Chapter 13:
[Steve Rogers POV]
[Hospital, Washington DC]
Now in civilian clothing to conceal my uniform, I stealthily make my way through the hospital corridors. I stopped near the vending machines, where I had hidden the USB drive. To my dismay, it's no longer there. Suddenly, Natasha's reflection appears behind me, chewing gum. Reacting swiftly, I grab her arm and pull her into an empty room, pressing her against the wall. With a firm tone, I demand to know where the USB drive is. It's evident that she must have taken it, considering the elaborate charade she just pulled off. Natasha coolly responds, assuring me that it's safe. I maintain my grip on her arm, warning her to do better. A flicker of fear crosses her face momentarily, but she regains composure almost instantly.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she asks where I obtained the USB drive. I retort, questioning why I should reveal such information to her. Natasha presses on, mentioning that Fury had given it to me, and inquires about his motives. Realizing that she was aware of Fury's actions, I turned the tables and threw the question back at her. If she knew about Fury giving me the drive, perhaps she holds the knowledge of other things as well. Demanding to know what is stored on the drive, I don't believe Natasha when she claims ignorance. Accusing her of lying, I'm met with her sharp response that she only pretends to know everything. And that's precisely the problem. It's challenging to distinguish her performance from reality. I'm growing weary of these cloak-and-dagger games.
Tying the pieces together, I mention that she probably knew Fury had hired the mercenaries. I struggle to understand Fury's motives behind such a decision. Natasha doesn't appear overly surprised by this revelation. She explains that it made sense, considering the ship's compromised state. Fury needed a way in, and that's where the mercenaries came in, becoming both his and my ticket. This disparity between us becomes apparent. Natasha, Spartan, and Karai are never caught off guard by people making wrong or risky choices. Their world is one of shades of gray, where nothing is as simple as black and white. But for now, the pressing question remains: can I trust her? As far as I can tell, Natasha is playing a game with me, and I'm not fond of it.
I need to uncover what she knows about Fury's death. With a growl, I make it clear that I won't ask again, tightening my grip on her arm. A brief pause ensues before she reveals, "I know who killed Fury." She goes on to explain that most of the Intelligence community believes they are nothing more than a myth, but those who do acknowledge their existence call them CERBERUS. This mercenary squad is notorious for undertaking numerous black operations, including assassinations and acts of terrorism. They are hyper-lethal assets, and their most deadly operative is the Winter Soldier. I dismiss it as a ghost story, but Natasha confirms its truth. She recounted an incident five years ago when she was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Their vehicle was ambushed near Odessa, and she managed to regain control before it plunged off a cliff. However, the Winter Soldier was present, and he shot the engineer through her, leaving her with a scar that she revealed by lifting her shirt. The bullet was a Soviet Slug, leaving no rifling marks. She adds a lighthearted comment about bikinis, to which I respond with unintended coldness. Disregarding my tone, the red-headed spy continues, explaining that pursuing the Winter Soldier and CERBERUS is a dead end. She knows this from personal experience. As I hold the USB drive in my hand, she concludes, "They're ghosts." I seize the opportunity and declare, "Then let's uncover what these ghosts want."
[Spartan POV]
[Excalibur]
Observing the severely damaged carrier ship from a distance, I can't help but marvel at the fact that it's still afloat. Rhodey attempts to establish communication, but there's no response. A sense of unease settles within me. Once the quinjet hovers directly above the carrier, Rhodey opens the rear doors, and we swiftly follow, descending towards the ship. As we touch down, the three of us rush inside, weapons at the ready.
As we make our way through the corridors, the sight of lifeless crew members strewn across the floor sends a shiver down my spine. A piercing scream echoes through the hallway, drawing us toward its source. Turning a corner, we come face-to-face with a squad of armed soldiers. Karai and I immediately assume combat stances while Rhodey charges up an energy blast. A female voice calls out, urging us to hold fire, and a female soldier emerges from the group. Rhodey recognizes her as Danvers and embraces her tightly, relieved to see she's alive. "Rhodey, I'm glad you're okay," she says before acknowledging Karai and me as "PARAGADES." We nod in acknowledgment. Breaking the embrace, Rhodey demands an explanation, exclaiming, "Danvers, what the hell is going on?!"
