Date unknown, 2005
Time unknown

The Negative Zone was different to any place than Carol Danvers had ever been before. In her short time with the Green Lantern Corps she had seen many, many things but none like the Negative Zone. It looked innocuous enough at a glance but it wasn’t the Zone’s appearance that was amiss, it was the sensation one felt upon being there. Carol could feel her emotions being interfered with. There was something in the atmosphere in this place. She and Sinestro glided through the stars and the huge boulders that littered space in the Negative Zone in search of some signs of life. In the distance was the singularity that Sinestro had spoken about and Carol could see the space around it distorting as it dragged everything towards it.

After a few minutes of searching Carol sensed movement behind the pair of them. At first she dismissed it and pressed on but it soon became clear that whatever Carol thought she’d felt was following them. She waited until she’d seen them, eight or nine muscle-bound and furry creatures bearing weapons, and slid level with Sinestro to inform him of their presence.

“Sinestro,” Carol whispered. “We have company.”

He nodded as if he had been aware of their presence for a long time and began to slow up some. “Stay close to me and stay silent, Danvers, the last thing we need is you opening your mouth and getting the both of us killed.”

Sinestro and Carol slowed to a halt completely and turned to face the creatures following them. It took some time but finally they appeared from behind the boulders they had hoped would disguise their presence. Whatever they were, whoever they were, they were incapable of flying unaided and it took some time for them to use whatever contraption they had to float over to the pair of Green Lanterns. Once they finally arrived they stood, holding their weapons at the ready, and stared at Sinestro and Carol with cold dead eyes.

“Green Lanterns,” barked the largest amongst them. “You have no jurisdiction here. The Negative Zone belongs to Supreme Commander Blastaar and he alone. If you have ventured here in search of battle you will not find it. Only your deaths.”

“It is not battle we seek but an audience,” Sinestro said, raising his hands peacefully. “We must speak with Commander Blastaar immediately.”

The creature looked round at his companions and satisfied they all agreed that taking the Lanterns to Blastaar he nodded at Carol and Sinestro and gestured to them to follow after him. Carol looked over at Sinestro uneasily as they tailed them. She didn’t doubt Sinestro’s abilities in the slightest given that short of Mar-Vell his proficiency with his ring was considered unparalleled. His methods Carol knew nothing of and as they grew closer to a planet a ring informed her was named “Baluur” she realised how little she knew of Sinestro outside of his legend.

From the looks of it Baluur had once been a green and prosperous planet. Now it had been reduced to a smouldering rock, its sky burnt red and thick with smoke, and what little signs of life came from the ground were few and far between. At its center stood a metallic construct that Carol figured housed Blastaar and as Sinestro, Carol, and their escorts approached the construct burst into life. A door twenty times as large as either them or the creatures that had escorted them there opened wide to allow them inside. They were led to a dining hall in which a hulking figure sat alone eating from mounds of food. Dotted around the room were servants, some beaten and others whipped, but all cowering in the man’s presence. It had to be Blastaar.

He shoveled down a huge handful of food and looked up at Carol and Sinestro. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Lanterns? It is not often that the Negative Zone is graced by your presence.”

His voice was so deep and powerful the room shook as he spoke. Try as Carol might to keep his eyes locked on him, she couldn’t help but look around at the servants that knelt on bloody knees in the corners of the room. It made her stomach turn. Sinestro seemed unbothered and stepped towards the large table. One of their escorts extended an arm to stop him getting too close to Blastaar and Sinestro glared at him before stopping in his tracks.

“Four of our brothers have gone missing and evidence at the scene suggested they had been taken to the Negative Zone, Blastaar, we are here to find them and return them to Oa.”

A bone-chilling laugh forced its way through Blastaar’s lips and Carol could see flecks of spit and chunks of food forced out with it. “What would I know of missing Green Lanterns? The Negative Zone has no business with the Guardians or their servants.”

The word “servant” grated against Sinestro’s considerable ego but he bit his tongue and instead responded with a respectfulness that left Carol uncomfortable.

“Word has reached as far as Oa that Commander Blastaar knows all that happens in the Negative Zone. Some say that he is even omniscient within the realms of his own domain.”

Satisfied by by Sinestro’s fealties, Blastaar threw down the chunks of food in his hand and looked up at him. “I am that and more, Lantern.”

With a massive forearm Blastaar wiped his mouth clean and reached for a tankard that contained a blood red liquid Carol hoped wasn’t actually blood. He gulped at it hungrily until he ran empty and then slammed it down on the table with a burp. Content, Blastaar pushed his seat and stood up to walk towards an open furnace that kept the room blisteringly hot. He stood before it and allowed its warmth to beat against his furry chest.


“There is but one planet in the Negative Zone that has yet to submit to my control. Rebels hole up on Arthoros. They exhaust themselves looking for any opportunity to break my hold on the universe. I would begin there if I were you.”

Blastaar looked over his shoulder to Sinestro for another sign of gratitude and the pink-skinned Green Lantern nodded his head appreciatively at Blastaar’s suggestion. “You are most kind, Commander.”

“Stay for a time,” Blastaar called out to the Lanterns as they turned to leave. “Dine with me.”

Sinestro moved to speak but Carol stepped in front of him and gestured to the servants dotted around the room. She had bitten her tongue for long enough. Even in the Negative Zone, she was still a Green Lantern and that had to count for something, she wouldn't stand by whilst innocent people suffered. That wasn't what being a Green Lantern was about.

“Are these slaves?”

A thick vein bulged on Sinestro’s forehead as he glanced round at Carol to compel her into silence, then looked back at Blastaar. “We have limited time. It us of the utmost importance that we find our missing brethren and return home, Commander, but again I thank you for the kind gesture. We must be going.”

Blastaar nodded, though his face was riven with mistrust, and the pair of Green Lanterns made their way out of Blastaar's stronghold. On their way out the number of escorts had doubled, which Carol noted, and they seemed very keen on the Green Lanterns leaving as soon as possible. Sinestro was power walking ahead of her a few paces as always and Carol sped up to catch up to him and voice her concerns about what they had seen.

“Those people in there were slaves, Sinestro, Blastaar was keeping them there against their will. We have to do something.”

It was clear from his face that Sinestro was still angry with Danvers at having spoken up but given their escorts were listening in he spoke as quietly as possible. “What is the Third Law of the Book of Oa, Danvers?”

“You don’t need to lecture me on the Book of Oa.”

“Apparently I do,” Sinestro said angrily. “Noninterference with a planet’s culture, political structure, or its population’s collective will. Practices are different here in the Negative Zone, Danvers, slavery is not looked upon the same here as it is amongst your emotionally frail species. Here they understand that some species are superior to others. Some are born to serve and others to rule.”

It took Carol back but worryingly it was a view that was shared by a number of Green Lanterns she had spoken to. For many across the universe slavery wasn't only common, but considered natural, and when Carol tried to explain to them why it was wrong she was met with derision. It seemed that Earth, or Terra as they insisted on calling it, was one the few planets in the universe where slavery was considered immoral. Then again, there were still plenty of slaves on Earth.

Carol shook her head in bemusement. "Did that look like a population’s collective will to you? It sure as hell didn’t to me. We have to help them, Sinestro.”

“We find the missing Green Lanterns and we return to Oa,” Sinesto ordered, brandishing a threatening finger towards Carol as he spoke. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Finally they exited Blastaar's stronghold and the heavy doors to it slammed shut behind them. Without another word Sinestro shot into the blood red sky and through the heavy black clouds above them. Carol glanced back at the gun-black metal castle that loomed over Baluur and gritted her teeth as she thought of the bloody kneed servants cowering at Blastaar's feet. She wanted to go back there and help them but she had a mission.

The mission came first. The mission always came first.

New York
March, 20th, 2005
8AM

Heart in his chest, beating like Cozy Powell's drumkit. Lungs working like bellows, desperate to fill a tired, old body with air. Muscles burning so bad it was a wonder they hadn't burst into flames. Sweating so much that if he did combust then he'd probably just douse himself pretty quick.

Damn, but if getting old didn't suck the joy outta a morning jog.

Just the mere thought that time might be winning the fight gave the old boxer a second wind, leaden legs pumping harder as he powered through the next three blocks, a rictus like grimace on his battered face as he ignored the aches and pains that tried to slow him down.

It might be said that 'Time Always Wins', but Ted Grant was just to damn stubborn to go down without a fight.

Still, he'd traveled much farther than he'd meant to when he'd first set out, partly just to prove to himself that he still could, but mostly because his mind hadn't been on the run and when to end it, but hovering elsewhere. Fixating on the re-emergance of Hydra, and the return of the Red Skull in fact.

Ted hadn't been able to get his mind off the subject in the last two days, not since the damned Nazi had plastered his big, ugly mug all over the internet. Not since that SHIELD prison had fallen and Director Dugan had gotten himself killed. He still couldn't quite believe it had all happened. Still kept thinking that it wouldn't have, not if the Justice Society was still together.

