READ NOVEL ONLINE Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Shameless Note from a Shameless Author 😎
Alright, here's the deal—I'm feeling super motivated right now, so I'm dropping three days in a row of chapters for y'all! 🎉 Expect regular updates, at least for now. Let's just hope my motivation doesn't run out anytime soon, yeah? 😅 But, if you want to keep those chapters coming, you know what to do: leave a comment, drop a review, and maybe a powerstone or two never hurt, right? 💎🔥
Honestly, your support means everything to me. So if you're enjoying the story, don't hold back—show some love! 😜
PS: Also, just to give you a heads up—there's a little explanation for a question that might come up by the end of the chapter. Be sure to check it out! 😉
Catch you in the next chapter! ✌️
---
Fury walked down the hallway, his face hardened by fatigue and frustration. It was 3:30 a.m., and after a long day filled with unexpected events, he was exhausted. Clare had called him at 2:00 a.m., just when he thought he could finally rest. He'd had enough for today—he didn't want to deal with Maximus or any more problems. He needed a break, but the agency never stopped working, and he, least of all, could afford that luxury.
He stopped in front of Maria Hill, who was reviewing reports on her terminal. Without turning to face her, he spoke in a grave tone, though with a hint of weariness.
"Agent Hill, put your work off until tomorrow. I want you ready and active first thing in the morning. We have a lot to do, but for today..." he said, watching as agents took Roderick's body toward the morgue. His gaze hardened for a moment. "We're done for today. Go get some rest."
With a sigh, Hill nodded. She knew the pressure on Fury was constant, but it didn't bother her. She understood the job never rested, and she always delivered. With a quick glance at the Director, she left.
Fury watched as the morgue door shut with a soft thud, leaving behind the body of Roderick Kessler. Everything had happened so fast, and the weight of the decisions still pressed heavily on his chest. They still hadn't found Stark, who had been missing for months, and now he had to deal with Gabe and Clare's son. His mind was overloaded with information, responsibilities, and threats... Too much work to do.
"Yes, a lot of work ahead," he muttered to himself as he made his way to his room within the S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities.
The complex was an enigma to most people. They didn't know that, due to the nature of the agency, some members had rooms assigned on the premises, ready to be used at any moment. S.H.I.E.L.D. never stopped, and those at the higher levels, like Fury and Hill, were needed 24/7. As Director, Fury was always present, and if it wasn't for a high-level mission, it was for the endless management of the problems that arose daily.
With heavy steps, he entered his room, the door closing behind him. The room, austere and functional, lacked the luxury of his house in Miami, but it was a suitable refuge for someone like him. The gray walls and the cold, almost monotonous lighting surrounded him. The bed, although large, seemed almost out of place, more of a necessity than a luxury. With a heavy sigh, Fury walked to it, quickly removing the long coat and black suit he had worn all day. In a couple of movements, he stripped them off, and without thinking much more, he collapsed onto the bed in his underwear, exhausted.
The mattress, though not luxurious, offered a sense of relief to his tired body. He stretched and let out a deep sigh as his eyes closed for a moment, seeking the rest he so desperately needed. For tonight, he wouldn't have to face more problems, though he knew that upon waking, the war would have only continued. But for now, for a few hours, the exhaustion consumed him completely, and all he could do was let the silence and stillness of the room take over.
The scene changes to a battlefield. New York City is collapsing under the weight of an alien war.
In the heart of the battle, surrounded by the destruction of New York. Buildings collapse around him, and the deafening noise of explosions and gunfire fills the air. Fury shouts orders, but his voice is drowned out by the chaos.
"Left flank! Defensive formation! Don't let them surround us!"
Beside him, Maximus—the son of his best friend, Gabe—moves swiftly. Surprisingly, the kid handles himself like a veteran, moving with a skill that defies his age.
The squad moves forward in formation, each member an extension of Fury's training. The battle isn't won yet, but discipline gives them an edge.
And then, suddenly, he sees it.
A shift in the air. A presence. Something isn't right.
Out of nowhere, a deep, vibrating sound fills the space. A metallic creak that raises the hairs on the back of his neck.