Danvers admits she has no idea, describing the situation as a complete disaster. The STRIKE unit turned on them and began indiscriminately killing everyone. Rhodey is taken aback, exclaiming, "STRIKE? But they're SHIELD!" Fury's earlier messages echo in my mind, 'SHIELD compromised.' Wanting to ensure the safety of other survivors, I inquire about their whereabouts. Danvers informs us that Mac and the other engineers have taken refuge in the command center, but she has lost track of the rest. Suddenly, my attention is drawn to something behind the squad—a shimmer. Before I can react, an energy blade impales one of the soldiers, causing him to cry out in pain. The lifeless body is carelessly dropped to the floor.
Reacting swiftly, Rhodey shields Danvers, and we prepare for a confrontation. The shadowy figure reveals herself as a woman clad in black combat attire. With an amused tone, she mocks us, referring to us as little piggies for the grinder. From around the corner, a group of armed mercenaries rushes towards us. The leader of the mercenaries assesses each of us before issuing the command to kill us all. Bullets rain down, forcing us to retreat. Karai, Rhodey, Danvers, and I return fire, eliminating six of the mercenaries, before making a dash toward the hangar bay.
[Hangar Bay.] Inside the hangar bay, the four of us engage in combat with the remaining mercenaries. I swiftly incapacitate one with a powerful punch to the face, while another meets his demise with a well-aimed double-tap shot to the chest and head. I tackle the third mercenary, gaining the upper hand, and dispatch him with a lethal shot under the jaw. As the fourth mercenary attempts to attack me with a combat machete, I skillfully deflect his strike, deliver an elbow strike to his jaw, execute a hip throw, and finally end his life with a gunshot to the head. Sprinting forward, I draw my combat knife, swiftly slashing the arm of the fifth mercenary from shoulder to hand, causing him to howl in pain. I finish him off by slashing his throat with the blade. Meanwhile, the mercenary leader targets Rhodey.
Rhodey takes the initiative, unleashing a powerful blast. However, the mercenary evades it, swiftly moves in close, and delivers a gut punch, amplifying the strike with her powers, sending Rhodey crashing into the wall. She follows up with a devastating jump-knee attack on his chest. Conjuring energy around her fist, she forms a sword-like energy blade and impales it into Rhodey's shoulder. The anguish on Rhodey's face is evident as he screams out in pain. Gripping him by the throat, the mercenary taunts him, expressing disappointment that he is on the verge of passing out, denying him the chance for a real fight. She proceeds to throw him onto his back, forcefully driving the energy blade through Rhodey's right hand.
Rhodey's agonized cry fills the air, and he struggles to maintain consciousness. The mercenary bends down, striking him across the face, determined not to let him fade away. Threateningly, she states that before ending his miserable existence, she intends to make an example out of him, sending a message to all masked vigilantes and aspiring heroes that opposing NEO-HYDRA comes with unimaginable suffering. Just as she raises her energy blade for the final blow, multiple shots ring out, striking the mercenary in the chest and causing her to collapse. Karai, gun in hand, rushes to Rhodey's side, swiftly moving him to safety. An energy blast narrowly misses their heads. We all turn to see the mercenary, now back on her feet, glaring hatefully at Karai and Rhodey. With venom in her voice, she snarls, "I wasn't done playing yet." Karai readies herself for the impending fight.
[Karai POV]
"Judging by your attire, you must be affiliated with the mercenaries," I remark, assessing the masked woman before me. She tilts her head in amusement and introduces herself, "Code-name's Skeith." The haunting images of the fallen soldiers flash in my mind, fueling my determination. "You will pay for what you've done," I declare with conviction. Skeith lets out a callous laugh beneath her mask, taunting me, "Don't talk big if you can't back it up, cur." Without hesitation, I lunge forward, delivering a powerful punch aimed at her. However, Skeith swiftly blocks my attack and retaliates with an energy blast. My armor manages to absorb some of the impacts, shielding me from severe harm, but the force still propels me backward, causing me to slide across the ground.
