"I'm not sure if their contacts still work, but I need to think it over," Peggy Carter said, tapping the bed's edge lightly, eyes closed as if resting.
Dugan watched her silently.
"Alright, Dugan, you should go," Peggy said, lying still, feigning sleep. Though Dugan had jammed surveillance upon entering, she conveyed the information covertly.
He left without a word, signaling Rumlow to follow. The scene reset, as if he'd never been there.
"Instructor, what's next?" Rumlow asked, driving.
He didn't know what Dugan sought from Peggy, but he guessed it tied to the Howling Commandos. Their contacts didn't interest him; he couldn't command those non-humans anyway.
"Back to the bar," Dugan said, glancing at Rumlow, unconcerned. Both knew those allies only cooperated due to old bonds.
"Post a task at the Continental Hotel. Doesn't matter what, but the reward's an 'expired' peach," Dugan instructed.
Hit-Monkey, a killer seeking vengeance against assassins after his home's destruction, thrived at the Continental, taking bounties to eliminate targets and rival killers. How he'd shared this contact method with Peggy baffled Dugan.
"Got it. Your friend will find me?" Rumlow asked, curious.
"Yes. He'll track you down. You'll get the peach after posting the task," Dugan said, puffing his cigar.
"Any task? What if I send him after Daredevil?" Rumlow prodded.
"He'll complete it, but don't push it. John Wick's no weaker than you," Dugan warned. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't control assassins. To Dugan, they were a blight on safety, and he'd raze their organizations if he were director. "If you want Daredevil hunting you, I don't care."
S.H.I.E.L.D. kept files on notable killers, shared with agents to avoid trouble. Their secrets weren't guarded—small fry didn't warrant it. The High Table behind the Continental disgusted Dugan, their sins rivaling HYDRA's, but S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't touch them, tied as they were to the nation's underbelly.
Rumlow waved off Dugan's words and drove to the Continental. Dugan clearly planned to rally his old allies and sideline him—a HYDRA traitor wasn't trustworthy. This suited Rumlow; he had his own plans and no time to trail an old soldier.
…
Gil stepped off the school bus, spotting a familiar figure at the forge's door, disbelief flickering.
Bul-Kathos, carrying milk, opened a portal to the forge. He'd hammered a teleportation circle in the basement, planting his war flag as a return point. Emerging, he saw a man raising a gun, Gil tugging his arm to stop him.
One glance told Bul-Kathos the man's identity. His aura mirrored Gil's—the Punisher, Frank Castle, a tactical genius and peak human fighter. Bul-Kathos barely spared him a look, heading for the fridge.
"Gil, go out with your dad. Keep your ring on. I'll leave milk on the table for tonight," he said. With the Unity ring, he could track Gil's status unless they were too far apart. He saw no reason to deny them time together.
Frank wasn't one to neglect family. He'd die to protect Gil. Against normal threats, the Punisher was reliable. Why keep a grieving father and son apart?
(End of Chapter)
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