January 22nd, 2014; Ellen Pierce's Safehouse…
Ellen stood in the World Security Council chambers. The Insight Helicarriers outside plummeted to the ground outside, flaming as wreckage hammered the grounds. Her father knelt in the centre of the room, his face bloody and wracked with agony.
Nick Fury stood behind him, pistol to the back of his head.
Ellen stepped forward, reaching out to her father. A pair of arms wrapped around her chest, constricting tight. "Here comes the best part," Natasha Romanoff whispered into her ear. She sounded excited. Giddy, even. The redhead giggled, even as Ellen struggled to free herself.
"No!"
Her father looked up at her, a sad smile on his face. "I'm sorry."
"No, dad!"
Fury shot him in the back of the head, grinning at her the whole time.
"DAD!"
The floor seemed to disappear, replaced by the emerald green, skull-like profile of Arnim Zola. "You could have prevented this, my dear. Despite all we gave you, you were too weak."
"No," Ellen protested, trying to ignore Romanoff's giggling as it increased in volume.
"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place." The walls of the chamber melted away, leaving them adrift in a black void as Zola's skull rushed towards her. "HAIL HYDRA!"
She screamed.
Ellen shot up in bed, gasping for breath. Sweat covered her body, causing her to shiver due to the sheets being piled on the floor. She must have kicked them off in the night. Licking dry lips, she touched a hand to her chest, remembering the nightmare. Fury, Romanoff, her father. Zola's image mocking her over her failure.
She swung her legs over the bed. Looked down at the sling she'd put her broken arm in. Figment of her imagination he might have been, Zola was right. She'd failed, that day at the Triskelion. Her father died because she hadn't been there to protect him. And because of that, any hope of reviving HYDRA's dream to reshape the world died with him. There were plenty of other cells, to be sure, with their own leaders and resources. But none of them had her father's vision, and now the eyes of the world were on them.
With a disgusted scoff, Ellen left the small bedroom and stepped into the hall.
Dressed only in a white tank top and board shorts, she grabbed herself some breakfast. The clock on the wall read 11:40. She'd overslept, again. Not that any of it mattered. Bowl of cereal in hand, Ellen padded over to the couch, plopped herself down, and ate in silence. With the current amount of supplies, she could hide here for almost a month before needing to restock. The rational part of her brain started thinking about what came after, what the plan was, but the other part overrode it.
Ellen didn't have a plan because there wasn't any point.
With some food in her, she took more pain meds. While not a doctor, she had enough experience to roughly gauge the extent of the break. Another six weeks or so, and it should be healed. Steve had no doubt calculated how much force to use when he broke it. Just enough to stop her, not enough to cripple her for life.
How thoughtful.
Ellen glanced at the clock. It read 3:09. She'd spent over two hours sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a wall. Sitting back on the couch, she fingered the television remote. Her thumb hovered over the power button, concern making her pause. It wouldn't take a genius to know how the world would react in the aftermath of the battle. But like Schrodinger's Cat, the connection to the outside world remained both bad and good. If she turned it on, then all the bad would become even more real.
After several minutes of debate, she turned on the television.
The banner on the bottom of the screen read 'Breaking News' as footage of the battle played beside the anchor. It showed one of the Helicarriers slicing the Triskelion in half, destroying the upper portions of the building. Ellen switched the channel to another network, then again, and again, taking it all in.
"…can see the extent of the wreckage behind me."
"Many are asking how this tragedy happened, or if it could've been avoided…"
"Special hearings held today about the startling…"
"…Avengers currently unavailable for comment on the…"
She stopped at a random network. The logo on the bottom banner read WHiH World News. "Good afternoon," the pretty anchor said, folding her hands on the glass table. "I'm Christine Everhart with WHiH World News. The world is still reeling from the shocking events of the 12th. S.H.I.E.L.D., the extra-governmental intelligence agency, fell in a climactic battle at their headquarters in Washington, D.C. On one side, Captain America and those loyal to the government. On the other? HYDRA, originally the Nazi Science Division, alive and well in the 21st century. Due to the efforts of Captain America and his allies, as well as a massive intelligence leak by Natasha Romanoff, we now know the Fascist group had infiltrated SHIELD since its earliest days in the late 1940s."
An image of Ellen's father appeared on the screen. Her heart ached upon seeing his face, remembering his bloody end.
"Alexander Pierce, a long-time member of the World Security Council and the only person to ever refuse a Nobel Peace Prize, was acting as HYDRA's overall leader. According to a statement published last week by Stark Industries on behalf of the Avengers, Pierce was the mastermind behind the Helicarriers that unexpectedly rose from the Potomac River. If they'd been allowed to complete their mission, then millions of innocents would have perished. It has been confirmed that Pierce himself perished in the battle."
The image was replaced by one of Ellen. She recognized it from her S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel file, hair tied into a professional bun and expression neutral.
"Information from the intelligence leak indicates that Alexander Pierce's daughter, Ellen, an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and a noted philanthropist, was also a member of HYDRA. It seems she operated for at least a decade as her father's right hand, under the codename of Madame Hydra. Several assassinations and terrorist actions of the last few years have been attributed to her, as well as extensive connections in the political and corporate worlds. Ellen Pierce is suspected to have escaped the battle, and is currently wanted by the FBI, Homeland Security, and Interpol on charges of treason and terrorism. She is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you or anyone you know comes into contact with her, contact the authorities immediately."