The Predator appears, as if taken straight from the movies.
A giant shadow moves among the debris, its towering, muscular figure covered in alien armor that reflects the light of nearby explosions. The metallic mask gives it a spectral air, and its body seems to meld with the surroundings, like a beast stalking its prey.
Fury feels the tension, the weight of the threat. This isn't like the other battles. This is something different. His team advances, unaware of the magnitude of the danger approaching, but Fury knows. He knows this is a threat that cannot be overcome with strategy alone.
"Be careful!" he shouts, but the sound of the wind drowns his voice. The Predator does nothing but observe, like a hunter waiting for the perfect moment.
In a blink, the monster moves with inhuman speed. No screams, only the sound of metal slicing through the air and the red glow in its mask lighting up like a beacon. The violence strikes without warning, a muffled scream drowned out by the impact of one of the alien weapons. One of the soldiers falls, and the Predator makes him disappear in an instant.
"No!" Fury shouts, but his voice is lost. The battle is a frenzy, everything exploding around him, the gunfire and screams filling the air.
And then, the monster approaches. It moves fast, unreachable. Fury watches as the Predator drags one of his men, making a move so fluid that it seems more like a ghost than a physical being.
In an instant, the creature stands before Maximus, its mouth opens, and sharp, twisted teeth emerge from within, like swords aiming at human vulnerability.
Fury has no time to think of anything else. The kid is at the front, and Fury knows he must protect him. Fury moves, stepping between the alien and Maximus. He does it without thinking, there's no room for doubt. He cannot allow the kid to die, not like Gabe did.
Without mercy, the Predator launches one of its teeth, long and sharp like a spear. But the tooth does not wound Fury. Instead, it flies toward the kid, piercing his face. Maximus falls. Fury cannot react in time. Maximus's face, now disfigured, stares up at him from the ground. In that instant, Fury sees it: the blood, his friend's pale face, death in Max's eyes.
"Max!" Fury shouts, but desperation overwhelms him. He couldn't protect him.
The Predator stops. It doesn't seem in a hurry, just watching him with those empty eyes beneath the mask. As if none of this matters, as if it's all just a game to him.
No.
Fury knows he has to move. He draws his weapon, but the sound of the shot never comes. He knows he must do something, but his body doesn't respond. He stands there, in the midst of the destruction, looking at Maximus and then at the monster. Powerless, he is consumed by helplessness.
The Predator laughs, a guttural, macabre laugh. It is not a human laugh. It is the sound of certain death.
The scene freezes, and Fury can do nothing but watch as the monster walks away, leaving him defeated, with the remains of his squad and Maximus's face burned into his memory.
Fury can't take it anymore. He knows he has failed, that this is the price he had to pay for not being good enough. Defeat consumes him. The silence is absolute. Only the sound of destruction around him remains, the echo of explosions, and the vision of Max's face looking at him, empty, dead.
Fury takes his weapon with trembling hands, bringing the barrel to his own mouth. Guilt and helplessness overwhelm him. He's ready to do it, ready to end it all. But just as he is about to pull the trigger, the sound of heavy metal falling pulls him out of his nightmare. Suddenly, he wakes up, gasping, sweating. The nightmare dissolves, but the feeling of loss and guilt stays with him. However, he knows what he has to do, knows where he failed and how to be prepared for what comes next.
Fury rose from the bed, his body still tense from the remnants of the nightmare that had left him shaken. The clock read 6:03 a.m., and the daylight was beginning to filter through the window, softly illuminating the room. He approached the window, his steps silent, and looked outside. The darkness of the night was slowly disappearing, giving way to the light of dawn. The sky was tinted with shades of gray and pink, while the first shadows of the day stretched out.
In the distance, the construction of the floating base continued at a frantic pace. The structure of the future Helicarrier stood among the cranes, the flickering lights of the construction machines reflecting on the metal surfaces. The constant sound of hammers and welding filled the air, marking the beginning of another day when everything had to keep moving forward. The massive steel pieces were slowly but steadily coming together, like a promise of what was to come. The base was not just a physical structure, but also the future of S.H.I.E.L.D., a refuge, a fortress, a symbol of resistance against whatever was to come.