If Alan and Jay and all the rest hadn't been so quick to jump into retirement when things got heavy then they might still have been active today, still defending America from scum like the Skull, keeping her borders safe from all those that would do her harm, who would try to infringe upon her freedoms. But no, the old men all chose cushty retirement, preferring to fade into obscurity while leaving the fate of the world in the hands of men like Tony Stark. Mice living in the shadows of giants, left to fumble with the nations security.

Only then did Ted realize he was gripping his fists so tight that his knuckles had gone white. He slowed to a halt, leaning against a waist height brick wall to grab a breather while trying to master his temper. Just last week the Doc had warned him about his climbing blood pressure.

It was just that the wound of what had happened with the Society had never healed right for Ted, not really. Green Lantern, The Atom, The Flash, Hourman, they had all those amazing powers, powers they could have kept using to help people, but instead they'd let the people tell them they didn't want them no more. That they'd done enough. That they didn't need protecting any longer. And then what happened? The people got burned, because nobody was protecting them. It was small consolation that Wildcat had called it, during that last JS meeting when they'd all voted on their future. He'd told them that just because the world didn't think that it needed them now, didn't mean they wouldn't need them in the future. Yeah, he'd called it.

Wonder if it was too late to call Jay with an 'I told you so'. Small consolations are the only consolation you get some times.

Break, and bitch, over, the old fighter made for home, taking three steps before the muscles in his left calf cramped something awful and he was forced to another stop. With a pained grunt he dropped to his knee and began to massage the tortured muscle.

Jesus, who was he trying to kid.

There wasn't anybody in the world that needed a broken old man like him.



New York
March, 20th, 2005
9AM

An hour later and he was on the homestretch. It hurt his pride, having to walk back like this, but at least he'd still managed it under his own power. He'd have to be halfway in a casket before he'd have got a cab. His mind was on a hot shower and fresh coffee, two things he would have quite happily killed for right then, when he heard a commotion from the alleyway. He couldn't rightly have said what it was that possessed him to peek his head in, because it might have been anything that cause the indistinct noise he'd heard. Could have been a racoon in a dumpster, kids playing, the wind, a hobo love-in. But of course, it wasn't.

The alley contained a row of dumpsters, a fire escape, a chain link fence blocking the only other exit, one sedan car, and three strung out meth-heads. The junkies were hard at work trying to jimmy open the sedan's lock, obviously figuring if they could then their next fix was as good as paid for. Why, Ted couldn't imagine, cause the car was a beat up looking piece of shit that probably wasn't worth the money to scrap it (though the meth-heads weren't looking much better). Still, it was someone's property, and Ted wasn't the sort to just step aside and let this kind of thing happen.

"You know, back in my day the criminals had the decency to rob folk at night," He called, his tone light, like he was just starting a conversation with old friends. The trio started guiltily, realized he was just one old man, and then began swapping uncertain looks. He was an unforeseen variable, and it was throwing them for a loop. If the fact that they weren't master criminals wasn't evident before, then it certainly was now.

"But then, you boys probably feel pretty safe right now, huh? Pretty secure, pretty sure you're gonna get away scot-free. After all, SHIELD just took a shiner, the whole world's waiting for what the Red Skull's gonna do next. Ain't nobody watching out for the little guy. Ain't nobody punishing the little crimes, the little criminals, not when the big ones are out there, waiting to strike." As he spoke Ted strolled towards the sedan, calm and easy. He didn't realize it, but all his aches and pains from earlier had disappeared, like early morning fog blown away by a fresh breeze.

"Look old man, you don't. . . " Began one of the junkies, but Ted just kept on talking, steam rolling over whatever point the thief thought he was gonna make.

"Or maybe I've got you boys all wrong. Maybe this wee 'crime-of-the-century' ain't got nothing to do with Hydra, the Skull, or the worlds woes. Maybe you're just too stupid to realize what a bad idea this was." The trio's faces hardened at this. Even brain dead meth-heads don't like being called stupid by a complete stranger. The closest of the would-be-thieves stuffed his hand into his pocket.

"So which is it boys; Confident, or stupid?" Ted was close now. So close he could see every black pore on their noses, every greasy strand of their hair, the frightened flicker of their eyes as they desperately looked for a way out, only to realize the sweaty old man blocked the only exit. He grinned, and they blanched.

The closest junkie, a man so skinny he looked like he was on the verge of anorexia, took a jump back before pulling a flick knife from his pocket with a flourish that was probably supposed to appear intimidating, but ended up looking clumsy.

"You shoulda kept on walking, old man!" Rasped the junkie.

Funny, Ted thought, his grin growing wider as he clenched his fists, I don't feel so old anymore.

Center City, WA
8:14 AM

Tracy walked through the darkened dance floor of the nightclub. Even though it was eight in the morning, a dozen people writhed in time with the strobe lights and thumping electronic music. It was too dark for Tracy to see their faces, but he was almost certain they would all have the pinned eyes that came with a coke high. The clubbers all gave him a wide berth as he passed through them on his way to the VIP. The club was called Elysium and one of Hyde's guys ran it.

The guy in question was sitting in the VIP section in the club's rear. Fat Ricky Fat was rail thin with spiky black hair. Elysium's clientele ran towards the college crowd, the trust fund type that blew all mommy and daddy's money on drugs and danced the night away. From what Tracy gleamed, that was the type of kid Linda Flynn was.

"Tracy Lawless," Ricky said in that thick, fake ghetto accent he liked to put on. "Sup, dawg?"

Ricky sat in a booth in the VIP section's far corner. Cash and drugs were scattered across the table, the drugs in little baggies and the cash in hundred dollar bundles. Speed, weed, X, and coke were among the varieties of shit Ricky pushed to the kids who frequented his club. Tracy saw a pair of high-heeled feet sticking out from under the table. Scumbag Ricky always liked to exchange blow for getting blown.

"What brings you here? I be paying Hyde his dues. I be paid up this month, he ain't got no cause to fuck with me."

Tracy didn't say a word until he was sitting across the table from Ricky. He pulled a photo out of his jacket, it was Linda Flynn with her parents. He slid it across the table to Ricky and let him look at it in the dim light.

"She had your number in her room. You know her?"

"I be knowing her," he said before groaning. "Damn girl, do that shit again... uhh..." He looked at Tracy and nodded. "Yeah, this bitch be coming into my club and dancing and coping."

"She come in last night?"

"Yeah, I saw her with a couple of bitches. They left pretty early."

"You ever do a trade with her like you're doing now?"

"Nah, dawg. That be for the girls who be lacking funds. I wanna hit it, but that bitch always be paying, even when I offer to trade. I don't wanna stick it, I wanna lick it."

Ricky flicked his tongue at Tracy. A second later, he gripped the table and shut his eyes as the girl under the table finished her work. Tracy felt his annoyance growing as Ricky rode out his climax and the girl came up out the table. He tossed the girl a baggie of coke and pointed towards the door.

"Bathroom be down the hall, bitch. Wash your fucking mouth out."

She scampered off as Ricky zipped his fly up. He looked at Tracy and shrugged.

"What the fuck? I told you what I be knowing, dawg. The fuck else you want?"

"I want you to tell me what you know," Tracy said slowly. "And I want you to speak properly. Stop the ghetto shit, Ricky. You're Asian and from fucking Portland."

"Man, fuck you! I ain't know a goddamn th--"

Tracy came up over the table and grabbed Ricky by his thin neck with one hand while the other went into Ricky's mouth and pulled on his tongue. Ricky squealed as Tracy pulled on his tongue and shoved him hard into the table surface. His head banged hard against the table and he bit his tongue, drawing blood.

"Goddamnit!" He shouted, reaching for something in his pants.

Tracy had his own gun out and pointed at Ricky before he could even get close to his own piece.

"Give, Ricky," Tracy said calmly. "Give right now or I shoot you in the heart, pull out your tongue and shove it up your own ass."

"Okay, okay!" Ricky sobbed, trying to catch the blood dripping from his mouth. Tracy noticed that bullshit accent was gone. "Look... I... there were these Russian fuckers that came to me last week. Mean son of bitches and they... they asked about that girl, okay?"

"What did they ask about?"

"They wanted to know how often she came to the club and she was with and what times she came. They gave me a number to call the next time she came in. They gave me ten thousands dollars to do it. I called them last night."

"Give me their names and the number you called right now...," Tracy said before he added. "Dawg."

---

At the CCPD, David Singh’s temper was legendary. No man was safe from his wrath. While Darryl was captain of our precinct, Singh was the boss. He was just the director of the crime lab, and as such had no jurisdiction in the rest of the precinct; but the tales of his fury were enough to sway even the toughest of officers. The slightest slip-up got him going. Misplaced some case files? He’d explain exactly what kind of idiot you are. Forgot to hand in the day’s reports? You’d better hope he wasn’t having a bad day. Come to work late? May god help you.

But things were different for me. Six years of working with the guy allowed me to get to know him, learn what made him tick, just what got his blood boiling. I could read him like a book. So when I arrived at 20th and Kanigher with a felafel in hand, I knew exactly how to deal with him.

