Ten thousand meters above the ground.
An unmarked black Osprey transport cut through thick cumulonimbus clouds, its engines humming steadily.
Baron Wolfgang von Strucker sat in a leather seat, fingers clenched tightly around a lead-lined case.
He flipped it open.
Inside, the vial of T-VEX—the pure stock—rested quietly, glowing with a faint, eerie blue light, gently swaying with the turbulence.
"Such a shame,"
Strucker sighed, a trace of regret flickering in his eyes.
"That scepter… it was the key to the Age of Miracles. If I'd only been given a little more time—"
"Damn the Avengers!"
"Be satisfied, Baron."
A voice spoke beside him.
Strucker turned to see Brock Rumlow approaching.
"When God closes a door," Rumlow continued coolly,
"he always opens a window. And this—"
he nodded toward the vial,
"—may be far more practical than the scepter ever was."
"With this, you can crack the secret behind how Vought's so-called superheroes grow stronger."
"And once you do—"
Rumlow's grin widened.
"—we build a super army of our own. A HYDRA army."
"You're absolutely right, Rumlow."
Strucker's eyes lit up with ambition.
"At that point, HYDRA will no longer need to hide."
"We will rule the world."
"Compared to that," Strucker sneered,
"that fool Garrett's 'Centipede Soldier' program was a joke. So many resources wasted on trash."
He raised his glass toward Rumlow.
"And for that, I must thank you."
"If not for the evacuation route you provided, we'd all be cooling our heels in some asylum by now—thrown there by those spandex-wearing freaks."
"This was Director Pierce's arrangement," Rumlow replied, voice low and gravelly, indistinguishable from the Crossbones the world knew.
"He said you're the brain of HYDRA."
"And the brain," Rumlow added,
"cannot afford damage."
"Ah… Pierce."
Strucker nodded thoughtfully.
"I may despise that old fox's bureaucratic habits, but this time—he came through."
"To arrange an escape route and a new base under these circumstances…"
"It seems that even after losing ground at the Security Council, he still has deep roots."
"Of course."
Rumlow turned, raising his glass in return.
"Cut off one head—two more shall take its place."
"We always have a backup plan."
"So," Strucker asked calmly,
"where is this new base?"
"Deep in the Alps," Rumlow replied.
"A hidden fortress left over from World War II. Even the Germans never found it."
"Pierce refurbished it. Fully equipped. Self-sustaining. Completely isolated from the world."
"Excellent."
Strucker closed his eyes, a satisfied smile forming.
"I believe it won't be long before we bring true order to this world."
-----
Several hours later.
The aircraft landed on a concealed runway buried deep within the Alps.
Under Rumlow's guidance, Strucker and his team approached a massive blast door hidden within a mountain valley.
"Welcome to the future, Baron."
Rumlow keyed in the access code.
The thick steel door slid open slowly.
Warm air rushed out.
Strucker had expected to see a decaying, Soviet-era bunker.
Instead—
He froze.
A vast, brightly lit hall.
Spotless epoxy floors.
Next-generation centrifuges, gene sequencers, miniature particle colliders—
The equipment here was an entire generation more advanced than what he'd had in Sokovia.
"This… this is heaven!"
Strucker exclaimed, rushing toward an analyzer and stroking it with reverence.
"Where did Pierce get all this?"
"I recognize some of these models—Vought tech that's only appeared in promotional materials!"
"Director Pierce has… special channels," Rumlow replied flatly.
"And it's not just the equipment."
Rumlow clapped his hands.
Clap. Clap.
The side doors on both ends of the hall slid open simultaneously.
Thud-thud-thud-thud—!
Perfectly synchronized footsteps echoed.
Two squads of soldiers in black combat gear, faces hidden behind full tactical helmets, marched out at a run.
They formed ranks in front of Strucker.
STOMP!
One hundred boots struck the ground in unison—
so perfectly aligned it sounded like a single step.
"HAIL HYDRA!!"
One hundred soldiers.
Exactly one hundred.
Strucker stared in disbelief.
Their height.
Their builds.
Even their posture—
Unnaturally identical.
Rope-thick muscles bulged beneath their uniforms, each radiating cold efficiency and absolute obedience.
"These…?"
Strucker approached one soldier, craning his neck to look up at the towering man.
"Are these also Pierce's gift to me?"
"Yes."
Rumlow stepped beside him.
"Director Pierce calls them the Winter Guard."
"They've undergone specialized neural conditioning. No pain. No fear. Absolute loyalty."
"They're your assistants."
"And your personal guard."
"You can work here without concern, Baron."
"Even if the Avengers find this place—"
Rumlow said calmly,
"this unit will tear them apart."
Strucker gazed at the elite force before him, a profound sense of security flooding his chest.
"Good! Excellent!"
He laughed heartily, slapping Rumlow's armored shoulder.
"Convey my thanks to Pierce!"
"Tell him I retract my earlier criticism. From this day on, we are true partners!"
Rumlow watched Strucker's triumphant grin.
A faint red glimmer flickered in his eyes—
then vanished.
"I'll pass it along, Baron."
-----
Meanwhile.
Somewhere on Earth, inside a secure safehouse—
The air was thick with despair.
The lights were off.
Only a massive wall-mounted television illuminated the room.
Nick Fury slumped on the couch, his posture stripped of all the authority he'd ever shown the world.
His trench coat lay discarded on the floor.
His iconic eyepatch was gone, revealing a gray, lifeless blind eye.
On the screen, Vought News replayed its special report.
The hellish Sokovian laboratory.
The scarred, half-starved children.
The hollow-eyed boy.
And the accusation—
a sentence that pierced Fury's heart like a bullet:
"…that Black man with the eyepatch found me… he said S.H.I.E.L.D. would protect me…"
Then came the close-up.
A magnified document.
The signature burned across the screen:
Nick Fury.
Every letter felt like a red-hot brand searing into his retina.
"No… no…"
Fury's voice rasped, like a dying man muttering his last words.
"That was the Secret Warriors initiative… it was to protect Earth…"
"I didn't sell them to HYDRA… I didn't!!"
He grabbed the crystal ashtray from the coffee table and hurled it at the TV.
CRASH!!
The screen shattered, sparks spraying.
The accusing voice finally fell silent.
The room returned to darkness.
But Fury knew—
It meant nothing.
The whole world had seen it.
The whole world believed it.
Faced with such "irrefutable evidence," any explanation he offered would sound hollow.
He hadn't just lost.
He was ruined.
For S.H.I.E.L.D.
For Earth.
He'd spent his life doing dirty work in the shadows, carrying sins no one else would.
He believed himself the night watchman.
The nameless guardian of the world.
Now—
He was a child trafficker.
A HYDRA director.
A demon who sent children into hell.
It was over.
Completely over.
This black stain—
Harder than vibranium.
Darker than a black hole.
And there was no washing it away.