Washington, D.C., three levels beneath the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, was a secret room that did not appear on any architectural blueprints.
It was three in the morning, but the room was brightly lit, and the atmosphere was so heavy it could be cut with a knife.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of sweat, anxiety, and a faint sense of fear.
Alexander Pierce stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture upright.
His hair was combed meticulously, his gray suit was well-tailored, and the eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses were currently Burning with suppressed rage.
Just a short while ago, he had taken over as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., marking one of the most significant strategic victories for HYDRA in decades, meaning this organization hidden in the shadows had finally seized control of the most powerful intelligence and security agency in the World.
But now, the joy of this victory was being diluted by a sudden disaster.
"Where are they?" Pierce's voice was terrifyingly calm, but every word pierced into the hearts of everyone in the room like an icicle.
"It has been nearly six hours; where have they gone?"
He slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping over the dozen or so people standing or sitting in the room.
These people were all core members of HYDRA within S.H.I.E.L.D.; some were senior Agents, some were research Directors, and others were key figures in the administrative departments.
At this moment, they were all pale, fine beads of sweat seeping from their foreheads, their fingers typing rapidly on keyboards, their eyes fixed on the streaming data scrolling across their screens.
"Dealing with two scientists who are practically ready for the grave and have no ability to fight back," Pierce continued, his voice still calm, but that calmness was more unsettling than a roar.
"We deployed the trump card we've spent so many years researching, and now they've all gone missing on me? Who can give me an explanation?"
In the corner of the room, a balding middle-aged man in a white lab coat wiped the sweat from his forehead, his voice trembling: "Director, our brainwashing of the Winter Soldier is very strict and thorough; it is impossible for him to regain self-awareness during a mission, and even more impossible for him to leave the mission area without authorization. He must have..."
"Then where is he?" Pierce interrupted him, his gaze piercing the other person with the precision of a scalpel.
"And what about Mr. and Mrs. Stark? Where is the serum? Three living people, five vials of super soldier serum, and they just disappeared right under our noses?"
The balding man opened his mouth, but could not make a sound.
He looked at the others for help, but everyone avoided his gaze.
Pierce took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
Anger would not solve the problem, especially in this current situation.
HYDRA had dispatched the Winter Soldier to assassinate Howard Stark and recover the super soldier serum; this should have been a perfect operation.
Mr. and Mrs. Stark were elderly and had no combat ability, and the operation route was top secret, known to only a very few people.
The Winter Soldier—Bucky Barnes—had, after decades of modification and brainwashing, become HYDRA's sharpest and most reliable weapon.
He had executed thirty-seven high-difficulty assassination and recovery missions and had never failed.
This operation should have been easy and guaranteed to succeed.
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