---

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“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.”

The voice of broadcaster Caroline Haines was clear as the red-haired journalist and reporter waved her hand as the picture fluttered from the broadcast to that of a pre-recorded video.

The boldness of the crimson logo burned through the television screen as the news network began to play the feed that had been received only hours before. The symbol was an old and tired one that was one remembered in the memory of the 20th century and it’s history. It was a symbol that had represented the pure darkness that engulfed Germany during the Second World War. It was a symbol that forced the Soviets, French, Brits, Chinese, and Americans to work together during the Cold War. It was a symbol that embodied hatred and fear.

It was the symbol of pure terror. The symbol of HYDRA.

“Your world governments are weak— allowing the presence of inferior beings to walk among you, allowing these aliens and mutants to dirty your lands and ideals. Those who resist are blatantly pathetic as they are seen being routed by children and fools insulting the vitality of the human race. Your president cowers behind his desk as he focuses on a useless plot of sand rather than focus on the true enemy. What will it take for your pitiful leaders to take action?”

The voice was angry, full of bitterness and abhorrence. The hateful mentions of superheroism, the mutant condition, and the national government's diplomacy towards both issues. The accent was distinctly German but it was also distorted by the recording.

“But that is okay, for it is we who return order to the world and be the true purifiers of such blatant weakness and filth.”

“We are HYDRA.”

The figure of a shrouded man walked in front of the ebony and crimson logo and rose his head— revealing a face drenched in blood red with a scowl that ripped through the screen. The appearance of the man had only been seen in films depicting Captain America’s battle against HYDRA in the past… a face of evil incarnate that brought more fear than the logo could ever do. The face of the Red Skull.

“Before you scream for your old protectors of our banner let me tell you this: they are nothing, and they are dead. You will soon realize it for yourselves. Know this though; this is only the beginning.”

The scowl turned into an arrogant smirk.

“You will try to stop us, but you can not defeat us. We are HYDRA, for if one head is removed two more will rise in its place. The return of the Red Skull and the reign of HYDRA is inevitable. You will see when I descend upon you.”

“Heil HYDRA.”

What a perfect way to start out the new school year. Here I was, the very first class just about to begin, and still minutes out from campus. And unlike most occasions, this time I didn't have my super-activities to blame for sleeping in. I had even turned in early last night in preparation for today, yet here I was as usual. I had planned to meet with Gwen before today's lessons, but at this rate I'd be lucky to make it to class before the lecture began. Word had it this professor was a no-nonsense kind of guy, and didn't tolerate students he saw unfit for his course. Showing up late on day one wasn't exactly my idea of a good first impression, which was why I was currently swinging through the city's skyline desperately trying to make up lost time.

It was the first time I had been back in the costume in a couple weeks. With how hectic things had become for me in my hero life the last year - what with handling Rose and his goons, and being framed for murder - I had needed a break. Spending the entirety of August with Gwen and the others relaxing and having fun had been just what I needed. In fact, despite fighting more crime in the past year than I ever did in high school, that whole period had been amazing, and it was all because of Gwen. Since becoming a couple, I've been happier than I can ever remember being. Her bright smile always warms my heart, no matter how tough a day I've had. Sometimes I ask myself why I had been so stupid in waiting for so long to be with her; if it hadn't have been for Norman Osborn's insanity I'm not sure if I ever would have recognized my feelings for her. Strange as it was, and as much as I hate to admit it, I owed my current happiness to the madness of the Goblin.

Swinging low over Greenwich Village, I tried to calculate how much time I had remaining before the class actually started. The costume didn't allow for a watch, and my phone was stuffed in the backpack I wore with the rest of my civvies. I knew I had left Queens with just under fifteen minutes to spare, and at my best estimation I had been traveling across the skyline for ten minutes or so. Which would give me just a scant couple minutes to change into my street clothes, and make my way to the university's East wing. So long as the professor didn't mind a few seconds of tardiness, I might actually pull this off. Consider me hopeful.