“Oh, would you look at who decided to show up. Sherlock freaking Holmes. Where the hell have you been, Allen?” he roared. I could see every individual muscle twitch as his face contorted in anger, every line that formed, the individual droplets of spittle that flew from his mouth. I smirked, but he didn’t see it. I was too fast for him.

“It’s Sunday, Dave,” I said, moving past him without a backward glance, “Live a little.”

We were in an alley behind Jitters, Central City’s idea of Starbucks. Police tape refused the public entry, multiple cruisers parked out front with officers on watch. The air was thick with an unpleasant energy, a discomfort that seemed to follow the police force to every murder. It shouldn’t have been this way; no officer was a stranger to homicide. It was part of the job. But the Gem Cities were supposed to be sunny, and happy, and innocent. They were no Gotham. Something that Iris always used to say came back to me-- “New York may be the city that never sleeps, but the Gem Cities are the ones always on the run.” And in a way, I saw the truth of it. The people there did like to run from reality.

The body lay in the center of the alley, untouched since its discovery. It was a middle-aged man, probably in his late forties, dressed in an inexpensive business suit, the kind you’d buy from a second-hand store: scruffy, worn, and in dire need of a wash. He was bald, clean-shaven-- no hair to obstruct the frozen terror on his face. His chest was littered with stab wounds, his suit stained red by blood; the lacerations were deep and frenzied, as if done in a hurry. From afar, it looked unprofessional, probably the work of a mugger or junkie. But there was only one way to be sure.

Pulling on a pair of gloves, I turned back to Singh. “What happened here?”

“Guy’s called Clancy Whittaker,” he grunted, “Forty-nine years old. He was found by a Jitters employee doing early rounds at six fifty. The kid says he heard a scuffle outside, came to check it out. That’s when he saw this damn mess.” He nodded at the body, then looked back to me. “You know what to do, Allen.”

---

The man, as I saw him, was slow. He sprinted down the empty street, every step slower than the last, drawn out over time he didn’t have much of. Ragged breaths came out in lengthy intervals. His hair jumped up and down, like a gazelle leaping in the air, swept backwards by his momentum. I figure he was running at around twenty miles per hour; if he wanted to, and he would, he could outrun nearly everyone on the force. Everyone but me.

It wasn’t hard to keep up with him. Yellow lightning arcing behind me, I was speed walking at best, catching up to him within milliseconds. Reaching his side, I stopped, sticking my leg out in front of him, scowling as his feet collided with my ankle, a low pitched yelp escaping his lips. It took a long time for him to meet the ground. When he did, he pulled out a pistol, taking aim and pressing down on the trigger. A loud bang echoed through the street, fire spitting out from the muzzle, a lone bullet ambling its way towards me. I watched in a sort of detached fascination as it inched closer, catching it between my pointer and thumb.

I smiled.

Flicking the bullet away, I walked up to the man, picking him up by the lapel. Then I spoke. Very. Slowly. “Jared Cannes,” I said, “You killed a man this morning. Do you know what that means?”

“I-I’m going to jail,” he bumbled, an uncomprehending look on his face.

“That’s right,” I confirmed, “But first, you’re coming with me.”

---

Jared Cannes arrived at the CCPD less than a minute later, courtesy of the Flash. He was our man. When I examined poor Clancy, I found blood under his fingernails; ten bucks said it wasn’t his. I sent it back to the lab for analysis. Patty Spivot gave me a name in half an hour.

Turned out that Cannes was an amateur hitman. And when I say amateur, I mean amateur. He was the guy you turned to when you couldn’t afford anyone else. The guy you turned to if you wanted to get arrested. And that’s exactly what happened to Clancy Whittaker’s ex-wife.

As she was dragged through the precinct, hands cuffed behind her back, I turned to Patty, easily the smartest, and blondest, person in the room.

“Good work, Patty.”

“Just doing my job, Barry.”

“Right.”

A comfortable silence followed. Then--

“SPIVOT!” It was Singh. “Where the hell is your goddamned report?”

She looked to me for backup. I just shrugged. I wanted no part of this.

Triskelion
Washington D.C.
March 19, 2005
23:30

The punching bag buckled under the strength of her strikes backed by righteous anger. Stephanie didn't like to train angry, but this wasn't training. No, this was an attempt to work out frustration. Most would agree that hitting something when you're mad is the best way to relieve stress and frustration. It had always worked for Steph in the past, though she was also usually hitting someone from AIM or KOBRA. That was a lot more satisfying than hitting the bag. She was also usually a lot less angry than she was now. This was a hot, nuclear fire kind of anger. The kind of anger that could consume you given the chance.

Hours ago, HYDRA and the Red Skull had announced their return to the world in a spectacular fashion, hijacking internet feeds to deliver a manifesto that Steph had read about many times before. They wanted to purify the world of everyone and everything they thought was impure, disgusting, and base. It was the speech of all cowards and would-be tyrants. The Red Skull was trying to rile up the idiots that would rush to his cause. He was trying to get someone to do something stupid without doing it himself. Classic psychological manipulation of the dumb people of the world. HYDRA were cowards during WWII when her father took care of them, and they were cowards now.

The thought of her father, Steve Rogers, made her hit the bag a little harder. She had never met the man who was Captain America, obviously, but there were enough newsreels, stories, and information out there for her to appreciate the man he was. She strove every day of her life to live up to the legacy of Steve Rogers.

After all, it's why she was born. She was conceived through SHIELD science after her mother was impregnated with Rogers's genetic material. When she was merely a girl, she was informed that she would be the first to truly carry on the legacy of Captain America. There had been others, of course, but she would be the first to be presented as carrying on the spirit of Rogers. It scared her slightly, but more often than not it just made her proud. She was Captain America's daughter, and she'd be the one to carry his shield one day.

At least she thought she would carry the shield. That is until new Director of SHIELD Nick Fury told her today that they had found Steve's old partner, Bucky Barnes. He was strong, and still young. More importantly, according to Fury, was he was a soldier with direct experience with HYDRA. Due to those reasons, he would be leading the fight against the re-emergent threat.

Everything she was meant for, everything she was promised, and everything she had dreamed of had been ripped away from her. With another mighty blow the punching bag snapped off its moorings and slid along the wall before crashing into a rack of weights. They crashed down in front of Bobbie Morse who entered the room and looked at Steph sympathetically, "So I was going to ask how you were doing...but I think I get the point."

Bobbi was Steph's surrogate big sister, her partner in the field, and all around rock. She was about the only person Steph would tolerate seeing at this point.

"Listen, I debated whether to tell you this," she sighed, "but they're waking him up right now. If you want to meet him. I mean, he did know your dad."

Steph shot her a sideways glance. It was probably more venomous than she intended from the look she got in return. She said nothing, but nodded. She might as well go see who was taking her place.

It took her a few minutes to walk to the medbay. The Triskelion was a huge military installation, and the most advanced one in the world. SHIELD had all the technical know-how in the world, though it hasn't done much good in tracking down the whereabouts of enemy leaders. Still, their island fortress in the Potomac was impenetrable.

When she reached the medbay, she found a large group assembled around the window of Barnes's room. She pushed through them, and as she did they dispersed, not wanting to be around the fuming agent. Inside the room, Fury sat with the man who had spent more time with Captain America in battle than any other. Barnes was built strong, with long, dark hair covering much of his face. One of his arms had been lost, replaced by a mechanical one. Steph could tell it was advanced. Maybe a piece of Stark's tech.

Deep down, she wished this moment was happening at a different moment. Bucky was a hero in his own right, and the person who probably knew her father the best. She would have loved to sit down with him and hear the stories from the war. But everything that happened today was keeping her from being in that mindset.

Then, their eyes locked. Her stare burned into him, and his confusion hit her like a ton of bricks. She looked like her father, she knew that. That's what had to be going through his mind as he looked at her. She broke her gaze and walked off, her hands shaking.

For the next hour, she wandered the grounds of the Triskelion, her thoughts racing. Every single scenario ran through her mind. Emotions raged as well. It had been one hell of a day. She should have gone to bed. Instead, she decided to take a path she had considered since Fury told her she would not be taking her father's mantle. If she wasn't going to be SHIELD's choice, then why should she bother staying?

"Bobbi," she opened her private comm chat with her friend. "You up?"

Morse answered groggily, "Yea, what's up? Need to have an ice cream night?"

"No," Steph sighed. "Listen. I just want to say I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"Just...sorry," Steph responded as she took her earpiece out and stamped it under her heel. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she shook them off. There was no time for emotion now. She needed her wits about her.

She made her way to the equipment room and put on her battle gear. The star on her chest shone brightly in the florescent light. While the lightweight stealth armor she wore into battle was fashioned after her father's, it only included dark blue and white accents. It was meant to blend it with dark environments for infiltration and stealth.

From her locker, she also pulled her father's shield. No longer red, white, and blue, it now matched her suit. She ran her hands over the smooth metal surface. It had seen more battle than any soldier in history, if she had to guess, but it still looked like it was brand new. That was thanks to its special composition. She treasured every moment she had with it. She slung it onto her back, and stood, placing the small domino mask she always wore over her eyes.

Turning around, she found herself nearly face to face with Fury, who had two security officers behind him.

