Three days later.
Langley.
Nick Fury stood in a darkened briefing room, arms crossed, eye fixed on the screen.
One by one, HYDRA cells across Europe and Asia had collapsed.
Not raided.
Not attacked.
Neutralized.
Accounts drained.
Communications wiped.
Safe houses abandoned.
Key personnel quietly delivered to authorities — anonymous tips, airtight evidence.
Hill spoke carefully.
"This wasn't us."
"I know," Fury said.
He leaned forward.
"Whoever did this didn't want credit."
"Or competition," Hill added.
Fury's mouth tightened.
"Find me the ghost."
Elsewhere, deep underground, a man with metal arms stared at a dead screen.
Hydra's signal was gone.
All of it.
"Sir," a technician whispered, "what do we do now?"
The man turned slowly.
"We adapt," Alexander Pierce said.
But for the first time in decades…
HYDRA was blind.
High above the Earth, Bruce hovered in silence, cape drifting in the thin air.
Phase one was complete.
Phase two would be quieter.
More dangerous.
"Cut off the head," Bruce said softly.
"And watch the body panic."
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