"I don't think I deserve it because I'm his daughter," Steph stared back at Bucky defiantly. "I want it to continue his work. This shield is the way for me to carry on his legacy. I get it. You were his friend. I read your files. You did the dirty work for the Howling Commandos and you were largely forgotten for it. You see this as you carrying on your friend's work, the work the two of you started. This shield is my life. If you don't think I'm worthy, fine. But at least give me the opportunity to prove I am. I can do that with the shield outside of the traditional system. You can do that as Captain America in SHIELD."

It was all she could do. There was nothing else she could say. If Bucky didn't agree with this, she'd either have to put him down, or surrender, neither of which she really wanted to do.

If she wasn't Steve's daughter she was doing an awfully good impression of him. Bucky held the shield a little tighter as he considered what to do and then gazed into Stephanie's eyes. Something in him told him that Stephanie needed this. Bucky had spent the best years of his life fighting beside Steve Rogers, he had enough memories of him to last him a lifetime, and now he bore the mantle Steve had made his own. The shield was all Stephanie had of Steve. Bucky wasn't any closer to understanding how it had happened but he was convinced that Stephanie was telling the truth. She was Steve's daughter and Bucky held in his hands the only link she'd ever had and ever would have to him.

He lifted his wrist up to his mouth and spoke into his radio. "I engaged the target on my position. She got away, took the shield with her too, I'm on my way back."

Stephanie's eyes lit up at his words and Bucky walked towards her and handed her the shield. "Do not make me regret this."

Bucky turned away from Stephanie, pulled up his cowl, and began to make his way out of the alleyway towards Sharon Carter's apartment where the SHIELD agents were waiting. As he reached the mouth of the alley he looked back at Stephanie who had climbed atop her motorcycle. "Oh, and keep in touch. Steve would never forgive me if I let a little thing like a nationwide manhunt get in the way of telling you about what really happened the time he punched Hitler in the face."

With that Bucky disappeared down the alley way and began to play through the conversation that would follow with Nick Fury later on. He wasn't sure whether Fury would buy Carter getting the better of him and he wasn't sure whether he cared whether he bought it or not. For the first time since Bucky had been woken up he'd actually done something that had made him feel good. So, Steve's shield was gone but it had gone to someone that needed it more than Bucky ever would. It was what Steve would have wanted.

A man like Nick Fury would never understand that. But Bucky understood one thing. Fury had kept him in the dark about Carter's parentage. If he was willing to cover something like that up from him, what else was he hiding? Bucky wasn't sure, but he was sure as hell going to find out before the day was done.

GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO
MARCH 26TH 07:21 AM

Coffee. Somewhat decent, real coffee. Greg Saunders cherished every sip. His wife had thrown out the old coffee maker years ago. They had started drinking different ‘blends’ instead, coffee you didn’t filter but got out of a pad. The lady behind the counter had tried to sell it to him, but Greg had been insistent. “Plain, regular old coffee will do me just fine.”

The elder cowboy looked over to Miguel, who was scarfing down his third plate of pancakes. Greg had barely been able to finish his eggs, toast and bacon.

While Greg looked at Miguel, Maria looked at Greg. She couldn’t figure him out. What he did for them on the bus, what he was doing now. A man in his seventies, dressed up like a cowboy with no luggage, travelling straight across the States. “What are you in town for Mr. Saunders?” she asked, one hand on her cup of coffee, the other gently stroking Miguel’s hair.
“An old friend asked for my help,” Greg replied and for a second, his hand went up to the letter, still resting in his shirt’s pocket.
“Your help?” Maria enquired further, but Greg just gave her a wry smile. He turned to Miguel, who all through breakfast had never actually looked down at what he was he eating. No, the kid sat transfixed, looking at the hat Greg had worn and which was now sitting on the table.

“You like that, don’t ya, kid?” Miguel nodded.

Greg handed him the hat and immediately, the young boy dropped everything to hold it. Setting the hat on his head, he was quickly lost in his imagination, fighting with and shooting at imaginary bad guys.

“My friend’s granddaughter disappeared a few days ago,” Greg said as he turned back to Maria. “She might be in trouble.”
She was about to express her concern when a waitress came up with a pot of coffee. “Refill?”
“Please,” Greg replied as he held out his cup.
“Do you know what happened?” Maria asked.
Greg thanked the waitress, who moved on to the next booth. “I’m afraid I haven’t a clue. From what her family has told me, she was fine one day, gone the next.” The waitress stopped moving and made some hasty small talk with the other patrons. “They haven’t heard from her in two weeks.”
Greg took a sip from his coffee and in the corner from her eyes, could see the waitress was still hovering. “Miss?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she replied as she returned to the table, “but you wouldn’t happen to be talking about Tina Leong, would you?”
“And if we were?” Greg asked.
“Oh, no, I mean,” the waitress was startled, “Tina’s a friend of mine and I’ve been worried sick. I didn’t think much of it at first, but nobody has seen or talked to her in a while. My boyfriend says maybe she’s down in the valley, camping by herself – y'know she likes biking there, but she never goes without telling anyone.”
Greg looked the waitress over – her nametag read Bonnie – and judged her to be sincere. “Miss, you wouldn’t happen to know where she lives, would you?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
“Would you mind giving me some directions?”
“Of course,” Bonnie replied and immediately started scribbling on her notepad.

Greg got up and noticing, Miguel offered him back his hat.

“Keep it, kid.”
“Won’t you need it?”

Bonnie handed Greg the directions, which he tucked into his jeans’ back pocket. In doing so, he grazed his revolver, still nestled snugly against his back, under his shirt.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got everything I need.”

"This transmission was transmitted through the internet several hours ago, and I warn you that the following recording is not for the faint of heart. If you have any children watching, I suggest you take them out of the room now."

Vicki Vale's pretty, red-headed, Marilyn Monroe face flashes briefly on the television screen. She's all in dark today. Dark, plum lipstick, heavy globs of almost-winged eyeliner, perfectly arched eyebrows painted so deeply black they look almost out of touch with the symmetry of Vicki's face.

