Thud. Thud. Thud.
As Peter released his Conqueror's Haki, the Hydra agents who were still preparing to resist felt their consciousness vanish. Their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed like wheat before a scythe.
In the blink of an eye, the chaotic meeting room returned to a deathly calm. Hundreds of elite Hydra operatives had been neutralized in less than a second.
Peter, looking as if he had done nothing more than blow away a speck of dust, turned toward Natasha and the others with a thin smile.
"Maria, Phil, Natasha... what are you waiting for? Do you expect me, the Director, to personally take out the trash?"
The "clean" S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, finally snapping out of their shock, looked at the sea of unconscious traitors on the floor.
"Wait, Peter!"
Nick Fury himself was the first to find his voice. He instinctively moved to intervene. It wasn't that he cared about the lives of these traitors, but he realized that the "black pot" of responsibility for this disaster was currently being fitted perfectly for his head.
Even though Hydra had infiltrated long before he took office, Peter's framing of the situation—and the President's current perception—was clear: Nick Fury was a negligent failure who let Hydra turn S.H.I.E.L.D. into a snake pit under his nose.
If this narrative stuck, Fury wouldn't just be out of a job; he'd be the scapegoat executed to appease the public. To survive, he had to try and spin the narrative.
"I think there might be a misunderstanding. There's no way this many people are—"
BANG!
A single gunshot cut him off.
Every head in the room turned. Their eyes landed on the glamorous, cold-eyed woman holding a smoking pistol: Natasha Romanoff.
She ignored Fury's protest and responded directly to Peter's command. She didn't offer a speech; she simply aimed at the forehead of a high-ranking Hydra mole unconscious at her feet and pulled the trigger.
With that one shot, the Black Widow made her choice. It was a blood oath—a line in the sand from which there was no turning back.
Following her lead, Clint Barton drew his sidearm. He didn't know Peter well, but he trusted Natasha with his life.
Then came Coulson and Maria Hill. They avoided Fury's bewildered, betrayed stare, but their fingers didn't tremble as they squeezed their triggers.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The room filled with the rhythmic staccato of execution.
Though it was Hydra agents dying, Fury felt like every bullet was tearing a hole in his own heart. He watched in disbelief as the agents he had hand-picked and mentored stood firmly on Peter's side.
He looked at the young man on the stage. It had been one week. Just seven days since he lost his title.
He couldn't understand how everything he had built over decades could crumble so completely in a single morning.
But Fury made a grave mistake: Loyalty in power struggles is rarely about sentiment. It is about strength.
When an invincible powerhouse unearths a decades-old cancer with a wave of his hand, while the previous leader is proven to be a blind fool, the choice is easy.
Who would choose to stand behind a failed relic of the past when the future is standing right in front of them?
The gunfire eventually ceased. The acrid scent of ozone and blood hung heavy in the air.
Peter finally spoke, his voice cold and echoing with the weight of a final judgment.
"Former Director Nick Fury, due to gross negligence that nearly resulted in the total subversion of S.H.I.E.L.D..."
"I hereby declare that as of today, he is stripped of all ranks, clearances, and protections, and is to be turned over to Congress and the Supreme Court for prosecution."
"Any objections?"
Silence.
Fury scanned the room, his one eye pleading with Hill or Coulson, but they all kept their gazes fixed on the floor or the ceiling.
In his despair, Fury's hand brushed against the modified pager he always kept hidden. His finger hovered over the button—once, twice—tempted to call the one person who could level this entire building.
But at that moment, Peter's voice rang out again: "Nick Fury, do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"I... have nothing to say."
Fury pulled his hand away from the pager. He hadn't given up on living, but he realized that bringing Captain Marvel into a direct confrontation with this monster right now was a recipe for global catastrophe. To survive, he needed to get as far away from Peter Parker as possible.
"Very well." Peter nodded, then turned his gaze to the screen where the President sat shivering.
"Mr. President, the prisoner is yours."
The President blinked, stammering, "Director Parker... you... you've done a magnificent job. A great service to this nation."
Peter's face softened into a warm, "harmless" smile. "Then... how do you plan to reward me for all this hard work?"
"I..." The President was taken aback. He'd never seen someone ask for a reward so bluntly. After a pause, he tried, "Double S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget for next year?"
Peter's smile widened. Not a bad start, Mr. President, but a bit stingy.
"Triple. And I require S.H.I.E.L.D. to hold Supreme Jurisdictional Authority during operations. No interference from the FBI, the CIA, or the military. No questions asked."
The President's face turned ashen. He cursed Peter's entire lineage in his head, but his lips only formed a weak nod of agreement.
Meanwhile, the "clean" agents in the hall looked at one another. The fear and awe they felt for their new Director was rapidly being replaced by something else.
Wait... triple pay? Supreme authority?
As they looked back at the young man on the stage, the "ruthless" new Director suddenly started to look a lot more... visionary.
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