January 3rd, 2008; Poltava, Ukraine…
"Keep up the hustle, people!" Tony barked. "You're almost at the end."
He paced along the edge of the training course, keeping an eye on his latest batch of students. The mercenary group called themselves the Iron Foxes. Former members of the Ukrainian Ground Forces, they had decided it would be more profitable to strike out on their own. Tony couldn't help but respect the value they placed on independence.
The leader of the group, Petro Vladyslavovych Moroz, looked on from the doorway of their temporary headquarters. The bald man couldn't stop glancing at Tony's armour. But then again, everyone did. He'd designed it to stand out, to be the most memorable thing people saw.
Each of the Iron Foxes crawled through thick mud under barbed wire. Half of them were lagging behind the others after the grueling regimen Tony had been putting them through. But they kept going. After helping each other boost and climb over high wooden walls, they grabbed pistols from a table and shot stuffed targets before sprinting to the end of the course. One by one, they climbed a 25 foot high rope suspended from a wooden framework, ringing a bell at the top. Finally, they all finished.
Tony grabbed a cooler and approached the sweat-drenched, panting men as some collapsed onto the grass. "Excellent, excellent, excellent," he said, setting the cooler down in front of them. "Here, you guys could probably use this." He opened it to reveal numerous water bottles nestled in ice cubes.
"Dyakuvaty Bohu!" ["Thank God!"] one of the mercs exclaimed. They converged on the cooler like a pride of Lions on a Wildebeest corpse.
"I don't often say this," Tony said, "but you guys did really well. T'be honest, I wasn't expecting much when I laid eyes on you. But you committed yourselves, and now you're some of the toughest bastards I've ever trained."
"Even though I finished dead-last," one of them complained, pouring the remainder of his water bottle over his head.
"You still finished," Tony pointed out. "Most folks don't. They give up when things get rough. But if you keep going despite the odds, that already puts you one step ahead o' the competition. If you want to be the best, you gotta wake up every morning and ask yourself 'Will I quit?' If the answer's 'No', then someday you'll be the best there is. Remember that."
The mercs all nodded. Moroz approached them, slow clapping as something resembling a smile formed on his weathered face. "Most impressive, Taskmaster."
Tony shrugged. "You did pay for the best."
"So I did." He handed him a metal briefcase. "You've proven to be worth every bit of your price."
Tony opened the briefcase, then examined all the bills laid out in neat little rows. "Thanks for having me."
The Iron Foxes walked up to him and, to a man, shook his hand with words of thanks. The one who finished last nodded and said, "Thank you for what you said. I'll never forget it as long as I live."
"Your welcome," Tony replied. Warmth and pride flushed through his chest, as it did every time he saw one of his students excel at their training. "Remember everything I taught ya, and you'll keep on livin' till you die of old age."
After changing into civilian clothes at his safehouse in Kiev and boarding a plane back to America, he sat back in his plush, first-class seat and smiled. 'This is what I was meant to do.'
January 18th, 2008; Triskelion…
"And what can you tell us about Campos' recent movements?" Victoria Hand asked, jotting notes in a file. An attractive woman in a navy blue suit with red streaks at the ends of her brown hair, infamous for two things: her strict adherence to protocol and ruthless attitude when it came to agents dying, so long as the mission was completed.
Tony stood across from her in the briefing room, hands clasped behind his back. He'd just returned from observing a Mexican gunrunner, Juan Diego Campos, the focus of a ten-month investigation and a high-profile target. Tony had spent the last hour detailing his report to Agent Hand. He neglected to inform her that Campos had hired him –as Taskmaster– for bodyguard and goon instruction work.
"He's careful, ma'am," he replied. "Never travels with less than a dozen guards, and from what I saw, he's never in the same vehicle or uses the same route twice. The whole time I was there, he didn't even step out of his residence if he wasn't leaving."
"Hm," Hand said, jotting more notes. "He probably knows he's being investigated. Mexican authorities have been sloppy in their efforts. If they hadn't spooked him last year, we would've shut down his whole operation by now."
"As you say."