"She's a hottie," Holly Robinson comments, "What I wouldn't give to bang her."

Beside her, sitting on the couch with the unnameable price-tag, is Alice Tesla. Alice snorts, but her eyes never pry away from whatever she's tinkering with to watch the news. The news is important, Holly thinks, though she's tempted to flick through the channels and find something more entertaining. If only Alice would watch with her. It's so much easier to digest something boring when you've got a friend to discuss it with. But Alice is all-together preoccupied, and could care less about what gorgeous Vale has to say.

Holly forces herself to keep watching. Vicki waves one of those elegant long arms, and the screen switches from the image of Gotham's best personal sexy journalist (take that, Lois Lane), to some symbol that Holly could care less about. A disgusting...thing raises its zombified red dome from the bottom of the screen and begins blabbering about something.

Holly wants to not listen. His face is...disconcerting. But she listens because she thinks what he says is wrong. Getting rid of the big guns...the weirdos and freaks that protect the world today...doesn't sound like a particularly good idea.

The thing ends its disagreeing speech with “Heil HYDRA," and just like that, Vicki Vale's attractive face and voluptuous lips are back on screen. Hydra sounds familiar, like something Holly learned in school, that maybe she should have paid more attention too. She dotes on it for a few moments, before her mind drifts to lighter things, and she begins pestering Tesla, who's put down her little machine. Her eyes are glued to the television screen, and Holly assumes she started listening sometime when the man was mid-way through his disgruntled complaints.

"Do you think Vicki is gay," Holly drones, and Alice, who seems tense, laughs, relaxes and sinks into the sofa.

"Why don't you ask her?" She retorts, while Vicki starts going on about the local superhero news.

"And where exactly would I meet her?"

"The broadcasting building, duh." Alice says, and Holly wants to smack herself because it's such an obvious answer.

"Just stand outside like a creep, waiting for her," the girl continues, "And when she walks out, ask her if she wants to have sex with you."

Holly bites her lower lip, resisting the urge to laugh, because she knows its a joke. Alice is blatantly smiling, because she knows it'll never work.

"Do you think she would have sex with Catwoman?" Holly asks.

"Why?...Oh. I really don't think Selina would approve of you using the catsuit for that kind of thing."

"Oh come on. Lots of people do kinky cat fantasies. Maybe Vicki'd be into it."

"If she's even gay."

"Hmm...Oh, look. Sel's boyfriend is on."

Vicki's voice dabbles on as a brief, looping video of Batman and Robin grapple hooking from building to building plays on the screen.

Just then, there's the clicking of multiple tumblers going off, coming from the front door of a loft too decked out to be real. Selina shuffles in; a big purple bruise has blossomed out under her chin, spreading from its laceration like water colors on paper. She's looks sheepish, beaten and bruised as she is, and her hands are tucked away snugly behind her back. There's a...suspicious smile on her face, mischievous, like she's done something she shouldn't have.

It's honestly not a far cry to suspect she has. Sel isn't particular about the law, especially when it applies to theft.

"What happened?" Holly and Alice ask in unison, and Selina grimaces for a moment, one of her hands reaching out from behind her back and up to her face, flitting lightly over the lash she's received under her chin.

"Some guy, trying to harass one of the girls." Selina always refers to prostitutes as "the girls," as though she has an intimate connection with every prostitute on the streets. Though, considering their blossoming reputation for saving prostitutes, it could almost be said that she deserves to refer to them that way.

"He clipped me under my chin. Left a nasty cut and this ugly ass bruise."

"Aw, poor baby," Holly says, and flits off the couch to go peck Sel ever so lightly on the lips.

"You guys are weird." Alice comments, though not in a nasty way, "To be friends, or not to be friends," she murmurs, more to herself than the Catwomen.

Both ladies smirk, but don't say anything about it. Their relationship has always been "weird."

"So," Holly says, "Where's the dough."

"Well," Selina eyes the ceiling for a little while, then, slowly, pulls out from behind her a small bundle of gray and white.

"No, please, please no." Holly says, and Alice is shaking her head. There's the part that hasn't been mentioned yet. The cats. All the cat, slinking around in the unknown corners of the loft, coming and going as they please, from the open window in Selina's room.

"You're an impulse buyer, Selina."

"I didn't buy her, I found her." She shoves the small kitten in Holly hands, who grimaces, but cradles the animal like a human infant anyway. There's no merit in being cruel to animals.

"We've never had a kitten before." Alice says, as the woman make their way to the couch, where they, all three, squish together comfortably to continue watching T.V. The kitten settles happily in Holly's lap, and jealous Isis, Selina's naked molerat of a cat, comes and curls herself up on her master's lap.

"Where's the other dough," Holly asked, and Selina grins, zipping down her suit and sticking her hand in her bra to reveal...taadaa...an amalgamation of jewelry.

"I hope you don't have earring in there," Holly mutters, and Selina rolls her eyes, extracting from her suit's pocket a variety of studs and loosing hanging ear jewelry.

"Hmm, who'd you hit this time."

"Some big gothamite. I don't even know his name, but he's loaded up his wife with all sorts of trinkets to keep her happy. But, I guess she won't be so happy tonight. Oh," Selina's emerald eyes light up like jewelry reflecting sunlight, "Something momentous, did happen."

Holly raises an arched eyebrow, and Selina continues, "Penguin's contact me," she says nonchalantly, though the excitement is reflected in her jittery hands, that can't stop pulling at Isis's pink ears, "Wants to meet up with me some time soon. He said...he has a job for me. Something only Catwoman can do."

"Ohh," Holly drawls, "This should be interesting."

Center City, WA
1:24 PM

Tracy pulled up a chair and watched the little boy eating a sandwich. Six-year-old Anton Belyakov didn't make eye contact as he chewed on his bologna and cheese. Anton's father was Konstantin Belyakov, boss of Center City's Russian organized crime. Kidnapping the boy was borderline suicide and Tracy knew it. But Thomas Flynn wanted to kidnap Anton and Thomas Flynn always got whatever he wanted. It was going to happen whether or not Tracy took part in it, so it felt better that he be in on the job to prevent someone getting killed.

