He sits quietly in the bar, sitting at an aisle. He takes a sip of his beer, trying hard to forget. He glances at the picture of Kara, smiling at the camera. She looked perfect, with the sun bouncing off her angelic face. He felt his wretched heart wither. Instead of feeling depressed or distressed , he feels uncontrollable rage bubble within him. He wants to lash out his fury to any of those daring to approach him. Suddenly, he feels the presence of a person, a man, who walks.. no, lumbers towards him. Judging by his clumsiness, he would be a person in his late fifties, and he walks towards him, his clumsy footsteps creaking the wood in the dark lights. If he was trying to take him out.. he snorts. Hah. He may have lost himself in the warehouse but he was still a spy, an agent. Unarmed. He could take him out in less than 10 seconds, but decides to hear him out. No Threat.

'Hey man' the old hag says. His tone was light, happy. As if he could cheer him up.

Ward stands up. Never let the enemy tower over you. They will always have an advantage. Imitate. Don't ever show your weaknesses to the enemy, even if they seem to have an advantage over you. Ward looks at his face, like if his eyes were gazing.. no, piercing into the old man's soul, ready to eliminate the threat.

The old man notices the picture that he was holding. Damn, Ward thinks. Here comes a whole barrage of questions that he does not need to hear, and absolutely does not want to answer. He'd better get this over quick. 'Looks like you're having trouble letting go ... hate to see that, my friend. Did she walk out on you ?'

'She drowned when her lungs filled with blood', he growls.

The old man, who he assumes to be a bartender, looks horrified as he backs away from the counter until he's out of his line of sight. Good.

Four men enter the bar as quickly as the bartender left. He snorts, looking at the enemies whom entered. He recognises them as HYDRA, but he doesn't relax into a calmer stance. Never, ever let the enemy underestimate you, and never, ever let them think that they can beat you.

He turns to the four men, malice written clear in his eyes. 'These are all the names you could drum up?'

The three people look at each other nervously. The fourth one, however (who he assumes to be the ringleader), takes a step towards Ward. 'You're lucky we found this many. Whitehall, Strucker, List ... the leadership is gone, man. Usually, a head grows back, but not this time. The organisation… disintegrated.'

Ward looks at the pathetic list of names. With disgust, he flicks it away. 'I want more names. ', he demands.

The ringleader, his fear of Ward obviously slipping away from him. He advances towards Ward, anger burned in his eyes. 'And I want to marry into money. Do you speak English ? No leadership means nobody giving orders, and that sure as hell includes you.'

He looks over at the picture of Kara, and as quick as a flash, slams the beer that he was drinking onto the ringleader's head. The ringleader, obviously surprised, staggers back in pain. He kicks the man on the floor, and wipes his hands in disgust.

Anger boils through his skin, bursting through his veins, his rage no longer held back, fire in his eyes once again.

Do you understand who you work for now? I'm done flying solo. I miss having a team around me', he growls to the other three HYDRA recruits. 'Find me a team', he snarls.

'Hail HYDRA to that. What's the plan, sir? Chaos?' Ward looks long and hard at Kara's picture, now broken and tattered, with glass pieces obscuring her face. His hostility growing more unstable by the second. He remembers all the memories with Kara, All the talks about Closure. He grimaces, reliving the painful memories.

'No, not Chaos. Closure' he says, a smile finally making it's way onto his features. A bitter smile, but still a smile nonetheless.

'Hail HYDRA!' the recruits scream as they sauntered out of the desolate bar.

Revenge. His mind savoured at the thought. But firstly.. Closure.