"The task is complete. I'll be withdrawing now. As usual, the two hundred billion should arrive in my account within three days."
"Don't worry. Since when have I ever defaulted, huh? Hehe…"
Nick—"Black Braised Egg," as Blaine called him—patted his chest confidently, though his laugh grew increasingly forced and awkward.
Seeing that expression, Blaine decided not to linger. Though this job had earned him a fortune, it had also cost him valuable time.
In the past, his missions were fast—three, five minutes at most. A quick strike, clean and simple. But this time had dragged on far too long, and the only reason he'd stayed was the size of the payout.
After days of effort, Blaine was exhausted. If it weren't for the money, he wouldn't have shown Fury even a hint of patience.
"Hey, hey, wait a second! I just remembered something important!"
Blaine was about to teleport away when Fury suddenly stopped him.
Beneath the brim of his hood, Blaine's lips curved upward. So, the old fox had another scheme in mind.
"Mr. Hunter, you've seen it yourself—Sokovia is still rising. It's now more than thirty thousand meters in the air."
"So?"
Blaine's tone was cold, but inwardly, he was smiling. This was exactly what he'd been waiting for.
Although he had wiped out Ultron's entire army, technically, the battle wasn't over. His contract was fulfilled, but Sokovia remained airborne—a far greater problem. Someone would have to find a way to stop its ascent and bring it down safely, protecting millions of civilians in the process.
That someone, clearly, wasn't Blaine—at least not without a price.
This was beyond his assigned mission, and he had no intention of working for free.
Human lives? The destruction of Earth? Feelings of guilt? None of that mattered to him.
'I'm a Bounty Hunter,' he thought. 'Even if it's the end of the world, why should I care? I don't bleed for anyone but myself.'
From the start, Blaine's only concern had been the two hundred billion bounty. He wasn't some merciful savior rescuing the people of Sokovia from suffering. Their fate didn't concern him.
Still, he'd anticipated this moment. He knew Fury wouldn't just let him walk away.
As the man responsible for managing Earth's defense—especially its superhuman assets—Fury couldn't ignore a crisis like this.
"So," Fury said solemnly, "I'd like to ask you to take action—to save this endangered city. On behalf of the people of the world, thank you in advance."
He straightened his back and bowed deeply to Blaine, his expression grave and sincere.
Blaine felt nothing. 'This old fox…' He'd expected at least a hint of negotiation, not this sanctimonious act. Fury hadn't even mentioned a contract—just a moral plea wrapped in flattery.
"Save the city? Not interested," Blaine replied flatly. "Goodbye. Find someone else to hire."
He wasn't the type to be guilt-tripped into doing something for free. Respect was mutual—if Fury didn't understand that, Blaine had no reason to stay.
"I admit you're powerful," Fury pressed, "but can you really stand by while countless innocent people die?"
"Sure," Blaine said bluntly.
Fury blinked, stunned by the sheer indifference in his tone.
"You can't be serious. Even if you're willing to let them die, are you willing to see the Earth destroyed? We're all in this together now. If the planet goes down, you go with it!"
When moral arguments failed, Fury resorted to practicality.
"What if I said I can refuse?" Blaine countered calmly. "If Earth is gone, I'll just find somewhere else to live."
"You're too naïve," Fury said tightly. "You know there are other civilizations—aliens, cosmic powers. You won't last out there alone."
Blaine sneered. "Old fox, don't think you can manipulate me with that. I'm a Bounty Hunter—cold-blooded, amoral, and without a conscience. Your threats mean nothing. If you don't want to pay, you'd better think carefully about the consequences."
"Mr. Hunter," Fury said, forcing a smile, "you know what I'm asking. Everything I do is for world peace—for protecting this planet."
"What does that have to do with me?" Blaine replied lazily, dropping into a chair to see what the old man would try next.
Fury sighed. "Fine. You win. Tell me your price."
"My terms are simple," Blaine said evenly. "You name your price. If it suits me, I'll accept. If not, I walk. That's how the bounty system works."
It wasn't up to him to set the amount—the Hunter System decided that. Otherwise, anyone could abuse it, setting arbitrary prices for every mission.
Fury hesitated, then finally said, "I'll add another hundred billion. Mr. Hunter, please—stabilize the situation."
"One hundred billion? Are you sending beggars now?" Blaine scoffed.
He could tell Fury wasn't desperate 'yet'—but he soon would be.
Sure enough, luck was on Blaine's side again.
Down in the city, the Avengers were still scrambling to evacuate civilians, directing them toward the helicarrier for safety. Sokovia was no longer safe—its streets and buildings could crumble at any moment.
Inside a half-destroyed church, silence fell. The once-grand sanctuary was now filled with twisted metal, shattered steel, and broken machinery.
Then, in a dark corner, a faint red light flickered.
A severed mechanical head—Ultron's—suddenly powered back on.
The head twitched, its single arm sparking beside it. It seemed one of the drones had survived Quicksilver's assault—damaged, but not destroyed.
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