As I adjusted my body weight to my right side, preparing a quick left turn into the boulevard leading towards Empire State's campus, my spider-sense tingled sending mild pulses through my head. No sooner than I had groaned, cursing my bad luck and the poor timing, than a muffled explosion rocked the streets behind me. I whipped around in time to see dust and glass scattering across the road, with drivers slamming to a stop to avoid the debris. The building the explosion had come from was a little mom and pop jewelry shop, because of course that and banks seemed to be all that the creative criminals I dealt with were capable of targeting. Not that I minded in the long run, it certainly made it easy for my patrols, but this wasn't the time for it.

A lone figure's silhouette stepped through the cloud of dust towards a van that must've been their brilliant getaway plan. I didn't know who this guy was, and at the moment I didn't care. Just a quick quip, a couple strands of web-fluid, and a soft tap to the skull and I could be on my way to class again. As I got closer to the would-be-thief, and the surrounding soot cleared I made out their features. White armored portions over black spandex was his fashion statement of choice. An awkward looking helmet, and some kind of small, wing-like structures on his back completed the look. Alright then, he doesn't look all that threatening, this should be a piece of... oh, no. No, no, no. You've got to be kidding me.

Directly overhead, and mid-heroic landing I had noticed a few extra details about the outfit. Namely the curved, sharp instruments strapped all over his chest, and thighs. Those things attached to his back I thought were wings shared the same curved design, and all were too familiar, as was the man who wielded them. God, not this guy again. There was good news and bad news to this encounter. The good news was this would be a ridiculously easy fight that would take all but a few seconds guaranteed. The bad news was it caused me to relive memories of a pretty embarrassing event in my early Spidey years in which I had come across two idiots trying to rob a very similar jewelry store. Two complete buffoons, one using run-of-the-mill boomerangs, and the other on stilts, and both of whom gave me a headache from their sheer stupidity and claims of epic villainy. Harry hadn't let me live that down for months afterwards, and it was one of the lower points of my crime-fighting career having my name forever linked to those two numb-skulls.

Granted this time the guy - who in a previous bout of originality had named himself Boomerang - seemed to be wearing a legitimate costume as opposed to the trench coat and long-johns from before, and his weapons appeared a tad sharper than the typical child's variant. That, and the fact that he was supposed to be locked up in Ryker's Island Penitentiary, gave me a slight pause as I landed in front of him. As much as I wanted to mock and question him on his new getup, though, I was limited on time and got right to it.

"Hey, Freddy." I called out, using his given name of Frederick Myers, "you keep acting out like this, and mommy'll have to take away all your little toys."

His head whipped around to face me at the sound of my voice, and there was a grin on his face and a fire in his eyes as he noticed me. "You!"

"Oh, come on now, Freddy, you don't remember my name? I'm hurt." I clutched a hand over my chest for dramatic effect.

"Don't call me that!" He shouted, "my name is Boomerang. Boomerang!" His left hand tightened around the bag of jewels he had taken, and his right reached towards his hip to rest atop a boomerang. "I've waited for this moment for so long, and now you'll finally give me the respect I deserve!"

"Sure thing, Freddy, if that's--"

"My name," he was screaming now, spittle flying past his lips, "is Boomerang!"

My spider-sense flashed a warning, and my body was already moving to dodge the bladed boomerang that arced past my face. I'll give him this much, he certainly got a lot faster at throwing those things, but bringing a toy to a super-fight was still to be frowned upon. "Now, now, Freddy, I know it's been awhile, but you remember how this works. I make with the jokes, and you make with the rage after I've apprehended you."