"You'll be home soon," he told the boy. "I know you're very scared, but you're also very brave. You're a big boy, Anton. Your father would be proud of you."

He stood and patted Anton on the head before leaving the room. Two of Flynn's heavies stood outside the room as guards while Tracy went upstairs to Flynn's study. The old man was rocking in the chair behind his big desk with a wide grin on his face.

"They're an hour late with the call," Flynn said jovially. "The cocksuckers are freaking out."

Tracy kept his thoughts to himself and sat down across the desk from Flynn.

"These criminals think they know about hustling," said Flynn. "Tracy, you're talking to the ultimate hustler. They can intimidate idiots, but these sons of bitches wouldn't last a day in the boardroom. The sharks I swim with will cut your goddamn throat."

Flynn's rant was stopped short by a ringing phone. His grin grew wider as he hit the speakerphone to let Tracy listen in.

"Hello?"

"You son of a bitch," said a voice with a thick Russian accent. "You kidnap my son?!"

"I kidnap your son," Flynn said in a mocking fake Russian accent. "This is America, Boris. You fuck a man over, you best prepared to get fucked."

Tracy leaned forward and tried to get some control on the situation. The voice on the phone that he assumed was Belyakov cursed in Russian. Tracy spoke loudly over the cursing to try and calm the man down.

"We propose an even exchange," he said into the speaker. "Your son will be returned whenever Mr. Flynn's daughter is returned safe and sound."

"Not an even exchange," Flynn said over Tracy. "I deserve something for my suffering, you Commie Fuck. I want my daughter safely returned and a million dollars!"

"What?! I do not have--"

"I don't give a fuck, Boris," Flynn said with glee. "I get my daughter and a million dollars or I'll have my friend here strangle your son to death. I'll be sure to leave the speakerphone on so you can listen in. What do you say?"

Belyakov fired off rapid Russian to someone, either Tracy and Flynn or an unknown party wherever he was. Flynn looked across the desk at Tracy with a big smile and raised eyebrow as they heard Belyakov talking softly to someone.

"Fine," he finally said. "I will have your million dollars and daughter."

"That's what I want to hear," said Flynn. "Meet us at midnight tonight at the Harbor Front. Have the money and my daughter there. If you're late, your son dies."

Flynn hung up and whooped in victory while Tracy sat back down and started to question why exactly Hyde sent him into this situation. The last thing Thomas Flynn needed was help. If anything, the Russians needed him more than Thomas Flynn ever had.

---

SALEM CENTER, NY
20th March 2005, 8:15PM

In the school grounds the trees stand shaking, painting the paths with a cool wash of grey. The wind was blowing, the birds chirping, the bees were buzzing. A putrid day. But deep inside the bellowing beast of brick and steel girders, held a forescore strict of Mutant teachers, looking, over murders.

There came a point where--

Ruth! What's that you've got there?" A boisterous voice yelled after the girl, scrawling on her pad, beneath the evening sky. Uninterrupted, she continued to recite, her pen moving about erratically, dragging down on the paper, almost as if they were not her own gestures. Her friend draws closer, sure that she must not have heard him. As he gets closer, he starts to hear the girl's own speech.

--"and burning shroud enveloped as the titans march along, illuminated in a new found knowledge they had come upon, by ways of torture, scorn and villainy their anger had been justified."

At that, he picks up, intrigued. "What're you working on, Ruth, you seem awa--"

"Blood and blood again, unending. A vicious killer stalks the nights. A hound of Hell, it prowls, rending flesh with bloody might.

"Ruth, you're scaring me..." He mouths, a little noise coming out as he walks up to the girl, still writing but in refrain, mouth wide and head up as she struggled, to search for something, it seemed. He runs to her, closing their distance, steadfast. She was pale as anything, and motionless save for her strokes of the pen. Well, more wading than stroking. Like an oar cuts water. As abrupt as that image, he starts talking, trying to break what ever spell was transpiring against her own volition.

"Ruth... Blindfold. I need to help you!" Shaking, he moves his hands to her shoulders, somehow not stemming her arm movements.

"Ru--"

A blankness takes her face, and though expressionlessly masked by her eye-wraps, he could place her emotion. Peril. He adjusts her head to face his, erratic.

"Listen, I--I need you to listen to me. You're acting s--" His eyes are drawn to the etchings below sharply, barely getting a chance to process before his charge continues:

Still, still, the chase persists, though't surely can't much longer, as the creature in the mist, undeniably stronger. Be this primal, violent instinct or the fruit of master plan, one question need not dare be answered. There stands the form of Caliban!"



Cypher lands far, far back as Ruth pushes outwards, her body writhing outwards. She gasps, inhaling sharply, powerfully, her head facing the sky. In an instant, it's over, and she slumps against the floor, back straight. While unseeing, her face explores herself, her surroundings. Searching for answers. She spies the other, scrambled on the floor a way away, a graze on his lip, but otherwise unharmed.

"Douglas, I--" Cypher ignores her for a moment, eyes vice-held by the page she had tempered to a striking detail. "Doug?" She questions, as he clears the distance between them. His face scans the page, and to his shock, he sees the etchings formed a scene. A dreary night. A fallen man. And at the centre, the face of a Demon.



COMING SOON: Murderous Intent...

March 20th, 2005
8:37pm

The chopper ride back to the Triskelion had been conducted in stony silence. To the SHIELD agents packed into it their mission had been a failure. To Bucky it had been something else. He’d met Steve’s daughter and though she’d been a little full of herself she seemed like a good kid. So much so that he’d let her walk away with Steve’s shield when the thought of someone else carrying it had made him feel nauseous this morning. A part of him sympathised with the agents, knowing they’d receive a shellacking once they got back but that couldn’t be helped. That was on Nick Fury for sending him into the field without all of the facts.