Fury let out a sigh, watching as the sky grew brighter. The sunlight began to shine fiercely, spilling over the horizon, filling the space with a warmth that contrasted with the cold rigidity of the night. He picked up his communicator, the private device he only used to contact Hill.
"Hill, are you awake?" Fury said with an authoritative, almost martial tone.
Maria Hill's voice immediately responded, with the energy of someone who had been working at S.H.I.E.L.D. for years, not intimidated by the seriousness of her superior.
"I'm here, sir. Ready for orders."
Fury paused, watching the construction of the Helicarrier that rose firmly in the distance. The heavy burden of responsibility still rested on his shoulders, but his voice, now filled with determination, did not waver.
"Start Phase 1 of the Avengers Initiative."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Hill responded, surprised but clearly professional.
"Now, sir?" Maria asked, with a barely concealed surprise in her tone.
Fury nodded, even though she couldn't see him.
"Now." He said, and hung up, turning his gaze back to the construction. The future was already in motion, and he wasn't going to let the past stop him.
After a quick breakfast, Fury prepared to visit his godson for the first time in years. With firm steps, he walked down the halls of the base until he reached the S.H.I.E.L.D. infirmary, a space lit with clinical white light, filled with state-of-the-art medical equipment. The walls were covered with polished metal panels, and the soft hum of heart monitors filled the air. In the center, several stretchers were arranged in neat rows, each equipped with machinery designed to handle everything from common wounds to extreme cases on the battlefield.
Max lay on one of those stretchers, connected to an IV drip that slowly dripped. His face seemed relaxed, but the lines of tension etched into his features told a story of exhaustion and weariness. His arms bore scars, some recent and others older, that stood out under the dim light.
Fury approached Dr. Elias Vandross, a tall and thin man with graying hair and a sharp gaze that seemed to scan everything around him. His spotless white coat contrasted with the visible wear on his hands, marked by years of surgery and fieldwork. Vandross had served in S.H.I.E.L.D. for years, earning a reputation as one of the best doctors under pressure.
"Dr. Vandross," Fury said in his usual authoritative tone. "You've examined him, I imagine. Find anything out of the ordinary?"
The doctor crossed his arms as he responded seriously,
"Aside from mild malnutrition and some scars that never healed properly, I haven't found anything unusual. His general condition is stable."
Fury frowned at the mention of poorly healed wounds. How long has this kid been living? he wondered, though he kept his thoughts to himself.
"I suppose it's time to meet my godson," he finally said, turning his gaze to the young man on the stretcher.
He turned to Vandross.
"Wake him up."
The doctor nodded and, with precise movements, injected a substance into the IV connected to Max's arm. Within seconds, the young man began to stir slightly. His eyelids slowly opened, revealing eyes filled with confusion. He looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling and murmured almost automatically,
"What the he...?"
Before he could finish the sentence, Fury interrupted him with an authoritative, firm tone that brooked no argument:
"I suggest you don't finish that sentence in my presence, kid."
Max blinked, shaking off the drowsiness, and looked up. Standing before him was Nick Fury, a dark-skinned man with an eye patch over his left eye, whose presence exuded authority. His long black coat accentuated his firm posture, and his gaze conveyed experience that needed no explanation.
Next to him was an older man, thin with graying hair. He wore a pristine white coat and had a stern expression, with attentive eyes that seemed to analyze everything at a glance. It was Dr. Vandross.
"Where am I?" were the first words out of his mouth, laden with confusion.
Fury, with his firm and authoritative voice, answered without hesitation,
"You got caught up in a skirmish caused by a terrorist group called Hydra. Hydra is—"
But Max interrupted, his tone now more focused, almost mechanical, as if reciting something learned by heart,
"Hydra is an international terrorist organization dedicated to world domination. Their motto: 'Cut off one head and two more shall take its place.' They operate from the shadows, infiltrating governments and manipulating global events."
Fury raised an eyebrow, impressed, though his expression remained neutral.
"I see you're no rookie at this," he remarked, a slight tone of curiosity mixed with distrust.