She sat back in her chair and looked at him as a parent might look at a child, expecting them to fess up what they'd done wrong. He'd given the same look to his daughter. "Anything else of note? Any unusual activity?"
Tony looked back, trying to balance what he'd seen as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent versus what he'd seen as the target's bodyguard. Campos had a nice house, complete with all the amenities and security measures a paranoid gunrunner could need. "Well, there was one thing. I managed to overhear some of Campos' men talking. Apparently, he's hired a mercenary to act as a bodyguard and beef up security. Goes by the name of Taskmaster. I think the target's threat level should be increased if any operations are to be taken against him."
"I didn't ask you for your opinion, agent," Hand said, writing a note in the file.
Tony tried not to let his annoyance show. "With respect, ma'am, I've caught glimpses of this Taskmaster over the years. He's the real deal. We shouldn't underestimate him."
"We've looked into Taskmaster. He's a mid-level criminal at best. Just a costumed wannabe. Hardly a major threat."
Tony dug his fingernails into his palm, his cheek twitching at the woman's insults. How the hell could she be so dismissive? After everything he'd accomplished? "I've spent most of my life learning how to be a great fighter, ma'am. I like to think I'm pretty good at it. I also like to think I can recognize when someone presents a threat, thanks to this job. Taskmaster is a formidable hand-to-hand combatant, and maybe not even Barton or Romanoff could take him down. His armour might be a bit…flamboyant, but it's some of the best protection I've seen. It also looks really cool. I'm just saying, maybe we should–"
"Thank you for your report, agent," Hand said, stressing the last word. She gestured to the door with a perfectly manicured hand. "You can see yourself out."
Forcing himself to remain outwardly calm, Tony nodded. "Ma'am." He opened the door and walked out into the hall. He then entered a nearby elevator and said, "Atrium." The system beeped, and he began descending. Staring out across the Potomac, Tony gripped the railing so hard it made his knuckles turn white. 'Mid-level criminal'? 'Costumed wannabe'? Who the hell did she think she was? He'd become one of the world's greatest mercenaries, the Billy the Kid of their time. For all her talk, Victoria Hand was nothing but a glorified pencil-pusher. She didn't know jack shit about what kind of threat he posed as Taskmaster. No one at S.H.I.E.L.D. could ever hope to take him down. No one.
The elevator stopped at one of the forensics floors, breaking Tony out of his thoughts. He turned as the doors opened, and Natasha Romanoff came strolling in. She was dressed in a black leather jacket and a pair of jeans, curly red hair hanging down to her back. Simple, casual, but she could make anything look good. "Masters," she greeted with a nod.
"Romanoff."
She glanced up and said, "Atrium." The elevator beeped, then resumed its downward course. The two of them stood in silence for a few moments, Tony still feeling pissed. Romanoff looked down and arched an eyebrow. "You lose a bet or something?"
He frowned, and she gestured to his palm, still red with indentations from his fingernails. "Nah. Just came out of a debriefing with Agent Hand."
"You've got my sympathies."
He snorted. "Thanks. I heard you rescued that tech billionaire in India last week. Great job."
"Thanks. It was a little touch and go for a bit, but nothing I couldn't handle."
"I overheard an analyst say you took on a dozen different bounty hunters."
Romanoff nodded. "Yep." She leaned in close and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "Want to know the kicker? The guy's wife put the bounty on him."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "No kidding?"
"Nope. Turns out, she thought he was going to push her out of the company and leave her for a younger woman. Made the 'dead' part explicit in the bounty."
Tony gave a slow whistle. "Hell hath no fury, eh?"
"I guess so. Me, I would've just slipped something into his drink. Quieter, less hassle."
He looked at her in mild shock as she tried not to smirk. "Okay. Remind me never to even think about cheating on someone like you."
She chuckled. "And I suppose in this imaginary scenario, you and I are married? I guess I always had you pegged as the rugged, John Wayne, one-girl-a-week type of guy."