Bucky dismounted from the helicopter and nodded knowingly to the pilot who was still as star struck by him as he’d been when he’d picked him up. On the walk down to Fury’s office Bucky asked himself over and over again what Fury could possibly have hoped to gain by hiding Stephanie’s parentage from him.

As Bucky opened the door he found Fury waiting for him, his eyes widening a little as he noticed that Bucky had returned without the shield. "Where's the shield?"

There was no way that Fury hadn’t found out about Stephanie “getting away” with the shield the second Bucky had reported back to the SHIELD agents at Sharon Carter’s apartment. He got the feeling that Nick Fury wasn’t only the Director of SHIELD but that he was SHIELD for all intents and purposes. Nothing went on in these hallways or outside of them without Fury’s explicit consent or at the very least his knowledge.

"Never mind the shield," Bucky said dismissively. "I think you have some explaining to do, Fury."

For a few seconds Nick feigned ignorance as if testing the limits of what Bucky knew and upon receiving a hard stare in return, he smiled and let out a little laugh. "Carter never could keep her mouth shut.”

"Why don't you start with why you neglected to mention the person you sent me to wail on Steve's daughter?"

"You seemed like you could use the practise," Fury smiler from behind his desk. "From the look of you I can tell you probably know by now the girl has Erskine's serum running through her veins too. Could I have told you? Sure, but I wanted to see whether you had what it took and I didn't want the fact she was Steve's girl clouding your judgement."

Bucky shook his head angrily. "That wasn't your call to make."

Fury didn’t strike Bucky as the type of man to back down and his facial expression on hearing those words leave Bucky’s mouth all but confirmed it.

"Oh? You've been awake for five minutes and you think you're qualified to tell me what calls I can and can not make? This is what I do, Bucky, and I make no apologies for it. It's what keeps the world safe."

Begrudgingly Bucky had to admit Fury had a point. Carter wasn't going to hurt him. As much as Bucky thought going into their fight he'd take her apart she had more than stood her ground against him. He'd been tired, out of practise, and were it not for the cheap move near the end he likely would have been walking out there far more worse for wear. Fury was a hard-nosed man and he certainly wasn't easy to get on with but staring into his eyes Bucky could sense Fury's steely determination to do exactly as he'd said: keep the world safe. In the end that was all that mattered.

Fury stood up from his seat and peered through the blinds on the wall to his office. "I'm guessing seeing as you've shown up empty handed she got away with the shield."

Bucky nodded.

"How is it even possible, Fury? How can she be Steve's daughter? He died decades before she was even born."

"Arnim Zola," Fury said with a heavy sigh. "After the war he was granted asylum in the States in return for putting his... skills to work for the American government. He claimed using Steve's old blood samples he could create a child that would be every bit as fast and strong as Steve had been. That child became Stephanie Carter."

He'd joked to Maria Hill earlier that the world had gone to crap after he'd gone into the ice and every detail he'd learned since then convinced him that he'd been right. It wasn't that they'd used Steve's blood samples, because Bucky understood the government wanting to recreate Erskine's serum, but to force the serum on a child, robbing it of the decision that Steve had taken willingly, felt completely wrong.

Bucky stared down at the ground and muttered. "They had no right."

"For once I agree with you," Fury turned to face Bucky, nodding in his direction. "But what's done is done, kid, all we can do now is play the hand we've been dealt."

The two stood in silence for a moment before a look of recognition flashed across Director Fury's good eye. "Seeing as you let a twenty-one year old girl kick your ass and get away with the most valuable piece of metal in the known world, I reckon you'd better take a trip downstairs. We have a visitor that says he can fashion you something every bit as good as Steve's shield."

Fury handed Bucky a file, the name "Stark, Anthony" was printed across it, and he thumbed through it for a few seconds. A smile crept onto Bucky's lips at the name as he realising where he'd recognised it from. Stark International had produced almost all of the weapons, munitions, and parts that Bucky had handled during the war. It was nice to know that some things stayed constant. From the looks of things they'd branched out a lot since then.

"Stark's got a mouth on him so I'd be careful if I were you. You might end up strangling the son of a bitch. He's good people though and damned if he's not the cleverest son of a bitch on God's green Earth. Speak to him, see what he's managed to rustle up, and then check in with Smiley once you're done."

Bucky nodded and handed Fury back the file. He walked towards the door to Fury's office but stopped in his tracks as he remembered he'd forgotten something. With his hand still on the doorknob he looked over at Fury and conjured up a voice dripping with malice.

"You ever keep anything that important from me again and Stephanie Carter will be the least of your worries."

Bucky felt a wave of satisfaction sweep over him as he slammed the door shut behind him. As he made his way through the building's halls to meet Stark he tried to get his head round having so recently been thawed out of the ice, Steve having a daughter of sorts, and that either of those things were even possible. Things had definitely changed a lot since he'd huddle around the radio at night for entertainment as a child.

As Bucky reached laboratory he noticed a dark-haired man stood alone, swirling his hands around at brightly-coloured projections that seemed to dance and move with along with them. After a few seconds the dark-haired man sensed Bucky's presence and turned to face him.


"You must be Tony Stark," Bucky said impassively at he stared at the billionaire. "Nick Fury sent me. Apparently you have something for me."

The Triskelion
Washington D.C.
March 20th, 2005
19:33 Local Time

George Smiley sat in his office and reviewed the incident for the twelfth straight time. The feed was in black and white and unsteady, but he could make out the events that happened clearly enough. The footage played out on George's computer monitor. His office was spartan to the point of being severe. The desk was one of just a few pieces of furniture in the room. There was his chair, two chairs facing the desk, and a large map of the world pinned to the far wall. George looked up from the footage and at the map. Many countries had changed size and name since his retirement, but the shape of the world never changed. In time, he planned to mark locations of SHIELD operations and places of interest on the map. Right now the only mark on the map was a red pin stuck straight into the country of Yemen.

His first official crisis to fix as special consultant to SHIELD: A botched drone strike in the country killed a dozen high-ranking members of the Yemeni military. George's interview with the two agents at the time pointed towards something far worse than incompetence. A two-man team working for Smiley and Smiley alone were busy running back the commands and signals that came to and from the drone up to the time of the incident. Slowly but surely, their work was confirming the agents claims that a hacker took control of the drone moments before the attack was launched.