Ellen pursed her lips, her nostrils flaring. Everything she'd done, all the sacrifices she'd made, all of it undone. Just to have idiotic government agents label her a terrorist.
"WHiH's Chess Roberts reached out to Pierce's cousin, Cassandra Campbell, for comment," Everhart said. Ellen sat up, brow furrowed in concern. Why would they do this?
The screen shifted to view from a camera that followed a brunette woman in a navy blue dress walking down a sidewalk. Just stepping out her front door, red hair tied in a stylish ponytail, was Ellen's 19 year-old cousin, Cassie. Cassie frowned at the reporter, shoving both hands into her jacket pockets and looking down at the ground as she walked down the sidewalk.
"Ms. Campbell," the reporter said, holding out a microphone as she and her cameraman power walked in pursuit. "Ms. Campbell, Chess Roberts, WHiH. Did you know that your cousin and uncle were both terrorists seeking to overturn the free world?"
Cassie pointedly stared at the ground.
"Ms. Campbell, do you or any of your family have connections to HYDRA?"
"Leave me alone!" the teenager protested.
"Is it possible you received financial assistance from your cousin that was funded by criminal activity? Perhaps without your knowledge?"
Cassie opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly stopping herself from saying something she'd regret.
"If you have nothing to hide, Ms. Campbell, then you shouldn't have any problems answering my questions," the reporter said, following her across a crosswalk. "People have a right to the truth, so what aren't you telling me?"
"Go fuck yourself!"
Ellen's fingers twitched as she burned with impotent rage. There wasn't anything she could do but watch this reporter harass her cousin just for airtime. Grabbing her empty cereal bowl, she chucked it at the wall with a furious scream. It shattered on impact, scattering bits of porcelain across the floor.
The screen shifted back to Christine Everhart, who looked composed for a self-righteous bitch with no morals. "In related news, government crackdowns of HYDRA operations continues. As part of an international show of cooperation, the American military as well as the Avengers have begun efforts to target active cells across the globe. Simultaneous to these efforts is a push to cleanse the political and financial spheres of corruption wrought by HYDRA infiltration."
A logo appeared beside her, a multi-faceted cube in the centre of a cobalt blue sphere.
"A notable target of these efforts is Echidna Capital Management, a reclusive yet influential investment firm founded in the mid-20th century by Walter Dempsey. Documents from the S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence leak show that Ellen Pierce, Dempsey's granddaughter, owned and led the firm since his death in 2001. The firm was operated as a front for HYDRA's financial activities, funding their operations across every continent. Its assets have since been seized by the government pending an active SEC investigation, while the board of directors have all been placed under federal arrest.
"Among the firm's associates and business partners, Stark Industries has found itself caught up in the scandal. Evidently, funds used as investment for Stark Tower during its construction can be traced back to Echidna and its criminal dealings. Stark Industries CEO, Virginia Potts, released a statement earlier today addressing the matter. It detailed her and Tony Stark's creation of Amber Horizon, a charity organization dedicated to providing financial, legal, and psychological assistance to victims of HYDRA and their families. Some have labelled this a desperate PR move, considering the company has received significant investment from Echidna Capital Management on and off since the 1970s."
Everhart stared into the camera, affecting human-like sadness.
"It will most likely be months, perhaps years, while the world deals with the fallout of the actions of Ellen Pierce and HYDRA's other agents. We can only hope that this Fascist terror group will never again be able to threaten the safety of nations and the lives of citizens. This network will continue to cover these events as they unfold. This is Christine Everhart, WHiH World News."
Ellen shut off the television, left fuming after watching the witch hunt of a broadcast. Tossing the remote aside, she entered the kitchen. Rummaging through the cabinets, she found a bottle of Vodka tucked in a far corner. Removing the cap, she poured herself a glass and chugged it down. She grimaced, lips curling in a frown as she bit down the sting of alcohol. The pain, the anger, all of it felt too much to bear.
She had to find some way to deal with it, to bury the pain.
Finishing the glass, Ellen coughed, covering her mouth. Then, she poured herself another glass to the point of spilling and chugged that one down. Then came another.
February, 2014; HYDRA Research Base, Sokovia…
Danica sat on the bed of her cell. She'd had another nightmare last night. Gripping the sheet bunched in her lap with one hand, she used the other to pick the last piece of toast from her tray. The HYDRA guards brought the three of them breakfast every day. She hadn't had regular meals like this for so long. It felt good to fill her belly.
To distract herself from the lingering echoes of her past, she gazed out the clear door of her cell into Wanda's. Her friend sat on the floor, neck craned as she watched the old television mounted on the wall. Another luxury provided in exchange for their volunteering. Danica watched the American sitcom, the Brady Bunch, play. It helped her focus on something in the present. Wanda had spent much of her childhood watching shows like this with Pietro and their parents. It had been a source of loving family time and a teacher of English.
Pietro's cell was empty. He'd been taken for testing an hour ago, and likely wouldn't be back for a while. They'd been placed in observation cells for weeks, only recently placed back here once they started getting used to their new abilities.
As she finished her breakfast, Danica closed her eyes and touched her eyelids. She remembered Doctor List mentioning the change in eye colour, and the subsequent looks in a mirror. All her life, they'd been brown, like her father's. Now they were blue, bright blue. Eyes were windows to the soul, as the saying went. But hers were now windows to every soul. Her new powers offered infinite possibility. She could become smarter or stronger or more creative or musical.