"Well, the first part's true enough," he said, crossing his arms as he flashed her a cocky grin. "As for the second, well. I've always believed when you make a contract, you honour it. A person's only as good as their word. Without that, you've got nothing."
Romanoff nodded. "I like that." The elevator reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open. "Well, it's been nice chatting. See you around," she said, walking out into the crowded hall. Tony watched her leave, then made his way down to the parking garage. Walking over to his motorcycle, he put on his custom helmet, fashioned like a Predator mask. Red glyphs complemented the glossy black look, as did the polyester cords that recreated the classic alien's dreads.
Revving up his motorcycle, he drove out of the garage. The four hour drive back to New York would give him time to cool off in the wake of Agent Hand's comments. He wasn't mid-level anything.
He was the best.
January 19th, 2008; New York City…
"Tony, we need to talk."
The four words every man dreaded. He'd seen this coming, but never wanted to admit it to himself. His S.H.I.E.L.D. missions, and his work as Taskmaster, kept him busy enough to not think about the brewing problems at home. Now, his luck had run out.
He'd just walked in the door of their Manhattan apartment, a far cry from the cheap place they'd lived in after getting married. It offered a great view of Central Park, and was in easy driving distance of the city's S.H.I.E.L.D. field office. Samantha's toys were scattered in front of the tv, but she must have been in her room. With bags of groceries in hand, Tony kicked off his shoes and strolled into the kitchen.
Maria sat at the table, a firm expression on her face. The same kind she had when preparing for combat in the field. She said those four words, and Tony braced for the worst.
He sat across the table from her, his jaw set. Over the last year, he felt a void forming between them. They didn't talk as easily as they used to. Maria had always been the stoic, serious one, but she'd kept that confined to work. At home, they both relaxed, let their guard down around each other. Lately, she seemed to keep that cold, professional demeanor on 24 hours. Tony would ask her about her day, only for her to reply "that's classified" and "above your clearance level". Every time she said that, it felt like a slap in the face. She treated her own husband like a goddamned lackey.
Not long after Christmas, Maria had been promoted to Level 8. Rumours circulated that Fury wanted to groom her for a high command rank, despite her relative youth. Others expressed doubt or envy, thinking Fury simply wanted a piece of eye-candy around. Tony knew she'd earned every accolade, every medal and rank.
Unfortunately, she saw fit to leave him behind in the process.
"You want to talk?" Tony asked, resting his arms on the table. "I'm listening."
She didn't look away from the challenge in his eyes. "Look, I think we're both smart enough to know where this has been heading."
"Oh, are we?"
Maria furrowed her brow. "Clearly you have something to get off your chest."
He shook his head. "No, no, please. Don't deny yourself the pleasure. After all, I am just a lowly Level 6 operative. Please explain to me what's going on here."
"Jesus, Tony, this is exactly why we need to have this conversation," she said, careful to keep her voice down as she glanced at Samantha's door. "You've been so…closed off. Half the time I have no idea where you are, and when you are here you shut down and watch tv all night. You don't talk to me anymore."
Rankled at her tone, he said, "Oh that's rich. I'm the one who's closed off? There's the pot calling the kettle black."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"These days we're never in the same country, let alone in the same room. And when we are, all you ever do is demand reports and give me orders."
"Tony, that is my job, I have responsibilities…"
"And when you're home, instead of unwinding and leaving all that garbage at the office, you still treat me like I'm just another mindless agent. Do you know how demeaning it is to have your own wife tell you "you're not cleared to know this"? Jesus Christ, Maria, I am your husband, not some minion you can order away."
She pursed her lips, unwilling to back down. "Tony, we haven't been honest with each other for a long time. That is not how a healthy marriage is supposed to work."
"You want honesty? Really? Okay. You want to know where I am when I'm off the clock? I travel. I take my motorcycle and drive. Or I get on a plane and travel. Doesn't matter where I'm going. And I do it because it lets me still feel human, it lets me feel like I matter. Not like S.H.I.E.L.D." When he'd first become Taskmaster, he could lie to Maria and tell her his extra time away was due to the demands of field work. But now, since she'd risen to the upper echelons, she had access and oversight to almost all S.H.I.E.L.D. activities. She knew exactly how much time his missions took, and where he was at any given time. So, the only recourse left had been lying his ass off.