George rewatched the footage one more time. Again, he noticed the abrupt change in course. Again, he noticed the way the drone fluctuated slightly and swerved out of synch. Whoever was operating was not used to the satellite delay like the SHIELD pilots were. The rest played out like it did the last few times. The two missiles destroyed two of the SUVs in the convoy before crashing into the third. The footage cut out there so George was unable to see the message that followed the crash. Coulson said it was "THE PRICE FOR FASCISM IS ETERNAL ENSLAVEMENT!
HEIL HYDRA!!!!"

He got up from the desk and walked through the bare office. This whole thing seemed almost surreal to him. Unmanned drones existed back when he ran the Circus, but only for surveillance. In the aftermath of 9/11, some ingenious American had thought to strap weapons to the things and now literal robots delivered death from above to the enemies of the state. George slid his glasses off and wiped them on his tie. He wore a new suit someone had bought for him after his meeting with Fury. It was cheap, but it fit him and was clean and that was all he cared about. He placed his glasses back on his face and walked towards the map, looking at the various nations of the world.

The Soviet Union was gone. He took pride in helping dismantle the KGB and Karla, even though the things he did to achieve that victory broke his own moral code. He used people and then tossed them away when their purpose was achieved. His old boss M was that way, he had marched many a man and woman to their death all for England and the British Empire. George, caught up in his need for revenge, had done to same. Now he was given a new chance, a new enemy who lurked in the shadows like Karla and the KGB. This new war would be just as testing as the old one, but in it he saw a chance for redemption. A chance to get back what Karla had taken from him all those years ago.

George retreated from the map and sat down behind his desk. The gears in his head were turning at a rapid pace now. He would have to wait for results, but a plan of action was forming. He knew what he had to do and what he needed to accomplish it. What he needed was a field agent.

“Do not make me regret this.”

With those words Bucky Barnes handed Stephanie Carter her father’s shield and walked off. She ran her hand over its smooth surface, the same way she did every time she picked the object up. She watched as Bucky walked back towards the agents that had surrounded her mother’s home. She worried what Fury’s reaction to all this would be. She doubted Fury would really let her go. He’d send someone else after her eventually, but now she had her chance to put some distance between herself and SHIELD.

She picked her keys up off the alley floor, and fired up the motorcycle as she mounted it. From behind her, she heard Bucky yell, “Oh, and keep in touch. Steve would never forgive me if I let a little thing like a nationwide manhunt get in the way of telling you about what really happened the time he punched Hitler in the face.”

Steph chuckled and gave Bucky a salute. She hoped there would be a time where they could sit down and talk, really talk, about the war exploits of Steve. Bucky was the only one who was capable of doing that now. But the two of them were now walking into a hornet’s nest. HYDRA wasn’t going to be an easy nut to crack, and who knows if either would survive their encounters with the nefarious organization.

Carter gave one more look down the alley at Bucky and her mother’s house. This was the past, everything that had helped bring her to this point. In front of her was the future, a whirling maelstrom of uncertainty. She’d stop HYDRA. She was sure of that. How was another story, but she’d make sure they weren’t around to hurt people for long.

Steph stowed the shield in its holder on the side of the bike before covering it to disguise its true nature. She rev’ed the engines, and was off in a cloud of dust.



March 21, 2005
7:00AM

The sun peaked through the thin curtains of the hotel Steph had stayed the night in the night before. It was a middle of the road place, a place a family on a roadtrip wouldn’t have a problem stopping at. She figured it was nondescript enough where she could crash there safely and get some rest. There could be SHIELD agents waiting on the other side of the door for her, but at least she had gotten some sleep.

She peered through the curtains, but saw no sign of a SHIELD presence in the parking lot, allowing her a smooth sigh of relief. Deciding she could afford herself some more time, she slipped into the shower to wash the grime for the past day and a half of running off. After exiting, she put on some street clothes she picked up the night before. It probably wasn’t a great idea to be wearing the battle armor around, so she stuffed it into her duffle and slung it over her shoulder, before pulling her hair back and placing a ballcap on her head. It wouldn’t hide her from SHIELD, but at least she could try and conceal herself from normal people who might be out to collect a reward.

She checked out of the hotel, hopped onto the bike, and headed towards a diner that was a few miles down the road. Instead of going directly in, however, she pulled out another burner phone she had purchased. Steph hesitantly punched in a number she never really expected to call.

“Agent 13,” a gruff, yet monotone voice answered on the other end, as if her call was completely expected.

“I don’t go by that anymore,” Steph responded to the Question. The faceless vigilante was a bit of a loon, if she was being honest with herself. He saw conspiracies on top of conspiracies, yet he did know a surprising amount about AIM and KOBRA. Without SHIELD’s vast intelligence network behind her, she needed someone to help filter information to her, and Question was the only one she thought she could go to. “It’s Nomad, now.”

“Nomad? I like it. Evocative. Powerful,” he approved. “Now, about HYDRA.”

She shook her head. Of course he knew why she had called, “You have a lead?”

“I may have something,” he confirmed. “But I also need some help. Come to Hub City and we can talk more.”

“On my way,” Steph hung up before looking longingly at the diner. She was really hoping for some pie for breakfast.

“Oh well. Next time.”

---

---

“Europe. The code is coming from Europe.”

That’s what he had told the Director of SHIELD; and it’s what he told Paul Westfield, the head of CADMUS— SHIELD’s department branch for special development and experimental research. A department of the agency that Stark felt at home in, the laboratories were top notch with some of the best scientific equipment he had seen that didn’t have a stamp with his name on it. It needed some ‘panaz’ though like a nice coat of paint; white was always such a depressing color.