All by copying others' talents.
Footsteps preceded the arrival of a pair of guards. They opened her cell, then gestured to the exit. Wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her jumpsuit, she followed them out, smiling at Wanda as she left.
The guards brought her to Doctor List's laboratory. He stood by a long table full of dark liquids in glass tubes, a machine she couldn't remember the name of, and large stacks of notes. "Welcome, Subject 18," he greeted, his voice monotone.
She frowned for an instant, still annoyed at the avoidance of her real name, then replied, "Doctor. What do you need of me?"
"Copy me," he said simply.
Danica complied. Gazing at him, she saw the intricate network of nerves that snaked through his body. In an instant, she copied the pattern, gaining the doctor's brilliant mind. She nodded to him.
"I am attempting to refine this serum," he said, gesturing to the vials. "Its intended purpose is to enhance an individual's musculature and reflexes."
"It sounds similar to the serum that created Captain America," she pointed out.
"Similar, but not exactly. No one has been able to replicate Erskine's original formula. This is meant as a combat enhancer for our troops in the field. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to stabilize the compound. You will assist me."
Danica nodded, then went to work. She and List spent the better part of five hours working on the serum, testing and perfecting the design. Despite any frustration at obstacles they encountered, she found the challenges of the work rewarding. Like a puzzle just waiting to be solved. That must have been how Doctor List felt about his experiments. The only time he spoke to her was to give instruction or think through another problem when synthesizing the serum. He didn't chat, didn't share anything personal.
It bothered Danica a little, but she understood. He was a brilliant man with countless responsibilities. He didn't owe her anything. In fact, she and her friends owed him everything for what he'd given them.
Even with such a brilliant mind to use, she felt mentally exhausted once they finally stabilized the compounds. A few minutes later, a guard entered the lab. He pointed at her and said, "She's needed on the outer wall."
"Fine, fine," List said, waving it off as he jotted notes in a binder.
Danica thought about saying something to him, but the guard grabbed her by the arm and led her out without another word. After navigating through the maze of hallways in the fortress, they emerged onto one of the upper platforms on the north tower. Half a dozen men stood gathered by a pile of metal. On the parapet were the beginnings of some kind of mount. Perhaps for a cannon?
One of the men, nearly seven feet tall, bald, and bulging with muscle, sat on the ground. His left leg –fitted with a splint– looked mangled, the material of his pants torn. Spots of dried blood marked the stone where he'd been standing. The big man sweated, looking ready to pass out at any moment.
The guard who'd brought Danica here gestured to the big man. "Copy him."
"Okay," she said quietly. Blinking through the haze of several hours' mental concentration, she copied the man's pattern. Overwhelming strength energized her muscles, while simpler, primitive thoughts replaced Doctor List's brilliance. Danica remembered her work in the lab, but couldn't name anything she'd used or done. The tests now seemed more alien, as if she'd never done them in the first place. Except she had.
"Try lifting that," her escort said, pointing at a slab of plating on the ground.
Nodding, Danica walked over to it. She could feel the eyes of every man focused on her, studying her. Trying not to be distracted, she bent down and grabbed the metal by its corner. Heaving, she gritted her teeth and lifted it up. Her arms didn't look any different, yet she now possessed the strength of a massive brute like the HYDRA guard.
"Good enough," her escort said after a moment. He then looked at one of the other men. "Help me take Yuri to the infirmary. The rest of you, keep working."
As they hauled the big man into the fortress, the others put Danica to work. The team leader explained they were installing a turret mount for a weapon still under construction. Herr Strucker had ordered the project fast-tracked in the wake of some battle in America. As the sun slowly set past the horizon, she and the others fitted metal plating onto the mount, bolting the pieces in place and running power cables from within the fortress to ports.
Even with her newfound strength, Danica felt utterly drained. The team leader wouldn't let her take a break, since she was now the strongest one present. By the time they finished working on the mount, her arms quivered. Her throat burned with every breath.
Just as she collapsed onto the ground, her legs unwilling to keep her up, a technician in black overalls appeared. "You," he said to her, "come with me."
"I just finished," she protested. "Can't I take a break?"
"Now," the man said, snapping his fingers.
Groaning, Danica forced herself to stand on unsteady legs. She followed the technician inside, licking dry lips and praying this next task wouldn't be so demanding.
March, 2014…
Danica's life became nothing but tests, tests, and more tests.
One minute she field-stripped an assault rifle in 32 seconds, the next she helped HYDRA's scientists complete the programming and installation of a powerful energy shield to protect their base. It became dizzying to switch between so many different skillsets. Danica became convinced she'd copied every single person in the compound. At night, in her cell, she would try to dredge up previous memories.
When the day's tests were done, Doctor List and his team always made her revert to normal. It was a skill she struggled with; apparently, if she focused enough, she could 'forget' the current abilities she'd copied.
Going back to plain, old Danica, after everything she could do or think in a day, often left her feeling empty. All her life, she'd been scared and helpless, unable to be anything more than a victim. Her powers made her strong. Special. She didn't want to surrender what finally made her special.
