Pain-induced cold sweat drenched his body like a soaked rag being wrung out mercilessly. A wave of agony surged through him as if every nerve ending had been pierced. The man's expression seemed disconnected from the physical torment—he didn't flinch when he inserted tweezers into the moist wound beneath the skin of his lower leg. Despite the sweat-soaked black hair clinging to his forehead and the reek of unwashed clothes tainted with gunpowder and perspiration that left his body itchy, he remained entirely focused, relying on his fingertips to feel the tweezers' subtle movement. Amid the pain and tenderness, he finally located his target. After several tries, the tweezers finally clamped tightly around the bullet. With a final effort, drenched in sweat, he yanked it out, tossing both the tweezers and the bloodied slug aside. A long sigh escaped him as waves of dizziness followed the pain, colorful spots dancing behind his closed eyelids.
Only after treating his wound did he reach for his spoils.
It was a notebook carried by the assassins, thoroughly worn from repeated handling. On it was a list of names—his own, James Buchanan Barnes, appeared near the top, clearly marked. Whoever wanted him dead had already had their necks snapped by his cybernetic arm. He found it odd that they would carry such crucial intel on their person, but reality allowed no time to dwell on it. This was the most valuable clue he had since Hydra's infiltration and the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. Additional finds—such as keys to a safe deposit box, a phone book, and more—pointed to one conclusion: this was his only path to the truth.
Beyond that, the assassins' cash, forged IDs, and addresses of safehouses would support his next moves. Barnes knew staying in an enemy safehouse was dangerous, but he had no other choice. He lacked medical supplies and had nowhere safe to recover. Still, with the equipment left behind, he could alter those documents and pave the way for international travel.
Dragging his still-bleeding leg wrapped in bandages, the Winter Soldier picked up his dust-covered brown jacket and put it back on. He carefully inspected all his weapons, placing a loaded pistol on his lap before slumping back into the chair, perfectly still. Except for the rise and fall of his chest and the cold sweat brought by pain, he resembled a statue. He was utterly exhausted. Fleeing while wounded, using the slums' terrain to counter-assassinate his enemies—it had drained him completely. He chose to rest in that chair for three hours, then set out to capture the nearest Hydra operative. He believed this man would hold the answers he needed.
"He's going to follow the path we laid out." Stephanie pointed to the name closest to Barnes on the list displayed on the screen. "That one's a Hydra operative from Alexander Pierce's faction—a mid-level officer. They refused our recruitment offer and withheld information about others in their group," she said. "This one's worthless to us. And by your standards, he deserves no mercy. He helped train the Azov Battalion. According to reports from our surveillance agents, Barnes is already at his doorstep."
"I can already tell this is going to turn into something stupid," Solomon muttered with disgust, glancing at the man's dossier on the list. "If Barnes shows him mercy, send one of our agents to finish the job. There are still a few Donbas girls in the Sisterhood—they'd be thrilled to eliminate the bastards who caused all this. Also, I want a probability report. I need to know how likely it is that Barnes will run into the Avengers at this pace."
"66.7%... 67.7%... 68.2%," came a staggered synthetic voice.
"Malbas, fix your voice module," Solomon said, tapping a mechanical head resting on his desk. Though its exterior was rough, the head contained extraordinary computational power. It was a product of Eternal City's communications project, relying not purely on technology. Inside it was a genetically modified clone brain, enhanced with magical remote-sensing techniques, psychic-linked runes, and bio-fiber optic signal relays. Aside from life-support systems for the brain, the rest was dedicated to communication and analysis. In effect, it was a surrogate of the Fifth Demon Pillar left on Earth to advise Solomon—especially when Malbas was too busy to project himself via hologram.
At Solomon's command, the mechanical head extended four delicate legs and propped itself upright. Then, it rammed its forehead against the table, eliciting a cringe from both Solomon and Stephanie.
The unsteady mechanical head finally stabilized and resumed speaking in a fluent synthesized voice.
Solomon knew Malbas had other ways to fix itself—those multi-tool limbs were meant for repair. But perhaps the bioengineering lab on Mars hadn't mastered Maya Hansen's techniques, or maybe the gravity difference had affected the results. This clone brain, modeled after Malbas's mindset and partial memory, tended to act rashly. It had seemingly forgotten its tools' actual function and treated them more like weapons.
"Based on calculations—68.2%—and rising, as Barnes gets closer to the Avengers," the head said. A faint ozone smell from magical ionization filled the air. "We've detected the document-forging equipment in the safehouse is active. Should we interfere? We could reroute the Avengers' GPS data to lead them toward Barnes, or leak certain details about their mission that would cause them to intercept him."
"We can. But not yet," Solomon replied as he calculated the movements of every piece in his grand chessboard.
It was rare for him to intervene so directly.
On one hand, he avoided letting supernatural powers meddle in administrative matters—Stephanie and her subordinates might become overly reliant on them. On the other, an AI housed deep within Eternal City's supercomputer could perform these tasks. If he activated his Stigmata, his brain could even outpace that AI. But as mentioned, he avoided involving special powers in statecraft, having already foreseen the catastrophic consequences of such overreach.
Eternal City's intelligence network operated like a colossal beast beneath a dark sea, gently nudging small boats floating on the surface—guiding delirious survivors toward predetermined islands. But it wasn't the only predator in these waters. Blades and notes passed through the night formed frail alliances among the sea monsters. Betrayal could come at any moment. The only certainty was: kill first to survive.
Stephanie assured Solomon that Eternal City remained the most deeply buried one of them all.
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