Chapter 7: Omake 1: Fast, but mostly Furious

Nick Fury wasn't the most pleasant of men. He knew that people thought he ate iron for breakfast, knew that the only people thought they could trust regarding him was that they could trust nothing about him, knew that he had made lesser men weep when he frowned at them.

Fury was fine with that.

You had to make sacrifices to keep the world safe, even if it meant that there were times when the toughest criminals in the underworld literally shrieked in fear when they suddenly found you standing behind them, scowl on your face.

No, Nick was fine with being regarded as the spy, the man who stood like an obsidian monolith at the head of the Aegis of Humanity.

What he wasn't fine with, was someone apparently not having gotten the memo.

"So, what's this I hear about not being able to find Stane's blueprints? You telling me my elite operatives couldn't handle this mission and yet some asshole walked in and stole all his shit?!"

His voice thundered across the deck of the Helicarrier, making teeth rattle around in jaws and coffee mugs shake of their tables, while Sitwell's glasses shattered, making him squeal in pain. People were weeping openly at his visible anger, some of them tearfully calling their parents whether they could arrange their favorite flowers for their imminent burial.

"During the confusion, what seems to be a human, judging from the few images of security footage that we have, walked into the building, spent approximately twenty minutes inside, and then most likely left through one of the back entrances while bits of Stane were being sprinkled around, sir." Agent Hill replied, her back straight enough to make a ruler jump of a bridge in shame, her expression hewn, not from stone, but some material that could make Adamantium take a single look at it and cry out 'bullshit!' in terrified despair.

Growling like a lion being denied its kill, Fury let his single eye roam across his wailing subordinates, none daring to meet the fury of his gaze (other than Coulson, who like always just seemed faintly amused at everything happening around him with an indulging smile on his dopey face).

"Next time, we make goddamn sure that it's us, who walks in and out with the loot, am I clear?"

A chorus of determined cries met him.

"YESSIR!"

"My eyes!"

"Walk it off Sitwell."

They were standing in one of the Helicarriers conference rooms, Nick standing at the head of the table, several of the highest ranking agents (Barton was there) and diverse department heads (R&D, Containment, Human Recources, Alien Recources, Questionable-Ancestry Recourses) sitting piled on top of each other at the other end of the table, all of them having rapidly scooted their chairs away from Nick's side, leaving the table empty in the middle.

The Director didn't even notice, fuming in rage.

"I hope one of y'all says something before I break my foot in yo ass! This motherfucker did it again people, not only did he-"

*cough*

The unimaginable had happened. The seas drying up, or the sun going out, or the American Government actually telling the truth for once, were all things that were more likely to happen than this monumental event, reality itself doing a spit-take.

Nick Fury had been interrupted.

Miid-rant, even.

Slowly, with the creaking of joints that required oiling, Fury looked over his shoulder, the smoldering inferno of his rage breaking on the icy calmness of Agent Hill's gaze.

Seriously, that woman can give Hoth the chills.

She simply raised an eyebrow sculpted by DaVinci himself, causing Fury to give an annoyed grunt, before turning back towards the gaping flunkies on the other end of the table.

"-or she (the corner of Hill's mouth twisted up no more than a hair's width, a movement small enough it technically still fell in the realm of quantum physics. All the other occupants were floored by this blatant show of exuberance), not only has he or she been stealing shit from Stark for months while being actually getting paid by him to do it, but also managed to run off with Vanko's drones with Arc Reactors, missiles and lasers in them?!"

Wailing in despair at her superior's incalculable rage, one of the women on the other side of the crowded table sprung up, rolling back her chair with such vigor over Sitwell's foot it had suddenly become the only appendage in the world that was two-dimensional and promptly threw herself through the blast-proof window straight out of the flying fortress.

The remaining subordinates gazed after her in envy (with the exception of Sitwell, who was cradling the paper-thin conglomeration of flesh and dress shoe that his foot had become with great heaving sobs).

"FIND HIM! (*cough*) OR HER! BEFORE HE/SHE GETS THE CHANCE TO BLOW ALL OF US TO KINGDOM COME!"

"YESSIR!"

Many a tear was shed.

"My foot!"

"Walk it off Sitwell."

In a large assembly hall, an army of S.H.I.E.L.D. grunts were all seated in neatly packed rows, most of them whispering to each other in soft, morose tones. They wore suits, and most of them had brought flower, while some of the women went veiled, sniffling softly at the tragedy that was about to unfold.

Silence fell down over the room like EA's stock market after Battlefront II, all hushed whispers drying up faster than… than… nah, I got nothing.

