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After dinner, a salty sea breeze swept across the Long Island villa's terrace.
Tony Stark stood at the window, gently tapping his champagne glass with a finger.
"JARVIS, prep the top-level access protocol for the S.H.I.E.L.D. database."
He downed the last of his drink. "Oh, and tell Pepper—I'm wearing the dark blue suit tomorrow."
"Noted, sir," came the AI's voice from his watch.
"Also, Miss Potts reminds you: the Stark family has begun lobbying key members of Congress."
Natasha and Clint walked side by side toward the helipad. The collars of their S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms flapped gently in the night wind.
"Bet you a hundred bucks Pierce doesn't make it past tonight," Clint said, adjusting his bowstring without looking up.
Natasha's red lips curved into a smirk. "Two hundred says he dies of a 'sudden heart attack.'
As the Quinjet engines roared to life, the two figures vanished into the deepening night.
Midnight.
Alexander Pierce's mansion was brightly lit.
The former World Security Council chairman paced restlessly in his study as encrypted alerts kept pouring in from different branches—each reporting an attack.
Just as his third attempt to call out failed, the hands on the antique clock pointed to midnight.
"You looking for this?"
Pierce spun around. Adam Bernard stepped out from the shadows, anti-matter energy swirling in his palm, taking the exact shape of a familiar communicator.
"You people have no idea what you're really up against."
Pierce slammed a button hidden under the desk—but nothing happened. The mansion's entire power grid was already dead.
"Hydra isn't—"
"Cut off one head and two more grow back?" Adam crushed the communicator effortlessly, the cold blue light casting shadows on his expressionless face.
"Try me."
S.H.I.E.L.D. Tri-Helix HQ was drowning in a data storm.
In the command center, a virtual projection of Tony Stark stood surrounded by a golden waterfall of code cascading through every terminal.
"Gotcha, you little snakes." Hundreds of red dots blinked across multiple floors on a holographic map.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., send the coordinates to Natasha."
As morning sunlight finally broke through the clouds…
A stretcher in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s infirmary lay draped in a white sheet—"Alexander Pierce" printed on the tag.
The news ticker worldwide played on repeat: "Former WSC Chairman Dies of Sudden Heart Attack."
Meanwhile, the World Security Council unanimously voted Tony Stark in as the new Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
"Sir, report just came in from the European branch."
Agent Hill walked quickly into the new director's office, a tactical tablet in hand showing real-time footage of Adam destroying the ninth Hydra base.
"Agent Coulson on the other side's requesting more Quinjets."
Tony lounged in what used to be Fury's chair, spinning the S.H.I.E.L.D. badge between his fingers. "Give him five. Also, swap out this chair—get something ergonomic. A director's butt needs support too, y'know."
Natasha's voice crackled through the comm: "Found a Skrull nest on Level 17. Need the bio-cleanup team."
"Approved." Tony snapped his fingers, switching the projection to an internal map of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.
"Hill, take your cute little squad and inventory everything in the underground vault. I bet we'll find at least a half-dozen alien pickles down there."
Elsewhere—
At Culver University's lab, Bruce Banner quietly placed a bouquet of white roses on Betty Ross's desk.
The female professor looked stunned. The test tube in her hand slipped through her fingers.
"I'm not running away this time," Bruce said softly. Behind him, the gamma detector gave off a steady, rhythmic beep.
By nightfall, the lights at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ still blazed like daylight.
Tony stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out over the New York skyline. His newly minted director badge glinted coldly under the room lights.
The holographic screen displayed the day's numbers:
Hydra agents neutralized worldwide: 2,174.Skrull infiltrators exposed: 586.Recovered alien tech: 43 pieces.
"Sir, a message from Mr. Jiro," J.A.R.V.I.S. announced.
"He says: 'Nice work. But watch out—Hydra will strike back.'"
Tony raised his coffee cup toward the empty air. "Tell that sunbathing drama-king CEO I'm not scared of Hydra. Unless they show up with a limited edition coffee machine."
In the glass reflection, Tony's smile slowly faded.
Outside, a Stark Industries cargo jet flew past the moon, its hold packed with recovered 084s from Hydra's bases.
Somewhere in a European underground facility—
A dark conference room. The few remaining Hydra leaders sat around a long table.
A holographic display hovered in the air, cycling through video feeds of Hydra bases worldwide—each stamped with a harsh red "CLEARED" notice.
Daniel Whitehall adjusted his glasses and spoke in a low voice. "Alexander's death wasn't an accident. It was an execution."
One Hydra leader sneered, "Tony Stark just took office, and he's already going this far? Where'd he get the guts?"
Madame Hydra, Vivian Frost, tapped her long crimson nails against the table, her eyes cold in the dim light. "Because he's not just Tony Stark. He has Superman behind him."
The room fell silent.
"Superman…"
The name hit them all differently.
Gideon Malick finally spoke, slow and grim. "We underestimated him. He exposed the Skrulls, took over S.H.I.E.L.D., and now…"
He paused, eyes dark.
"…he might already know we exist."
"Impossible!"
One leader slammed his palm on the table. "Hydra's secrecy protocols go way deeper than S.H.I.E.L.D.! There's no way he knows everything!"
"But he killed Pierce," Whitehall said coldly. "So at the very least, he knows Pierce was Hydra."
Madame Hydra narrowed her eyes. "So what now?"
"Lie low," Malick said firmly. "Cease all operations. Wait for the right moment."
"Wait? For what—Superman to hunt us down one by one?"
"What do you suggest, then? All-out war?" Malick snapped.
"Why not? We're not out of cards yet."
"…You mean…" Whitehall frowned.
"The Winter Soldier," Madame Hydra said quietly.
The room chilled.
The Winter Soldier. Hydra's ultimate weapon. Brainwashed. Rebuilt. A super-soldier who had carried out mission after mission for decades—missions no one else could pull off.
"Assassinate Tony Stark?" Malick shook his head. "Too risky. Stark Industries is too influential. His death could shake the world—maybe even enrage Superman himself."
"But it's the fastest way," Madame Hydra said softly. "Kill Stark, and S.H.I.E.L.D. crumbles. Superman loses his voice in the human world."
"And…" she smiled slightly, "Once the Winter Soldier moves, no one can stop him."
"But what if he fails?" Malick asked, serious.
"Fails?"
"Then let Superman learn that Hydra isn't some group of alien bottom-feeders."
Whitehall thought for a moment, then nodded. "I agree."
Malick still looked uncertain. "This could start an all-out war."
"The war already started," Madame Hydra stood slowly, voice like ice.
"Now it's our turn to hit back."
She looked around the table, then made the call:
"Deploy the Winter Soldier. Target: Tony Stark."
New York – S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ
Tony Stark sat with his legs crossed in the Director's chair, a full-screen hologram displaying Hydra base eliminations worldwide.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., how's Europe?"
"Mr. Adam has cleared out Berlin and Paris. He's en route to Moscow now."
Tony nodded, turning to Natasha and Clint. "What about here at HQ?"
Natasha swiped across her tablet, pulling up a list. "We've arrested 37 infiltrators so far. 12 are still on the run."
"Not bad." Tony sipped his coffee. "Still, I doubt Hydra's giving up this easy."
Clint leaned casually against the desk, twirling an arrow. "They'll strike back. The real question is—when and how?"
"....."