Wanda and Pietro underwent similarly rigorous testing for their abilities. None of them saw each other when outside their cells, so at night they would tell stories. Pietro discovered he could run at supersonic speeds, becoming a blur of silver too fast to see with the naked eye. He described it as seeing the world around him moving in slow-motion. It allowed him to do anything before anyone could react, a useful skill in any battle. Pietro's speed also let him generate superhuman force. Apparently he'd shattered a wooden test dummy after running at it from across the room. He still took a long time to acclimate to his powers, and zipped around his cell like a caged hummingbird.
Wanda's powers were perhaps the most extraordinary of them all. Even after six weeks of testing, they hadn't discovered her limits. By moving her fingers and concentrating, she could generate some kind of ethereal scarlet energy. At its most basic, it could move objects with a mental command. Wanda told Danica one night she could use the energy to create waves or bolts to destroy target dummies. A week later, she could create force fields almost impervious to any kind of weapon. One element HYDRA focused on was her ability to alter and manipulate others' minds. Wanda felt uncomfortable with it, but the scientists pushed her to practice.
As time passed, Danica began to overhear the base personnel talking. Apparently, HYDRA's primary division in America had been revealed to the world, and subsequently torn apart by Captain America and his allies. The mention of the star-spangled icon made Danica sneer in disgust. He was nothing but a symbol of foreign oppression, dressed like a clown. Reports started coming in about HYDRA bases and cells across the globe being captured and destroyed. The mood around the base became tense, agitated. The soldiers and staff never openly admitted it, but Danica could see it plainly in their eyes.
They were afraid.
"Do you think the Avengers will come here?" Danica asked, sitting cross-legged in front of her cell door.
Across the way, Wanda curled her fingers as she moved wooden blocks through the air. Her irises glowed bright red, making her look even more beautiful than usual. And dangerous. Pietro sat on his bed, wolfing down a sixth plate of food. His superspeed created a high metabolism, requiring five times the amount of food to stay nourished. His right leg bounced so fast it disappeared in a blur of motion. The one-legged visual made Danica stare, freaked out and fascinated at the same time.
"Maybe," Pietro said through a mouthful of protein bars. "They seem to be going everywhere but here. Maybe HYDRA will send us to those faraway places to fight."
Danica nodded, staring at the floor. In truth, she didn't want to imagine being separated from her friends. They'd been together so long she could no longer imagine them apart. Wanda and Pietro had each other, while Danica had no one. She hated how selfish that thought was, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to stay with her friends.
Wanda let the wooden blocks drop to the floor, the glow disappearing from her eyes. She played with a strand of hair and said, "I get the feeling they want us ready for a fight sooner than later. My last three times in the training room were focused on combat. They had me fight some of the soldiers and flying drones."
"They didn't hurt you, did they?" Danica asked, feeling concern wash over her. This was the first time she'd heard of this.
"They only used rubber bullets, but they still hurt." Wanda fell silent for a few moments, staring at the wall. Then, she turned to Danica and asked, "I overheard Doctor List say you were helping them with weapon designs?"
Danica nodded. "They had me copy one of their chief scientists who specializes in…what was it again?" She focused, trying to remember. "High-energy applications. I've spent almost two weeks designing particle cannons and refining power cells for smaller things like rifles and jeep-mounted turrets. Most of it seems to be based off alien designs from the invasion of New York three years ago." A moment later, she said, "They're powerful weapons, but something tells me the Avengers will cut through them anyway."
"Good," Wanda said. Pietro paused in mid-chew, and Danica blinked. They were surprised at the fire and unbending strength in her voice. "I hope the Avengers come here, and I hope they make it into the base. Because then we will get the chance to deal with them ourselves."
Danica nodded, the corners of her lips curling in a smile at the image. "It's how it should be."
Pietro swallowed, set his tray aside, and added, "I can move faster than any of them. They won't see me coming. Wanda can reach into their heads and scramble their brains. And Dany, you can copy any one of them. Turn their powers against them. On our own, we might not be strong enough to face them. But together…together, we can crush the Avengers and keep our country safe."
It was the dream they all fought for. The dream that made them agree to the experiments that had given them the powers of the gods. Danica's ancestor on her mother's side, a knight and officer in the Black Army of Matthias Corvinus, had reportedly said, "To defend one's family is the mark of the virtuous. To defend one's home is the mark of the warrior. To defend one's country is the mark of the hero. Legends are often borne out of humble beginnings."
"Then we're agreed," Danica said with renewed conviction. "When the Avengers come, we will tear them to pieces."
May 27th, 2014; Ellen Pierce's Safehouse…
Ellen awoke on the floor, groaning. Her head felt like it would split open any moment as she sat up. What day was it? Her right leg had fallen asleep, and it took a few moments for sensation to return in a flood of pins and needles. She moved the leg, knocking over an empty bottle of Rum next to her.
Wiping the drool on her lip, Ellen gingerly stood. She put a hand to her head, wincing as it throbbed. Her brain felt as if it were being squeezed in a vice. Looking at the clock, she realized it read 7:30. Was that AM or PM? She had no idea. The last time she remembered had been 1:00 in the afternoon. Taking two steps, the pain became too great and she doubled over. If someone handed her a gun at that moment, she'd waste no time and shoot herself in the head just to get some relief.
She took another step, and felt her guts churn. Doing her best to ignore the feeling of her skull cracking open, Ellen raced into the bathroom and bent over the toilet before puking her guts out. Everything came up at once, tearing her throat open as she expelled every bit of food and alcohol she'd consumed in the past day.