Another tingle indicated the boomerang had curved back around and was making it's path back towards my head. I leaned towards the left to avoid it, and reached out with a hand to grab at it with the intention of snapping it in half. However, a third, more powerful alarm bell rang throughout my skull and I snatched my hand back just in time as the boomerang that was now a foot in front of my face exploded. I reeled back, caught off guard and confused. That was definitely new. What the hell--

My thought was cut off as my spider-sense continued to buzz, and I moved on autopilot, ducking and weaving out of the path of another two boomerangs. This time I was ready for them, and as they passed me by I whirled around and let out several blasts of web to coat them, knocking them off balance, and muffling the oncoming detonations as they tumbled to the ground. More buzzing, and I leaped up high to avoid a slightly larger boomerang, this one from his back wing-like formation. A brilliant flash of light erupted from it in some sort of stun grenade effect, but my tinted lenses shielded me from the severity of the blinding light. It did momentarily distract me, though, and I barely dodged the next boomerang as it missed my face by mere millimeters. Expecting another explosion of some sort, I moved to shield my face from the blast. Nothing happened, however, aside from another warning as yet several more smaller boomerangs flew towards me while I was still mid-leap. I aimed two web-lines at the ground ahead of Frederick, and pulled, tugging myself speedily towards him. He seemed prepared for this, however, and back-stepped, dropping the stolen jewelry and grabbing two of the larger boomerangs, wielding them like daggers.

As I landed, he swung out, right, then left, though I easily avoided both attacks. I may have been caught off guard by all of this, but the novelty had worn off, and I was ready to end things. As he went for another right-handed strike, I deflected the blow with my arm and fired off a quick blast of webbing at his raised left-hand he prepared to swing at me with next, catching him at the wrist and pinning him to what was left of the storefront's wall. Gripping his right arm, I pushed it against the wall's surface and webbed that, too. Frederick kept trying to scream at me, shouting about how he almost killed Spider-Man, and so I webbed the nutjob's mouth shut, too. What just happened was bad enough without him piling on with embellishments of deluded grandeur.

Jesus, Peter, you nearly let the freaking Boomerang walk over you. If Harry had been around to see that, I'd never hear the end of it. That officially took the place as the most embarrassing moment of my time as Spider-Man, bar none. Talk about a sad turn of events.

A crowd of people were now starting to gather around as they realized the danger had passed, cellphones beginning to be pulled out to document the event for social media, and typical New York gawkers searching for an interesting tale to brag to their friends about. I gathered up the jewels and walked them into the ruined shop, offering my apologies to the owners as I handed back their property. At least they didn't accuse me of trying to steal the jewels myself in the first place as had happened the first time I apprehended Frederick Myers, so I could chalk that up in the very short "win" column for today.

A quick glance at their clock told me I was more than late to class, and shook me out of the slight daze I had entered upon the surprising return of Myers. I would have time to reflect on all of this later, but for now I had somewhere to be. Taking back to the skyline, I continued heading towards ESU with all previous hope of this being a good day now gone. Yeah, perfect way to start the new school year indeed.

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Tony Stark stood at the top of his penthouse, hands grasping behind his back onto a magazine as he looked out of the windowpane and into the Atlantic Ocean. A melancholic expression persisted on Tony’s face, replacing the normal appearance of a smirk or childish grin as a light, sorrowful breath exited his lips. There was no sound in the penthouse apartment— no music, no busy machinery, no background chatter from a television; it was a pause correlating to the rotten sort of news that he refused to think was even real. Normally his mind would be too busy to stop in a hushed moment like this; too busy with ideas and enthusiastic concepts, ludicrous designs, imaginative plots, and pompous announcements to speculate upon— but today it was not the case. Today Tony’s mind was still, an ailment that was the rarest thing that could befall the black-haired billionaire.

He hated it.

He hated it so much that he couldn’t even will the desire to wash it away with alcohol, cigarettes, or some other indulgence. He didn’t even want to be angry, a fact that made him more uncomfortable and helpless as he thought about it as he looked over the oceanic view. New York sludge hadn’t looked this appealing to him for a long, long time. Not since his parent’s death a decade ago.