"Move, Fury," Steph said through gritted teeth.

"Put the shield back," he responded coolly.

"Over my dead body," she sneered back. She had sat patiently for her time. It had come, and she was passed over. She had taken enough. Duggan pushed it off for long enough, and now Fury was outright skipping her. The emotion poured off her, "You can take my father's name. You can take his mantle. You can't take this shield. I was born for this, Nick. It's the reason I'm here. It might not have been your call to make me, but I was. SHIELD made me, Nick. Made me to be Captain America. You took that away from me. You're not going to take away the one piece of my father I can still have. Now, step aside. Unless you and your goons want a demonstration."

The two of them stared at each other, the tension thick enough to eat with a spoon. While she didn't break her gaze, she could tell the two guards behind the Director were tense. Suddenly, one drew their weapon. Steph pushed Fury to the ground and raised her shield. The tranquilizer darts bounced harmlessly off it. She spun, grabbing the aggressor's wrist. She disarmed him, and fired a dart into his and his partner's neck. Steph spun back to Fury, "Sorry, Nick."

"We're gonna get that shield back, Carter," he shook his head.

"You'll try," Steph responded, firing a dart into Fury, knocking him out. She gathered more ammo for the tranq gun, and holstered it. She quickly made her way to the garage, where her specialized motorcycle was. She dismantled its tracking system, making sure SHIELD wouldn't be able to follow.

Firing up the engines, she sped out of the Triskelion. She was no longer Stephanie Carter. She would never be Captain America. She was Nomad, and she was going to take down HYDRA, no matter what the cost.

GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO
MARCH 24TH 05:30 AM

It had been three days. Greg Saunders’ bones ached, creaked and protested at every move. Three days stuck in a bus, watching America roll by. Layovers at ungodly times. Dinners and breakfast in dingy roadside restaurants. Time spent reading, eating, sleeping and watching people come and go. Greg rarely exchanged a word with them.

Now, he was finally at his destination. Grand Junction, Colorado. It was where the Chinatown Kid’s letter had pointed him.

“Sir? Sir?”

Greg Saunders paid no heed to the voice behind him as he got off the bus.

“Sir? Sir!”

Now he turned around. It was the lady he’d helped ward off unwanted advances. Her son hid behind her leg, his face peeking out every so often to look at Greg, then hiding itself quickly again.

“I never thanked you for the help back there.” She said, a little ashamed of herself. Greg had seen her look back often to where he sat in the back of the bus. Sometimes he’d give her a courteous nod and she’d look away again. The process repeated itself at every major stop, as people filed out of the bus. When they had gone and she’d notice he was still there, she’d smile a little.
“That’s alright, ma’am.”
“No, really, thank you.” Greg wasn’t sure what to make of her. He could tell she had been in trouble before – and that she had fought back. She had been fighting back her whole life, really. Only Greg didn’t know this was the first time anyone had bothered to fight for her.
So he tipped his hat and said: “It was my pleasure.” Greg turned to walk away.

“Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Can we buy you breakfast?” she asked. Behind her leg, her son held his breath. “It’s the least we can do.”

Greg looked the two over, then heard his stomach rumble. He smiled. “Sure.”

Her son exhaled and now, in a flurry of excitement, ran up to Greg, extending his hand. “My name’s Miguel. That’s my mom, Maria.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Miguel, Maria. Greg Saunders.” The old cowboy tipped his hat again and Miguel stood in awe. “Wow,” he worded silently.

“Come on, kid, let’s find a Denny’s.”

March 20th, 2005
07:12am

Through the mist at Arlington Cemetery poked the top of a statue that caused Bucky Barnes to choke up a little. They called it the Steve Rogers Memorial and it stood tall over the most venerated war dead in American history as a reminder of the sacrifice Rogers had made that day over the North Atlantic. He was clad in full Captain America uniform with a flag in one hand and his shield held high above his head as if charging into battle. The mist was so thick that Barnes could barely see a few feet in front of him so he used the top of the shield poking through it to navigate. Several paces behind him was his SHIELD escort, Agent Maria Hill, who Fury had insisted Barnes take with him. The pair had spoken few words on the way there but she seemed a strong and capable woman. That much was clear from the way she carried herself.

It meant something to him that even amidst the chaos at SHIELD, Fury had found time to allow Barnes to pay his respects. From what Bucky understood, Fury had lost a friend recently too and he’d wondered whether that explained how quick he had been to insist Bucky visit Arlington. Perhaps he thought the visit might help persuade Bucky to take him up on the offered he’d made last night. Either way Barnes was no closer to having one now than he’d been when Fury had made him it. The footage he'd shown him had made his blood run cold. That face and that symbol were about the only things since he’d woken up that were familiar to Barnes. HYDRA was back and the Red Skull with them. Fury meant for Bucky to lead the fight against them. If Bucky was honest with himself he wasn’t sure he had any fight left in him. Not without Steve beside him.

Agent Hill looked at Bucky with a polite smile as they reached the foot of the statue. “I’ll give you some time.”

“It’s fine.”

She nodded, perhaps sensing that he didn’t want to be alone, and the two of them observed the iconic statue in silence. On the way over Hill had told him about the grave they had at Arlington for him and Barnes had been insistent he didn't wanted to see it. Stood before Steve’s statue he was more certain that he’d made the right decision. Though he knew Fury was telling the truth about Steve, it hadn’t quite sunk in until he was stood there in front of the statue. He didn’t want to know how he’d feel seeing his own name on a gravestone.


“This is really something,” Bucky said, shaking his head with wonderment as he stared up at it. “Steve would have hated it.”

Gallows humour had been putting soldiers at ease for as long as there had been soldiers and Bucky was far from immune to it. From Maria Hill's smile it seemed neither was she. As surreal as the experience was for Barnes, he understood it must have been equally surreal for Hill too, and when she’d woken up that morning she likely hadn’t figured on taking Captain America’s sidekick to visit the Steve Rogers Memorial.

“They tell me there were two other Captain Americas after Steve died,” Bucky said pensively. “What happened to them?”

“The first, Jeffrey Mace, was a Bugle news reporter that saw the footage of Captain America in action and left the confines of his office to serve when he had no need to. They say he was softly spoken, well educated too, could have stayed at home and left the fighting to somebody else but he volunteered. After Zemo’s plane, Mace stepped volunteered again and saw out the war effort as Captain America. Every few years after that he’d stick his head above the parapet when the country needed him, needed reassurance, and continued to do so for the best part of two decades.”

“Two decades?” Bucky said with an impressed look. “Where the hell is his statue?”

“You can blame that on Frank Simpson,” Agent Hill muttered uncomfortably. “Simpson was the complete opposite of Mace. Violent, quick to anger, and difficult to control at the best of times. With Vietnam going against us the government of the day considered him something of a necessary evil. Shortly after the assault on Madripoor in 1978 he went rogue, started working with some nasty people, and that brought about an end to the government’s dalliances with recreating Erskine’s serum. Both Mace and Simpson were all but written out of the history books as a result.”

Bucky shook his head. “You go to sleep for sixty years and the whole world turns to crap.”

It made sense that government had attempted to replace Steve after he’d died but the thought of someone else wearing that uniform made Bucky uncomfortable. The thought of doing it himself made him even more uncomfortable. Unlike Steve, Bucky didn’t have Erskine’s formula running through his veins and he wasn’t capable of the Herculean feats of strength that Rogers regularly performed. Steve recounting to him once that Erskine believed the formula simply amplified the qualities of those that took it. Steve Rogers was the kind of man that came around once in a lifetime. He was Captain America before that serum was in his veins. Bucky would never be able to match up to that. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

From beside him, he noticed Maria Hill take a glanced down at her the watch around her wrist. “Have you given much thought to Director Fury’s proposition?”

Barnes sighed. “I haven’t been able to think about much else.”

“What are you doing to do?”

Bucky stared up at the statue of Steve. He had been his best friend, his mentor, and the closest thing he ever had to a brother. It was hard for other people to understand the bond men forged when they put their lives at risk for one another on the battlefield as often as they had. Even with Steve gone he could feel the pull of their bond on him and the sense of obligation that came with it.

“Your Director knew what my answer would be the second he asked me,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “And so did I.”

Agent Hill gestured up at the statue, a curious look appearing on her face. “Is it what he would have wanted?”

Bucky pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and stared down at the ground. He searched his feelings and tried to remember every conversation he and Steve had ever had in the hopes of answering her question as honestly as possible. He thought of all the times they had sat around a fire eating cold beans out a tin and regaled each other with stories of home. How Steve had waxed lyrical about Brooklyn and wanting to become an artist when the war was over and done with. Never once had Steve revelled in the fighting or showed any enjoyment in the violence they were forced to partake in but he pined after home and peace often.

“To be honest, I think he’d have been too damned cut up that the world was still tearing itself to pieces to know what to think.”

Embarrassment swept over Maria Hill's face and Bucky watched as she searched for some words of consolation. There was a quiet buzzing noise and Hill looked slightly relieved. She pressed her finger against her earpiece and turned away from Barnes to engage in a conversation of inaudible murmuring.