Even after she finished, Ellen sat on the cold bathroom floor in nothing but a dirty shirt and her underwear. She shivered, cringing at the sour taste of bile on her tongue.
The last four and a half months had devolved into a pattern. Enraged at the news covering the annihilation of her dreams –not to mention the harassment of her remaining family– Ellen chose to handle it the way all responsible adults did. With alcohol. Never a heavy drinker, she choked down every mouthful of Vodka, Rum, and whatever else she could get her hands on.
All that mattered was burying her feelings. She'd wake up in different parts of the apartment, hung over and even more of a mess than the day before. But it didn't matter.
The drinking also helped with the nightmares, which only got worse over time. Every night when she closed her eyes, she witnessed her father's death from every conceivable angle. Sometimes Fury shot him in the head. Sometimes Romanoff suffocated him. Sometimes the both of them forced a gun in her hand and forced Ellen to shoot him herself. All the while, Zola appeared, taunting her over such a complete failure.
Wiping bits of vomit from her lips, Ellen leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling. The worst part was how right his statements were. She had failed. Fury and Romanoff had taken everything from her. Even Steve had led the charge to dismantle her life's work. They'd taken her father from her, crushed the only part of HYDRA that mattered into dust. All those years of training and effort, wasted.
Because she had been too weak to stop it.
Tired of shivering from skin contact with the cold tiles, Ellen flushed the toilet and washed her mouth out. Then she re-entered the kitchen. Kicking empty bottles aside, she grabbed a fresh one of Vodka from the cabinet. Since she'd gone into hiding, Ellen had ventured out of the apartment only a handful of times for groceries and other supplies. Each time she changed her appearance with different sets of clothes, as well as altering her hairstyle. One time, in a bun. Another, loose behind her back. A third, in a ponytail.
No matter the style, she always left a piece that partially covered the extensive scars on the right side of her face.
Opening the bottle, she found the only clean dish left –a measuring cup– and began pouring. Something green appeared in the window, bearing a haunting resemblance to Zola's skull avatar. Ellen gasped, doing a double take. She saw nothing there. "Must be more hung over than I thought," she croaked.
Measuring cup of Vodka in hand, she sat down on the couch and started sipping. Zola's words in her dreams echoed in her head. Even in death, the AI never truly stopped acting as a voice in her ear.
Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. After all, HYDRA had come back from defeat before, and in a far stronger form. But without her father and his vision, Ellen didn't see much point.
The television turned on by itself, startling her. She frowned, noticing the remote on the floor across the room. So how did it turn on?
"The American public are still clamoring for answers," the reporter said as he stared into the camera. He stood in front of a busy-looking hospital, and the image of a familiar face appeared beside him. "HYDRA's agents and assets in the continental United States are still being located and investigated. In the hospital behind me, one such individual is undergoing treatment. Brock Rumlow was formerly an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and commander of its elite S.T.R.I.K.E. counter-terrorism unit. All indications are that he was highly placed within HYDRA. Rumlow suffered extensive injuries in the Battle of the Triskelion and has been in a medically-induced coma ever since. Doctors have been treating him, all the while federal agents stand guard 24 hours a day."
Ellen smirked at the thought of how much Rumlow must have suffered. He'd been inside the building the last she knew, and having thousands of tonnes of concrete and metal dropped on him must have been excruciating. "Serves the bastard right," she muttered.
Taking another sip of Vodka, she paused. An idea popped in her mind, taking root all on its own. 'Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.'
So long as even a single agent remained alive and free, HYDRA would survive. The only question would be in what form. Every cell leader guided operations in their own idiosyncratic way, shaping cells into standard black ops formats or even religious-minded cults back in the day. Her father might have been gone, but she still lived. Ellen, more than anyone in the world, had the capacity to carry on his vision and his ultimate goal. She had the training, the experience, and knowledge of resources around the world, some of which hopefully hadn't been plundered.
All she would need is agents to carry out her will.
Romanoff, Fury, Steve, and all their friends had ripped HYDRA apart. They destroyed humanity's best chance for lasting peace, all to support and maintain the calcified, chaotic world they lived in. All so heroes like the Avengers would soak in the glory while they prevented the human race from achieving true change.
She would ensure HYDRA's continued mission. Not in the self-serving way men like Strucker would. No. Her HYDRA would be focused, pure. No more wasting time infiltrating and disguising their presence. The world already knew about them, so the proper response would be to build in strength and numbers before announcing themselves.
Carve the rotting flesh away, and the organism just might survive. And when the proper time came, she'd venture to the depths of the Earth until she hunted down the man who murdered her father.
Nick Fury would suffer unimaginable pain and loss. Then he would die like a dog.
Ellen looked back at the television as the reporter continued talking. The thought, having taken root, started to grow. "Cut off one head, two more shall take its place."
This was the mission.
The next day, she left the apartment for good.
Sleeping off the remainder of her buzz, Ellen awoke after the first good night in months. Cleaning herself up, she dressed in casual clothes and a jacket. Tying her hair into a bun –leaving a fringe to cover the right side of her face– she walked out the front door and didn't look back. No more would she cower in the shadows like a frightened lamb. She was Madame Hydra, the world's deadliest assassin and personification of death.
She would avenge her father's murder and carry on his mantle. The world might yet be saved, if she could gather the right kind of killers and mercenaries to her side. The right kind of scum, maggots to consume every bit of dead flesh to prevent further infection.