His hands held a magazine that recorded his very first candid interview, a piece that took him back to a time before he was Iron Man, even before he was head of Stark International, or even completed his college course for his accreditation. The large bold letters in bright red across the header spelled out ‘SAVANT’ as a youthful visage of his face was photographed under it. It was signed personally by the author of the article in stylistic yet professional penmanship. A name that had been the cause of his rather dour mood— the first girl to call him stupid and dismiss his flirtations, the first girl he boasted he would marry when he was ten, and the girl whose life had just been threatened. Caroline Haines.

A loud ‘clank’ echoed in the room as the Iron Man suit’s faceplate closed, covering Tony’s face as his brows narrowed from underneath the helmet as he slid the magazine on the table next to him.

Going to have to give you a good thank you, Captain.

Had it not been for Captain America’s efforts he knew he might be planning a funeral instead of chasing down that sniper and by proxy, this new resurgent Red Skull. He had already had the discussion of helping the government in stopping neo-nazi efforts thus breaking his sort of ‘Superhero Switzerland’ concept he had been pushing in the past few years, but this was a whole new level of ammunition. If he needed a bigger push, there was no question that harassing his only childhood friend was going to be a big one.

“Computer, I’m going to need any available info on the shooting. You can fill me in on the way there— should only be a short skip and a hop.”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much information that could’ve been useful. No police reports had been filled due to how absolutely recent it was, and any media speculation was just that— speculation. It was frustrating, but it was what it was and while Tony didn’t like it he knew he couldn’t be bothered all too much about it. So it left him with few options in the very small window of time he had before the would-be sniper was half-way to Canada. Said options were ones that Tony would’ve honestly preferred to leave out of it, as from his perspective it kind of damaged his pride to ask for help, especially from the government. It was probably why whenever he did consider it he decided to do it in the most ridiculously obnoxious way possible he could.

And Fury did tell him to call back when he had more “stupid questions” for him to answer.

With thrusters on and pushing himself now above the streets of New York City’, a wide smile finally formed under Tony’s face.

“Yooo, Fury! You said to call back when I had more of those stupid questions, right?”

Tony nearly chuckled as he heard what sounded like an irritated groan on the other side of the communication channels.

“This isn’t a good time, Stark.”

“Well, it looks like a good time as any considering that those friends of yours just tried to execute one of mine. You know, the ones who like swastikas and jagermeister? Yeah. I’m on approach so any information would be swell. Just point me in the general direction and this Iron Patriot will surely be thankful, promise.”

“Negative. We’ve got agents analyzing the traffic cam footage and cracking what intel we have right now.”

“I’ll drop by. See if I can’t help them crack it faster since you know, they aren’t as smart as I am. Nobody is.”

“…don’t waste my time with this Stark, SHIELD is not a platform to feed your ego.”

“It’s not boasting, colonel. It’s a fact. See you in a flash, but I have to go say hi to an old friend first.”

“Alright you should be good to go Ms. Rogers.” The nurse at SHIELD HQ let Stephanie go after bandages and stitches on the scraps and cuts she had. Giving the nurse a faint nod of appreciation, one that felt uncharacteristic of the super soldier to anyone who were familiar with her. Stephanie exited the medical bay, quietly but with a clearly determined aire to her, making her way to the training grounds. There still not saying a word, swapping out her Captain America gear for gym clothes, and a pair of MMA style padded fingerless gloves. Stephanie started working out. First going a 30 minute run on a treadmill, finally sparring against a heavy bag.

Her unnatural stoic nature was hiding that Stephanie was mad, furious even. She’s never been one to let someone or something down when it came to her work. It was a point of pride, but also severely needed. She was a woman who was hellbent and with a probable death wish to succeed against a military’s sexism. It was what made everything she did mean something in the end. So why the hell did she let the bastard go!? As she struck the heavy bag with punches, elbows, and kicks. The scene replayed in her head a million times over, standing on the SUV, in front of the man who had killed numerous mutants and nearly a news reporter. Her fist clinched, and ready to start putting him away for justice. It was that pause, that hesitation. Something made it impossible to fight this man.

