The black Chevrolet SUV tore through the night toward the outskirts of the city.
Equipped with an advanced autonomous driving system, the vehicle navigated the road with the precision of a professional racer. Even at high speeds, the ride was eerily smooth for the passenger. Outside, the cityscape dissolved into a blur of dense forest.
As the route grew increasingly remote, Fury's internal alarms blared. The car's smart system had been hijacked. He reached for the door handle to bail, but a sharp clack echoed through the cabin—the locks had engaged.
He was trapped.
Knowing that anyone capable of making SHIELD's proprietary tech look like a toy meant business, Fury didn't hesitate. He drew his service pistol and fired point-blank at the passenger window.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Muzzle flashes illuminated the cabin, spent casings danced on the floor, and the roar of the gunfire made his eardrums throb. He emptied a full magazine. When the smoke cleared, the glass wasn't shattered; instead, a digital overlay flickered onto the surface of the window:
[Window Integrity: 93%]
A full clip of high-caliber rounds had only shaved off 7%. The Director's ride was built like a tank, but for the first time, its perfection felt like a mockery. SHIELD had spared no expense to protect him, and now those same expenses were his prison bars.
Fury let out a long, weary sigh and leaned back. There was nothing left to do but wait.
Who was behind this? Franklin? The Joker Organization's technopath was the prime suspect for any electronic anomaly these days. But Fury shook his head. The Joker crew had been in Africa this morning. To be in D.C. now? It didn't fit the profile. Besides, if it were the Joker, he'd likely be dead or in a cage by now, not lounging in a leather seat listening to the car's pre-programmed jazz.
The SUV eventually reached a clearing deep in the forest. Fury peered out.
Motherfucker. It was pitch black. Not a soul in sight.
"VTOL Engines Restored," The car's voice announced.
Four pale blue jets of flame erupted from the wheel wells, lifting the multi-ton SUV off the ground. The 19-inch wheels rotated horizontally, and the Chevrolet ascended into the night sky.
The flight lasted two hours. Based on the speed, if they were heading east, they were well out of U.S. airspace by now.
Fury ran through his mental list of enemies. Most were either neutralized or lacked the tech to hijack a SHIELD Director's secure transport. Globally, his only real threat was the Joker.
Suddenly, the vehicle decelerated.
Fury unbuckled his seatbelt and pressed his face against the windshield. In the vast darkness ahead, he saw a cluster of lights—red and blue strobes blinking in a rhythmic pattern. As they drew closer, the truth revealed itself.
Warning lights on aircraft.
Surrounding the SUV were hundreds of oval-shaped ships, identical to the ones captured by the satellites earlier that day. Fury's heart hammered against his ribs. This was no coincidence. The owners of those mysterious ships had invited him over for a chat.
The Chevrolet flew straight into the belly of the largest vessel. The hangar doors sealed behind them. As the car touched down and the engine cut, the locks finally clicked open.
Fury stepped out, slammed a fresh magazine into his pistol, and moved toward the exit with feline caution. When he was a few meters from the automatic door, it hissed open.
He leveled his gun.
The room beyond was empty, save for a plush, light-colored carpet and tribal totems hanging on the walls. At the far end of the room stood three egg-shaped chairs. The central one was gold, its back turned to him, embossed with the image of a leaping black panther.
"Nicholas Joseph Fury."
The voice echoed in the cavernous space. Fury kept his weapon trained on the chair. "Who are you?"
The voice sounded like a young woman.
"Do not be tense. I mean you no harm," The gold chair slowly swiveled around.
Sitting there was a young girl dressed in traditional African attire. Fury lowered his gun slightly. At least it wasn't an alien.
"My name is Shuri. I am the daughter of the late King T'Chaka of Wakanda, and sister to the current King, T'Challa."
Wakanda. Fury searched his mental database. The reports were consistent: a small African nation, impoverished, agricultural, isolationist. Not exactly a global player. However, he did remember T'Challa—the sole survivor of the UN bombing in Vienna.
"Does it ring a bell?" Shuri asked with a faint, tired smile.
Fury holstered his weapon, his gaze sweeping the advanced technology surrounding them. "What are these ships?" He pulled the satellite photo from his pocket. "Because my satellites caught these ships in a dogfight this morning. And last I checked, Wakanda is the closest neighbor to that coordinates."
Shuri's smart-lenses zoomed in on the photo. She nodded. "Yes. Those are ours."
Fury's breath hitched. He tried to keep his voice level. "How does one of the poorest nations on Earth build a fleet that makes my Helicarriers look like rowboats?"
Shuri sighed. "The poorest nation on Earth. Tell me, Nick—have you ever actually set foot in Wakanda?"
"I haven't had the pleasure. But my satellites tell me you're a nation of sheep-herders."
"Herding is tradition," Shuri replied. "It does not mean we are incapable of science. What you see on your satellites is a facade. The real Wakanda was hidden."
Hidden? Fury was stunned. Either this girl was a world-class liar, or Wakanda's technology was generations ahead of the rest of the planet.
"A thousand years ago," Shuri began, "A meteorite made of a rare metal—Vibranium—crashed into our lands. It changed us. It gave us everything."
Fury's good eye widened. The mystery of the lost Vibranium had plagued the world for decades. And here it was, being handed to him by a girl.
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The Joker Organization hadn't fled to Africa just to hide; Jason had known the Vibranium was there. For three years, they'd been hunting it, and they'd finally struck gold at the UN bombing. T'Challa's return to the throne had sparked a war.
"The photo," Fury whispered. "The dogfight this morning."
"Yes," Shuri said, her voice trembling. "We had the Vibranium. We had the ships. We thought we were invincible. But we underestimated the Joker's members. Franklin... his powers have evolved. He hijacked our fleet in seconds. We lost hundreds of ships before the battle truly began."
Fury processed the information. Franklin's technopathy had breached Wakandan security. That meant the Joker Organization was significantly more dangerous than their last recorded data suggested.
"If the air battle was the first loss," Fury asked, "What happened next?"
Shuri's fists clenched. "My brother led ten thousand warriors into the field. He refused to use the remaining ships for fear of Franklin, so they fought on the ground. But the Joker's elites... they are monsters. Our warriors were slaughtered like children."
She looked away, her eyes glistening. "We executed Plan B. My brother stayed to hold the line while I evacuated the core technology, the resources, and the scientists. I fled to America to seek an ally. Just as I arrived, I received word... My brother is dead. Wakanda has fallen."
Fury stood in silence. The world's most advanced civilization had been wiped out in a single afternoon.
He had hoped that in meeting Shuri, he'd found a powerful new ally—a big limb to lean on. Instead, he realized that the Joker had already cut that limb off and burned the tree.
.
.
.
.
You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
200 power stones.
Top 100. All time.