Maria's skills made her equal to few; she probably recognized a lie, but didn't know what he spent his time doing. If she did know, he'd be in prison before he knew what happened.
"How can you say that?" she asked, incredulous. "Do you know how many lives we've both saved? The work we do keeps the world safe. You should feel honoured to be a part of it."
He huffed. "God knows you feel honoured, the way Fury's been pulling you up the ladder. How does it feel to be one of the few Level 8 agents in the organization? Do you get a nice executive lounge in the Triskelion? Does Coulson bring you guys homemade cookies? Do you and Hand swap gossip while sipping margaritas?"
"I won't apologize for being good at my job, Tony. What I'm doing is important."
"Clearly it's more important than your family."
Her expression went cold, her eyes boring into him. "That's not fair."
A part of him wanted to take back what he said, but they were too deep into the argument. Years of pent-up frustration vented all at once, and he couldn't stop it. "You want to know what's not fair? After everything I've done, the constant missions into one hellhole or another, the lives I've taken, do I get so much as a thank you? No, I get a stamp on a report before I'm sent God-knows-where to clean up another mess."
"Is that what you resent? Not getting enough credit?"
"No, what I resent is being nothing but a cog in the machine. They expect us to do our jobs, dance to their tune, and murder or cover up one of 1,000 horrors for the rest of our lives. You know the big secret, the thing they don't want us to know? The world's never gonna be fixed. It's broken. Always has been, always will. The best any of us can do is make the best for ourselves and our families. And maybe I don't want to die in some jungle or cave just so some heartless pencil-pusher can check off his list and look at the next crisis. That's all S.H.I.E.L.D. is. It's all bullshit, and clearly you've bought into the company line more than I ever want to."
Maria didn't respond right away. She simply stared at him, face hard as stone and unreadable. But when he looked into her eyes, he saw. He saw her look at him with surprise at how he really felt, anger at his childish taunts, and sadness for something she had to do.
Tony looked out the window, clenching his jaw tight as he interlocked his fingers. He'd told her so much, and yet so little. He didn't tell her about his life as Taskmaster, how he'd become the world's preeminent mercenary. Or how, because criminals and corporations valued his skills more than S.H.I.E.L.D. ever did, he'd amassed a fortune for their daughter when she became old enough. So much he'd done for their family, and he could never tell them about it. And even if he did, Maria would think of him as a piece of shit.
All for refusing to be a mindless government drone and making his own choices.
They sat in silence for a while, the aftermath of their words feeling like a cratered trench in no man's land. Eventually, Maria said, "We've both been hanging on for Samantha's sake, to give her a proper family. But it's clear that we've become different people in the last six years."
Tony looked at her, silently begging her not to say what she was about to say.
"Maybe it'll cause more hurt to keep going like this. I refuse to put Samantha through that kind of hell. For everyone's sake, we should think about ending things before one of us does or says something we'll regret."
His body felt like a bomb exploded inside. The hope he'd desperately clung to, despite knowing something like this would happen, shattered. The hope that, if he tried hard enough, he could hold his family together. But not after this. If he opened his mouth now, his next words would hurt Maria just to make himself feel better. So, without saying anything else, he stood up, slipped on his shoes, and walked out the door.
Still in her chair, Maria stared at the door with an empty pit in her gut. The door to Samantha's room opened, and the five year-old came strolling out in a floral dress and shoes with Minnie Mouse faces. Raven-black hair hung past her shoulders like a wild mane, cheeks still plump with baby fat. She had Tony's eyes and her nose. A perfect blend of their features for a perfect child.
Samantha looked towards the door. "Where's daddy?"
Maria affected a smile, masking her pain with practiced ease. "Daddy just had to get some fresh air." She held out her arms, and Samantha ran into her embrace. Maria kissed her on the head, then said, "Almost suppertime. Lett's get you in a bath, Gumdrop."
