At the same moment, Dum-Dum Dugan's investigation finally bore fruit.
Through channels connected to the assassin known as Hit-Monkey, he uncovered something amiss with the High Table.
These men were titans of capital, each wielding considerable armed forces at their disposal.
But Hit-Monkey revealed that a few among them possessed forces that defied reason.
Take the Malik family, for instance, who held a coveted seat at the High Table. Their operatives were not mere hired killers but an elite unit, their identities shrouded in mystery—a clue that betrayed more than it concealed.
Individuals who could vanish without a trace in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s vast intelligence network could only be operatives. And not just any operatives—likely those operating within S.H.I.E.L.D.'s own ranks!
While S.H.I.E.L.D. typically steered clear of meddling in the affairs of agencies like the FBI or CIA, their agents could rarely conceal their tracks so thoroughly.
After all, many of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operatives were drawn from those very agencies. To evade S.H.I.E.L.D.'s scrutiny entirely, the culprits would almost certainly need to be insiders.
Only someone like Alexander Pierce or Nick Fury, perched at the apex of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hierarchy, could orchestrate such flawless cover.
Otherwise, there was no explaining where these operatives came from.
A capitalist, no matter how politically influential, shouldn't command a squad of agents so utterly untraceable.
It was anything but ordinary.
Neither the infamous Textile Factory nor the Continental Hotel—bastions of the assassin's world—could produce professionals of this caliber.
Yet the Malik family's political clout gave Dugan pause.
His instincts screamed that digging deeper would yield answers, but his team of wary veterans, ever distrustful of Nick Fury, couldn't leverage S.H.I.E.L.D.'s political weight to shield them.
Reckless action would only expose them prematurely to Hydra's watchful eyes—a risk they couldn't afford.
And the greatest threat wasn't even the shadowy Malik family. It was Alexander Pierce, sitting comfortably in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest office.
Dugan was at a loss for what to do next. His primary mission was to root out Hydra's sleeper agents within S.H.I.E.L.D., but this new lead on the Malik family left him second-guessing.
The pressure was immense. As S.H.I.E.L.D.'s former director, Pierce's interactions with political and business elites were hardly unusual. He also handled most of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dealings with the World Security Council.
This left Dugan in a precarious position.
If Hydra had infiltrated a place as fortified as S.H.I.E.L.D., what about the World Security Council?
How many of the world's wealthy elite were entangled with Hydra? The question itself was nearly impossible to answer.
"Damn it all!"
Dugan drained his glass in one gulp, the burn of the liquor sharp in his throat. Lighting a cigar, he coughed violently as the smoke hit his lungs.
"Chitter-chitter!"
Hit-Monkey's sharp cries snapped Dugan's attention back. The monkey's paw jabbed at a familiar face in the dossier.
"John Wick? What about him?"
Dugan frowned, puzzled. Wick was just an assassin—how could he be of use in this mess?
Hit-Monkey pointed to a line of fine print beneath the dossier.
"You're saying there's something off with that crime family?"
Hit-Monkey nodded vigorously.
"Alright, pal, even if there's something to it, now's not the time to get involved."
Dugan leaned back against the sofa, exhaustion etched into his face.
Everything felt impossibly tangled.
What could John Wick even accomplish? Dugan doubted a lone hitman could take down a formidable gang single-handedly.
"Maybe take out their leader, at best," Dugan muttered to himself.
"What the hell was that?"
Hawkeye watched as Rumlow carefully retrieved a burlap sack from the ground, his mind racing.
What were these specters' intentions? It was worth pondering.
But now wasn't the time for speculation. What was in that sack Rumlow was so desperate to recover, despite dragging a broken leg?
Hawkeye, unfamiliar with the secrets of the realm, didn't understand Rumlow's actions. His job was to report, not to analyze. Let Nick Fury wrestle with the headaches of internal investigations.
Beyond Rumlow, there was the matter of the other figure—smashed to pieces, leaving no trace but rubble. What was to be done with that?
After witnessing the devastating impact of that stone, Hawkeye realized how powerless he was against these foes.
Rumlow, battered and weary, was dragged from the realm by Talic. Despite his wounds, his spirit seemed intact, though he looked rather pathetic dangling from Talic's grip.
"Not bad, kid. You held your own."
Talic, with uncharacteristic gentleness, set Rumlow down and uncorked a vial, pouring its contents into Rumlow's mouth.
The potion worked instantly, Rumlow's wounds healing at a visible rate.
But the fiery taste of the liquor-laced draught left him coughing, tears streaming down his face.
Hawkeye watched the transformation closely but held his tongue.
Rumlow would spill everything eventually. Why press him now? Besides, Hawkeye's own mission was classified, and this wasn't the time for questions.
"Hey, Ancestor, don't I have one more trial to go?"
Perhaps mindful of Hawkeye's presence, Rumlow suppressed his coughs, speaking with effort. He was clearly avoiding revealing too much.
His caution was futile, but he opted for vagueness out of prudence.
"One more, yes."
Talic played along, keeping his response brief.
Among the barbarian spirits, Talic was cautious, considerate of others' predicaments. The other ancestral spirits had already vanished after the realm's trial concluded.
"Alright, time to head back and tidy up the place—don't want those annoying pests wrecking my toys."
Bul-Kathos opened a portal with an expressionless face, giving Ancient One a curt wave before stepping through and vanishing from Harrogath.
Ancient One didn't acknowledge his farewell. She merely gazed at the fading clamor in the distance, silent.
Rumlow's actions couldn't escape Bul-Kathos's notice.
By allowing it, Bul-Kathos had tacitly endorsed it.
The moment a warrior strong enough to defy death set foot in S.H.I.E.L.D., the organization's downfall was all but assured.
S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra were now indistinguishable, their sins intertwined. Did their original good intentions erase their crimes?
Some agents in S.H.I.E.L.D. might still have clean hands, untainted by innocent blood. But many others were either deceived by Hydra or were Hydra themselves.
Sin doesn't vanish because the perpetrator is unaware. The only question was whether Bul-Kathos would purge it entirely.
Ancient One had no desire to oppose the barbarian's will. Even as the master of the Dark Dimension, she lacked the confidence to challenge him.
When a being of such overwhelming power arrived in this world, even the might of time grew feeble.
The Time Stone's power was merely a fragment of unclaimed rule.
Ancient One could wield it, but that borrowed strength was far from enough to stop Bul-Kathos.
Looking the other way was, perhaps, her wisest course.
(End of Chapter)
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