"Well, when a psycho—"
"I told you to watch your language in my presence, kid," Fury interrupted with his usual firm and direct tone.
Max barely blinked, ignoring the interruption.
"When someone who isn't quite sane catches you, gives you a lecture, and nearly strangles you to death, you tend to remember every detail of what they say," he commented with a faint glimmer of humor in his eyes.
Fury watched him, maintaining his authoritative demeanor.
"I see you took it well."
Max replied with a touch of irony in his tone,
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time something like that happens to me."
Fury, noticing the conversation beginning to veer off track, quickly interrupted in his characteristic tone.
"Enough small talk," he said curtly. "Tell me what else that guy said."
Max slowly sat up on the bed, the confusion on his face beginning to fade as his mind connected the dots. Without further ado, he started speaking, as if reciting something he had already memorized.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said, his tone clear and direct. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. My mom and dad were part of it."
Fury, serious, watched him attentively, not showing any surprise.
"He talked to me about my father, Gabriel Jones," Max continued, his voice unwavering. "My father was part of the Howling Commandos. Covert operations, off-the-radar missions, espionage."
Max paused briefly before continuing.
"And he also mentioned my mother, Clare. He said she worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. as a field operative. She was involved in very sensitive missions. And together, they fought global threats."
Max looked at Fury, who showed no surprise. He simply listened attentively, not making a single comment.
"And then... he talked about Hydra." Max stopped, letting the word hang in the air. "I was told my parents fought against them for years. Secret cells, covert operations, but Hydra always came back, always in the shadows."
Max looked at Fury, who showed no signs of surprise, just a calculated watchfulness. Max's disbelief finally filtered through his expression.
"I guess if all of this is true..." his voice carried a hint of disbelief, "...I'm now in S.H.I.E.L.D."
Fury, with his firm and authoritative tone, replied without hesitation,
"That's right. And it seems you have quite a good memory, kid. But around here, that's not enough. You need a lot more to survive."
Max looked at him in disbelief.
"You mean that...?"
Fury stared at him, maintaining his usual stance.
"I, Nicholas Joseph Fury, Director of the Strategic Homeland Intelligence, Espionage, Logistics, and Defense System, leader of the Avengers Initiative, Ex-Member and Former Leader of the Elite Howling Commandos and commander of global special operations, cordially invite you to join S.H.I.E.L.D. as a Trainee Operative."
---
Shameless Note 2 from a Shameless Author 😎
Hey, everyone! 😎
I'm sure one question that's been floating around is: "How can Gabe Jones, Max's dad, have been part of the Howling Commandos if this squad was formed in 1944 during WWII? Shouldn't he be like 70 years old by 1995, when he had that mission with his wife and Fury?" 🤔
Well, here's the answer, and I promise it's not as complicated as it sounds. The Gabe Jones you see in the movies is NOT the same Gabe Jones who is Max's dad. Here's the twist: 🎩
In the original story, the Howling Commandos were formed during WWII by Captain America (Steve Rogers), and included members like Bucky Barnes, Timothy Dugan, Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, James Montgomery Falsworth, and Jacques Dernier. That's all true, but... not everything is as simple as it seems! 😅
In my version, Gabe Jones, Max's dad, is not one of the original Howling Commandos. Instead, he's part of the second generation of the team. Here's the twist: the Gabe Jones we see in the fanfic is actually the son of the original Gabe Jones (the WWII member). In this story, the original Gabe Jones is replaced by his father, Joe Jones, who was a member of the first generation of the Howling Commandos but tragically died during the war. 💔
After years, Nick Fury, rather than letting the Howling Commandos disappear, decided to reorganize this elite group years later, in the '90s. So what did Fury do? He invited Joe Jones's son, Gabriel "Gabe" Jones, to join the team. So yes, technically, Gabe Jones (Max's dad) joined as part of the second generation of the Howling Commandos, not the first! 🙌
So, even though the Gabe we know in the movies is the same in name, in this story, the timeline and team members are a little different. Hope this clears things up! 💡
Thanks for reading this far, and see you in the next chapter! 👋