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Chapter 14 Coville Manor
🕑 Added 2025-08-27 11:15:05 +0000 UTCAt Coville Manor in the Newman neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York, Steve Rogers, dressed in casual clothes, held a kettle and carefully tended a small flower garden.
Behind him, Peggy Carter, now over eighty, looked frail but carried a clearer, warmer smile than ever. Behind her stood a slightly weathered wooden door, and resting against the wall beside it was a dusty Vibranium shield.
Everything looked peaceful—beautiful, even. Peggy had once believed she had lost her beloved forever. She never expected that Steve would return from the future, keeping the promise he had made long ago.
“Steve, do we really have to let everything go completely?”
Watching her husband work in the garden, Peggy smiled, though her voice carried a hint of worry.
“Let the future take care of itself,” Rogers replied, turning toward her with a gentle smile. His face was older, but his eyes still shone with the same determination. “Everything’s on the right track now. They don’t need us anymore. And besides… we’re old, Peggy.”
The two had already sacrificed more than anyone for S.H.I.E.L.D. Now, their fight seemed over.
“Jingle—”
Their quiet moment was interrupted by the sharp ring of the telephone. Rogers set the kettle down and picked up the receiver, frowning at the unfamiliar number flashing on the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hey, are you Steve Rogers? Someone sent you a package. You’ll need to come pick it up.”
The courier’s voice was casual, but Rogers stiffened. Few people knew him well enough to send him anything.
“Who sent it?” Rogers asked, stepping aside and glancing at Peggy.
The courier checked the label. “Huh… that’s odd. It says: Greetings from 2023. Weird sender name, huh?”
At the Brooklyn post office, the delivery man chuckled and shook his head, brushing it off as some prank.
But Rogers froze. 2023. His eyes widened in shock. He knew exactly what that year meant.
“Peggy, I need to step out for a while.”
He hung up, kissed Peggy gently on the forehead, then glanced at the Vibranium shield leaning in the corner before striding out of Coville Manor.
Not far away, Allens sat in the back of a black Mercedes-Benz, watching Rogers leave. He tapped his knee with one finger, calm and thoughtful.
“Boss, should we move now?” asked Hodgson Barnett, his driver, eyes cold and ready.
“Not yet,” Allens replied evenly. “Patience is the key.”
He raised a hand. “Illusion.”
A dark shimmer spread over Coville Manor, cloaking it. In the heart of the garden, a hooded figure cloaked in black appeared.
“Attention, all teams. Unidentified hostile spotted inside Coville Manor. Repeat, intruder confirmed inside the target perimeter.”
On the top floor of a nearby three-story building, a man in Army combat gear lowered his binoculars, speaking into a communicator with a flat tone.
“Damn it! How the hell did he get in?”
In the earpiece, Colonel Horton roared, his fury barely restrained. Tasked with protecting Peggy Carter, Horton commanded the squad of loyal agents who shadowed her every move. The sudden appearance of an unknown infiltrator sent him into a rage.
“Sniper, take the bastard out!” Horton snarled.
“Boom!”
The sniper fired. The high-caliber bullet ripped through the hooded figure, blasting him off his feet. He lay still on the ground.
“Nice shot, Vulture.”
Praises crackled over the comms, and the sniper, code-named Vulture, smirked. But then his smile vanished. Through his scope, the body on the ground began to twitch—then rose again.
“What the—”
The hooded man stood tall, his form rippling with black mist. From the shadows, grotesque monsters began to crawl and slither into Coville Manor, their forms twisted and terrifying.
“Shit! What the hell is that?!”
Cold sweat dripped down Colonel Horton’s forehead as his agents panicked. Even the hardened soldiers of his death squad quailed at the sight of nightmare creatures swarming the manor grounds.
“Fire! Kill them all!” Horton barked.
Gunshots erupted, deafening and frantic. But the monsters only howled, pressing forward.
Inside, Peggy Carter’s eyes snapped open. Despite her age, her instincts remained sharp. She reached beneath her chair, pulled a hidden pistol from a compartment, and loaded it in one fluid motion.
“Ms. Carter—intruders have breached the manor!”
Out of the shadows stepped a tall, dark-skinned man with a scar running down his face, eyes burning with focus. In each hand, he carried a custom firearm.
“Nick,” Peggy said firmly, glancing at him and then at the shield resting in the corner. “Protect this house—with everything you’ve got.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nick Fury replied coldly, tightening his grip on the weapons. Then, without hesitation, he strode toward the center of the manor, ready for war.
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