Pierce didn't go home after leaving the Triskelion.
He took a route that had no official record, ending at a HYDRA facility that appeared on no S.H.I.E.L.D. map. The building was unremarkable from the outside — the kind of structure that city infrastructure absorbed without noticing. Inside, past two checkpoints that recognized his biometrics, was a room that contained a great deal of computing hardware and very little else.
Pierce entered a code at the terminal. The screens woke up.
Symbols cascaded across the display — a visual language that no longer belonged to any living mind.
"Dr. Zola," Pierce said.
The voice that answered was synthesized, assembled from recordings rather than generated, which gave it an odd quality — human in its cadence, mechanical in its texture.
"Pierce. It's been some time. I expected your next contact would come from the New Jersey facility."
"You're the same regardless of which terminal I use."
A sound that approximated a laugh. "True enough. As long as there's a network connection, location is irrelevant. What do you need?"
Pierce opened the case and positioned the Dragon Ball in front of the primary camera array. "This is called a Dragon Ball. Seven exist in total, numbered one through seven by the stars inside. I need everything you can pull from the network — who's looking for them, who claims to have them, which organizations are moving on them. Full scope."
"Straightforward enough. Give me a moment."
The pause lasted less than two minutes. Then every screen in the room filled simultaneously — purchase inquiries, forum discussions, dark web listings, intercepted communications, financial trails, search pattern analyses.
"The scope of interest in this item," Zola said, "is considerably broader than you might expect."
Pierce studied the displays. His expression shifted.
"Walk me through it."
"Organizations and individuals with documented Dragon Ball acquisition activity over the past three years: Tony Stark, the Ten Rings, the Golden Dagger Club, Ziodex Industries and remnant leadership from the former High Table." Zola's voice carried something like relish as it continued. "Individuals who have released Dragon Ball information publicly: Darcy Lewis, Eddie Brock. Search activity includes S.H.I.E.L.D., T'Challa of Wakanda, Bruce Banner, and a significant number of unaffiliated private parties." A brief pause. "There are also quite a few people selling decorative replicas online, which I found inadvertently."
"Authentication," Pierce said. "How does anyone verify one is real?"
"Two methods circulating in informed channels. Direct ballistic impact — genuine Dragon Balls show no damage. And the stars inside maintain identical orientation from every angle of observation, which no current manufacturing process can replicate." Zola's tone shifted slightly. "The asking price on the black market is three million per unit, and the list of parties pursuing them includes multiple entities that don't spend that kind of capital on fairy tales. Whatever these objects do, a significant portion of the world's most capable people believe the answer."
Pierce was already past needing to be convinced. The field had confirmed it for him when Sitwell put the ball in his hands.
"Monitor all network traffic related to Dragon Balls going forward. Any credible sale offer, any confirmed sighting — contact me immediately."
"Of course." Then, with the particular directness of an intelligence that had no investment in social courtesy: "May I ask what function this object has that warrants Hydra's involvement? I've noted the connection to Smith Doyle in the historical record. That alone suggests the stakes are significant."
Pierce considered the question for a moment. "Seven balls collected together summon a dragon. The dragon grants any wish. Without stated limitations."
Silence on the line — a genuine pause, not a processing delay.
"You're certain of this."
"Two prior cycles have already occurred. Two wishes have already been granted. The Sky Curtain events were the visible results." Pierce let that sit. "This is the third one."
Another pause. Then: "I've spent considerable time developing the algorithm. A predictive system that will let Hydra act with precision at the right historical moment." Zola's voice was measured, but something had shifted in it. "You're telling me there is a mechanism that bypasses all of that and simply delivers the outcome directly."
"If we collect all seven before the tournament begins."
"And if we can't collect them in time?"
"Then we field someone for the competition."
Zola processed this. "The Winter Soldiers are strong. Each one benchmarks near Captain America. That was once a meaningful ceiling." A pause that carried something almost rueful. "The ceiling has moved considerably. Smith Doyle, Stark, the Asgardian, the members of The Paragons — the Winter Soldier program was built for a world that no longer exists."
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