The first order of business would be a visit to the Waystation. The safehouse wasn't listed in any database, and only known to HYDRA agents by memory. The government would have no knowledge about it, which made it a safe place to grab supplies. After scoping out the building and confirming the absence of observers, she entered the garage.
Once inside, the walk across the bay to the storage area felt longer than usual. Last time she'd been here was to plan Fury's assassination. That felt like a lifetime ago, right before her life as she knew it had ended. Once, she had access to every HYDRA resource on the planet, backed by the most powerful man in the world.
Now, she was alone. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, but she didn't let it stop her.
Inside the storage area, she grabbed a few knives small enough to conceal in her clothes. Next was a handful of Semtex with accompanying detonator. After that, she decided to open the secure lockers and search for anything that might prove useful. Inside them were high-tech weapons reserved for special use, such as Disc Grenade Launchers or next-gen explosives. In the third locker, a small grey case caught her eye. CE-14 marked the case in bold font.
Ellen remembered the project, promising despite the high cost. The team working on it had only managed to produce this one prototype before the launch of Project Insight. Opening the case, she found a finger-sized detonator. Beside it were two glass vials –one with a red cap and one with a green cap– and an injector gun. She took out the glass vial with red lid, holding it up to her eye. The pea-sized explosive didn't look like much, but it held more than enough of a charge to obliterate a person's skull.
Just the right kind of incentive to use against a man who hated her guts anyway. The micro-explosive and injector were the only methods at her disposal to make Rumlow follow her orders. In the past, he'd begrudgingly followed her out of respect and fear of her father. She grabbed a nearby backpack, stuffing everything into a secret compartment. Having all the tools she needed, Ellen left the Waystation.
Two busses and a cab ride later, she reached the hospital.
With federal agents inside, she needed to use caution. Stealth would be absolutely key to success. So, she circled the building and entered through the parking garage. Her footsteps echoing in the cavernous space, Ellen found an electrical room and picked the lock. Amid the banks of circuit breakers and transformers, she took out the Semtex from her backpack and placed it in a remote corner where no one would find it. Not for a while, anyway. She just needed a few minutes.
With that done, she made her way to an elevator and rode it to the main floor. Keeping herself outwardly calm and composed, she strolled through the hallways. Fortunately the hospital didn't seem too busy at this time of day. Stepping aside to let an old woman holding an IV pass, Ellen spotted a passing doctor who looked around her size. She followed the other woman down a hallway and into a bathroom.
She glanced at the stalls. No one else around. "Excuse me," she said as the doctor washed her hands.
"Yes?"
"Could you take a look at this?" Ellen then kicked the doctor in the face, knocking her out cold. After switching clothes and stuffing the injector into her new coat pockets, she hauled the unconscious doctor into a stall and closed the door. Medical mask covering the lower half of her face, glasses, and a tie-dyed surgical cap. Not the greatest disguise, but at least it'd prevent people from immediately identifying her.
White coat and scrubs on, Ellen strolled out of the bathroom. After finding the nearest nurse's station, she waited until the nurse left before sitting at the computer and entering a search. The result popped up a moment later. Rumlow was in a room on the fourth floor. Memorizing the number, she closed the screen and walked away.
The fourth floor was quieter, absent visiting family members and staff. Counting the room numbers, she rounded a corner. Up ahead to the right, a pair of FBI agents stood guard by the door, hands hovering over their sidearms as they maintained their vigil. Standing out of their view, Ellen took out the Semtex detonator from her left pocket.
'Here goes nothing,' she thought, activating it.
A muted BOOM thundered from far below, and the building shook from the force of the explosion. The power shut off almost instantly, darkening the halls and rooms as alarms started wailing. Ellen peered around the corner. The two FBI agents looked around in shock, their bodies tense in anticipation of danger. "Call it in," the first one said, drawing his weapon. "I'll keep an eye on this guy." He then entered the room, leaving his partner alone.
Ellen then walked around the corner and approached him. He noticed her instantly. "Ma'am, I'll have to ask you to keep your distance–"
She kicked him in the groin, and he doubled over. A knee to the face then knocked him out. As panicked voices started echoing from across the floor, she slipped inside Rumlow's room. The other agent registered her presence with a frown. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Ellen grabbed his hand, spun, grabbed his neck with her legs, and flipped him hard onto the floor. He groaned in pain, too surprised to react as she choked him by squeezing her legs. Eventually, he slackened as he lost consciousness.
Panting, Ellen stood and pulled the privacy sheet back. She stopped upon getting a good look at Rumlow for the first time in over four months. They'd dressed him in a gown and handcuffed him to the bed railing, having wrapped most of him in gauze and bandages. An IV hooked to his arm seemed to provide a steady drip of powerful pain medication. She picked up the clipboard with his chart from the wall.
Reading through his injuries, she gave a long whistle. "Damn. Third degree burns across 90 percent of your body. Good thing you were unconscious, otherwise you'd have been in complete agony." Ellen flipped the page and looked at the next part. "Six different surgeries…several tests…Huh. Between the doctors debriding your burned tissue and the damage from the collapse, you no longer feel pain from any of your sensory nerves. Must be nice."
