Nick Fury was sacked.
His Level 10 agent clearance was also restricted, stripping him of the power to bark orders like before.
He was a loser now, but he strode out of the meeting room like a fucking winner.
Watching his still-defiant back, both the Council and Alexander knew this man wouldn't stay down long. He'd be back.
The video call ended, the five councilors logged off, and the meeting room fell silent.
Alexander sank into a chair, plotting his next moves.
Then Stansfield knocked on the glass and walked in.
Alexander said, "Good timing. Tell Jason that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s global surveillance kicks off in half an hour. He needs to find a hole to crawl into and stay low for a while."
Stansfield's face shifted. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s global surveillance wasn't like some half-assed cop operation.
It was a fucking dragnet—nothing slipped through.
Once it started, S.H.I.E.L.D. would tap every connected device worldwide. Unless Jason hid in some remote forest, any activity in civilization would get him spotted.
Short-term, a slip-up wouldn't be fatal.
But if S.H.I.E.L.D. figured out how to kill him, they'd strike in no time.
Jason was exposed, S.H.I.E.L.D. in the shadows—putting them on the defensive, eating punches.
Stansfield frowned. "You're the Council's Secretary. Can't you pull some strings?"
Alexander shook his head. "As of now, S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't belong to Fury or me—it's the World Security Council's."
"Every move is under their watchdog agents' eyes. Pulling shit under their noses is tough, especially anything tied to the Joker Organization or Jason."
Alexander paused, sighing. "Jason went too far this time. He made the U.S. government look like a bitch in front of the world."
"As payback, the U.S. will throw everything at him. I'd tell him to lay low or get the fuck out of the country for a bit."
Hearing this, Stansfield grasped the gravity.
A terrorist broadcasting an execution in Times Square? That was a slap to America's face with a fucking shoe.
With elections looming, the President and candidates would jump on the Joker Organization to score votes.
Whoever took them down basically punched their ticket to the White House.
With that kind of political prize, Jason's future looked grim as fuck.
"Alright, I'll tell him now."
Stansfield left the office with a serious face, driving to a Chinese restaurant a few kilometers from HQ.
The situation was urgent, forcing him to use the special contact channel again.
*
At Triskelion HQ, Director's Office.
Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Phil Coulson, and Natasha Romanoff—S.H.I.E.L.D.'s heavy hitters—stood by the window, staring at the black Mercedes below.
After a long silence, Fury said, "Once I'm gone, keep your eyes on Stansfield. His suspicions are piling up."
The three were shocked.
Coulson blurted, "Director, even if you're fired, the Council wouldn't kick you out of S.H.I.E.L.D., right?"
Fury replied, "They won't. I'm choosing to step away for now."
"Why?"
Fury squinted at the view outside. "I've been in S.H.I.E.L.D. too long. My perspective's gotten narrow. As a civilian, I might see shit I couldn't before."
"I've recommended Hill as the next Director. You're the only one who can handle this, and the Council will agree."
Maria Hill, in her thirties with short black hair, was a Level 9 agent and a S.H.I.E.L.D. veteran who helped create the rank system. Her taking over made sense.
After a pause, Fury said, "By now, Jason's probably got the ransom. Send three armed choppers to bring our agent home!"
…
Times Square.
Almost an hour since Jason showed up, and the crowd kept growing.
Sure, humans avoid danger, but there's always some dumbasses who'd rather die than miss a spectacle.
Jason banked on that, daring to pull a global livestream in Times Square.
Besides hundreds of top capitalists' businesses, thousands of thrill-seekers were gathered.
Buzz buzz buzz!
Jason's phone vibrated.
He checked it: a balance update from his Swiss bank account.
Counting the zeros—yep, five billion dollars, no mistake.
"Heh, S.H.I.E.L.D. chickened out? Not their usual style."
Jason mocked, but he knew the score.
S.H.I.E.L.D. might act tough, but they were pawns of bigger players—the owners of these skyscrapers.
Unless Fury lost his damn mind, he wouldn't start a firefight with Jason here.
Bending the knee publicly while planning a backstab was the logical play.
Jason transferred the funds to his system.
[Points: 146,250]
[Rechargeable Points: 5,000,000,000]
Recharge!
[Ding! Recharge successful. Remaining points: 646,250]
With the points in, half the work for his level-two superpower was done.
Jason gripped his phone, smirking. "Thanks for the business!"
He stood, flashing an 'OK' sign at the building across.
David saw it and bellowed with his sonic power, "Excellent! We've received the five billion dollar ransom. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.S. government kept their word, and so will we. As agreed, Agent Barton's yours!"
Harley teleported, gathering the allies from nearby buildings, then they all split.
Ten minutes later, three armed choppers landed on the Nasdaq roof.
S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, fully geared, carefully pulled Clint from the air and rushed him to a New York hospital.
In the hospital's ICU, senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and Clint's family waited.
To save him, S.H.I.E.L.D. flew in the nation's top doctors from across the country.
Even a one-in-a-million shot, they'd take it.
But to their dismay, every expert, no matter how renowned, saw Clint's condition and shook their heads, walking away.
He wasn't even human anymore—how the fuck do you save that?
Clint was only alive thanks to massive doses of chemical drugs.
They were doctors, not gods. They were powerless.
When the last specialist declared Clint a lost cause, anguished cries filled the ward.
Grief spread like wildfire.
Fury, Hill, Coulson, Natasha—S.H.I.E.L.D.'s toughest—bowed their heads in silence.
Natasha was the most shaken.
Vengeance consumed her mind, her body trembling with rage.
Suddenly, she stepped forward, leaned to Clint's ear, and said, word by word, "Barton, I swear, I'll rip Jason Walter's head off and lay it on your grave."
Tears streaming, she covered her mouth and stormed out of the hospital.
…
Unlike the hospital's despair, the Joker Organization's hideout was a party paradise.
Stacks of beer cans formed a small mountain, tables groaned under gourmet food, and pulsing music filled the air as core members danced and drank.
Not long into the party, Jason got a call from the contact. He grabbed a bottle of beer and stepped onto the hideout's lawn.
"Boss, Stansfield's got news."
"Yeah? What's he saying?"
"He says Fury's been fired. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s now under the World Security Council, and their main goal is wiping us out."
Jason took a swig, chuckling. "Fucking up that bad, and just fired? That's light. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reaction's no surprise. What else? That alone ain't worth the risk."
"They're pooling all resources to monitor every connected device globally to track us. Stansfield says lay low and don't get caught."
Jason frowned.
Global surveillance!
That's a fucking problem.
Franklin's tech control only worked within a dozen meters, one device at a time. No way that'd cut it.
Hearing the contact's report, Jason's mood soured.
He didn't have the juice to go head-to-head with S.H.I.E.L.D. or the military yet.
His edge in past clashes came from them not knowing how to fight a superpowered freak like him.
But the real reason was staying in city centers.
No government would let S.H.I.E.L.D. use heavy weapons in a city of millions.
If Jason was in the Middle East or South America, S.H.I.E.L.D. might just drop a hundred-ton nuke and call it a day. No way he'd escape that.
Since he couldn't hide in the boonies, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance would be a constant threat.
Pulling off another big stunt just got a lot harder.
As Jason stewed, a goon ran up, panting. "Boss, there's a cold-as-ice bombshell outside looking for you!"
"Bombshell?" Jason's eyes lit up.
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