On the stage at the front of the hall, Nick Fury strode in, Hill and Coulson following on his heels (well, Hill was. Coulson was just smiling and looking around. For all anybody knew he had just wandered in coincidentally).

Halting at the pulpit, Fury took a deep breath, before leaning forwards a bit towards the microphone (which leaned back in fear as he did so).

"Now I'm gonna level with y'all, personally I don't blame any of you this time."

At that, people erupted in cheers, people suddenly holding champagne bottles in their hands, while somewhere from above rained down glitters and balloons, and impromptu party starting as a disco ball slowly descended from the ceiling.

"Only this time people."

At Fury's words, the champagne and glitters disappeared, all of the balloons popped simultaneously and the disco ball fell from the ceiling with a crush, trapping a wailing Sitwell underneath it .

"Because Ross is a prick. A massive prick because, not only does he create monsters from leftover super soldier, how did he even get ahold of that?! But then he juices em up on Hulk blood only to let them loose in populated areas! But the worst, the worst part is that asshole who shall not be named, how do we still not know his name?! Managed to run-off with not just doctor Stein but with Blonsky's and Banner's blood and I hope I don't need to spell out to you how bad that is."

People threw themselves off their plastic fold-up chairs, prostrating themselves before their glorious leader, all the while swearing vengeance upon the ineptitude of the Army, some of them holding pitchforks and torches that Fury honestly had absolutely no clue where they suddenly got them from.

He decided he didn't even want to know.

"I want a description sent out to every sketch artist in the country: big, hulking monster, with a hobby for stealing advanced weaponry and science, and just walking away with the loot. We'll catch that bastard this time. Even you lot should be able to spot Hulk Jr. running around."

People raised their pitchforks, torches, spoons and newborn in the air with a fervent roar of devotion, making the foundations of the structure tremble.

"YESSIR!"

"My legs!"

"Walk it off Sitwell."

Fury was sitting in his darkened office, alone (causing the sun to hesitantly peek over the horizon in the hope not of finally no longer being confronted by the only person to ever beat it in a staring contest. Twice. With only one eye), while on his desk several monitors showed hidden figures.

These were Fury's overlords, the people of the WSC (the We Suck Committee) and they were in the business of grilling the Director on the status of operations regarding the man who kept stealing the toys of various superpeople before they could take it for themselves and monumentally fuck everything up like they were so fond of constantly doing.

"What's he done this time you ask? Hell if I know because apparently state of the art spying technology and men and women trained for years can't even catch this guy on camera, somehow that is possible in this day and age. For all I know he now has the Spear that pierced Christ which somehow let's him mind control people...good thing this is real life and not a comic book."

"Right, right, to be sure. But what are you going to do about him Nicholas. He keeps getting away with all the fun stuff before we can waltz in and claim it for ourselves! My word, Director, we haven't been the cause of mayhem, death and destruction through idiotic decisions for months now! We won't stand for this, you hear me?!"

"Right, I understand you have a schedule to keep but-"

"No, you listen to us here, boy. It is high time you nuke everything. And we do mean everything. God, I've wanted to see such pretty big explosions for such a long time, but we could never push it through. But now that he could be hiding anywhere, we can just bomb everywhere! It's genius I tell you, genius!"

For a moment, silence had entered the room, shut the door, boarded up the windows, and settled itself leisurely in Nick's lap, the deafening absence of noise registering itself as a faint ringing noise before the Director could feel his own mouth moving and with a start realized that he has been screaming so loudly, he burst his own ear-drums.

Huffing in frustration, Nick grabbed one of the monitors, heaved it back, and in a move that would draw a tear from even the staunchest of athletes, threw it in a beautifully executed hammer throw straight through three walls, a filing cabinet, a coffee machine, almost into Agent Hill (the spy just turned to look at the flying desk equipment, causing it to swerve around her without disturbing even single lock upon her regal head) and straight through Sitwell's shoulder, cutting off his arm completely.

Ignoring the man's screams (which was blissfully easy to do, now that he was deaf) Fury roared his orders throughout every level of the Helicarrier without even moving from his desk, his voice capable of overpowering hurricanes created by Mjolnir itself.

"Everyone! New orders! Beat the shit of the WSC!"

The flying fortress nearly fell out of the sky with the trampling of boots on metal floors, people reaching for baseball bats and climbing in Mad Max vehicles that Fury could've sworn hadn't been there before.

"YESSIR!"

"My arm!"

"Walk it off Sitwell."