The more Stephanie dwelled on it, on top of making her strikes against the heavy bag harder and harder, the more she felt confused. There was something to the guy that had a strangely familiar feeling to it, not in the way seeing Red Skull would be familiar though. The feeling that struck her almost felt akin to hitting a loved family member. How the hell she got that from a cold blooded murderer was almost more worrying.

“Uh... Ms. Rogers?”

The strikes against the heavy bag were hitting harder and harder, the beads of sweat sickeningly rubbing against her wounds, and the slight pings of pain made the punches even harder.

“Ms. Rogers?”

Finally Stephanie in one moment felt the small in comparison SHIELD agent’s presence, and in an almost blinded fury threw one more strike that cleanly smashed through the bag. Sand trickling down the gaping holes in the heavy bag as Stephanie glared over at the agent. Panting and looking more psychotic than soldier.

“WHAT?!” Stephanie bellowed out of a deep, frightening place in her stomach.

"Uh..." The SHIELD agent looked as though he was barely holding the urine in himself. "You...you're needed in the main bay, Agent Hill wanted to speak with you." Before Stephanie could respond the agent had already turned and left. Leaving Stephanie alone, her fist clinched through the heavy bag as sand trickled out. Exhaling a frustrated breath, Stephanie finally pulled her fist out of the bag's now gaping hole. Wiping the last bits of sand off her glove as she went to shower and get dressed. This whole situation was going to test her something fierce. She could just feel it.

The quinjet touched down smoothly and Natasha was immediately out of her seat and marching down the lowering hatch. Her suit, once a pristine black, was now dotted with specks of soot and plaster powder. It was meant to be a simple enough package surveillance mission, but her intel had been a couple of days old, which meant by the time she reached her destination, said package had already exchanged hands and awaiting transport. With no backup, radio silence and thirty minutes until the package was moved, she had been forced to make a decision. The result was probably less ideal than the Director would have liked, but either way, she had the drive, the exact location and layout of the base as well as having wiped all evidence of her presence and thus granted SHIELD plausible deniability should the Croatian government pin the blame on them. All in all, Fury wouldn't be receiving any backlash from her actions, which he should be grateful for. Besides, every action she took had been detailed and reasoned in the short post-mission report she had filled out on the way back and currently tucked into her belt. She would rewrite it properly later when there was time.

The elevator rose without a sound, stopping three floors up. Natasha stalked through the wide hallway, not stopping for anything or anyone as she headed for the office of her mission handler. To her annoyance, he wasn't in and she bypassed the single lock on his door swiftly. Picking up a pen from the table, she scrawled a quick note upon a post-it to inform him of her decision to keep the drive until he was personally here to take it, and to expect her post-mission report on his desk by the end of the week. Because she sure as hell was not going to leave something this important in an inadequately protected office, even if this was the Hub. And if he couldn't be bothered waiting around for an agent's return, she wasn't going to bother giving him the courtesy of handing in her paperwork before time. Maybe her time with Coulson as her handler had spoiled her for anyone less competent.

A few feet away from the office and someone appeared near-silently by her side. It was only the familiarity of this agent that stopped her from lashing out instinctively.

"May." Natasha acknowledged, not breaking her stride.

"Romanov." Agent May returned the greeting. "Hill is requesting your presence in the main bay as soon as you arrived. Which was five minutes ago."

Inwardly, Natasha sighed, sparing a glance towards the first right-hand curve she came across before taking the opposite turn which will bring her to Hill. On anyone else, the look could be interpreted as longing, but she knew there was no time for a quite change and shower, no matter how much she wanted to clean the grimy feeling out of her hair and skin.

"Was there anything else?"

"None. Though you might need this if the way Hill looks is any indication."

