Loki escapes.
Hulk falls.
Thor was thrown into an airborne prison.
Coulson dies.
Tony's armor is damaged.
"Wow—so much happened in such a short time."
John's observation drew the attention of everyone in the room.
Fury shifted his gaze, fiddling with a stack of cards in his hand. The cards were soaked in blood—Coulson's blood.
Tony was silent.
"These cards were found in Agent Coulson's jacket. He didn't get a chance to get your autograph." Fury tossed the cards onto the table. Steve picked one up—it was a Captain America card, its edges yellowed, stained with blood.
"We're blind," Fury continued, his voice heavy. "Communications are down, we can't find the Tesseract, and Banner and Thor are also missing."
"I can't do anything either."
"I lost my best confidant," Fury said. He shook his head and smiled bitterly. "Maybe I brought it upon myself."
"Yes, we originally planned to use the Tesseract to make weapons," he began, pacing. "At that time, I didn't place my bet on it—I used it on a more risky project."
When John heard this, he cursed inwardly. You've already made the weapons.
Fury was still in his element, spinning tales about the Avengers initiative. The plan hadn't been favored at first, but he was more willing to believe in this group of people.
"The idea was to bring together the most remarkable people in the world—to see if they could make a bigger difference."
Fury's eyes fell on John.
John rubbed the ring on his finger.
The most remarkable people in the world? Including wizards? Create a hero?
John didn't say much about the idea. Who defines this hero? S.H.I.E.L.D.? The government? The people?
He picked up a card, his fingers smearing the blood, and narrowed his eyes.
Tony stood up and left the table. Steve walked out soon after.
John remained in his position, preparing to leave as well.
"Wick," Fury stopped him, a certain look in his eye. "Do you also think this suggestion is outdated?"
"Surviving the times," John raised the card in his hand, "like this move."
"I'm going to excuse myself," John glanced at Agent Hill, "Otherwise she might want to pull out a gun and shoot me."
"Coulson is dead, Wick," Fury said. "Why aren't you sad?"
"Why should I be sad?" John asked, genuinely surprised. "I wasn't the one who killed him."
"If you were here, he might have survived."
John stopped and turned to look at Fury. "Then why aren't you sad?"
Fury said nothing, but his eyes betrayed him. It wasn't that he wasn't sad. After his confidant died, he had to use his blood to inspire this group of people—that was the decision he needed to make as a commander.
"I mean the others," John said calmly. "It's not just Coulson who died here—there were other people. They were also your men and gave their lives for you."
John narrowed his eyes. "They are dead. Will you remember them the same way you remember Coulson?"
Fury was silent.
John smiled and left.
Intimacy is different.
"They are nothing more than tools of those in power."
John and S.H.I.E.L.D. would never be on the same page. Just as S.H.I.E.L.D. makes weapons to defend against wizards, there are still conflicts between wizards and ordinary people. Mysterious wizards are always portrayed as evil in fairy tales.
He didn't leave immediately but went to a room first.
Natasha was with Clint Barton, who had just woken up—though John felt that without Natasha's rather forceful punch, Barton might not have needed to sleep at all.
Natasha noticed John. After making sure Barton had returned to normal, she opened the door and came out.
"How did you do it?"
"What—release the control?" John raised his eyebrows. "I am a wizard, so of course, I use magic."
Picking up an arrow that Barton had apparently confiscated and placed outside, John bent it slightly with his fingers. He felt that this thing looked familiar—it seemed that when he was in school, his owl would occasionally bring one back from somewhere.
Natasha and John leaned against the wall. After a long silence, Natasha asked, "When did you put this in my pocket?"
She opened her palm. The broken amulet had long since lost its protective effect. This was a product of the wizarding world, something John had invented. It was currently advanced equipment used by both Aurors and Strikers.
"Do you remember the handcuff key?" John lowered his eyes to his left hand. A strand of blue silk thread was wrapped around his finger—you wouldn't notice it unless you looked very carefully.
"Why?" Natasha asked, her confusion evident. She looked at his young face and asked seriously, "You don't care about human life at all. Even if this Helicarrier crashes, it wouldn't earn your mercy."
She knew exactly how cold the person in front of her could be. It became clearer what John meant by "foreigners"—he had no sense of belonging to America. The news of Coulson's death made no waves in John's eyes.
Such a person, who has no regard for life or the law—would he truly worry about his own safety and leave no means behind?
Natasha wanted answers—not as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but as Natasha Romanoff. This favor was hard to understand, even more flattering. Now Natasha felt more and more how naive she had been back then. She had actually tried to protect such a monster.
She was wrong.
The danger was not the Ten Rings gang, not Kingpin, and not the High Table—but the person standing in front of her. With just a few tricks, he could send the arrogant master of Hell's Kitchen to prison. That was because he wanted to see how Kingpin struggled with losing everything.
He plays with the world. Whether it's tens of billions in business or hundreds of lives, it's just a level in his game.
"You stand in front of me," Natasha looked at him blankly, "but you feel so far away."
"So far away..."
"I can't see you clearly."
John's true nature had always been veiled. Every time people felt they understood him well enough, they would glimpse a deeper mystery.
Listening to Natasha's words, John looked deeply at the woman with his reddish-brown eyes.
"Because you are my assistant, Natalie Romanoff."
His answer was surprising, yet also reasonable.
"You once stopped a killer for my sister. You were never afraid of her and stayed away from her." John smiled slightly. "Is this reason enough?"
John glanced sideways at Barton, who was staring at them, and paused. "But Natasha Romanoff also has her family."
Natasha looked at Barton. She and Barton had a friendship that was like family.
"What did you and Loki talk about?" Natasha looked at John again.
"About wizards and rule." John curled his lips. "As a monarch, he is not suitable. He is arrogant and extremely eager to be recognized."
"What about you? What kind of person do you think you are?"
"Me?" John grinned. "I'm John Wick."
He waved his hand and left.
Barton stood at the door. "Maybe I'm interrupting something romantic?"
"No," Natasha shook her head. "I don't think that kind of thing has anything to do with him."
"This isn't love—it's selfishness."
Barton touched his chin. "How did he do it—drive that thing out of me?"
"He's a wizard," Natasha said, pouring Barton a glass of water.
"Then we should let him stay and help." After thanking Natasha, Barton drank it all. Just thinking of the killings he committed while being controlled, the guilt in his heart was like an overflowing glass. Although he was controlled, the blood of his colleagues who died at his hands seemed to stain him, an unwilling burden.
At this moment, the door opened.
"Time to go."
Steve, in uniform, came over to call for help.
"Can you fly a plane?"
"I can."
Barton also had an account to settle with Loki—which happened to be an opportune moment to settle it.
Avengers—now it's time to live up to the name.
A plane took off without permission.
Fury stood in the central control room, flipping through the blood-stained cards with his fingers.
"Sir," Agent Hill came over and stopped, glancing at the blood on the cards. "Those cards are in Coulson's locker—not his coat pocket."
Fury continued to turn over the cards. He was not a good person—or rather, all the people sitting in that position were not good people. They were full of calculations, using all available conditions to create victory.
"They need some motivation."
He looked up and out the glass, seeing an airplane and a steel suit flying past.
He understood—Loki had been found.
***********
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