She picked up her daughter and walked over to the bathroom, glancing at the door. Maria still loved Tony, and always would. But she knew, deep down, after today their relationship would be over.
July, 2008; Baltimore…
"Team 1 in position," Rumlow reported through comms. "Team 2?"
"Team 2 on-site," Agent Rodriguez replied as he, Ellen, and their ten squad mates landed on the roof of the target building. They'd rappelled down from the twentieth floor of a high-rise, while Rumlow's people had taken position in the alley on the south side of the building.
They'd been given the go-ahead by Fury that morning. A domestic terrorist group, calling itself 'Fist of Liberty', had risen in threat level over the last eight months. They'd defaced storefronts owned by immigrants and made several armed, racially-charged gatherings throughout the city. Their threat assessment had skyrocketed after they'd claimed responsibility for bombing an abortion clinic. According to their manifesto, they were freedom fighters 'taking America back from those who would destroy our God-given way of life'.
Ellen had felt sick to her stomach during the briefing. Now, all she felt was a pure, righteous fury that bubbled in her core. At the right time, she'd release the pressure and give these terrorists what they deserved. These were the sort of people she joined HYDRA to eliminate. The sort that spread hate and bigotry and pain while using religion as an excuse. They were no different from the bastards who brought down the Twin Towers.
Agent Rodriguez and five others stacked up by the door leading down into the group's headquarters, a converted community hall. He gestured at Ellen and the other half of their team.
"Squad Delta, move down the north wall. Be ready to go in through the windows."
"Copy," Ellen said, joining the others as they lined up along the edge of the roof. Reaching into her utility belt, she took out a metal cylinder attached to a durable micro-cord and jammed it into the brick. The cylinder whirred, imbedding itself partway. With that complete, Ellen and the others vaulted over the edge and slowly rappelled down, using their feet to walk in reverse.
"Team 3, requesting overwatch," Rodriguez said through comms. Team 3 consisted of two three-man units trained solely for long-ranged combat. They were situated across the street, eyes on their scopes and binoculars.
"Copy," Team 3's leader replied. "Eyes on. You are looking good."
They almost reached the row of windows halfway up the wall. Ellen held her carbine, preparing herself for the coming fight.
"Hold up! Two tangos in sight. Do not go any further."
They froze less than a metre above the windows, feet planted on the bricks. If the men below spotted them, then the operation would devolve into something from a Quentin Tarantino film. The Fist of Liberty, among other things, were heavily armed. They fancied themselves warriors and soldiers, but intel had the identities of every member. Not one of them ever served. Despite not having any formal military training, a racist, sexist, murdering piece of shit with a gun would still be dangerous.
After a minute of dangling like a shrimp over an open gullet, Ellen tapped her earpiece. "Team 3, this is Squad Delta. Requesting update," she whispered.
"Tangos still in sight," came the reply. Perfect. "Wait, they're moving. Standby…Standby…"
Ellen shared a look with the man to her left. They couldn't see each other's faces due to their helmets and night vision goggles, but they'd all developed a familiarity after dozens of missions just like this one. They were the best-trained field operatives in S.H.I.E.L.D. outside solo legends like Barton, Masters, Romanoff, and May. A well-oiled machine, deadly in performance and unbending in purpose.
They were also, to a one, the deadliest agents HYDRA had ever assembled.
"Okay, you're clear."
Ellen breathed a small sigh of relief. "Squad Delta, in position."
Rodriguez spoke through the mission-wide channel and said, "Team 2, in position and ready to proceed."
"Copy," Rumlow replied. "Cutting power to the building. Breach in 3…2…1…"
The building's lights all went out at once.
"Breach! Breach!"
Ellen and the others kicked off the wall, lowered, and shot the windows out as they landed in a hallway. She turned to the left upon noticing movement. The two men spotted earlier started drawing the handguns wedged into their beltlines. Amateurs. Ellen shot one of them in the chest with a quick burst, while one of her squad mates took down the other one. "Hallway clear. Secure this floor, then sweep down to the main level."