Skeith seizes the opportunity, launching a high hook-punch towards me. Reacting quickly, I drop low, maneuvering under her attacking arm. Moving with agility, she grabs hold of me and forcefully slams my body onto the ground. As her deranged intentions become apparent, she tries to stomp down on my head, aiming to crush me. With a swift roll, I manage to evade her vicious strike. Just as we prepare to resume our intense confrontation, the door suddenly bursts open, and a team of marines and army soldiers storms into the room, their weapons trained on Skeith.
"You got lucky this time, cur. But remember, your luck won't hold forever," Skeith growls with pure hatred in her voice. In a mesmerizing display, she transforms her body into neon light, vanishing before our eyes. Turning my attention to the incoming cavalry, I find myself facing their captain—Jacob Picard.
[Steve Rogers POV]
[Mall, Washington DC, USA]
I'm walking through one of the large shopping malls with Nat by my side, following her advice: "First rule about going on the run. Don't run. Walk." We dressed in civilian clothing, and Nat added a hat and a pair of fake glasses to my disguise. The clothing style is that of a modern-day hipster, which is not exactly my preference, but I understand it's necessary for now. We enter a computer store and find a free-to-use laptop in the back. Nat warns me, "The drive has a level six homing program. As soon as we plug it in, they'll know exactly where we are." A mall can be both an advantage and a disadvantage when trying to evade pursuit. On the one hand, we can blend in with the crowd to avoid being recognized, but on the other hand, it becomes a potential trap if things go wrong.
"How much time do we have?" I ask, feeling the pressure. "Nine minutes," Nat replies as she inserts the flash drive, "Starting now." She starts typing on the computer while I keep an eye out for any potential threats. So far, everything seems to be in our favor. I glance down at the screen over Nat's shoulder. "The drive is protected by some AI. It keeps rewriting itself to counter my commands." I inquire, "Can you override it?" Nat responds, "Yeah, the person who wrote this is slightly smarter than me. I'm going to try one of Karai's hacking tactics." She launches a new program that starts probing the drive's security. "I'm running a tracer. It's a program she wrote to track hostile malware. So, if we can't read the file, at least we can find out where it came from."
An employee from the store approaches us, offering assistance, "Can I help you with anything?" Nat puts on a smile and responds, "No, thank you. My fiancé and I are just browsing some honeymoon destinations." She pushes me forward to block the employee's view. Playing along, I nod and smile, telling the man, "That's right, we're getting married." He smiles back and congratulates us, asking where we're considering going. For a moment, I contemplate telling him about Jersey, but I realize he wouldn't believe it. "I'm debating between London or France," I say instead.
The man accepts our answer and moves on. I feel a wave of relief, thinking he might have recognized me. Perhaps SHIELD has already issued a wanted notice. "I have the same glasses," the man says. Thankfully, he's just making a casual observation, and I relax. Nat interjects with a sarcastic remark, "Wow, you're practically twins." The man admires me, pointing at me with admiration, "Your man is a specimen. Well, if you need anything, just let me know." He leaves, and I blush a little at his comment. Time is running out, and I'm growing anxious. I glance at my watch, realizing we're cutting it close. "You said it'll take nine minutes," I state. "Relax, I got it," Nat assures me. Our destination is Wheaton, New Jersey. She notices my familiar expression and asks, "You know the place?" I respond with certainty, "Yeah, it's where I was trained. Let's go."
Exiting the store, we navigate through the mall, making our way toward the exit. I spot a strike team hunting us, but so far, they haven't noticed Nat and me. Assessing the situation, I note, "Standard tac team. Two behind, two across, and two coming straight toward us." I quickly formulate a plan, "If they spot us, I'll engage; you hit the south escalator to the metro." Nat has another idea, instructing me, "Shut up and put your arm around me. Laugh at something I said." I'm a bit perplexed, but I follow her lead and let out a forced laugh.
The laugh doesn't sound genuine, but the STRIKE commandos pass by without giving us a second glance. As we reach the escalator, I see Rumlow approaching us. Panic sets in momentarily, but Nat swiftly turns to face me, saying, "Kiss me." I'm taken aback, asking, "What?" She explains, "Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable." I agree, "Yeah, they do." Rolling her eyes, she leans in and plants a memorable kiss on my lips. It lasts the entire ride down the escalator. Suddenly, I become aware of an inconvenient physical response. "Still uncomfortable?" Nat teases, a mischievous glint in her eyes. I reply, "Not the word I would use," following closely behind her.
