"Boss, it’s getting lively out there."
Sarah stood by the front window, peering through the glass at the commotion outside.
Behind her, Evenson sat behind the counter, noisily slurping instant noodles from a styrofoam cup.
"It is," he agreed between bites. "But I think it’ll get a lot more interesting once they discover the little present I left behind."
Outside...
Brooklyn had become a military operation.
Six Black Hawk helicopters hovered overhead as ropes dropped from their open doors. Fully armed soldiers in black urban combat gear fast-roped onto rooftops and streets below.
A convoy of military Humvees sealed every major intersection and alley. Heavy machine guns mounted on the vehicles swept methodically across the surrounding buildings, daring anyone foolish enough to interfere.
The troops moved with practiced precision.
Disciplined.
Efficient.
Every squad advanced in textbook formation toward predetermined targets.
With that much hardware flooding the streets, it wasn’t just Richter Curios that noticed.
Nearly the entire neighborhood had been shaken awake.
Unlike the fearless spectators who crowded around disasters in action movies, Brooklyn’s residents displayed remarkable survival instincts. One after another, they hurried indoors, shut their doors, and stayed well away from the windows.
Nobody wanted to be the unlucky civilian caught between men carrying automatic rifles.
Curiosity, however, was another matter.
People peeked through curtains.
Others watched from rooftops or apartment balconies.
Some noticed the lettering on the soldiers’ uniforms.
Not POLICE.
Not FBI.
Not CIA.
Instead...
S.H.I.E.L.D.
At this point in history, SHIELD remained largely unknown to the public.
Most people had heard the name.
Almost nobody knew what the agency actually did.
Naturally, speculation exploded.
Foreign spies?
A terrorist cell?
Had Osama bin Laden somehow ended up hiding in Brooklyn?
The theories became increasingly outrageous...
Until everyone realized who the soldiers were actually arresting.
The Dead End Gang.
...
The collective confusion was almost audible.
Elite tactical units, backed by helicopters and armored vehicles...
...had been deployed against a neighborhood street gang.
The contrast was absurd.
The civilians weren’t the only confused ones.
The gang members themselves looked utterly bewildered.
As soldiers stormed their hideouts, many genuinely wondered if they were dreaming.
Seriously?
For us?
We’re just a gang with an intimidating name.
Sure, they collected protection money.
Harassed women.
Skipped restaurant bills.
Sold a little cheap narcotics.
Not much, admittedly.
In fact, their local addicts had complained so frequently about supply shortages that the gang had nearly staged a meeting just to apologize.
They weren’t exactly criminal masterminds.
So why were they being hunted like international terrorists?
Several members silently vowed to sue the government for wasting taxpayer money...
Assuming they ever saw daylight again.
Years later, the gang’s final leader would supposedly write an entire prison memoir arguing exactly that.
For the moment, however, none of them had time to complain.
The soldiers didn’t bother negotiating.
A rifle butt slammed into the suspect.
He hit the pavement.
Two operators immediately pinned his arms behind his back, snapped on handcuffs, pulled a black hood over his head, and hauled him into a waiting vehicle.
The procedure repeated over...
And over...
And over.
Watching from safety, the neighborhood began inventing explanations.
Maybe the Dead End Gang had only pretended to be a street gang.
Maybe they were actually an international terrorist organization.
Maybe they were foreign sleeper agents waiting for secret activation orders.
Ironically, a surprising number of gang members began entertaining the same thought.
Maybe we’re part of something much bigger.
Maybe one day some bearded leader was supposed to give a speech and we’d all become elite holy warriors.
It certainly explained the helicopters.
Not that any of it was true.
Well...
Not entirely.
Ordinary street gangs existed by the hundreds across America.
SHIELD didn’t waste resources chasing every collection of neighborhood thugs.
The Dead End Gang was different for one reason.
SHIELD believed they had ties to Hydra.
Possibly even that some of them were Hydra.
That conclusion, incidentally, existed almost entirely because Evenson had unintentionally pointed the agency in that direction.
Back in the Director’s office...
"...Before we contacted Evenson," Coulson explained, "members of the Dead End Gang approached him first."
"They attempted to recruit him after learning he possessed supernatural abilities."
"They’re dead now."
"But before one of them died..."
"He shouted a Hydra slogan."
Fury frowned.
"’Cut off one head, two more shall take its place?’"
Coulson nodded.
"Exactly."
Nick Fury wasn’t convinced.
Hydra had supposedly been destroyed over half a century ago.
Their name belonged in history books.
Not current intelligence reports.
"It could simply be meaningless posturing," Fury said.
"Street criminals imitate symbols they don’t understand all the time."
"They wear swastikas."
"Iron Crosses."
"Other extremist insignia."
"Not because they believe in them."
"Because they think they look intimidating."
May stepped forward.
"Sir."
"I don’t believe a petty criminal facing death would shout a slogan he considered fashionable."
"He’d beg."
"He’d bargain."
"He certainly wouldn’t die proclaiming loyalty to something unless he truly believed in it."
Fury remained silent.
She had a point.
A cowardly thug who survived by bullying weaker people rarely developed heroic convictions in his final moments.
If the man had chosen Hydra’s creed over pleading for mercy...
Perhaps it wasn’t just a slogan anymore.
Perhaps it was faith.
May continued.
"There’s an old saying where I come from."
"A centipede dies hard."
"Even after death, it keeps moving."
"Hydra was one of the largest clandestine organizations in history."
"Can we honestly claim every hidden cell was eliminated?"
Every sleeper agent?
Every cache?
Every contingency?
Fury couldn’t.
No intelligence agency could.
Organizations as vast as Hydra rarely vanished overnight.
It was entirely possible that fragments had survived in secret, waiting decades for an opportunity to rebuild.
The only remaining question was how much of the old organization still existed.
A few scattered extremists...
Or something far more dangerous?
May delivered the final argument.
"They found Evenson before we did."
"That suggests their intelligence network may be better than ours in at least some areas."
"And they’re actively searching for enhanced individuals."
"I don’t think we can afford to wait."
Fury’s hesitation disappeared.
"Notify the tactical response teams."
"Round up every member of the Dead End Gang."
"Every last one."
He looked directly at Coulson.
"You’re leading the operation."
"Yes, sir."
"And one more thing."
Fury’s expression hardened.
"Do not tell the assault teams why they’re being deployed."
"They’re arresting a street gang."
"Nothing more."
"If Hydra has infiltrated SHIELD..."
He left the rest unsaid.
The implication was obvious.
"No one outside this room needs to know what we’re looking for."
"And once the prisoners arrive..."
"They’re to be isolated immediately."
"No interviews."
"No conversations."
"No contact with anyone until I give the order."
"Understood."
Thus, without ever realizing why...
The Dead End Gang reached the end of its road.
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