After handing over his and Rumiko’s decryption of the Red Skull’s message to Agent Sarah Garza, Tony had found himself distracted after the brief conversation with Garza ended, shuffling his hands in his pockets as he looked over the technology in front of him. He and Rumiko had worked very hard for several hours after the internet broadcast and hacking through was no easy task. But they had at least cracked it, which was something Garza had been struggling with since the broadcast which was something Tony noticed as the dark circles underneath her fiery red hair made it all too apparent that she had been trying to crack to code with no sleep. It was probably why she hadn’t cracked it, too. It was probably a good thing Rhodes had went and picked up Rumiko under Tony’s suggestion otherwise SHIELD might’ve been scratching their heads about where exactly in Europe the message was coming from.

“Fujikawa, I could kiss you.”

The comment snapped Tony out of his thoughts as he turned with a wide grin.

“Don’t give Tony any ideas.” Rumiko commented back as she rolled her eyes as the computer technician was very familiar with the billionaire’s antics and certain personality traits he inhibited.

“I take it you two lovely ladies have finally cracked the code to HYDRA and my fantasies.”

The dark-haired scientist laughed as she narrowed her eyes as she ignored Tony’s flirtatious quip; her attention in full view of the computer in front of her. “The Red Skull broadcasted this from Austanburg.”

“Austanburg? Pretty small place. It’s a small country near France and Germany, right?”

“Correct. Though given the membership Austanburg has as the newest piece of the Latverian Union, there is a possible complication there. But it is far more information than we had before you showed up.”

“Fury and Westfield will be thrilled. Should we buy a cake? I know a great bakery in Manhattan.”

“Stark.”

Tony glanced over to the voice that called out to him, a brow raised.

“Agent Maria Hill. Fury’s got a request.”

The female SHIELD agent held a beige folder in her right hand as she looked to Tony, seemingly unimpressed with his presence in the CADMUS facility. Her eyes were narrowed and expression blank— in many ways she reminded Tony of Fury himself which after only meeting the guy one hour ago for only a few minutes sent a nerve off in the back of his neck. His hand moved out as she handed him the folder and he could feel a sense of dread come upon him as he looked down as he opened the folder.

“See, this is why I don’t work with the government. Give them help with one thing and they want another.”

“Can you come up with something?”

Tony sighed, “Give me an hour and I can come up with something.”

“Excellent.”





"You must be Tony Stark," A voice came out as Tony found himself head deep in the development "Nick Fury sent me. Apparently you have something for me."

“Come to check up on me?” A chuckle left Tony’s voice as he kept his eyes on the statistics of what he had come up with. “You SHIELD types are really sticklers for time limits. I wonder if Pym ever had to deal with this.”

It had taken an hour and funneling development with a small team of scientists in CADMUS by the name of Leopold Fitz, Oliver Osnick, Kimiyo Hoshi, and Yvonne Calendar. At least working with the government led to meeting people with similar genius; a fact he’d make note of as he reminded himself to get their Myspace or Xanga profiles before he finished up for the night. If he ever finished up for the night.

“Take a look.” Tony stated to the SHIELD agent behind him, completely oblivious to his identity.

The technological device was a portable hard light construct that had variable utilities, running on a small arc reactor that could be placed in a compartment as small as the forearm. Tony was even amazed at what they had achieved in such a short time. The marvel of geniuses working together, perhaps.

“Don’t really got a name for it, Doctor Light over here kind of overlooked that vital process. I think I’ll call it Betsy… or Diane. I like Diane.”

Pym? Who was Pym? Stark threw out names so quickly that Barnes struggled to even register them. He understood now why Fury had said Stark had had a mouth on him. He'd barely looked up from his work and still he'd managed to ream off more quips than Bucky would have come up with in four times as long. Mesmerised by the construct's ethereality Bucky stepped forward and stared at it. Another thing that didn't seem possible. The shield looked like something out of a dream.

"Never was one for naming my weapons," Bucky said with a shrug. "Then again, we didn't have weapons like this one."

For the first time since Barnes had stepped into the room Stark looked round at him. It was a fleeting look, one too quick for Stark to take note of Bucky's uniform, but the way his head froze upon looking back at his piece work told Bucky that Stark had finally realised who he was talking to.

---

---

“Holy shit, you’re Captain America.” Tony Stark raised a brow as he looked at the man who was before him. “I guess Fury’s getting desperate to recruit a fourth. Weird that he wanted a new shield though, given... iconic status and all.”

It was weird looking at the old uniform— a uniform that had been worn by three men before whoever this guy was. Though when Dugan had talked to him about the return of Captain America he had kept mentioning a girl. Maybe in Fury’s organization she didn’t make the cut. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of the agent Timothy Dugan had mentioned to him though, something with a S. Sarah? Selina? Sasha? No, none of them were right. It was frustrating considering before he helped with the SHIELD he had remembered it perfectly. He shrugged, maybe it would come to him later.

“I guess Dugan’s favorite daughter didn’t make the cut, huh?”

He blinked as the hero in front of him mentioned something about ‘back then’ which made Tony even more confused.

“Yeah, it’s 2005. Amazing stuff. Grunge is dead, though. Shame.”

For a second Bucky was taken aback that Stark knew about Stephanie but remembered reading that he'd been approached to be part of Dugan's Avengers Initiative. Stark had turned it down for some reason for another but that hadn't stopped him from using those suits of his for good. Things had changed since then, HYDRA was back, and Bucky wondered whether Fury might try to fire up the Initiative again. That was a discussion for another time. Right now it was about steadying the ship and stopping HYDRA from tearing the whole goddamn world apart.

Bucky ignored the references that flew over his head, shrugging his shoulders as he looked at Stark. "I can't speak for Fury."

"And as for Stephanie," Bucky paused for a moment as he wondered whether he ought to tell Stark. "She went rogue last night with Steve's shield and has fallen off the grid. Hence why you've spent your evening slaving over this thing. I'd ask you how it worked but something tells me you could explain it to me a hundred times and I still wouldn't understand."

He saw a wry smile appear on Stark's face. For as much as Fury had made Stark sound like a pesk there was something about him that Bucky couldn't help but warm to. It was clear from looking at him that even though he thought highly of himself and had a questionable sense of humour to say the least, his heart was clearly in the right place.