[Car.] In the car, a pickup truck, as we drive to Wheaton, New Jersey, Nat breaks the silence, asking a question she hadn't asked since we started the drive, "When did Captain America learn to steal a car?" I respond, "Nazi Germany." She nods and notices something, "And we're borrowing it." Defending my actions, I add, "Take your feet off the dashboard." Nat comments, "Boy Scout." Then, she poses a question I know I don't have to answer, but she feels it needs answering, "Was that your first kiss since 1945?"
Feeling a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia, I glance at her and then back at the road, "That bad, huh?" Nat tries to assure me, "I didn't say that." I can tell by her tone that she's playing with me. I respond, "Sounds like you are." She clarifies, "No, I just wondered how much practice you had." The truth is, Natasha was my second kiss since waking up in the modern world. My first kiss was with a woman during a celebration party after the Battle of New York, but I wasn't into it. It felt wrong, like I was cheating on someone who had moved on a long time ago, found a new love, got married, had children, and lived a life.
Nat persists, "Nobody special then?" I can't help but think of Peggy. "It's hard to find someone with shared life experiences," I explain. Nat suggests, "That's okay. Make something up." However, I know that building a relationship on a lie wouldn't be fair or genuine. "Like you?" I inquire. She responds with a statement that holds a hint of sadness, "Truth is a matter of circumstance. It's not all things to all people, all the time. Neither am I." I can't help but feel that her cynicism stems from some experiences in her own life. Sympathizing, I tell her, "That's a hard way to live."
I'm curious to know who I can truly trust, and Nat's evasiveness makes me a little nervous. I voice my concerns, saying, "It's hard to trust someone when you don't know who that person is." She meets my gaze and asks, "Who do you want me to be?" I realize that's not how it works. I let out a sigh and responded, "How about a friend?" A genuine smile graces Nat's face, though it doesn't reach her eyes completely. "If you want friends, there's a chance you're in the wrong line of work," she says.
[Karai POV]
[Excalibur]
We conclude the solemn task of collecting the fallen soldiers, ensuring their dignity in death, a marked contrast to the callous treatment of the mercenaries. Spartan kneels by one of the deceased foes, rummaging through the man's belongings. Something about his expression raises my suspicions. Rising to his feet, he strides toward me, handing me a pack. "They're using SHIELD tech," he whispers, his words sending a chill down my spine. Hastily, I inspect the contents of the bag, confirming his revelation. It's not just standard-issue equipment; they possess high-end gear typically employed by SHIELD to track down renegade METAS.
The situation spirals further out of control with each passing moment. "NEO-HYDRA. Can't believe this is happening," I mutter under my breath. We urgently need to establish contact with Coulson, Hill, or Cap. Just then, Danvers approaches us, expressing gratitude for our timely backup. "If you guys hadn't shown up when you did, we would all be dead right now," she acknowledges. I nod, acknowledging the gravity of her words. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I lock eyes with Picard. He beckons Spartan and me over, demanding answers about the unfolding events. "It's an attack from within SHIELD," I inform him, my voice resolute. "Perpetrated by HYDRA or, rather, NEO-HYDRA, as they've chosen to brand themselves."
Rhodey interjects with a touch of sarcasm, "Of course, they have to include 'NEO' in their name. We've got Neo-Nazis, so why not NEO-HYDRA?" Picard, understandably skeptical, struggles to digest the shocking revelations, but the evidence is overwhelming. Suddenly, EPYON alerts us to two POIs—Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. Spartan and I make a beeline for the quinjet. Rhodey calls out to us, "Where are you two going?" I turn back, a sense of urgency gripping me, "Cap and Nat are in trouble. We need to reach them." While I have faith in their abilities, we cannot afford to take any risks. We have already suffered too many losses. Rhodey promptly joins us, determined not to be left behind. "Well, you're not going without me," he declares, matching our pace.