Knowing she had precious time to spare, she took out the injector and glass vials. Inserting the green-lidded vial, she held it to her wrist and injected the bio-sensor chip. Ellen winced, sharply inhaling. First part done. Next, she removed the empty vial and inserted the red-lidded one before ripping the IV out of his hand. Grabbing Rumlow by the shoulder, she rolled him over just enough to expose the back of his head.
"You might not feel any pain on your skin," she whispered. "But this goes deep. Hope you feel it, asshole." With that, she jammed the needle into the base of his skull and injected the micro-explosive. Rumlow groaned softly, stirring in the bed.
Ellen tossed the injector aside. Rummaging through the unconscious agent's pockets, she found the key and uncuffed him. "Hey," she said, leaning in close to his bandaged face. Slapping him hard on the cheek, she said, "Wake up!"
His eyes shot open, the sclera mostly red. The skin around his left eye had partially melted and fused in the corners, giving it a constant narrowed effect. Rumlow's hand grabbed her by the throat as he growled, looking and sounding more like an animal than he ever had.
She smirked, taking out the micro-explosive's detonator and wiggling it before his bloodshot eyes. "Uh, uh, uh," Ellen taunted, pulling the medical mask down to show her face. She then tapped a finger to the back of her head. "Let's not lose our heads here."
"You…fucking bitch!" he hissed, releasing her throat. She took two steps back, watching him roll off the bed and onto the floor. He rose on unsteady legs, grabbing the wall for support. Turning to glare at her, he clawed at the bandages around his head and tore them off with a furious grunt. Ellen stared at the warped mess that used to be his face.
The skin looked pink and raw, like the hide of a freshly molted lizard. Wrinkled, gnarled burn tissue covered every inch of skin. The left corner of his lower lip was gone, showing some of his teeth and giving him a permanent psychotic smirk. The left ear looked like it had fused to the rest of his head. The burns had extended to parts of his scalp, only leaving patches of black hair. All in all, he looked like something out of a Frankenstein adaptation.
"I've got to say," she said, "you've definitely looked better."
He growled, drool leaking through the opening in his mouth. "Bitch."
Ellen held the detonator out for him to see. "Recognize this? It's connected to the bomb I placed in your skull. I push this button, and your brains get sprayed all over the room."
Rumlow faltered. "You're bluffing."
"The project team made a prototype. Remember? And I had the access code to the Waystation's secure lockers."
His eyes drifted to the injector on the floor, next to the two glass vials. He sighed, leaning back against the wall. "Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch!"
"You can whine on your own time," Ellen said, taking a half step forward. "But right now, your ass belongs to me. I get to decide when you die. But first we need to get out of here."
"And do what?" he asked, arms wide as he gestured to the room. "HYDRA's done. Rogers saw to that."
"That's why I'm here. HYDRA lives as long as we live. I'm going to keep fighting for the dream my father died for. And someday, I'm going to get revenge on Fury and Romanoff and everyone that took my life away. They dropped a building on you, after all. Made you into…this. We'll find them all and kill them. Then we can try to make a better world. So what do you say?"
He regarded her. "Sounds fun. After all, the Hydra pays no heed to the lamb."
Ellen's body froze as thought and sensation melted away. Her expression fell neutral, her hands resting at her sides. This was the mission. "Hail HYDRA."
Rumlow smiled. "Stupid little bitch. Thought you could control me, huh? Thought you could go on some grand crusade. Well guess what? HYDRA's finished. It's over. All I care about is making Rogers pay. I don't give a shit about what you want. I just want him to feel the pain, the loss, of everything he took from me, and make him pay. With blood."
Rogers…
He stepped over to Ellen, who still stood at rigid attention. With a gnarled hand, he brushed her hair aside and saw the scars on her face.
Leaning in close, he said, "Now, be a good sport and hand over the detonator."
Her hand started to move, holding the detonator. Piercing the silence of her thoughts was the name Rogers. It summoned memories, suppressed. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a charming, boyish smile. The smell of his cologne, the feeling of his skin. Ellen's eye twitched.
Steve…
"That's it," Rumlow said, reaching for the detonator.
Ellen blinked, coming back into herself. Noticing him standing so close, she shoved him back. "Hey, keep your hands to yourself, asshole!"
His right eye widened in shock, as his left eyelids seemed incapable of moving. "What the…?" Rumlow asked.
Ellen shook her head, the last few moments a blank space in her memory. She looked back at him. "Come on, get dressed. We need to get moving."
He frowned at her. "The Hydra pays no heed to the lamb."
She went slack once more, expression going neutral. "Hail HYDRA."
Wasting no more time, he snatched the detonator from her hand. "That's better. Now get me out of here." He bent down and stripped the unconscious FBI agent of his jacket, pants, and ballcap. Ellen stood by the door, keeping an eye out. Once he dressed himself reasonably well, she gave him her medical mask to partially cover his face.
They stepped outside as alarms kept wailing. People flooded the halls, evacuating as the staff tried their best to control the chaos. Following the flow of people, they entered the nearest stairwell. Climbing down the stairs, Ellen peered down and spotted half a dozen men in police uniforms shoving their way up amid constant chatter from their radios.
Ellen grabbed Rumlow by the arm and guided him out the closest door on the second floor. "What now?" he asked.
She looked around, remembering the blueprints she'd studied before coming here. "There's a freight elevator nearby. Come on." Sure enough, they found it and stepped inside. After a short ride down to the basement, the doors opened to reveal a pair of police officers. Thinking on her feet, Ellen stepped forward and said, "Oh thank God you're here!" while pulling a throwing knife out of her sleeve.