Both agents stopped, Natasha glancing down at May's outstretched hand which held two small disks and a spare garrote. Her eyes darted up a second later, an eyebrow rose in question. Nevertheless, she accepted the weapons with a nod of thanks, removing the used garrote from her brace and replacing it with the new ones. The taser disks went into the previously empty slots at her hip. May took the old garrote from her hands and walked away, tossing a half-wave over her shoulder. Arsenal replenished, Natasha rounded another corner and turned her head to allow the scanner access to her eyes, feeling a trite better. The door slid open without further prompting. Another few steps, a couple of turns and Natasha spotted the familiar figure of Captain Rogers up ahead. Sidling up behind the Captain on silent feet, the Black Widow made sure to stay slightly to the right and a few steps behind just in case the supersoldier was caught by surprise. It wasn't likely, given her enhanced senses, but she didn't live this long by being careless, even around allies. Especially around super-powered allies.

"Captain." She said quietly. "Any insight on why Hill requested us?"

Stephanie Rogers’ outburst must have made the rounds quickly, because as she was heading towards where Hill was, the lower ranked agents were trying to avoid her. It wasn’t just a careful step out of the way either, agents were actively ducking away. Stephanie just quietly kept the feeling of embarrassment and worry to herself. Keeping her gym towel wrapped around the back of her neck Stephanie changed into more modest gym wear. She didn’t really feel like she had time to change into more proper SHIELD attire. Still after the day she’s already had, Ms. Hill will hopefully give her some leeway.

As Stephanie got closer to the meeting point on the helicarrier she could hear footsteps near her, as well as spot a distinct red out of the corner of her eye. Glancing back she saw Natasha Romanov, aka Black Widow. She had known about the SHIELD agent for some time, very cold, calculated to an almost creepy extent. Still Stephanie valued having someone like her watching her own back. Even if it took some time to get over the whole Russian part. Her brain still has some adjusting to do with that.

“Probably the mutant rally explosion stuff from earlier today.” Stephanie suggested as she wiped a small bit of sweat from her forehead with her towel. “Which of course resulted in me having a Hell of a day...” after saying that Stephanie glanced over. Smelling the sweat and plaster on Natasha, and seeing her looking pretty bad off. “I guess we can both say that though.” Stephanie noted. She would’ve asked what Natasha was up too. But she’s wise enough now to realize the Black Widow would never tell someone something like that. Even if they’re an ally. Though the fact she was carrying a garrote did make Stephanie a little concerned.

Dwelling on her own thoughts Stephanie finally turned to face Natasha, leaning her back against a wall. “Natasha... I guess you’re probably not really the right one to ask but...” Stephanie thought back to the metal armed guy she couldn’t punch. “Have you ever not been able to attack someone? You know you need to... but you just can’t do it?” Stephanie shook her head, she needed to back up a little. “I... today I was able to catch up with the guy who caused the explosion, and tried to kill the reporter later. Guy in all black, had a metal arm with a red star on it. I had him in my grasp but I couldn’t hit him. Like... it felt like punching a family member or something. I mean what do you think?” Stephanie was struggling to make sense of her own head, especially in a way someone could understand.

The Asset was prepped. The same routine as always. Remove from cryo, conduct brainwashing procedures, assign target and brief him with the mission.
Karpov was seething. Red Skull dared to admonish him, to talk down on him and make him rescind a command... It left a bitter taste in Karpov's mouth, humiliated because that damned American foiled his attempt on some worthless reporters life. Red Skull wanted to make a statement, wanted HYDRA to unleash mass terror upon the people and it had all turned to shit. Red Skulls solution was to stay his hand, to let Captain America swoop in and play the hero then swoop out unscathed. Maybe Red Skull could see the bigger picture in the end, but Karpov didn't take defeat lightly and intended to make up for this mistake.

The bruises and welts beneath the Winter Soldier's combat gear were still fresh from Karpov's relentless beating. His scarred skin was mottled black and blue and angry shades of red and purple, but he didn't complain, he didn't voice his obvious discomfort, then again, if he ever did, when would he stop? His whole body was wracked with pain, the brainwashing, cryo and cybernetic arm were the primary causes for his grievances, but Assets didn't speak, they certainly didn't complain.

