Steve muttered a few words to himself before striding toward the Quinjet.
After a year of missions, he had already risen to captain of the Special Ops unit, and no one knew the team better than him.
With a curt hand signal and not a word wasted, he led his men aboard.
Once inside the cabin, Steve ripped the white shirt from his body in one motion, casually catching the deep-blue stealth combat suit Rumlow tossed him.
When he had changed and taken his seat, Rumlow passed him his vibranium shield and a custom rifle equipped with an underslung grenade launcher.
"Captain, this mission might have us facing an entire terrorist force. Aside from the shield, you may need this."
Steve slung the shield onto his back—looking for a moment like some cosplay ninja turtle—before taking the rifle in his hands and examining it.
"Rumlow, you always know me best. An M4A1—Kurokishi, my favorite."
Then he chuckled and shook his head.
"But guns are too primitive for me now. Keep it. This thing will only slow me down."
He toyed with it for a moment before tossing the rifle back to Rumlow.
The more missions he took, the stronger he became. And the stronger he became, the less he enjoyed using firearms.
What thrilled him now was the raw, bone-crunching satisfaction of hand-to-hand combat—the exhilaration of pitting flesh and muscle against his enemy's. He was becoming addicted to it.
Perhaps it was a side effect of his ever-growing power…
But if it was, it was a side effect he welcomed.
"How long has that brat Tony Stark been missing? Any leads?"
Rumlow pulled out two folders: one bearing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s eagle insignia, the other stamped with Hydra's crest.
Without hesitation, he tossed the S.H.I.E.L.D. folder to the ground like trash and handed the Hydra one to Steve.
"Tony Stark's been missing for two months now. Nick Fury's so-called S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—those useless clowns—haven't dug up a single lead. Nothing but garbage intel."
"But our brothers embedded in Afghanistan uncovered something. Word is, two months ago the Ten Rings launched a large-scale operation. After that, they went quiet. Odds are, they captured Stark and are plotting something in secret."
"Just yesterday, our men caught a lone member of the Ten Rings. We should be able to pry Stark's location from him."
Now that's what you call professionalism.
S.H.I.E.L.D. might parade around as the world's top agency, making the FBI and CIA look like amateurs—but when it came down to it, they were still hopeless.
For intelligence gathering, Hydra was on a whole other level.
Still, Steve frowned. "Tony's been gone two months already? Why didn't I know anything about it?"
He had assumed Stark had only just gone missing. By his memory, Tony was supposed to escape in about three months by building his own armor.
That meant time was tight. If Stark broke free on his own before Steve completed the mission, his objective would be a failure.
Rumlow shrugged.
"Fury didn't assign you at first. He sent in his own agents, but every one of them failed. Only when he had no choice did he hand the mission to you—the one with a perfect completion record."
"And besides, you've been pretty busy these past two months with those twins. It had nothing to do with Hydra, so we didn't bother you."
Steve nodded knowingly, unsurprised.
After all, he was no longer the selfless, righteous Steve Rogers of old. He only took the missions he liked—missions that offered good stat boosts. The ones he didn't care for? He refused outright. Fury had no control over him.
Naturally, that meant Fury didn't trust him much, and rarely assigned him to the core missions. Unless he was truly desperate.
But Steve didn't mind. If he took fewer jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., he just took more for Hydra.
If that one-eyed bastard didn't trust him, Hydra certainly did.
Hydra let him pick whatever mission he wanted—always giving him first choice.
Black ops, white ops, didn't matter. As long as it made him stronger, he'd take it.
And so his rank within S.H.I.E.L.D. rose slowly, while within Hydra it soared.
In Alexander Pierce's Hydra faction, Steve was already among the highest tier—ranking above even Rumlow, and on par with Hydra's infiltrators in Congress.
As long as he didn't cross any red lines, he could call upon most of Hydra's resources as his own.
For instance, Hydra's Special Ops embedded within S.H.I.E.L.D.—they were his direct subordinates.
"First stop: Hydra's stronghold in Afghanistan. Interrogate the prisoner and extract Stark's location. This mission has to be fast and decisive."
"Understood!" Rumlow nodded, immediately ordering the pilot to set course for the Hydra base.
No need for secrecy. Every member of the Special Ops team here was Hydra.
The Quinjet was fast. Steve only closed his eyes for a short nap before they arrived at Hydra's Afghan stronghold.
To his surprise, Hydra had adapted to local customs. Their base was disguised as a terrorist faction—one of considerable size, judging by its scale. A power not to be underestimated, even in talent-rich Afghanistan.
Truly, different lands breed different strengths.
Steve led his men off the Quinjet, face impassive, as they were saluted by Hydra members along the way. Soon, they reached the cell where the captured Ten Rings member was being held.
The two guards at the iron door quickly bowed their heads and opened it for him.
Steve entered with his fully armed squad.
The room was pitch-black; without the open door, not a shred of light would have penetrated.
Only by the sunlight streaming in could they see a man—bloodied, wrapped in a white headscarf, hanging by chains from the ceiling.
Steve scowled at the sight and turned to the local Hydra guards.
"You beat him half to death already, and he still hasn't said anything?"
So the Ten Rings had tougher bones than expected.
The two guards glanced at each other, looking baffled.
"Say… say what?"
Steve: …
Rumlow: …
Special Ops team: …
Good grief. You've just been beating him up without asking a single question?
A vein bulged on Steve's forehead. "If you didn't know what to ask, why did you bother beating him?"
The guards answered, dead serious:
"It's the custom here. Doesn't matter who you are—even if you're the president. If you get caught by the local powers, you get a beating first. Questions come later."