"What's going on?" Bucky asked curiously. "Is something wrong?"

Once done Hill turned back to him, let out a heavy sigh, and pushed a strand a hair from her forehead. "There was an... incident at the Triskelion last night. A rogue SHIELD agent absconded with an important piece of SHIELD property and in the process assaulted the Director and two SHIELD agents. Director Fury wanted to tell you about it at the time but given you'd not long been awake he decided against it. He wanted to give you an opportunity to come here and pay your respects first. I guess he hoped the agent in question would come to their senses and return it."

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. "Return what? Stop talking in riddles and tell me what actually happened, Agent Hill."

"It's the shield," Hill muttered, her voice faltering slightly. "She stole the shield."

As the words registered in Bucky's mind he felt an anger spread from the deepest pit of his stomach up through his chest and lungs, snaking its way up his throat, before finding its home on his face, flushing it a deep red with rage. His hands balled into fists as he wondered to himself what kind of sick, twisted individual would do such a thing. Other than memories, the shield was all that Bucky had left of Steve and someone had tried to take it from him.

He was going to find them and make them hurt in ways they didn't know were possible. And he was going to make sure he enjoyed it.

New York City
March 20th, 2005
19:23

Steph crouched in an alley across the street from her mother’s home in New York. The elder Carter had moved here after her retirement from the field three years prior. She knew Steph had been in good hands, and wanted some place where she could rest. Her daughter couldn’t blame her. Sharon Carter had been a legendary agent of SHIELD, and raising a super soldier daughter wasn’t a walk in the park either. She had earned her rest. Steph’s actions would probably disappoint her slightly, but Steph also knew her mother supported her in everything she did. Sharon would understand her actions.

She had hoped to get here before SHIELD did, but that was a fool’s hope. Before she even got to her mother’s block she found the area crawling with agents. She had easily evaded them, but there was no way she’d be able to talk to her mother face to face. Instead, she bought a burner phone. During her escape from SHIELD, she emptied her bank account, realizing Fury would freeze it immediately once he came to. It wasn’t a lot, but she could survive on it for a while.

Dialing her mother’s number, she waited as the phone rang. Steph could see the agents in her mother’s home begin a flurry of movement. They’d try to track her, of course. She began walking away from the house. After five rings, the voice of Sharon Carter answered on the other end, “Hello?”

“Hey mom,” Steph responded nonchalantly. The anger, fear, and sadness that had gripped her last night were now gone. Carter had a clarity about her she had not had for years. She was free to fight her war as she saw fit, no longer shackled by the chain of command. She was comfortable in her new life, even if it meant being constantly on the run. “How’s it going?”

“It’d be going a lot better if these agents weren’t in my damn house,” her mother said, more to the agents than to her. “How are you?”

“Oh you know, decided to become a vigilante, on the run from the world’s most powerful intelligence agency,” she joked. “Nothing much to talk about.”

“You should go back, Stephanie,” her mother warned half-heartedly.

“It doesn’t sound like you believe that,” Steph called her out. “Listen, I just wanted to say sorry. I know this will put some complications into your life. But I’m not going to sit by on the sidelines anymore.”

“I understand. I love you. Be careful.”

“Love you too, mom,” she finished and tossed the burner phone to the ground.
That’s when she noticed a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye. She made a break for it, finding her covered bike at the other end of the long alley. She slid towards it, snatching her shield from underneath the old sheet she had used to cover the bike. She spun, throwing off her leather jacket, revealing the battlesuit underneath. Nomad, as she was taking to call herself, stood ready as Bucky Barnes stepped into the dim light in front of her.

She had to chuckle, “So Fury sent you, huh? Well, he’s at least serious about this then. Good. Once I send his lapdog back to him, maybe he’ll realize I was right. Because you are not taking this shield from me.”

---

---

“What’s this about, Stark?”

Tony Stark stood in silence, something he hadn’t done in a very long time. He had called SHIELD Agent James Rhodes to his penthouse apartment an hour ago and he had been thinking about the reasons for the greater part of the day. A bottle of Stärkst held firmly in the inventor’s right hand as his left dug itself into his pants pocket, the bottle gleaming in the glare of the sun as it began to set.

“You guys dropped the ball this time.” Tony commented; clearly referring to the attack on Belle Reve and HYDRA’s resurgence. “Dugan’s dead, isn’t he? What happened?”

James Rhodes had spent a lot of time with Tony Stark, even called himself a friend— but he wasn’t going to take Stark’s tone sitting down especially after the tragedy that happened at Belle Reve, the second largest operational facility that SHIELD had their hands in; a facility that was in ruins as the agency scrambled trying to put it back together and reacquire the omega-level prisoners that had been freed by HYDRA’s vicious attack to disarm SHIELD. A facility that only got attacked because the former Director of SHIELD had been visiting. What would’ve happened if he had been visiting his son in Blue Valley? Fury had always called Dugan a fool for his “softer” approach following Terrence Sloan’s retirement in 1980.

“They caught us off-guard.” Rhodes’ brows narrowed in irritation. “Maybe if you hadn’t declined that initiative Dugan was trying to put together he would still be here, maybe America wouldn’t be facing down a damned resurgence of HYDRA.”

“Why didn’t Dugan go to anyone else? You guys had a whole laundry list of names— Banner, Adam, Milton, Wilson, McCabe, Barton, Pym, and whoever else was on the slip. Why did you need the ‘Invincible’ Iron Man?” Stark rose the bottle taking a swing as he finished his sentence. Sure, Rhodes meant well but that sure felt like cheap shot aimed at some sort of pompous guilt trip. He remembered the initiative well enough and he remembered why he turned it down; he hadn’t wanted to be caught in some government web where Iron Man was told where to go and who to help. That kind of bureaucracy would’ve been some kind of Orwellian nightmare. But maybe he had been wrong? Sure felt like it.

“After you said no, Dugan sat on the project. He wanted you on board alongside Carter and some others. But apparently you turning it down meant the initiative wasn’t ready. I never understood why Dugan liked you so much.”

Tony smirked as he shook his head. “Because he was a ‘Dum Dum’.”

“Funny. So you invited me here to have a debate and insult the dead? While HYDRA is out there?”

Tony closed his eyes. “No.”

“Then what?”

Stark turned around as he put the bottle on a nearby desk. “I asked you here to tell you I changed my mind. About the Avengers Initiative and about not helping SHIELD. All of it. I am ready to be the federal government’s Iron gofer.”

“...why now? Even with HYDRA, you didn’t help with AIM or KOBRA. Why is it different?”

“Call it as my way of commiting to my civic duty, Rhodey— you know how it goes, I can’t help myself. I’m a bonafide patriot. Call me the Iron Patriot. I mean apparently you guys are incompetent as hell that you get overrun by a few nazi’s; what is this, 1942? Plus it’s a really slow and boring Sunday, so chalk it up to boredom. Got it? Cool.”

“I’ll take you to Fury right away.”

“Yeah, you do that.”





“So this is the Triskeleton. Neat. Hope you paid Luthor a pretty penny for it.”

James Rhodes took a heavy breath as he shook his head, “Luthor didn’t build it— and it’s the Triskelion.”

“I’m Italian and German, not Greek.” Tony Stark stated as he let out a light chuckle, pleased with his comment.

“Whatever. Normally you don’t just meet the Director of SHIELD, but these are extenuating circumstances. I’ve already called ahead.”

“You tattled? Here I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Fury doesn’t like surprises.”

“I have a new nickname for you Rhodey, want to hear it?”

“Not really.”

“It’s Buzzkill Machine.”

“Whatever Tony, he’s waiting. Through that door.”

Rhodes had led Tony this far, and whilst he had a plan he still couldn’t help be a little anxious and nervous. From what Rhodes had told him he knew that getting Fury on board was not going to be a quick effort. He had to show him something that he had and tell him the facts plain and simple. He took a light breath, ‘This is no big deal’ he told himself as he opened the door to the office of the Director of SHIELD not knowing what he was really getting himself into.

“Stark. Can’t say this day hasn’t been interesting. Never expected to see you here after what you told Dugan in ‘03.”

The new Director of SHIELD, Nick Fury stared down at the young man that had walked right through the door. When he heard that Tony Stark was on his way to talk to him he wasn’t sure what to think. Stark was an aloof idiot with a drinking problem and a hero complex. Much like others among the SHIELD ranks he had never understood what his predecessor saw in him. But he wasn’t really ‘ready’ to have a conversation with Tony Stark after what he had been through today. Between trying to predict HYDRA, the Carter incident, and getting SHIELD on track he didn’t really need some spoiled over-embellished child prodigy who thought he was too cool to work with SHIELD two years ago.

“Well, I’ve had a two whole years to think about it and decided to give it a whirl.” Tony paused for a moment as his smirk dropped from his face. “What happened at Belle Reve shouldn’t have been possible.”

“I agree.”

“I just want to make this clear, if we start this relationship together. So before you scowl at me for five minutes, listen.”

Fury’s brows narrowed as he offered no reply immediately, perhaps curious to see where Stark was going with this discussion.