Her five squad mates gave affirmatives. They then split into two groups of three. Ellen and her group went left, while the others went right. The first few doors they checked were either empty or being used for storage. Moving around the corner, they heard gunshots from Rodriguez's squad on the top floor and from Rumlow's team on the ground floor.
Ellen switched her carbine to three round burst mode. The bathroom door ahead of them flew open, and she held up a fist. Her two squad mates halted and crouched. A bearded man with hair dyed a bright shade of blonde stumbled out of the bathroom, looking away from them. Ellen fired a burst into his back, dropping him instantly. They moved forward, clearing every room they could find, then linked up with the other group and moved downstairs.
By the time they reached the second floor, the Fist of Liberty were well alerted to their presence. They must have stored weapons throughout the building, and Ellen and her squad started encountering heavier resistance from groups with AR-15s and shotguns. The terrorists were in a state of panic, spraying bullets and hoping to hit a target. One of them actually lost control of his gun due to the recoil and shot one of his friends in the leg. Ellen and Squad Delta dealt with them efficiently and quickly, like a sharpened sword cutting through bamboo.
At one point, they ran into the Fist of Liberty's founder, Richard Kanak. Short and paunchy in his mid-fifties, balding, and he wore round glasses that made him look quite infantile. Ellen and all five of her squad mates riddled him with holes when he tried to shoot at them. He died by choking on his own blood.
Before long, it was all over. They rejoined Rodriguez's Squad Charlie, then met Rumlow's team in the main hall. "Not a bad night's work, people," Rumlow said. Ellen had to agree; this was a win.
Afterwards, they reported mission success to Fury, who sent in teams to identify and collect the bodies, secure all the weapons, and clean up the blood and bullet holes. By dawn, everything of note had been removed from the building, and its doors were locked while CONDEMNED signs were plastered all over the front. Boarding the Quinjets, Ellen and the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. teams departed Baltimore.
Triskelion…
Ellen unstrapped her carbine and placed it in the weapons cage, then moved to her locker and started removing her gear. The S.T.R.I.K.E. Armoury took up a large section of the operations wing, with a wide selection of weapons and tech as well as a dedicated training area complete with firing ranges and their own gyms. Anything tactical developed by R&D came to them first, the tip of the spear.
Slipping her bulletproof vest off, she hung it in the locker. Beside her was another member of Squad Delta, Emilia Carmichael, a dark-skinned woman with her hair in cornrows and deep blue eyes. After catching Ellen's gaze, she asked, "Did you hear what happened with Agent May?"
"No. What about her?"
"She was on a mission in Bahrain, and something went wrong. No one's positive on details, but apparently she's requested a transfer away from field duty. I heard she took a desk job in the administrative wing."
Ellen frowned. That didn't sound like the Agent May she knew. The woman she'd idolized for thirteen years wouldn't just run away from something she was meant to do.
"I heard she took out an entire compound of terrorists with her bare hands," one of Rumlow's squad mates said from across the room. "That's one tough bitch. No wonder why people are calling her 'The Cavalry'." He and the others laughed, but Ellen could only sneer at them.
Carmichael leaned in close and said, "My brother-in-law works in Mission Intelligence. He says that the threat was a twelve year-old girl with some kind of enhanced abilities. Agent May had to kill her, and that's why she requested a transfer."
"She couldn't handle the guilt," Ellen muttered, understanding a bit more.
By this point, Rumlow, Rodriguez, and all the others had closed their lockers and left the room, leaving just the two of them. "Kind of makes you think," the other woman said, sitting down on one of the benches.
"About what?"
"About us, about…the organization." Ah. HYDRA. "Do you ever feel like we're making a difference? A real difference?"
"Of course," Ellen replied.
Carmichael crossed her arms. "I just find myself wondering, sometimes. We did a good thing today, taking out the Fist of Liberty. Those sons of bitches needed to be put down, and the world's a little bit safer." Ellen nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. "You remember that op in Salvador last year?"