<<"Your target is Haines, a reporter. I want her alive, use any means necessary but keep her alive, kill anyone who tries to stop you. Do not fail me this time, do you understand Soldat?">>
There was no response, which was as good as a confirmation.
<<"Go. You have two hours. Bring Haines back here alive, make sure you aren't followed">>



The Winter Soldier melted into the darkness of the late night streets. Sticking to back alleys and shadowy streets. He avoided being out in the open, there was too much CCTV, too many potential witnesses. In this day and age, it was impossible not to be seen, but at the very least, keeping a low profile, keeping your head down, made it significantly harder to be identified and followed.

Haines was terrified since her near-assassination and had prepped herself as best she could, lest her attacker returned. The doors were locked, bolted and locked again with a series of locks upon more locks. She answered the door to no one, wouldn't allow anyone in unless they phone called first and explained who they were and why they wanted to be there... Perhaps she was a tad paranoid, but she didn't give a damn, she knew HYDRA were seriously dangerous. If it wasn't for Stephanie Rogers conveniently being at the right place at the right time, Haines knew she'd be a corpse in the morgue right now.

The Winter Soldier was smarter than the average cat burglar, he wasn't going to use the front door, any idiot would know the door would be heavily bolted shut and to open it, he'd make a racket, or, if he were to pick the locks, it would take too much time. Even apartments had backdoors, though they usually consisted of emergency fire-escapes or windows. Fortunately for Karpov, The Winter Soldier wasn't exactly fussy when it came to breaking an entering. Unfortunately for Haines, it meant she'd set herself a trap. With a heavily bolted door, she'd fenced herself in, no chance of escaping down the halls and crying for help, she'd locked herself in.

The Winter Soldier scaled the fire-escape stairwell, shrouded in the shadows of the building, at best, the CCTV across the street might have caught a sliver of a figure scaling the stairwell, not much to go on all things considered, it certainly wouldn't be possible to ID him from that footage alone.
He stopped at the window to Haines' kitchen. The lights were off, he assumed she was asleep in bed, it only made things easier. The windows were bolted shut of course, but a quick peek in revealed that, as he'd suspected, the door was laden with heavy bolts. He could make some noise breaking the window to climb in, even if Haines woke, she had nowhere to run.

He didn't even flinch, left arm punching through the double-glazing with ease. He hopped over the shattered remains of the window and landed with ease in the darkened kitchen, eyes narrowing and adjusting to the reduced visibility.
Haines heard a disturbance and switched on her bedside lamp, scrambling in her bedside drawer to get a handgun she'd purchased to defend herself.

It was too late. It was too dark. He was in the room before she could even process what was happening.
"Stop I'll shoo-" she threatened in a strangled whisper, too scared to shout. Terror gripped her body.

A hand gripped around her throat, a cold, inhumanly-cold hand knocked the gun from her hands. She flailed, tangling herself in her nightdress rather than escaping the intruders grasp.
Her hands scrambled up to the lone hand wrapped sturdily around her throat, clawing to no avail, the grip didn't slacken. She was aware she wasn't getting enough air, a whimper barely escaped her before she began to feel dizzy, her vision blurring, she stared at the intruders face, half covered by a black mask, but the eyes ... they burned into her memory before she went limp and passed out.

The Winter Soldier threw the unconscious body over his shoulder, unaccustomed to taking prisoners, he was more used to taking lives, he had no choice but to skulk down the hall with her, moving quickly, keep his head down. He didn't dare take the front entrance, instead he escaped through the maintenance area, hopping over huge dumpsters into the parking lot on the opposite side of the wall.

He tore open the door of a blue sedan and put Haines in the back, taking a moment to tape her mouth and her hands and legs with duct tape before he slid into the drivers seat in the front and hotwired the car, disappearing into the night, driving around the city to try lose any potential tails. He stopped on the outskirts of the city, handing Haines over to a van of Hydra goon who had been waiting for him, they loaded her into the back of the van and unloaded a motorcycle. The Winter Soldier took the motorbike one direction, the Hydra-van circled in another direction.