The nearest officer regarded Rumlow for a split second before he drew his weapon. Ellen grabbed him by the wrist and wrenched his arm to the side, causing him to grimace. She then delivered a swift punch to his throat before turning and hurling the throwing knife into the other man's shoulder. The first man, now sputtering on the floor, she stabbed in the chest with a second knife. Rumlow grabbed the second man and snapped his neck.
"Let's go," she said. Together, they strolled out of the loading bay.
This was the mission.
Steve rewound the security footage again. No matter how many times he watched, it didn't stop hurting. Ellen, dressed like a doctor, stepped off the freight elevator with Rumlow in an FBI jacket and pants. They quickly and brutally took down the officers who tried to stop them, then left. Rewinding yet another time, Steve paused right when the two of them started walking away. He stared at Ellen's face, noting the fringe of hair covering the right side.
His heart felt constricted, as if someone were squeezing it in their fist. Seeing her like this, full of hate and –by all appearances– still loyal to HYDRA, never stopped hurting.
"I gotta say, Cap," Clint said as he entered the security office, "you sure know how to keep things interesting. I go on vacation for three weeks, and you and Nat manage to obliterate S.H.I.E.L.D. while revealing a decades-long conspiracy. Four and a half months of cleaning up HYDRA's corruption, and a part of me thinks this is all a bad dream."
"I know what you mean," Steve said, leaning back in his chair. "And here I thought waking up after being frozen for 70 years would be the strangest thing I've ever done."
Clint nodded, examining the monitors. "Looks like Pierce triggered that explosion in the electrical room as a distraction. Caused enough chaos for her to slip into Rumlow's room and bust him out."
Steve shook his head. "Why would she do this? And why now, after disappearing for months?"
His fellow Avenger sat on the table beside him and crossed his arms. "She's probably been laying low in a safehouse. D.C. was a hotbed of activity after you destroyed Project Insight. Too hot for her to escape. As for why she broke out Rumlow…" He sighed. "Look Cap, from what you and Nat told us, it sounds like Pierce is a true believer in HYDRA. Something like that doesn't just go away with time. This could be the cynical spy in me talking, but if I had to guess? I'd say she intends to keep HYDRA going. And with her skillset and connections, she's going to cause a lot of pain."
"She's confused and angry," Steve pointed out. "Her father manipulated her into becoming something she's not. If we can just find her and help her see reason…"
"Like your pal, Bucky?" Clint asked.
Steve didn't have an answer. The memory of his best friend flashed in his mind.
"Look, you know I'll back you no matter what happens. If you want to try to convince Pierce and make her turn against HYDRA, I'm with you 100 percent. I just think you might need to consider certain realities. Not everyone is ready to accept a second chance."
Steve stared at Ellen's face on the monitor. She'd been there for him at a difficult period, saved his life countless times in the field, and shown him a path he thought he'd lost when he went into the ice. No matter what it took, he'd find her and save her from herself.
June 2nd, 2014; Container Ship, Western Atlantic Ocean…
Wedged between pallets of electronics in the cramped shipping container, Ellen pulled her jacket tighter around herself. The freezing night air made her shiver, since the container wasn't insulated. The only available space to lay down was between the pallets, so no matter how she oriented herself, there'd always be hard wood digging into her back.
She and Rumlow had stowed themselves in here just before it got loaded onto the ship bound for Mexico. From there, they'd make their way further south. All those who wronged her would pay, in blood and screams. This was the mission.
But also, through the haze in her mind, she remembered something. HYDRA. She'd set out to resurrect HYDRA, in its pure, undiluted form. For now, all she could do was rest and prepare.
Ellen avoided sleep, however. Fear of the nightmares returning, and wariness of her psychotic subordinate, kept her eyes open as she gazed into the blackness around her.
Sitting nearby, Rumlow regarded her with his bloodshot eyes. He'd spent the last few hours dreaming of all the ways he'd make Rogers suffer. Detonator taped over and stuffed safely in his pocket, he said, "The Hydra pays no heed to the lamb."
Ellen stilled, staring ahead with a blank expression. "Hail HYDRA."
He chuckled, wiping some drool from the opening in his lip. "There's a good girl." He shuffled over, brushing her hair aside as he spoke into her ear. "Now listen close. Pierce thinks she's in control. We'll let her think that. Now, here's what I want you to do."
Hope you all enjoy this chapter!
Oscar Isaac is continually impressing me with the strength of his performance in Moon Knight! If you haven't watched it yet, you should do yourself a favour and check it out.
Vosck: Thank you! Yeah, he and Ellen are in a low place right now. As a certain 'insert name here' said in Spider Man: No Way Home, "I told you there would be consequences!"
Guest: Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. Tony's Photographic Reflexes allow him to replicate any physical action he sees, just as he sees it. If he sees Bruce Lee making a kick too fast to see, Tony will kick too fast to see. His abilities allow him to briefly replicate someone with super strength or speed…to a point.
Performing at that superhuman level is taxing, and he can only keep it up for brief bursts in a fight. If his fight against Cap and Falcon had gone on any longer (by a matter of minutes), he'd slow down and tire to the point where they could have taken him down. Also, at this point he's memorized almost every martial art and fighting technique on Earth, far more than Cap or Falcon knows individually.
Hope that answers your question!