Open to Anybody
((This is just Nick's first stop, he'll likely pop up in other threads. Anyway, join him at the bar or like call him if you need to talk to him))
Fury wondered just how many apocalypses he would have to live through. He was getting way too old for this shit. His last day on Earth had been spent in countless meetings. He'd put S.H.I.E.L.D. into emergency lock down from outsiders and initiated evacuation protocols, which pretty much meant agents were free to handle their own business or try and help others onto ships. He would do what he could for people in the city until the last moment (there was a ship that wasn't going without him), see that people he cared about were safe, and then get the hell out of dodge.
Up in the super space habitat all these vessels were supposed to create, S.H.I.E.L.D. would try and help restore order, figure out a way to make things work for whatever was left of Earth's population up there. But the Directorate would never be the same again, this was it for its Earth incarnation. Hell, this was it for Earth. Before he left S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury made calls to be sure his ex-wife and kid down South were safely evacuated, and sent out a command to his LMDs to help with evacuations, calm riots, rescue people from burning buildings. All that heroic crap that could maybe make some small difference here at the end. "You get out safe, Sheila, honey," he told his secretary, who had stayed diligently by his office all day, and kissed her on the cheek as he passed by. He didn't speak to anyone else, but all the agents and personnel rushing past him didn't really seem in the mood to say much anyway. Everyone knew the score, no use waxing poetic about it. Outside, Nick got his car from the garage and eased it down side streets, trying to stay away from crowds, heading for home.
General Bartholameow met him, mewing at the door, and Nick lifted the cat around his shoulders (it was kind of their thing) and scratched the cat absently behind its ears as he moved from room to room packing a few things. It was all necessities; liquor, weapons, cat food. Once Bart was packed safely in his cat carrier (Fury couldn't bring himself to just leave the furry fucker behind), Nick took one last look at his apartment, nodded his head once resolutely, and left. There was a lot to do still before he could go up. A lot of people he needed to check in on, a lot of scary shit out in the city to deal with. First, though, he was going for a scotch and a beer at his favorite bar. He parked in a no-parking zone, pushed his way into the crowded but subdued place, and plunked the cat carrier on the bar in front of him. The bartender nodded at him, Nick nodded back and the doleful man put two glasses in front of him and muttered it was on the house. Why not? Nick threw back the scotch and nursed the beer and thought about the end of the world. Actually, it didn't really bother Nick too much. He'd get his shit together, adapt. It's what you did to survive, and if Fury knew anything it was how to survive.