Why else would he be here when he didn't have to be?

---

---

Tony smirked as the new Captain America simultaneously answers Tony’s ‘questions’ and fed his already galaxy-sized ego. He wasn’t sure who this guy was but he was most certainly speaking his language. He wasn’t sure how to take Stephanie Carter’s actions but he didn’t really care as the shield meant nothing to him despite being made out of the most versatile metal known to mankind. The things he could do with something like that.

“You're under the gun so you take it on the run.” Tony commented with a smirk as he crossed his arms.

“Probably. All you need to know is it’s portable and is more flexible in utility than the original. It’s untested so I can’t tell you the dangers or problems it has. But Fury wanted it done and here we are an hour later.”

“He didn’t do it alone, you know.” Oliver Osnick muttered under his breath as he straightened his glasses.

“I guess the fun part will be testing it.”

The fat teenager in his thick-rimmed glasses had all but gone unnoticed by Barnes but he smiled in his direction and extended his arm in the boy's direction. Suddenly all the defiance disappeared from him and, slightly overawed, he reached out and place one of his chubby hands in Bucky's hand. It was shaking gently and Bucky could see from the sweat along the boy's brow that he was nervous. Stark was used to this kind of thing. This guy obviously wasn't.

Bucky shook the boy's hand. "Thank you for all your hard work, son."

Son? For a second there Bucky had sounded like Steve. He hadn't even thought before opening his mouth but before he knew it "son" had crept out and suddenly he'd aged himself ten years by uttering a single one word. Maybe Steve had once felt as uncomfortable as Bucky did in the uniform, maybe he'd felt like an impostor too, and wearing it had forced him to become something more than he was. It was a comforting thought but not one Bucky was sure he bought.

"Testing it?" Barnes smiled at Stark and prepared to feign ignorance. "Your file says you have some... suits, was it? What say you put one of those suit things on and see whether this shield you designed is going to get me killed or not."

A nervous look appeared on Osnick's face and Bucky smiled at him disarmingly. "Better to find out now than later when I'm in the field, right?"

---

---

"Your file says you have some... suits, was it? What say you put one of those suit things on and see whether this shield you designed is going to get me killed or not. Better to find out now than later when I'm in the field, right?"

Tony Stark couldn’t be smiling any wider. Not only did he do SHIELD’s job for them with the video decryption, build a better and more modern shield for the new Captain America, but now he had just been offered a chance to test his own work against his own suit. The hard light shield was a scientific marvel that ran on the same arc reactor technology that powered his life and by proxy the ‘Iron Man’ suit. He was incredibly thrilled with how this night was going even if he couldn’t help but think this american standard was goading him on.

“It’s on like Donkey Kong, Cap.”

His eyes glanced over to the briefcase he had brought with him that contained his suit for inevitable ‘just in case’ scenarios— the case itself leaning against the terminal where they had finished up the prototype shield.

“Pitz. Can you show us one of those fancy simulation-training room thingamajigs?”

“Of course.”

This was exciting. He had fought super-powered terrorists and the one scuffle with Rhodes when a little misunderstanding went south, but he had never fought another ‘hero’, not yet anyway, and for his first experience with that to be against the Captain America felt empowering; as if everyone doing good wasn’t as important as him, reaffirming his place at the top of the metaphorical superhero food chain.

Agent Fitz led the two down several corridors and into an elevator to a sublevel that contained a large room CADMUS tended to use as an experimentation and training room; a room that Mockingbird, Agent 13, Wasp, and a plethora of other agents had been in many times before.

“Fancy.” He looked to the hero beside him, “You sure you don’t want to cancel? It’s okay to be scared.”

Stark was giddy as the two men stood opposite one another in the simulation room. Bucky remembered feeling the same way when he'd first got to suit up next to Steve. His body still hurt from his scrap with Stephanie earlier but he was certain he could take whatever punishment Stark's suit could dish out. Bucky was a survivor, he'd always been one, and a fancy suit wasn't going to give him any lumps that he couldn't come back from.

On the way there Fitz had explained to Bucky that with time they thought they'd be able to modify the arc shield so that Bucky could direct it and even further down the line maybe even take other forms. He had sounded excited. Barnes tried to remember how to activate the shield. A wrist strap, so small it was barely noticeable, that would activate when Bucky clenched his fist. He squeezed and with a crackle the shield burst into life. Its red, white, and blue shone even brighter than the original shield.

"Scared?" Bucky said with a smile. "You're the one that ought to be scared."

He flung the shield in Stark's direction and ran towards him. It came crashing down against Tony's armour and bounced back to Bucky in time for him to put all of his weight behind it and shunt Stark with all his might.

---

---

"You're the one that ought to be scared, Stark."

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Cap.” Stark stifled a chuckle as his faceplate slammed down over his face and the glowing eyes of the suit came to life. Tony Stark was never scared. He had faced down hateful terrorists, ornery journalists, and federal agents. He sneezed harder than it looked like this new Captain America was able to dish out. In all reality Tony felt guilty that he had to embarrass a legend in such a way but then again it was that same person who challenged him to field test it against his own armor. Was he high? Nah, he looked like a Republican so probably not.

“JARVIS, hit me up with something… American.”

“Of course, sir.” The artificial intelligence chimed as the response was followed by the flaring guitars and kitsch melodies of Rick Derringer within Iron Man’s headspace— Tony’s indulgences never had an end, it seemed.

CLINK!

Seemed like Captain America himself wanted to strike first. At least the whole ‘testing the shield’ thing seemed on point.

The repulsion technology in the armor’s feet chimed to life as America’s first avenger came in at incredible speed. But before he collided the repulsors sent Iron Man backwards into the air. “Test numero uno al dente!” Tony shouted, obviously butchering the language as he began to fire several repulsed energy beams from his armor's hands upon Captain America as he kept his distance.

