Nick Fury had recently taken to wearing a hood, pulling it low over his face to hide what was beneath. Bunny ears. Maria Hill kept her thoughts to herself but couldn't help silently mocking her boss. She worked hard to avoid looking at the ridiculous sight of those rabbit ears perched atop Fury's head. Somehow, anything even remotely connected to Solomon Damonet seemed to carry an air of absurdity, and the famous "King of Spies" was no exception. That was the part Hill found hardest to understand—why did Fury insist on wearing those bunny ears?
Her boss, of course, wasn't interested in explaining himself. Fury was far too busy. S.H.I.E.L.D. was already juggling several critical issues: investigating the link between the Mandarin and Killian, tracking down Pepper Potts and Maya Hansen, and trying to keep Tony Stark from tearing the world apart in a fit of rage over his kidnapped girlfriend.
As if that weren't enough, Asgard had thrown a massive wrench into the works. Out of nowhere, the Rainbow Bridge descended onto several of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s classified facilities. To put it bluntly, the Asgardians had crashed through the ceilings of highly sensitive sites, retrieving items that apparently belonged to them.
This, unsurprisingly, infuriated the World Security Council. Fury, however, had little interest in pursuing the matter. After reviewing the list of missing items, he came to two conclusions. First, the Asgardians were simply reclaiming their own property. Second, even if S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to lodge a complaint, there wasn't exactly a customer service line for dealing with Asgard. And even if there were, the gods likely wouldn't care about mortal grievances.
"Are you suggesting we throw a tantrum over our fragile egos and demand Asgard answer for their actions?" Fury growled at the Security Council officials, his hood casting a shadow over his face. "Ladies and gentlemen, do you think Earth is prepared to wage a war against Asgard? We could barely handle the aliens that invaded New York. And now you want to challenge one of the universe's most dominant civilizations?"
"But we must make our stance clear!" one of the officials shot back. "We could impose sanctions on Asgardian officials. Thor, for example. Or Odin. It's imperative we assert Earth's sovereignty!"
"And what if Asgard retaliates?" Fury countered coldly.
"We have the Avengers!" the official exclaimed. "And Hulk! We can fight back! Even that knight—you know, the one you refuse to identify—he could help! They're Earthlings, after all. It's their duty to defend our planet."
"Listen to me very carefully," Fury said, his voice steady but icy. "If you push forward with this reckless nonsense, you'll bear the consequences alone. My special teams weren't created to resolve petty political disputes. I'll bet my other eye that if you antagonize Asgard, Heimdall and the Rainbow Bridge will pinpoint each of your addresses and execute precision strikes. And S.H.I.E.L.D. won't do a damn thing about it. We're here to protect Earth, not your egos." Fury stood, ready to leave. "Enjoy your self-inflicted disaster. I have real terrorists to deal with."
"You've grown bold, Fury," Alexander Pierce remarked, shutting off the holographic projection as Fury stormed out of the meeting. "Is the Mandarin really giving you that much trouble?"
"It's unusual for you to let me handle the Council without intervening, Pierce," Fury retorted. The hood still obscured his face, but his irritation was palpable. He grabbed a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. "As for the Mandarin… S.H.I.E.L.D. can't trace him. We have no idea where he came from. But I do know this: the Extremis virus keeps cropping up in these attacks. And Pierce, why is it always S.H.I.E.L.D.'s job to clean up after the military's messes? Are they completely unaware their research is being exploited?"
"They're aware," Pierce replied nonchalantly. "But they'll never admit it. Public trust in the U.S. government has plummeted since the Battle of New York. President Ellis even tried implementing universal healthcare, but it didn't help his approval ratings. Americans no longer feel safe—especially after the National Guard's abysmal performance. With your Avengers breathing down their necks, the military brass is desperate to prove themselves. If they don't, next year's budget will be a disaster."
"So it's all about money," Fury sneered, setting the glass down with a thud. "Half their defense budget gets funneled into black holes anyway. Someone once told me that ever since abandoning the gold standard, the global economy has been floating on a bubble—especially the U.S. dollar. Paper money is meaningless. It's a tool for resource exchange within human society, utterly irrelevant to the universe. Tell me, Pierce—are those bigwigs hoarding dollars or gold?"
"Dollars, of course."
"Then they're about to be broke." Fury chuckled darkly. "The era of the cosmos has begun. And yet those fools cling to their worthless paper. Even the Council idiots I just dealt with—I seriously doubt their collective intelligence."
"That's politics for you, Fury," Pierce said with a sigh. "You've always hated it, which is why I handle most of it for you. Let them make their announcements. Asgard won't care anyway, right?"
"That's because Asgard doesn't even see them as worth noticing. To Asgard, we're just mortals." Fury rose from his chair, signaling he'd had enough of the conversation. "Speaking of which, I'm far more concerned about the President's security. Who thought it was a good idea to use the Iron Patriot armor?"
"What? The President? You're saying he's been kidnapped?" Solomon lounged on his couch, one foot clad in a pink slipper propped on the armrest. "What does that have to do with me? Seriously, I'm not even American. My passport says British. My bloodline says Jewish. None of this has anything to do with me. Ever since the Boston Tea Party, the crabs in Boston Harbor have been more British than I am. Are you expecting the crabs to save the U.S. President? Wait, you're calling me from a public phone? Are you too broke to afford a mobile?"
The sorcerer scratched the chin of the plump cat snuggled beside him. Then, without warning, he buried his face in the cat's soft belly, inhaling deeply.
"No, I'm not doing drugs. This isn't cocaine—I'm sniffing my cat." Solomon's voice was muffled as he spoke into the phone. "Listen, Stark, I'm really not paying attention to your mess. I only gave S.H.I.E.L.D. a prophecy. Your girlfriend is fine; she hasn't been harmed. But I can't help you. I won't risk exposing magic to the public just to save the U.S. President. Presidents are replaceable. There's a long line of corporate puppets eager to take the job. Honestly, you're more important than the President. Your contributions to humanity far exceed those of some button-pusher. If your life were in danger, I'd intervene. But the President? No, thanks."
"And I've got my own problems to deal with. Goodbye, Stark. This is your mess—clean it up yourself."
"Boya! Hurry! The fish is about to burn!"
"I'm coming, Bayonetta! Quick, lift the pan, or we'll be having charcoal for dinner!"
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