“You need me. America needs a true patriot out there protecting them and last time I checked you haven’t had a hero worth their spit in your organization since 1978. I want to help and bring my team on board with taking down HYDRA. But I won’t be like Milton or Adam— I work with you, not for you. Where this working relationship goes next is up to you, but know with or without you I will take down the Red Skull with my own hands. This isn’t 1942 or 1963 or even 1978, I’m not going to let a bunch of Nazis ruin such a wonderful year.”

Nick Fury removed the cigar from his mouth as he tapped it against the ashtray in front of him. “Is that a fact?”

“About as much as I’ve already decrypted the source location of that crummy youtube video.”

“I see.”

There was a silence. Nick Fury didn’t like Tony’s tone in his little statement, but damn it if he wasn’t right that he would be useful. As a consultant Tony Stark would make an expendable but very useful ally in the war that was coming and Fury found himself needing soldiers— outside of Barton, Drew, Hill, Rhodes, Chang, Coulson, and a handful of others he wasn’t really in a place to be picky. But he couldn’t be walked over, he wasn’t Dugan after all.

“You’ve got balls, Stark; but you are walking on thin ice. If the information you have proves valuable and not a crock of crap then we’ll look at your terms. But don’t think I’m going to let you make demands of an officer of the federal government. If you cross me I can make your life very difficult.”

“Noted. Let’s get to it then.”

Center City, WA
10:30 AM

Tracy sat in his car and watched the comings and goings at the deli. Belyakov's Delicatessen served as the base of operations for Center City's ROC contingent. Russian Organized Crime moved into Center City about five years ago and had been spreading its tentacles ever since. They started in LA after the Cold War ended and the Russian Mafyia consolidated power in the former USSR. Like a snake, they slithered up the west coast through the big cities until they arrived in Center City. Hyde watched their movements with a wary eye. For now, ROC paid up like the rest of them but they were growing stronger each day. Time would come that Hyde would have to cut them down.

If Tracy's information was good, that time appeared to be now. The names Ricky Fat gave Tracy all matched members of ROC, the number he dialed last night was that of Belyakov's Deli. It appeared to Tracy that ROC committed an unsanctioned kidnapping in Center City. If Tracy knew Hyde like he thought he did, there was only one solution to this problem. But that would come afterward. For now, getting Linda Flynn back safely was priority one.

--

11:22 AM

"And you're sure about this, Tracy?"

"As sure as I can be."

Thomas Flynn leaned forward in his chair and spread his arms along the rich wood surface of his desk. Tracy saw the gears in his head turning, he could practically hear what Flynn was thinking. Which is why it was no surprise what he said next.

"I don't want to pay the ransom," he said softly. "I love my daughter, I do... but her stupidity and weakness has cost so much. If daddy keeps bailing her out, she'll keep doing it again and again. She needs to pull herself up by her own bootstraps."

Tracy's neutral look did not betray the thoughts he had in his head. He used to think Sebastian Hyde was a cold son of a bitch, but now Thomas Flynn was the standard bearer when it came to that regard. Teeg Lawless had been an abusive, hateful man, but if Tracy or his brother Ricky had been kidnapped, Teeg would have moved heaven and earth to get his boys back. He wouldn't leave his sons to the wolves, and he certainly try to justify it with bullshit conservative rhetoric.

"Who runs these Russians?" Flynn asked.

"Konstantin Belyakov. He owns the deli where they congregate at and a half dozen other front businesses in the city."

"Does he work for... you employer?"

"Not exactly," Tracy said with a shrug. "He pays a cut to my boss like everyone else does, but he doesn't work for anyone but himself."

"Tracy," Flynn said slowly. "These people will be calling me within the hour with ransom demands. They want five million dollars that I don't want to give to them... but what if we had something they wanted?"

--

12:10 PM

Tracy's charger raced down the street towards the Phillips Park. Plenty of families were out and about in the noon hour. Inside his car he had two of Flynn's security guards, wearing plainclothes and masks. Tracy didn't wear one. He wanted them to know who he was. He jumped the curb and rode on the sidewalk. People scattered and ran for cover as Tray skidded on the grass beside a swing set.

He and the men jumped out of the car and headed towards the swing set. Two men by the swings were reaching for something in their jackets, but were stopped when the two guards smacked them across the face with nightsticks. They kept beating the bodyguards while Tracy scooped a young boy up off the swings and pushed the woman beside the boy down into the dirt.

"Tell Belyakov now we have something he wants," he said coldly. "If Linda Flynn dies, we fucking kill his son."

The woman screamed bloody murder as Tracy shoved the confused kid into the backseat. She called for help when Tracy and the other men climbed into the car and sped off with the boy in the backseat calling for his mother in Russian.

March 20th, 2005
18:05pm

Nick Fury leant against his desk and rubbed his sore neck with a heavy sigh. As soon as he'd come to he'd dispatched SHIELD agents to Sharon Carter's home in New York and frozen Stephanie's bank account. The first twenty-four hours after someone went underground were crucial and when that person happened to have Abraham Erskine's super soldier serum coursing through their veins they were even more important. If they didn't find Stephanie soon she'd be a ghost. She was too well-trained otherwise. Her mother Sharon was Stephanie's blind spot. Fury wasn't close with Stephanie, even less so after he'd told her about her being passed over, but he knew her well enough to know that she'd be going there first thing.

The doors to Nick Fury's office opened and through it stepped James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky as the world had known him, though now he was something else. He was Captain America. He stood before him in a uniform that had been heavily altered to meet Bucky's specifications but that looked ever bit as iconic as Steve's had looked. The helm and the breastplate resembled the original but Barnes had insisted they make the rest black. His boots and trousers were black and most notably he had asked for two additions: a knife on one hip and a Luger on the other one. Fury liked it. It was practical, stealthier than the original, and it made sense for Barnes to want to blaze his own trail.

Fury smiled at him as the two locked eyes. "How does it feel?"


"Honestly?" Barnes said uncomfortably. "It feels like... like when I was sixteen and used to put my dad's old uniform on so I could sneak to the bar a few clicks out of Camp Lehigh where all the guys went during their downtime. I feel like an impostor, Fury, like any second Steve is going to turn up and tell me to stop being an idiot and take this damn thing off."

Director Fury nodded. "Yeah, well give it time and you'll feel weird when you're not wearing that thing. First things first though you're going to have to head to New York and get the shield back. What good is Captain America without a shield?"

It wasn't the shield that made a man Captain America, Bucky thought to himself with a glib smile, it was more than that. A scrawny nobody from Brooklyn that had been beaten on his entire life turned into the greatest leader the world has ever seen. That had nothing to do with the serum or the shield and everything to do with Steve. Bucky knew he was stepping into some big shoes, knew he'd never been and never would be half the man that Steve had been, but the world needed him to try to be.

"How fond are you of this Stephanie Carter?" Bucky said grumpily. "Do I have to bring her back in one piece?"

Fury let out a little laugh. "She's Sharon Carter's daughter, Barnes, and that name means something around these parts. Get the shield back, make sure she learns her lesson, but try not the murder the poor girl."

Bucky nodded and strode out of Fury's office. Stephanie Carter, former SHIELD agent, Sharon Carter's daughter turned traitor. Something didn't sit right with Bucky about this. It felt like there was more going on here that met the eye. He'd been unable to shake that feeling since the moment he'd opened his eyes in the Triskelion medical lab. He pushed his doubts to the back of his mind and made his way to the roof where a helicopter was waiting for him. The pilot looked round at him as he climbed in with an astonished look on his face. Bucky supposed he'd have to get used to those.


19:20pm

Bucky peered through a pair of tiny binoculars into Sharon Carter's apartment to check it was still secure. Sharon sat at a table, the agents were dotted around the room all looking anxious, when the wrong began to ring. She reached out for it and pressed it against her ear and began to speak. Bucky had been staking Carter's apartment out from a rooftop two blocks down and upon seeing the old woman beginning to speak began to scan the alleyways around it. Stephanie Carter was here. He knew it.

There. A tall blonde in a leather jacket with a phone pressed against her ear was walking away from the apartment. She was dressed down and would have been completely innocuous to someone with less experience than Bucky had. Where was she going? She had to have some escape route. Barnes leapt across a rooftop and fell short of the opposite one by some way but managed to grab a hold using his metal arm. Who knew sleeping for sixty years would make you a little rusty? He pulled himself up and continued to look around.

Then he spotted it. A covered bike hidden away out of sight. He burst into movement, sprinting towards the alley as he saw Carter pick up her pace, before finally making it into the mouth of the alley to hem Carter in.

She grabbed the shield, tore off her jacket to reveal the blue suit underneath, and turned to face him. “So Fury sent you, huh? Well, he’s at least serious about this then. Good. Once I send his lapdog back to him, maybe he’ll realize I was right. Because you are not taking this shield from me.”

Bucky shook his head gravely at her words. "I'm nobody's lapdog. And that shield doesn't belong to you."

