The idea of massive, city-leveling elemental monsters unconditionally surrendering sounded like a bad joke, but to Peter, it made terrifying tactical sense.
Hydra viewed the Elementals as disposable hardware. The second the Molten Man and Whirlwind risked capture, Madame Viper had purged them from existence without hesitation. Sandman and Hydro-Man knew their expiration dates were looming. They would only defect if S.H.I.E.L.D. could guarantee their survival—specifically, immunity from Hydra's mystical kill-switch.
"I guarantee these bastards are trying to play us," Silvija said, pacing the concrete floor of the Wild Pack's temporary Venetian safe house. "They'll demand extradition to the United States. Or a trial in Western Europe. They'll try to trade low-level operational intel for full pardons and witness protection."
She crossed her arms, her tactical jacket shifting with the movement. The Wild Pack had captured enough global terrorists to know the routine. Extradite them to a European nation without the death penalty, and the villains would live out their days in a cushy cell. The Elementals were worse; their spiritual nature made them nearly impossible to hold in standard containment. Left in a standard prison, they would inevitably breach containment and flatten a city.
Felicia Hardy leaned against a shipping crate, casually tossing a silver coin between her knuckles. "So, what's your official recommendation?"
"Military tribunal, rapid interrogation, and summary execution," Silvija stated, her voice dead flat. "We dig a hole and bury them. And since they don't have physical corpses, we save time on the digging."
Peter blinked. "That... definitely doesn't hold up in a court of law."
"Which is exactly why my top recommendation is to just shoot them while resisting arrest," Silvija shot back, her jaw tight.
She scowled, staring down at the floorboards. Despite not entirely understanding how the Black Cat managed to bypass S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance so easily, Silvija had pieced together the core of Felicia's history. The people who had murdered Felicia's father and the hit squad that killed Silvija's mother were undeniably tied to the same shadowy syndicate. Hydra.
The realization that this parasitic organization had successfully infiltrated global administrative institutions sent a cold spike down Silvija's spine. Worse, the Wild Pack was primarily comprised of high-paid ex-special forces mercenaries. Loyalty was often directly tied to the highest bidder. Silvija couldn't even guarantee her own ranks were clean.
"Well, international law isn't exactly our jurisdiction right now," Peter started, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We just need to leave the heavy lifting to Fu—"
Peter froze. His spider-sense didn't flare, but the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots echoed in the corridor.
Silvija's hand dropped instantly to her holstered sidearm. She traded a sharp glance with Peter.
"Let me guess," Peter sighed, dropping his stance. "Nick Fury?"
"You win the prize, Spidey," a gravelly voice echoed.
The heavy steel door swung open. Nick Fury stepped into the safe house, a lit cigar clamped between his teeth. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his black leather trench coat, his single eye sweeping over the assembled teenagers. "What's with the stares? You look like you're waiting for me to hand out the answer key to your AP Physics final."
"Wait, do you have the answer key?" Peter asked deadpan.
Fury ignored the quip, exhaling a thick cloud of gray smoke. "If you want, I can skip you straight to a university graduate program. Don't tell me you actually want to sit for exams."
Fury stepped fully into the room, pulling a secure datapad from his coat. "First things first. Your Midtown High travel itinerary just got an abrupt update. Tomorrow morning, you'll be informed that the Athens leg of the trip has been canceled due to 'logistical errors.' Your tour group is being re-routed directly to Budapest."
Peter's eyes widened. Fury was aggressively baiting the hook. Hydra assumed Spider-Man's European "vacation" was the center of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operation. By suddenly altering the schedule, Fury was forcing Hydra to scramble their surveillance networks and relocate their ambush teams. It wouldn't dismantle the syndicate, but it would severely disrupt their operational tempo.
"Second," Fury continued, taking another drag of his cigar. "We've acquired intelligence that guarantees our short-term survival, but we need to run down the clock. We need to measure exactly how much leverage these Elementals actually hold. I don't need the granular details yet. I just need the scope of their intel."
He pointed the glowing tip of his cigar squarely at Peter's chest. "Spider-Man. You're handling the negotiation."
Peter pointed to himself. "Me? Why me?"
"Because they requested you," Fury grunted. "You're the one who figured out how to trap them. You're the face of their immediate problem. Tell them limited pardons, plea agreements, and witness protection are all on the table—provided they bleed out intel of sufficient value. Make them feel important. Make them think they hold the winning hand."
Peter processed the tactical logic. The Elementals—and the desperate Hydra handlers sweating bullets behind them—believed they possessed a golden ticket to S.H.I.E.L.D. protection. S.H.I.E.L.D. just needed to lean into that delusion.
"Wait," Peter said, tilting his head. "This whole negotiation... it's just a stall tactic. You don't actually think Hydro-Man is going to successfully surrender, do you?"
A low, dark chuckle rumbled in Fury's chest. He dropped his cigar, crushing the cherry under his heavy combat boot.
"Don't spell everything out in the open, Spider-Man," Fury said, a dangerous glint in his remaining eye. "You always have to maintain a little bit of mystery."