Chapter 204: This World Has Become Filthy
Hearing Nick Fury's words, even someone as cold as Frank had a change in expression. He stared fixedly at Nick Fury before him.
A terrifying aura spread outward.
Like an enraged lion locking its eyes on prey.
Even Nick Fury, once an ace agent with first-rate composure and depth, felt the pressure. He was a little surprised and thought to himself, Frank seems different from the man I knew. That look in his eyes, and this pressure… this definitely isn't something an ordinary person can possess.
Did something happen to Frank during this time that I don't know about?
As an "old friend" from the past, Nick Fury knew very well how terrifying Frank was.
Long ago, Nick Fury had already known that Frank was undoubtedly at the ceiling of human single-soldier combat power. According to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s rating system, he was at the highest level: Level 10.
So after something happened to Frank, Nick Fury had continued paying attention to him.
He had even personally investigated the truth behind the murder of Frank's family.
He had simply been waiting for the day when he could use this to show goodwill to Frank. Ideally, he could bring Frank under his command. If not, cooperation would also be acceptable.
Only this time, he could not wait any longer.
Nick Fury needed Frank's help, which was why he had risked exposure and come to New York's Hell's Kitchen to find him.
While he was thinking, Frank's cold voice sounded beside Nick Fury's ear. "What do you want me to do?"
"Help me clean out my enemies," Nick Fury answered without hesitation.
That sentence was interesting.
Nick Fury was not talking about one specific enemy.
He meant many.
Frank heard it.
So he refused. "My time is limited."
"It won't waste too much of your time, Frank."
Frank fell silent.
But not for long.
His determination to avenge his family meant he could pay any price.
For a long time, he had been investigating the truth, but progress had been extremely slow.
He still had not found the real mastermind behind it. The other side had hidden too well.
Nick Fury might be the only person who knew the truth. Frank could not let this chance go.
"I agree. But you know what happens if you lie to me, Fury."
"Of course."
Seeing Frank agree, Nick Fury was not surprised. He nodded lightly.
A cold light flashed through his one eye.
Pierce, your end is coming.
And Frank… what exactly happened to you?
…
Sokovia, Novi Grad.
As the capital of a country, there was no wealth here, no peace.
Only decline.
Novi Grad was surrounded by the steep, dark-green foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. The city spread along a river valley, with a muddy river cutting straight through it. On both banks were dense residential districts and industrial zones.
But the atmosphere here was extremely oppressive.
For a long time, it had been a chessboard for great-power games. The air was filled with exhaustion, vigilance, and suppressed anger.
At the central square of the old city stood a vast plaza paved with gray stone slabs. A bronze statue of a Soviet-era hero stood there, raising a flag and rifle high into the air. Around it were brutalist government buildings, an opera house, and a post office.
The outer walls were faded and peeling, carved with anti-war slogans, hatred toward America and Tony Stark, and the scars of bullet holes.
It was winter in December.
Large numbers of Sokovian people moved through the streets beneath old apartment buildings and along the stone steps of the square. Men and women, old and young, walked shoulder to shoulder, their faces heavy with anger and exhaustion.
They were marching.
The people held up torn banners and black-and-white portraits of the dead. Their cries in Slavic were low and repressed, each shout accusing the war of the wounds it had left behind.
The procession moved forward slowly, and the crowd's voices rose and fell.
"War took our families."
"No more endless conflict."
"Stop turning Sokovia into a battlefield."
"We only want to live in peace."
Some people raised photographs of the victims high above their heads. Their roars carried all their grief and rage, while the people along the street wore solemn expressions and joined the protest in one voice.
Sokovia had suffered under war for years. The flames of battle had even swept through its capital.
Ruined buildings stood everywhere, and prices kept rising by the day.
Countless people had lost their homes, their friends, and their jobs. They had never enjoyed peace. All they had were the scars and pain brought by war.
Even those fortunate enough to find work earned barely enough to buy a few loaves of bread.
Many could no longer support their families.
Many had no choice but to beg on the streets.
This was what Sokovia had always been. If someone had not funded the churches, several welfare homes, and orphanages a few months ago, even more people would have died.
The people at the bottom did not understand the games being played behind this war.
They only knew there could not be another war.
Unfortunately, no one cared about their protests. Because they were nothing more than people at the bottom, people without the power to resist and without the right to speak.
On the top floor of an apartment building not far from the central square, several figures stood watching the scene below with deep frowns.
"A bunch of damned bastards," one woman cursed under her breath.
She wore an ordinary thick cotton coat, almost no different from what the Sokovians wore. It was old and worn as well, though her skin was darker.
She was not cursing the innocent Sokovians marching against the war.
She was cursing the sinners who had brought war to this country.
"This is the truth of the world, Domino," said the tall, powerful Eastern European man beside her, his face filled with anger. "Those in power enjoy the wealth plundered through war, yet they never see the blood and tears of the people at the bottom."
As a fellow Eastern European, he could sympathize with the Sokovians even more. He, too, had once been a victim of war.
If he had not met the Leader and changed his fate, perhaps after leaving the army, he would have become a mercenary and died on some battlefield. Or he might have been wounded and forced to retire, spending all his savings before wandering the streets.
Eventually, he would have died in some dark alley.
"We need to change all of this," Domino said, her face solemn.
These people were none other than Domino, the Astartes, and the Raven who had come to Sokovia to carry out their mission.
There were six of them in total.
Aside from Domino, a Grey Knight, there were three Astartes and two Raven.
The others also wore expressions of pity and anger.
Anyone with a conscience would find it impossible not to sympathize after coming to Sokovia and seeing the situation here.
"Trust me, if the Leader hadn't ordered Executive Officer Karla to set up funding for orphanages and churches across the world, Sokovia would be even more miserable," said one Raven soldier coldly. She had once been a Black Widow of the Red Room.
"Soon," another Astartes, a Black man, said in a low voice filled with fervor. "This world has become filthy. Only the Leader is the ender of war and grief, and we are his blades, clearing away every obstacle."
Hearing this, the others all lowered their heads.
They were paying respect to their Leader, and also declaring their loyalty and resolve.
"It's time to go. If we want to end Sokovia's war, we first need to find the tumor entrenched here."
...
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