He unholstered the Luger on his hip, cocked it, and pointed it in Stephanie's direction. She stared at him. It wasn't the first time she'd had a gun pointed at her from the defiance in her eyes. Good, Bucky thought, he didn't want he scared. He needed to blow off some steam and though he'd promised Fury he wouldn't hurt her too badly he hadn't said anything about not blowing her kneecap out.

"One chance, Carter, hand me the shield or I'll put you down for good."

"I'm nobody's lapdog. And that shield doesn't belong to you."

Steph's fists tightened as Barnes pointed his gun at her. He had the audacity to tell her the shield belonged to him more than it belonged to her. She didn't begrudge him his time with Steve. She realized he had a bond with him and felt like he was due the shield. But she was blood. He'd actually have to shoot he if he wanted it.

"Once chance, Carter, hand me the shield or I'll put you down for good."

She laughed out loud at the idea that he's actually kill her. Fury wouldn't allow that. Even if Fury had no care about Steph, he knew how much SHIELD resources had gone into creating her. From a purely financial standpoint he'd never allow it. Barnes may be free to rough her up a bit, and from the looks of things he wanted to, but there was no chance of him killing her.

"Okay, old man," she smiled. "Let's see what you got."

With her free hand, she tossed the keys to her motorcycle into the air, which drew his attention for a split second. It was all she needed to toss her shield against the wall of the alley. It bounced off it before knocking the gun out of Bucky's hand. Steph ran at him, jumped off the ground, caught the shield, and delivered a soft punch across his jaw. She pulled back from really hitting him. For all she knew he had just come out of a coma. No matter what his motives were, she didn't want to kill the man.

"Looks like you needed a little bit of practice. I find it to be helpful tot touch up your style every decade or so."

Bucky staggered backwards and smiled appreciatively at the punch. It was clear from her form that Carter had been through some vigorous training but there was no training on Earth that could compare to fighting alongside Steve. From the sounds of it she was a talker too, Bucky liked talkers, they were too busy trying to think up stupid quips to realise when they were in over her head. For all her bluster, Stephanie was in over her head. She just hadn't realised it yet.

He bounded towards Stephanie's and threw a punch towards her face with her left arm which she parried away easily. She was fast, almost too fast to believe, but Bucky had seen faster before. He launched the full power of left arm, its true composition hidden by the arm of his uniform, and it came down on Stephanie's ribs with a heavy crunch. She stepped back a few paces and Bucky was after her again.

As he approached her a thin smile appeared on Bucky's lips. "You're quick, girl, but not quick enough."

Bucky threw a vicious side kick in her direction and it hit Stephanie in the chest and knocked her back a few steps. She looked up at him, the playfulness that had been present on her face previously had all but gone, and her deep blue eyes became leaden with malice.

London
March 20th, 2005
01:34 Local Time

The loud, digital tone of his telephone ringing woke George Smiley up from his slumber. He'd been asleep for nearly four hours at that point, dragging himself off to bed after nodding off just before the news started. He always liked to stay up and watch whatever happened over the course of the day. He had no computer here, no internet connection, so the morning paper and nightly news were his only links to the world at large. He liked it that way. He was retired, after all.

George groped across the nightstand until he found the phone. He answered it without turning on the light or trying to find his glasses.

"Hullo?" He said sleepily into the phone.

"George Smiley. This is Nick Fury."

George blinked sleep out of his eyes and tried to comb through the thick haziness of sleep as he recalled that name. Nick Fury... a ghost from the past indeed. Almost fifteen years since he had even thought of the man. It was--

"Turkey in 1989," Fury said. "Operation Sidecar."

"Yes, I remember," said George. "Nicholas... what the devil is this all about?"

"Men are coming to your flat, George. Members of the US Embassy. They have strict orders to escort you to Heathrow and board a plane to the states. They're doing so under my orders."

A cold sensation coursed through George's stomach and worked its way to the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. Why would Americans be coming for him? And why would he be given a warning by the man ordering to take him? This wasn't a usual black bag job, those covert kidnappings every intelligence officer lived in fear of. This was...

"What is this all about, Nicholas?"

"You haven't seen the news. HYDRA's back and kicking our asses."

That cold sensation increased. George joined the Circus as HYDRA's power was waning, but he knew enough to know exactly what kind of threat they could pose to world security if they were indeed back in full force.

"The shit has hit the fan here states side," Fury continued. "My boss is dead, killed in a HYDRA attack, and I'm now the head of SHIELD... and I need help."

"Oh, no..."

"Yes," Fury said, George could picture the smirk on his face. "By the power invested in me by the United States government, I appointed you Special Consultant of Intelligence. Pending congressional approval, you'll be made a deputy director."

"Nicholas, I did not ask for this. I am retired. I am--"

"Getting on that plane in the next hour and we'll discuss it when you touch down in D.C. See you then, George."

Smiley cursed as the line went dead.

--

The Triskelion
Washington D.C.
March 20th, 2005
08:33 Local Time

George stifled a yawn as guards led him through the facility towards the director's office. The flight across the ocean was quick, but a military cargo plane is hardly the place to sleep. He wore the clothes from the day before, rumpled and soiled, and his hair was unkempt with a hint of salt and pepper stubble on his jaw.

"George," Nick Fury said as George walked into the office.

"We've got an assignment for you already."

"Nicholas, please. I'm retired. I hate to come all this way to turn you down, but--"

Fury stared at George with his one remaining eye. The old soldier pulled a cigar from his jacket and lit it up. He waited until he had taken a long puff on it and exhaled a cloud of smoke before talking.

"HYDRA is back, people are dying, and we have SHIELD assets in danger across the world. If we do not act quickly, more people will die. What I'm asking of you will be demanding and will involve potentially days without sleep, but it's a chance to do work again, George. I know about your falling out with MI6, and I know how you are. I'm not offering a job, I'm offering a chance to live again. But if you don't want it, there's the door."

George looked back at the door, and then towards Fury. George thought of his flat back in London. He lived alone, his wife divorcing him after the mess with Bill Haydon. He had very little interaction day to day with anyone other than the man who ran a newsstand down the street from his flat. The consequence of living a life dedicated to work was that there was no life there once work went away.

"Where do you need me?" He asked Fury.

"We need to shore up our undercover agents and assets across the globe and make sure none of them are in danger from HYDRA. That's phase one. Phase two is simple: We take the goddamn fight to them. We'll get you set up with a security clearance and an office, and we'll start working with the Senate to see what we can do to make this job permanent. Okay? Good!"

A guard escorted George out from Fury's office and he was left wondering what the hell had exactly happened?

--

Triskelion
March 20th, 2005
13:23 Local Time

"Ride of the Valkyries is a go."

The young intelligence officer in the Triskelion drone command center leaned forward in his chair and pushed the joystick in his hands down. On the screen in front of him, the broad and rocky landscape of Yemen appeared through the clouds. The view on the screen was provided by a small camera mounted on the back of an MQ-1 Predator Drone, the joystick in the young man's hands controlled the Predator. Since 2001, the Predator and it's sister drone, the Reaper, were the main weapons the US intelligence and military complex used in their war on terrorism.

The Predator could move in and out of countries quickly and quietly stay in the air for fourteen hours at a time before delivering its payload of two Hellfire missiles at the chosen target. It wasn't as risky as sending in special operators in a covert mission, nor was it as messy and as loud as any other ground forces. Afghanistan and Iraq had been invaded with battalions and thousands of men, war there being fought the way of the sledgehammer. The war in Yemen was being waged with Predators and Reapers and precise surgical strikes, the way of the knife.

SHIELD's knife was pointed in the direction of Abu Al-Hammani. Hammani, an upper-level member of the Wahhabi terrorist group the Sixth Pillar, was on their list because of the Brits. MI6 wanted him dead due to masterminding an attempted suicide bombing in Kenya three years ago. Hammani fled the country but kept plotting more and more Jihadist plots. Eventually, the law of averages of stated that he would get one right and kill countless human lives. For both SHIELD and Six, this could not stand.

The younger officer pressed a button on the iPod beside him and Wagner filled the room, Ride of the Valkyries blasting from the small speakers mounted around his console. Phillip Coulson was the supervising agent in charge of the mission, and he watched almost stoically from behind the drone operator. When the song came on, he couldn't help but crack a small smile at the choice of music.

"That was done sarcastically, you know," he said matter of factly. "In Apocalypse Now, they used that song to make you want to identify the US with the Nazis, not for you to get all pumped up for killing."

"Never seen the movie," the young man said.

Coulson rolled his eyes and checked a computer next to the monitor displaying the drone's progress. A satellite in orbit above Yemen had a bead on Hammani's cellphone. The satellite relayed coordinates to D.C. and the drone operator followed them towards their end goal.

"I've got eyes on a vehicle," the drone operator said excitedly. "No, three vehicles... black Land Rovers."

Coulson leaned forward and furrowed his brow. That didn't match up with the intel they had on Hammani. It said he would be riding in a beaten white utility van. From the look of the Land Rovers on the screen, they were brand new and part of a convoy or entourage.

"I'm aborting this," said Coulson. "Pull off and start in a circling pattern, and for God's sake turn off that damn music..."

