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"Captain?" Ashley walked over and handed Steve a tiny black device.
"Mr. Starr left this earlier. He said… if you're going to see an old friend, this might come in handy."
It was a mechanism no bigger than a fingernail.
"What is it?"
"A universal decoder," Ashley whispered.
"Vought Tech's latest. In theory it can rewrite the base logic of most electronic locks. In a pinch, it doubles as a mini-EMP bomb."
Steve studied the little thing, slipped it into his pocket after a moment.
"Thanks."
…Washington, Triskelion Building.
In his conspicuous uniform, Steve pulled up at the entrance on a motorcycle.
He passed through S.H.I.E.L.D. without a hitch.
After all, he was Captain America.
"Captain Rogers."
The elevator doors parted to reveal Brock Rumlow, a cryptic smile on his face.
"Long time. Here to see the Director?"
Steve nodded and stepped inside.
"Is he in?"
"You know the Director—always busy." Rumlow pressed the button for him.
"But you're in luck; he just got back."
The elevator climbed slowly.
The cramped car felt oppressive.
Steve stood with hands behind his back, eyes front, yet he could sense Rumlow's hand hovering near the holster.
"How's work been, Rumlow?" Steve asked suddenly.
"Not bad." Rumlow shrugged.
"Mostly cleaning up after Vought's celebrities and keeping the peace. You know—grunt stuff."
"Good." Steve glanced at him.
"Don't forget who you work for."
"Of course." Rumlow grinned.
"For peace."
Ding.
The elevator arrived.
Steve stepped out without looking back.
Rumlow watched him go, smile vanishing, eyes turning cold… Director's Office.
Beyond the huge window, the black-coated, one-eyed man should have been standing there.
Yet now it was empty.
"Fury?"
Steve entered, frowning.
"Captain."
The voice came from behind.
Not Nick Fury—Alexander Pierce.
The former S.H.I.E.L.D. Director and current Security Council Secretary smiled at Steve.
"Pierce?" Steve looked puzzled.
"Thought Fury would be here."
"Nick?" Pierce took off his glasses and wiped them.
"Nick's a busy man. Lately he's… handling some very sensitive personal matters."
"Personal matters?"
"Old spies always have secrets they'd rather keep." Pierce rose and approached.
"Anything I can help you with, Captain?"
"I need a file." Steve met his gaze.
"On the Winter Soldier."
Pierce's eye twitched; he masked it at once.
"Winter Soldier?" Pierce chuckled.
"That's a ghost story, Captain. Cold-War folklore. If you want stories, I can recommend some fine novels."
"I saw him." Steve didn't smile.
"In Chicago. Metal arm, military training."
Pierce's grin faded.
He walked to the bar and poured himself a whiskey.
"Sometimes, Captain, the past is better left buried—for everyone's sake."
"I just want the truth."
"Truth…" Pierce's back was to him.
"Truth is usually ugly—and dangerous."
"Maybe wait till Fury returns; he might give you that truth."
"Where is Fury?"
"I said—personal matters."
"Is that so?"
Steve studied Pierce, then gave a meaningful smile.
"That's strange."
"Right before I came, Fury contacted me on an encrypted channel."
Steve lied, eyes locked on Pierce—Anthony's tip: when you lie, look them in the eye.
"Said if ever I can't find him, check Sub-Level 12 of the archives. He left me a 'gift' there."
"Oh?" Pierce remained impassive.
"If that's Nick's arrangement, help yourself—provided you have clearance."
"I do." Steve smiled faintly. "Of course I do."
With that he turned and left.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
Steve stepped in and pressed Lobby.
Yet the instant they closed he yanked the decoder from his pocket and slapped it on the panel.
"Target reset: Sub-Level 12 Archive."
At that very moment Pierce lifted the desk phone and dialed an internal line.
"He knows."
"Don't let him leave."
…The elevator began to descend.
Steve exhaled—Anthony's toy worked like a charm.
Suddenly the car stopped.
Ding.
The doors opened.
Brock Rumlow strode in with four burly ops Agents, tactical vests on, hands resting near holsters.
"Captain." Rumlow nodded, forcing an awkward smile.
"Mind if we hitch a ride?"
Steve gave a curt nod, said nothing, edged into the corner.
The elevator continued down.
Ding.
It stopped again.
Five more Agents squeezed inside.
The small car was now packed.
Steve surveyed them.
No one met his eyes, yet every muscle was coiled.
One hand inched toward the small of a back; another adjusted a stun baton.
Not one of them pressed a floor button.
Steve's gaze swept across.
He did the math in his head.
Ten hostiles.
Taser in the left hand of the guy on the left.
Unknown suitcase-like device on the right.
Rumlow's hand never left his holster.
Steve lowered his eyes to the floor.
A soft sigh.
"Before we start…"
He raised his head slowly, face calm, battle-ready.
…Anyone else want out?"
"Take him!" Rumlow bellowed.
Two Agents whipped out magnetic cuffs, lunging for Steve's wrists.
Another swung a high-voltage baton straight for his kidney.
Steve didn't resist as they expected.
He simply pressed a button on the black device.
Zzzzt—CRACK!!!
A piercing electrical burst ripped through the sealed car.
Clack! Clack!
The magnetic cuffs shorted out, falling apart as scrap metal.
The baton's indicator died; it became a plain stick.
Even Rumlow's earpiece shrieked, making him wince in pain.
"Agh—my ear!!"
"What the hell?!"
In the instant the HYDRA Agents' gear failed and chaos erupted.
Steve moved.