"Whoa…" Sam Wilson whistled softly. "Sounds fair enough. Three of them, three of us."
"Don't get cocky, rookie," Natasha Romanoff warned. "I've fought the Winter Soldier. I still have a bullet hole in my waist. He can snap your neck before you finish blinking."
Steve Rogers stared at the map, brows tightly knit. Then he looked up at Nick Fury, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
"Director Fury, something doesn't add up."
"Hydra hid inside S.H.I.E.L.D. for decades. Built an empire right under your nose—and you noticed nothing."
"And now…" Steve pointed at the dense intelligence briefing, "…you suddenly know everything? Their movements, their facilities—down to a hidden site capable of brainwashing council members?"
He paused. "This intel is too detailed. Almost like someone is feeding it to you on purpose."
The room froze.
Sam and Clint Barton both turned to Fury. The contrast really was too sharp.
Fury fell silent for two seconds.
He removed his sunglasses. A complicated glint passed through his lone eye.
"I have my channels, Captain."
"When Hydra thought they controlled everything, I planted my own nails."
"They're not the only ones who know how to infiltrate."
Fury tapped the table. "You don't need to know where the intel comes from. What matters is—we move. Now."
Steve weighed it, then nodded.
"Alright, Fury. I hope you're right."
"You can count on it," Fury said, straightening his coat. "Good luck, Captain."
-----
Thirty Minutes Later
A black SUV tore down the highway toward upstate New York.
Natasha drove like she'd stolen it, stealing glances at Steve through the rearview mirror.
"Who're you calling?" she asked. "If it's that blond narcissist, I vote speaker. I want to hear him roast Fury."
"Not Antony."
Steve waited for the line to connect.
Beep—
"Hello? Captain?" Ashley Barrett answered, mildly surprised. "At this hour, you should be enjoying your well-earned leave."
"Leave's over, Ashley," Steve said quietly. "I've got an operation."
"An operation?" Her tone sharpened instantly. "Official—or… personal?"
"Personal, but I need it to become official." Steve glanced at the trees streaking past. "A few of us are heading to the Erie Hydroelectric Plant, north of New York. Hydra's holding World Security Council members there."
"My God…" Ashley inhaled sharply. "That's huge. I'll notify Mr. Starr—he just got back from Paris and he's in a good mood."
"Thanks," Steve hesitated. "I do need support… I've got a bad feeling."
"A bad feeling?"
"It's not just Hydra," Steve's eyes dimmed. "There may be… an old friend of mine. I want to handle it personally if possible. Please don't have Antony jump in directly. You know his temper. I'd rather not… reassemble my friend."
Ashley caught the meaning immediately. "I understand. You want a reunion."
"Call it what you want."
"Alright, Captain. Since you asked…" Ashley smiled through the line.
"…we'll give you the best stage."
"Thank you."
Steve hung up, exhaling slowly.
Sam twisted around, incredulous. "Cap… did you just call Vought? You're turning this into a commercial op?"
"The times have changed, Sam," Steve pocketed the phone. "Sometimes the spotlight protects better than a shield."
"Well," Natasha smirked, "I never thought I'd hear Captain America say 'the times have changed.' Vought's officially got my attention."
-----
Erie Hydroelectric Plant
A Cold War–era behemoth hidden deep in the forest.
The massive concrete dam loomed like a gray tombstone, choking the rushing river.
"Too quiet," Natasha said, scanning the entrance through binoculars. "Four sentries. Low rotation. Doesn't look like a place holding high-value hostages."
"I've got a bad feeling," Steve tightened the strap on his shield. "If Pierce let Fury trace this place, he's prepared a welcome party."
"Whatever the party," Sam unfolded his mechanical wings, "it's just more asses to kick."
"Move."
They slipped in like ghosts.
The perimeter fell absurdly easily. Well-armed guards dropped before alarms could sound.
Natasha stunned one with a Widow's Bite and dragged him into the brush.
They advanced to the core—a vast underground reservoir converted into a temporary holding cell.
Four suited council members sat bound to chairs, gags stuffed in their mouths, terror etched across their faces.
"There," Sam pointed.
"Wait."
Steve shot out an arm, stopping Sam mid-launch.
His eyes locked onto the deeper shadows.
"Come out," Steve said evenly. "I know you're there."
Silence—three seconds.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Heavy footsteps emerged from the dark.
Three figures.
The lead man wore the familiar half-mask. His left arm gleamed with cold silver metal.
Bucky Barnes.
Behind him stood two other hulking men, eyes equally empty, presence equally lethal. No metal arms—but the same pressure. The same killing intent.
Steve's heart pounded.
"Bucky?" he called softly.
No response.
The Winter Soldier raised his semi-automatic pistol, muzzle settling on his former best friend.
"Now what?" Sam muttered.
"What else?" Steve lifted his shield, resolve hardening. "Head-on."
"Go!!"
BOOM—!
All three Winter Soldiers attacked at once.
"I'll take Bucky!" Steve roared, charging.
Shield met metal arm with a thunderous crash.
Sam beat his wings and shot upward. "I'll get the hostages!"
But the moment he gained altitude—
One of the unfamiliar super soldiers leapt.
Five meters straight up—matching Sam's height mid-flight.
"What—?!" Sam twisted aside.
Too late.
The soldier grabbed his ankle midair, swung, and climbed onto Sam's back. Hands tore at Falcon's wings, aiming straight for the balance system.
"Warning! Left wing damaged! Warning!"
Sam lost stability, rolling violently, trying to shake him off.
The soldier snarled, pulled a knife—and plunged it straight into the jet turbine of the flight pack.
BOOM!!
The engine detonated.
Black smoke erupted.
Sam slammed into the ground, skidding more than ten meters before crashing into a corner—motionless.
The stage was set.
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