The loud operatic thundering of Wagner disappeared in an instant. The operator pulled back on the joystick before he tried again, this time harder and more urgent. He looked back at Coulson with a panicked look on his face.

"It's not responding... I can't... I can't control it."

"Pull it off right now," Coulson snapped. "Do it or so help me--"

"I can't! It's going on it's own!"

Both men looked on in horror as the drone flew in closer and closer towards the speeding convoy of cars. A signal flashed on the screen that the Predator's safety was off and it was ready to fire. On its own, the drone shot its two Hellfire missiles out at the fleeing cars. the first destroyed the lead Range Rover in a ball of flames, the second hit between the second and third cars and blew them off the road and into flaming wrecks. The two stunned on agents watched as the drone dove down into the ground. The feed crackled with static and a message written in bold letters.

THE PRICE FOR FASCISM IS ETERNAL ENSLAVEMENT!
HEIL HYDRA!!!!

"What does that mean?" the young officer asked Coulson.

"I have no idea... except I do know one thing. We're both fucked."

The shot to the ribs hurt, that's for sure. The rest was nothing she hadn't dealt with before, but the metal arm would be a problem. The positive of the situation was that it was clear Bucky thought she was just some punk kid throwing a temper tantrum. There may have been a slight taint of the truth in that, but it was also clear he didn't respect her abilities. He looked at her like a kid who had just found her dad's gun and had no idea how to wield it. He had the experience, no doubt. But she was no slack, and she'd prove that.

She let him chase after her a bit. He thought he had the advantage after the shot to the ribs, which is exactly what she wanted. Barnes wanted to end this quickly, and he wanted to knock Steph out. He knew she didn't really want to fight him, and he was right. What she wanted to do was send a message that she wasn't going to be trifled with. He pressed his advantage until she threw a guard up and clumsily went on a counterattack. He thought she had made a critical mistake, and went for the knockout blow with his left arm.

Carter saw it coming a mile away, and slid out of the way. She spun around, and with all the force she could muster, she slammed the shield they were fighting over hard into the metal joint of the shoulder. The sound of metal screeching against metal filled the alleyway. Steph kicked off the back of Barnes and backflipped away. The arm wasn't taken out of commission, but she hoped it would at least lose some of its striking power.

"I dunno," she shrugged smugly, "seemed pretty quick enough there. Hope I didn't break too much on your Darth Vader wannabe arm."

Bucky stretched his arm out a little bit and it creaked loudly as he did so, though the damage seemed more superficial than anything else, some of the strength in it had been diminished but he had more than enough left to put Carter down. He placed his free hand over the shoulder and cracked it back into place and then reached for the knife on his hip, throwing it from one hand back to the next, before looking up at Carter with a smile.

"You talk too much," Barnes said as he lunged, missing Stephanie's cheek by an inch. "One of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you killed."

She was brash, overconfident, and reeked of entitlement. The type of kid that had handed everything to her since the second she'd popped out of her mother's stomach. Bucky had known plenty like her growing up. He'd sat round fires with them in Europe as they bragged about their exploits on the battlefield and been there when they'd turned and tucked tail when the fighting had got thick. Bucky had come from the dirt, Steve had too, and if this was the best that SHIELD had to offer they were in trouble.

He lunged towards Stephanie again and again but each time she evaded his slashes. Bucky sneered. "The only reason you're still sucking air is because Nick Fury wants you alive. If it were up to me I'd have made this quick and clean."

"What were you thinking?" Bucky said, his anger growing as his breaths grew more laboured with each slash. "There's not a place on Earth you could have sold that thing where SHIELD wouldn't have found you and made you give back every last ill-gotten cent you got for it."

A surprised look appeared on Stephanie's face as she dodged the last of Bucky's slashes, grabbed his wrist, and managed to slam it against the way in the alleyway. The knife slid from Bucky's fingers and fell to the ground. Bucky was breathing heavily, having underestimated how quick Stephanie was and how out of practise his time in the ice had left him, but as he looked up at Stephanie he could see from her eyes that the gears in her head were grinding around.

Bucky's fists, once raised in Stephanie's direction, dipped slightly as he mirrored her pensive look. "What?"

It all was starting to make sense to Steph. Fury had lied to Bucky, or at the very least conveniently failed to tell him the whole story. Either way it was all the same to Steph. This is what SHIELD did. They lied and kept their people in the dark, no matter how important or how crucial they were to the mission. Maybe Fury wanted to test Barnes and see what he could really do, so he had him go after Steph at full force. If Bucky had known the truth about her, he would have been conflicted. So Fury didn't tell him.

"Sell it? Sell it!?" she spat on the ground. "What kind of fucking lies did Fury spin you? Did he tell you I was some hotheaded agent who decided to go into business for herself? Did he tell you I was some soldier of fortune who decided to strike it big? This shield is all I have, Bucky. I could be facing down hell itself and I wouldn't drop this shield. They gave you everything else I had. SHIELD gave you everything I was born to be. Everything I was promised. They're good at that. Just like they're good at hiding the truth. They gave you the mantle. I don't begrudge that now. You can have it. They need a poster boy to fight HYDRA as part of the military machine. That's a road I can't follow anymore. But the shield stays with me."

She offered him her hand. He took it skeptically and she helped him up. He studied her like he had when their eyes met in the medbay. She looked back at him and nodded, "You saw it when you woke up. I could tell. Everyone says I look like him. The shield is mine, Bucky, because Steve Rogers was my father."

Bucky could feel the blood rushing to his face as Stephanie spoke. Steve's daughter? Steve's daughter? Did she really think he was that gullible? This was some kind of trick. She thought if she confused Bucky with her lies he'd let her walk out of here with Steve's shield. That wasn't going to happen. Bucky tried his best to suppress his rage and feigned surprise and looked around to make sure nobody was coming. Once convinced they were alone and out of view he reached for the cowl of his uniform and pulled it down, revealing his boyish young face and his freshly cut hair, directly contravening the one rule Fury had given him in doing so.

He looked at Stephanie and tried his best to sound earnest.


Stephanie was stood mere inches away from him, watching Bucky as he feigned shock. After a few seconds passed he looked up at her and smiled, extending his hand towards her in as disarming a manner as he could fashion, and Stephanie reached out to shake it. The second Stephanie's hand was in his Bucky pushed his hip into hers and threw Stephanie to the ground with every ounce of his strength. Steve's shield slipped loose from her arm and Bucky reached for it and pressed it against Stephanie's throat. She was too quick for him, too strong, this was his one shot at finding out the truth and he meant to take it.

"Was I meant to believe that crock?" Bucky fumed, his suppressed rage bursting to the surface. "Steve's daughter? Steve's been dead for sixty years, Carter, and last time I checked you don't look a tick over twenty years old. So you'd tell me what's really going on here or so help me God I'll crush your larynx in two."

Steph cursed herself for believing this GI caveman would believe the truth. Soldiers like Bucky believed in one thing, and that was orders. Fury gave him his orders, so he's carrying them out. She doubted she'd be able to get through to him. Still, she had to try and reason with him. She didn't want to hurt him. It's not what her father would have wanted, and she'd already done enough things he would have looked down on already in the past day.

She struggled for air as she spoke, the words coming out like a coarse whisper, "Science you jackbooted moron!"

Probably not the best idea to insult the guy trying to choke you out, but she was pissed now.

"I don't care...if we have to walk a block to my mom's house," she spat and struggled against his grip. "I don't care if you radio Fury...and ask him right now yourself...Even if it gave away my position. I am...not lying...to you."

The edges of her vision began to blur, but she didn't want to break his hold. Not yet. She wanted to show she was telling the truth.

Bucky glanced at the radio that Fury had embedded into the wrist of his prosthetic arm and pondered radioing him before shaking his head. He kept the shield pressed against Stephanie's neck and watched as her face began to grow discoloured and she started to visibly gasp for air but looked no closer to going back on what she'd told him. Could it be true? Could she really be Steve's daughter? It made no sense. Then again, nothing that had happened over the past twenty-four hours made any sense when he stopped to think about it. They'd told him that when they'd found him he'd been perfectly preserved in ice for the past sixty years. That was as unbelievable as what Stephanie was saying. Maybe more so.

He pulled the shield away from Stephanie's neck and she gasped for air. He stepped away from her, careful to keep the shield at his side and away from where she was sat on the ground attempting to catch her breath. Stephanie rubbed her throat a little and looked up at Bucky with an unimpressed look on her face. As much as he hated to admit it, she did look like Steve.

"Let's say what you're saying is true," Bucky said ponderously. "What makes you think you deserve this thing? You didn't know Steve from the next guy over and running around calling yourself his daughter isn't going to change that. Maybe you are Steve's kin but that doesn't make you any more worthy to carry this thing than anybody else. If Steve were here, he'd be the first person to tell you that."

Bucky looked down at the shield, felt its weight in his hands, and thought of all the times he'd held it before. It was different now, it felt lighter in his hands, but there was a sense of familiarity to it that spoke to him. "Carrying this thing is about more than the blood running through your veins, kid, and if you don't know that by now then you definitely don't deserve to carry it."