Stark's repulsor blasts flew towards Bucky and he extended his arm out hopefully and attempted to parry the balls of energy away from him. They clattered against the shield, which remained completely still despite the contact, and flew away harmlessly without so much as staggering Barnes. Bucky looked down at the arc shield, slightly impressed, and then smiled up at Stark. This morning he was visiting Steve's grave, earlier he'd been shaking with rage upon learning Steve's shield had been stolen, but despite all of that Bucky thought he might actually be having some fun.

"That's all that hunk of junk of yours has got?" Bucky grinned. "Oh, you're in trouble, Stark."

The shield left his hand and ricocheted off nearly a half dozen surfaces before it came crashing down on the back of Stark's head and disrupted his peaceful hovering. As the arc shield careened threw the air and landed in one of Bucky's gloved hands he let out a derisive laugh that he knew would get to a man as proud as Tony Stark.

"Show me what that suit of yours is really capable of."

---

My name is Barry Allen, and I’m the fastest man alive.

That used to mean something to me. It used to fill me with confidence, make me want to be better, to use my powers to help people. I would wake up every morning with refuelled optimism, thinking that whatever went wrong, wherever I went, I could fix it-- that I would fix it. That I’d care enough to make a difference. To stand for something.

But that was before.

That was before Zoom.

---

The house was empty. Dark shadows everywhere, the only light above the kitchen bench; a phone. Not mine. Not Iris’. I heard her voice, a desperate cry for help. “Barry!”

She was in trouble. But where--? I searched for her, my head turning, sharp movements. Panic seized me. Fear clouded my thoughts. “Iris?!” I called. “Iris?!” Where was she? What was happening to her? Where was she?

“Iris?”

Nothing.

Only the insistent ringing of the phone.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Click.

“Hello? Iris?”

“No, Barry. Zoom.”

---

I woke with a start. Heavy breaths, skin clammy. The bed sheets damp with my sweat. Beside me, someone stirred. I exhaled in relief, breath shaky. Iris. She was safe.

“Barry?” she asked, touching a hand to my cheek, “Are you okay?”

"Yeah," I said between gulps for air, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Just had a bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?”

I looked at her, meeting her sympathetic, worried gaze. “No. No, it’s okay. You should go back to sleep.”

“No, come on,” she patted me on the chest, “I’ll go make some hot cocoa.”

---

That’s when it started.

When time froze. When people stood motionless, as unmoving as statues; when sound, loud and quiet, failed to reach my ears; when every insect, every bird, every animal failed to move; when light seemed to stop in its tracks; when the Earth itself stood still. I could see every particle, every speck, every grain. I could see everything, and everyone. All because Digger Harkness threw a boomerang at my wife.

The Rogues’ token Australian, Digger quit the group a few months back over a disagreement with their captain, Cold. Before he joined up with them, he worked as a mercenary. Anyone that needed a job done, they hired him, because as stupid as Captain Boomerang sounds, he was efficient-- lethally so. And when he left the Rogues, he did just what his boomerangs did. He came back. A mercenary once more.

He was back in town for a job. Whoever hired him wanted him to rob a man called Francis Flashman, known to his associates as Funky, and beat the hell out him while he did it. In another world, I wouldn’t have minded. Flashman was a scumbag, known for being a con man from Hell, scamming all who dared to be his clients. Being a public relations officer, that could only spell bad things for his customers, for both their finances and reputations. But I was the Flash, and as far as I was concerned, Harkness was my responsibility. No matter who he was hired to hurt.

I found him at Flashman’s building, a small office on lease in downtown Central. It was an ugly thing, all faded paint and cracked plaster, its entrance a disgusting, vomit-yellow door, as if I needed any more reasons to dislike the guy. I heard a scream-- Flashman-- before the door, with a satisfying crash, flew off its hinges, Francis right behind it.

“Get away from me-- get away-- ” A boomerang skimmed past his face, turning in midair before flying back into Captain Boomerang’s hand. Blood trickled from two symmetrical cuts on Flashman’s greedy little cheeks.

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, mate,” said Harkness, a toothpick wedged between his teeth. “A job is a job, and this one just so happens to be one where you get the everlivin’ crap hit outta you. Lucky for you, it won’t make much of a difference. Face looks like a kicked-in shitcan, anyway.”

With a flick of his wrist, he threw the boomerang again, sending it spinning through the air at Flashman, cowering on the ground as he steeled himself for contact--

--that never came. Having intercepted the projectile, I turned on my heels, running back to take Flashman to safety. With him out of the way, I ran back to Harkness, who, in the predictable fashion of a Rogue, threw a boomerang in my direction; one that I ducked without difficulty. An audible “Oof,” escaped his lips as I barged into him, arm outstretched in a haymaker. He hung like a coat for a brief second, my momentum not allowing him movement, and I pushed him off, sending him rolling along the road before he came to a stop.

Then, a laugh. But not Digger’s. Not mine. Someone else’s. A disembodied voice, coming from every direction, all at once. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

And all of a sudden, faster than even I could register, we weren’t in downtown Central. We were at the park. Green grass, tall trees, picnic tables… and people. People like Iris. Iris… and her nephew.

Wally.

He’s a great kid. At sixteen years old, he was the mirror image of Iris’ dad, Joe. If they were seen together (if Joe was still alive), I don’t doubt that people would’ve thought that he was Iris’ younger brother. Red hair, green eyes, a smile almost always on his face-- yeah. He was a West. No doubt about it.

Iris hadn’t told me that he was in town. I’d met him before; whenever he had a disagreement with his dad, Rudy, his parents would send him down to stay with us. I liked him, and I like to think that he liked me. We never had a dull moment when he was around.

But someone he liked more was the Flash. Every visit, he asked the same questions: Did you see him? Were you there when he stopped the Rogues? Can he really do all the things they say he can?

So when he said, “Is that… the Flash?” It wasn't much of a shock. Not as much as it was arriving at the park with Harkness in tow, faster than my eye could see. And as I stood there, disbelieving and disoriented, he decided to take advantage of the situation. He threw a boomerang. An explosive boomerang.

Right at my family.

And just like that, time stopped moving. And everything changed.

“Hello, Barry. Long time no see.”