Steve Rogers stood in the SHIELD training facility's sparring ring, sweat beading down his brow as he traded practice blows with a junior operative. His movements were fluid, precise—decades of muscle memory perfectly calibrated. Every shift of weight, every strike, and every deflection came from a place honed through battlefields and frozen time.
The younger agent was fast, sharp, determined. But Steve had lived too long, fought too many wars, and survived too many betrayals. He read his opponent like a book.
With a swift shoulder feint and a sweep, Steve sent his opponent to the mat with a thud. The young agent winced, coughing, but the hit had been controlled—measured to teach, not punish.
"Again," Steve said, extending a hand. The agent hesitated, winded but eager.
Before they could reset, the doors burst open. Agent Maria Hill strode into the room, urgency etched into every line of her face.
"Captain," she called, voice clipped. "We've lost contact with Fury."
Steve's expression shifted instantly. He turned, dropping the sparring gloves midair.
"Where?"
"East Tunnel. His convoy was ambushed," she said as she handed him a tablet already displaying real-time satellite visuals. "Multiple hostiles. Military precision. Advanced weaponry. Tactical formations." She paused, eyes hard. "The Winter Soldier may be involved."
The name hit Steve like a punch to the chest. His breath caught—but he didn't freeze.
He moved.
Without another word, he grabbed his gear—shield, comms, tactical harness—and followed Hill out of the gym, each step heavier than the last.
Minutes later, a SHIELD transport buzzed across the D.C. skyline. Inside, the air was thick with tension. Steve stood near the side door, looking out at the city below. The rising sun lit the rooftops in golden hues, but all he saw were shadows and dangers beneath the surface.
His knuckles tightened around the rail.
"This is bigger than an ambush," he finally said. "This was coordinated."
Hill sat across from him, data feed in hand. "We picked up an encrypted burst before the attack—scrambled across three networks. Origin unknown. Not HYDRA. Not SHIELD either."
Steve frowned. "Then someone's playing both sides. We need to find out who."
Back on the road, Monroe and Fury sped through a narrow back alley, tires skimming puddles, side mirrors scraping rusted rails. The engine roared as the SUV wove between dumpsters and tight walls. Monroe's face was calm, but his knuckles were white against the wheel.
Fury reloaded his sidearm, glancing into the side mirror. "How many behind us?"
"Three," Monroe said. "Not just goons. These are enhanced."
Behind them, gunfire erupted as the three HYDRA assassins leapt from the rooftop. One landed directly on a moving sedan, crushing the hood in a burst of glass and sparks. Civilians screamed, fleeing the scene.
The assassin with the launcher climbed onto the roof of a delivery van, laser-guided system locking onto their vehicle. The HUD glowed red.
"Hang on!" Monroe shouted.
The SUV skidded around a tight corner, nearly missing a lamp post. A moment later, the missile launched.
The projectile streaked overhead—blazing white and red—before Monroe veered into an underground parking ramp. The explosion lit the overpass above in fire and thunder. Debris rained like shrapnel.
Cars swerved in panic. Horns blared. Security systems sparked and died.
Above, the Winter Soldier stood on a ledge, scanning the unfolding chaos with a cold, mechanical gaze. His red lens flickered as it locked onto movement below. His hand twitched.
And then he jumped.
In a blur of motion, he landed with a seismic thud directly in front of a black SHIELD transport approaching from the west.
The transport screeched to a halt, tires shrieking against the pavement.
The rear hatch dropped.
Boots hit the ground.
Steve Rogers stepped forward, shield in hand, his breath calm, his gaze unblinking.
The moment hung in silence. Time froze around them.
The Winter Soldier turned slowly. Recognition flickered—subtle, fractured.
"Bucky…" Steve whispered, voice caught between shock and pain.
The assassin didn't blink. He raised his rifle, mechanical arm steady.
Steve's fingers tightened around his shield.
End of Chapter 96
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