How could she forget? Fury sent them into the city in order to extract a politician with information on a group of international smugglers. HYDRA wanted him gone. When they'd found him in his home, Rumlow forced him into a chair while one of their newer recruits, Jack Rollins, put a gun in his hand and shot him in the head. They'd staged the scene to look like a suicide, then left. The politician's two children were asleep in their beds at the time. Rumlow told Fury they didn't get there in time.
Ellen had had a lot of sleepless nights over that one. The politician's children became orphans, and would spend the rest of their lives thinking he abandoned them. She'd convinced herself that HYDRA's goals were worth paying any price. But something like that made her question if the price might be too high.
She thought of Melinda May, the woman who'd saved her life and partly inspired her to never give up. Such a powerful individual, unable to face the guilt of killing a child. The urge to slink away from the world and retreat into the shadows didn't seem all that strange, given those circumstances.
"Yeah, that was a tough one," Ellen said, closing her locker and leaning against it. "But what else can we do? We're trying to save humanity from itself; shitty as it sounds, things will only get worse before they get better."
"But what if they don't have to?" Carmichael countered.
"What do you mean?"
The other woman sighed. "Maybe staying in the shadows and working in secret served us well in the past, but change is inevitable. We've been hoarding knowledge and technology for seventy years. Instead of hiding all that, we should share what we know with the world. HYDRA has the knowledge and the will to affect positive change. If people recognized that, we can do so much good for the world."
Ellen shifted uncomfortably, not liking where this was going. "I don't know about that. People are closed-minded. All they'll see is an organization founded by the Nazis, and no one will accept we've left that hatred in the past."
"Doesn't mean we should ignore the potential we squander by hiding. You could speak with your father about this, get him to consider it. He has the power and influence that could get every HYDRA cell in the world to work together."
"I…" Ellen said, sighing. Carmichael did make valid points, but there were good reasons why they'd stayed in the shadows since World War II. To shift tracks that severely would take a colossal amount of effort and logistics. Plus, she already knew her father would never agree to something so drastic. "I'll think about it. That's all I can promise."
Carmichael gave her a grateful smile. "That's all I can ask. And, hey, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention any of this to the others. Let's face it, they're total pricks."
Ellen chuckled. "Yeah, they are. Come on, it's been a long day. Let me buy you a drink."
Neither of them noticed Rumlow watching from around the corner, his expression cold. He turned and walked away before they could notice, a disgusted sneer on his face.
February 13th, 2009; Afghanistan…
Tony Stark climbed out of the Humvee, ears ringing. The young soldier asking for a picture with him had just died, blasted by a shotgun. One moment everything had been fine, the next it devolved into pure chaos. The crack of gunfire echoed all around him, men and women screaming as they were shot.
Something whined overhead, followed by a large explosion near one of the other vehicles. Tony cried out, pressing himself against the Humvee. Heart thundering in his chest, adrenaline pumping in his veins, he bolted and ran as fast as he could away from the doomed convoy. A grenade or something exploded nearby, and he threw himself behind a large rock. Sweat stung his eyes as the sand and rocks shredded the pant legs of his Armani suit and skinned his knees.
Hands shaking from pure terror, he took his phone out of his pocket and madly dialed the emergency number. 'Must call Rhodey, must call Rhodey…" he thought, asking –and, he hated to admit, praying– for someone to come save him. Something whined overhead, then landed barely five feet away from him. Tony saw it, a short-range anti-personnel missile half-buried in the ground. He frowned when he saw the Stark Industries logo on it, recognizing the design.
Screaming, he tried to stand just as the missile exploded. Raw, white-hot agony tore through his chest as the explosion threw him onto his back.
'This is it,' he thought, staring up at the sky. 'This is the end.'
Well, I guess I lied about doing once-weekly posts, lol. Guess I got too excited.
Hope you enjoyed! This marks the end of Act 1 of the story, a sort of extended prologue to establish these two OCs. I originally wrote them for separate stories, and when I combined them into this one, the timelines worked out for both of them to get focus at the same time. The other two OCs will be introduced at a later point.
Starting next chapter, we will finally be entering the movie timeline. I cannot wait to share the upcoming material with you guys!