Holdings.
A company with a market value of $4 billion.
"Fake HQ, huh?" Bella muttered to herself. "Pretty ballsy."
She tapped the screen. AOL Corporation—Pierce's supposed investment—was riddled with red flags. Shell companies, offshore accounts, hidden subsidiaries. A financial maze so complex it practically screamed Hydra.
But she didn't need to hack into its internal network. That would be too easy to trace.
Instead, she took a more subtle approach.
She borrowed a military satellite—one of the many floating over Country M. Stark owned several. S.H.I.E.L.D. had even more. In the chaos of bureaucracy, no one would notice one being redirected for a few hours.
And as for what she found?
Nothing yet. But it was only a matter of time.
Floating lazily nearby was Sally—the spirited little ghost girl who had once been transparent and faint, but now appeared more solid and full of life.
She zipped through the air, playing with Bella's pet cat, who batted at her with sleepy curiosity. A bright blue gem sparkled around Sally's neck—the crystallized soul of the Witch-Heart Demon.
Thanks to absorbing it, Sally's spiritual form had grown exponentially stronger.
She could now exist for long periods outside of enchanted zones, and her powers—while still growing—had reached frightening levels.
But her memory… was still broken.
Bella had no intention of restoring those lost memories. Some wounds were better left forgotten, especially for someone who deserved peace.
She watched the girl with quiet affection. Part sympathy, part practicality.
If she could, Bella planned to help Sally forge a real, physical body. One that could house her spirit fully.
Three days passed.
At noon, under Nick Fury's direct orders, S.H.I.E.L.D. executed a silent purge.
No media coverage. No press leaks. The operation was swift, surgical, and classified at the highest level.
In the secure interior of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Hill stepped into Fury's office, a thick file in hand.
"According to our investigation," she said, placing the document on his desk, "we've uncovered 43 agents below Level 3, ten agents at Level 5, and two at Level 6 who were directly involved with foreign entities. All have been detained."
Fury scanned the file, jaw tight.
Across the room, Captain Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton waited. They'd temporarily suspended their missions to assist with the operation and had been present during every stage of the investigation.
Even the interrogations.
They'd wanted to see it through—to make sure justice was served and Bella's trust wasn't shattered.
Hill continued, "No abnormalities were found among the rest of the ranks. It seems the infiltration was highly targeted and compartmentalized."
"Good," Fury muttered.
But he knew this was just the beginning.
Hydra was like a virus—dormant, adaptable, and dangerous. This was merely one infected branch.
Still, it was a start.
As Bella stared out the window of her apartment, watching the city breathe below, she murmured to herself:
"Your move, Pierce."
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