Havoc and Retribution

Matrilineal

Leading the operation on the front lines has never been Bradlich's style. He prefers to give orders from a central command centre, scotch in hand, decisively guiding a mission. However, with his strike force smaller than he'd like, he needs his own boots on the ground. Plus, it's always nice to threaten the one-eyed director of S.H.I.E.L.D. to his face.

Bradlich and his team have already breached S.H.I.E.L.D.'s preliminary defenses and are working their way floor by floor to Director Fury's office on the fifth level. His men are brutally efficient, chosen for their ability to kill without question or remorse. He strides through the halls behind them with the posture of a conqueror, arms behind his back, even whistling a little tune.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is losing its touch. This is too easy.

On the fifth floor, mindful of a trap, Bradlich stops his strike force in the hall. He plants his feet wide and faces the office door at the end of the hall. "Director Fury!" he barks. "I'd like a word. Can you fit me in your calendar?" He sneers.

There is a pause, then the sweep of a long, dark, trench coat as the man himself opens the door at the end of the hall. One dark eye glares at him, hands on his hips, the intimidating director of S.H.I.E.L.D. "Ah, Mr. Jared Bradlich," Fury calls to him. "I was wondering when you were going to make your grand entrance. You're in luck, my afternoon appointment cancelled."

"It's not as soon as I had hoped for," Bradlich calls back, approaching him with measured steps, his men following. "Your prisons aren't as air-tight as you'd like to believe."

"I'll make a note of it," Fury says, not budging an inch as Jared closes the distance between them. "You're more than welcome to test the upgrades when they're finished."

Toe to toe with Fury, Bradlich smiles a smile Hel would be proud of. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way," he tells Fury nonchalantly.

"Did you practice that cliché in front of the mirror this morning?" Fury asks.

In the span of a blink, Bradlich's hands are around Fury's throat, picking the taller man clean off the ground. Fury's one eye bulges in surprise. "Every day," Bradlich sneers. Still holding Fury up with supernatural strength, the director choking, hands reflexively trying to pull Jared's hands away, Bradlich pushes the door open and enters Fury's office. Inside, he throws the man across the room.

Fury lands in a heap on his desk, looking at Bradlich with wary incredulity. "Been experimenting on yourself?" Fury croaks, throat bruised.

Bradlich stalks towards him, looking at his hands in a mocking way, flexing the muscles in his arms. "What, this?" he asks and picks up a chair, twisting it in half as easily as spinning a top. "This is just the start," he confides to Fury, grabbing the man by his coat lapels. "Just enough extra juice to give me an edge when I'm pursuing something I really, really want."

Fury looks up at him, disgusted. "I'll ask the easy question for sake of moving the dialogue along. What do you want?"

Bradlich's grin is ghoulish. "Lucky for you, something very simple." He throws Fury into his desk chair, behind a computer terminal and comes to stand behind him. "I want you to contact your little band of misfits so they can tell me where the lovely Jaycee Strong is. Or should I say Hel? Oh, and to announce my presence to divide their attention. Make them worry. You know, the usual evil mastermind delivering threats schtick."

Fury snorts. "Done with your soliloquy yet?

Bradlich very slowly contracts his grip on Fury's shoulder. "Play nice, Director," he says as Fury hisses in pain as the bones in his shoulder start to break. "Don't I get one phone call?"