"Then you'll just be branded as criminals."
Nick Fury's face was stone-cold.
He spoke the truth, but no one in the room bought it.
Captain America was a true champion of freedom and democracy, his noble character never stopping him from taking down enemies.
As for the others? Fading veterans, spies, and a hitman monkey who couldn't care less about being called a criminal.
After all, it was just a monkey.
"Better than being duped by an opportunist!"
Steve's voice was calm but firm.
"Let's take out Pierce first! We'll copy the data as insurance."
Sharon Carter had had enough of their endless bickering.
"We'll make multiple copies of everything and share custody."
Agent Hill stood, casually snatching a pistol from Hit-Monkey's paw.
Hit-Monkey let out an indignant "screech-screech-screech!"
Its weapons were custom-made—how else could a monkey wield them smoothly? Sure, it could do tricks with standard guns, but it preferred its own.
Hit-Monkey leaped, snatching back its pistol and smacking Hill across the face with a paw.
Monkey didn't care if this human female was a beauty—they weren't even the same species.
"Less talk, more action! Let's move!"
Hill, unfazed, drew her own gun from her waist, doubling down.
A monkey paw print marked her face, comical but ignored—now wasn't the time for jokes.
"Then we head to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. As for Nick Fury… he's coming with us. The agents won't take orders from just anyone."
Dugan lit a fresh cigar, patting his waist.
He'd forgotten his favorite gun was already splintered by Rumlow.
"After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. still has some 'just' agents."
Dugan's words dripped with sarcasm, his steps toward Hit-Monkey awkward.
He reached for the custom pistol Hit-Monkey was meticulously wiping.
"Screech-screech!"
Hit-Monkey yanked Dugan's collar, shaking him furiously.
"I'll give it back when I'm done!"
Dugan grabbed Hit-Monkey by the neck, trying to set it on the couch.
But those monkey paws clung to his collar like a husky tearing into a slipper—unyielding.
If Dugan and Hit-Monkey weren't old buddies, those sharp claws wouldn't be so forgiving.
"Screech!"
"Fine, take mine!"
Rumlow pulled his sidearm from under his arm and tossed it to Dugan.
He didn't need guns much anymore anyway.
Dugan caught the pistol, returned Hit-Monkey's custom piece, and finally got some peace.
"So, what's this mission called?"
Dear Captain America, Steve "The People's Hero" Rogers, hefted his shield, radiating righteousness.
His body glowed with humanitarian resolve, standing tall and imposing.
His shield symbolized protecting all and crushing Hydra's evil!
"Call it 'Pest Control.'"
Rumlow muttered, eyeing Steve's shield-wielding pose. A hammer somehow felt more fitting.
"Then Operation Pest Control begins!"
The Winter Soldier, trussed up like a crawfish, slowly stirred.
"What's… happening to me?"
"Bucky, you're awake!?"
Steve's earlier bravado vanished with his shocked cry.
"Steve!?"
Bucky's mind was mush, fresh from brainwashing, still clueless about his situation.
Steve had knocked him out with a hit meant for a normal person, but the Winter Soldier was no ordinary man.
Clearly, the yet-to-launch Pest Control team faced a new problem: what to do with this guy?
There was no time to pry Hydra intel from Bucky's mouth.
But with Bucky awake, Steve couldn't bring himself to knock him out again—he wasn't sure how long it'd last.
To avoid surprises, they needed someone to guard the Winter Soldier, and that someone had to be tough.
"Now what?"
Hill, monkey paw print swelling on her face, instinctively turned to Fury.
Years as a subordinate had her conditioned to seek orders.
Fury's face was cold. "Send him to the blacksmith shop."
Rumlow suddenly remembered Bul-Kathos was still waiting for him to "clean up."
Everyone but Sharon Carter and Steve knew which blacksmith shop Fury meant.
Rumlow felt a surge of absurdity.
He'd thought S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra's plan to provoke Bul-Kathos had failed when he couldn't deliver the Mist Crystal. But now Fury was picking up the thread.
No one knew the full details on the Winter Soldier, but Hydra wouldn't let a superhuman like him slip away.
"How about I go? Coulson asked me to 'clean up' anyway."
Rumlow drawled.
Fury hadn't heard Coulson's report, but Rumlow's words clued him in.
"Then find Coulson, get him to move with you. We'll meet at headquarters."
Fury scribbled an address on a scrap of paper and handed it to Rumlow.
"Should I deploy a decoy to draw Hydra's fire?"
Fury hadn't given up on splitting their forces.
"Then we'd have to explain why there's two of you."
Hill's face was starting to puff up.
Fury shrugged and shut up.
"Let's roll."
Steve pushed open the tavern door and straddled the motorcycle he'd "borrowed" from Fury's secret base.
"By the way, what's this 'blacksmith shop' you keep mentioning? Some covert division? The name's got a retro vibe."
Steve tossed the question at Fury.
Dugan, Hill, and Sharon Carter piled into Fury's ride.
"Just a blacksmith shop," Fury answered, dodging Steve's curiosity.
"Weapons R&D lab?"
Rumlow, dragging Bucky, tossed him into the backseat of his car and peeled out toward Bul-Kathos's shop.
He had no interest in hearing Fury spin tales for Steve.
It was just an ordinary blacksmith shop, forging iron for a living—though it never seemed to sell anything.
The smith just happened to be capable of flipping the world upside down.
"You got smacked by a monkey."
Sharon Carter muttered, her disdain for Hill—the Council's watchdog over S.H.I.E.L.D.—outweighing her dislike for Fury.
(End of Chapter)
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