~New York, Greenwich Village, Central Perk Café~
Steve sat on a side sofa in casual attire, wearing a baseball cap. He was now a wanted man by S.H.I.E.L.D...
Just an hour ago, Alexander Pierce, who had taken over Fury's position, had issued an arrest warrant for him.
Had he not been alert, Steve might have been captured at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. The current situation was unclear. Nick Fury's whereabouts were unknown, and as S.H.I.E.L.D. director, his fate was uncertain. Steve had to uncover the truth.
Greenwich Village, also known as the West Village, was the heart of American counterculture. Since the last century, it had been a gathering place for artists, radicals, and rebels. Most residents here were writers, artists, or actors.
Folk singer Bob Dylan had once sung the rebellious anthems of the 1960s here. Famous Hollywood stars like Robert De Niro and Al Pacino had honed their craft in small theaters here before starring in 'The Godfather', chasing their acting dreams.
Unlike the grid-like city planning, the area's labyrinthine streets and its relatively sparse surveillance cameras made it an ideal hiding place for Steve.
After leaving Pierce's meeting room, he had discreetly taken a USB drive from Fury's office. The encrypted message had revealed its location...
Just as Steve sipped his coffee, pondering his next move, a woman dressed just as inconspicuously sat down beside him:
"Captain, your disguise skills really aren't up to par. You've got half an hour before S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Rapid Response Team arrives to decide whether to trust me," Natasha said softly.
"Fury said you were on a covert mission. He also told me not to trust anyone."
Steve stared intently at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agent, known as the Black Widow. Like Barton, she was one of Fury's most trusted operatives.
"I know who took Fury," Natasha said calmly, "Most intelligence agencies don't believe he exists. He's called the 'Winter Soldier'. Over the past fifty years, he's been linked to over twenty assassinations. Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of the Middle East when someone shot out my tires near Odessa. A bullet went through me and killed the engineer."
Natasha lifted her jacket to reveal a scar on her lower right abdomen. After losing contact with Nick Fury, she had tailed Captain America. Like Maria Hill, she believed Steve Rogers was the only one she could trust now.
If there was anyone who absolutely couldn't be a HYDRA mole, it was Captain America. His morals and character were beyond doubt.
"Tracking the Winter Soldier is impossible. I've tried. He's a ghost." Natasha shuddered at the memory.
Even now, the near-death experience from five years ago haunted her. The assassin had been like a machine. He was cold, precise, and utterly efficient. She hadn't even caught a glimpse of him. If not for the Soviet-era bullet lodged in the engineer's skull, she might have thought it was all a nightmare.
"Then let's find out who this ghost really is," Steve replied.
He was a soldier. Retreat was never an option. Since Fury had left him a clue before being taken, all he had to do was follow the trail...
...
Three hours later, Steve and Natasha arrived at Camp Lehigh in New Jersey, the very place where Captain America had undergone basic training, brimming with nostalgic memories...
They evaded S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Rapid Response Team twice before opening the USB drive at a crowded electronics store. The data was protected by an AI and couldn't be accessed directly, so Natasha used a tracking program to pinpoint the signal's origin.
Steve never imagined he'd return here one day. The long-abandoned training camp was overgrown with weeds, clearly left to decay before eventual demolition.
Staring at the rusted flagpole, Steve could almost hear Colonel Phillips' furious shouts echoing in his ears. Back then, he'd been a scrawny kid who only passed the military physical because Dr. Erskine pulled strings.
In every training exercise, he'd always been dead last. Colonel Phillips couldn't understand why Dr. Erskine had chosen him, until he finally realized that goodness mattered more than muscle.
Steve Rogers had lived up to Dr. Erskine's expectations, always striving to do the right thing and be someone worthy of trust.
"This can't be the right location. There are no thermal signatures, no signals, not even radio waves," Natasha said frustratedly after scanning the area with her equipment.
She felt duped. After sneaking all the way from New York to New Jersey, they'd hit a dead end. The derelict camp showed no signs of recent activity.
"No, we're in the right place. Military regulations prohibit storing supplies within 500 yards of barracks. This building shouldn't exist." Steve smashed the padlock off a warehouse door with his vibranium shield.
Inside was a Strategic Scientific Reserve (SSR) outpost, its walls adorned with portraits of figures from the last century; Colonel Phillips, Howard Stark, Peggy Carter.
After some searching, they discovered a hidden space behind a bookshelf. Taking the elevator down, they entered a massive server room filled with dust-covered antiquated equipment that clearly hadn't been maintained in years.
Motion sensors activated as they entered. Lights flickering on one by one. Natasha noticed a pristine data port on the console. It was as if someone had anticipated their arrival.
Inserting the USB drive brought the dormant machinery to life. It was unbelievable... these relics still functioned.
Amid the whirring of spinning drives, green text appeared on an old monitor:
[Initiate system?]
Natasha didn't hesitate. She selected
Everything about this place felt off. Steve remained silent, a growing sense of unease creeping over him. It was as if someone had deliberately led them here... the training camp, the SSR outpost, this underground server room.
He sensed unseen eyes watching him. Perhaps, as Fury had warned, a vast conspiracy was unfolding, its architect lurking in the shadows, observing everything...
Data streams morphed into green text, rapidly refreshing until they formed a blurry face. The console's camera rotated slowly, scanning both visitors.
"Steven Rogers, born 1918... Natalia Alianovna Romanova, born 1984..."
A heavily Swiss-accented voice emanated from the computer.
The pixelated face shifted with eerily human-like expressions...