An hour later The Winter Soldier returned to Karpov and confirmed the mission had been a success. Haines was stored in a facility on the other side of the city, groggy, but alive. The Winter Soldier awaited his next command. Haines was alive, but captured.

Captain America had met the Winter Soldier face to face and stopped his attempt on Haines' life ... now the Winter Soldier had Haines, and Karpov intended to make his revenge personal. Captain America would forever regret foiling Karpov's assassination attempt on live TV, she'd watch the man she let get away execute the target himself, and there was nothing she could do about it. Karpov decided he'd make sure Haines suffered first. Captain America saved her from a quick headshot, only to find her in a much more perilous situation. Assets didn't feel pain or guilt, but Karpov knew that Stephanie Rogers did...

<<"Soldat. I will need you to contact our friend, the American. This is a particularly important mission, you will answer to no one else until you complete this, not even Red Skull. Do you understand?">>
The Winter Soldier remained silent, of course he understood.
<<"Go to Haines, the reporter. Take a photo and deliver it to the American. A simple threat, a warning. Do not engage if you encounter the American ... ">>

Haines wasn't having a good day ... that was an understatement. Although her captors hadn't roughed her up, her hands were bound, legs bound and her mouth taped. She was still wearing the same dressing gown they'd kidnapped her in and her neck was purpling with bruises. Her head ached, she must have bumped it while she was out-cold but ... they hadn't inflicted any tortures on her ... yet.
She assumed she hadn't been out for too long, she hadn't gone too far, her captors spoke in English with distinct American accents ... though they kept mentioning "the Russian" and a characters called "The Soldier", sometimes they called him "The Asset". Haines' reporting skills kicked in, she filed away every piece of info she could gather and tried to think of how it might help save her life later. Captain America couldn't protect her down here, she though miserably, but if they hadn't killed her yet ... maybe these idiots thought seh knew something important. She had no idea she was nothing more than a piece of bait in a revenge plot ... But thinking she might be able to save herself, thinking they thought she wasn't easily discarded, gave her hope to try figure a way out of this.
Tony Stark got out of tougher jams than this ... and beneath that armour hes an arrogant but regular human being ... she assured herself.

"Karpov sent his little lapdog, apparently he wants to stick up the middle finger to Captain America. He warned us not to mention anything about her though, after some event in the 70's apparently they get a little jumpy whenever the Soldier's in America"
The other Hydra agent gave his pal an incredulous look.
"Thats weird ... I heard he's been in the field since the 50's ... must have hundreds to kills by now ..." the goon began laughing and done a lousy impression of Karpov's thick Russian accent, "Maybe Mother Russia isn't so glorious and Karpov's scared the Soldier can 'smell the freedom' or whatever garbage he's scared of"
"Beats me ... I don't care that Karpov's playing house with Red Skull ... I wouldn't cross him while he has the Soldier under his control ... Scares the heck outta me ... No wonder that bitch pissed herself when he broke in" the goons dissolved into laughter and Haines' felt her cheeks burn, though pissing herself when a 90-year-old super-assassin choked her out was hardly a reason to be embarrassed... Anyone else would do the same.

Her worst fears were confirmed when a familiar figure appeared. Silent as he had been the first time he'd crossed paths with her. Eerily still and cold, she wondered for a moment if he was robotic ... his arm was at least, but maybe all of him ... Yet ... despite the cold distant, detached gaze, he seemed human ... minus the humanity. She had a name to pin to her abductors face.

"The Winter Soldier", he has a metal arm with a red star, cold, dead eyes ... he wears a black mask and never speaks.
The Soldier didn't utter a word as he pulled Haines up on her knees, she knelt infront of him, arms tied behind her back, tears streaking down her face, head pulled back and up by the hair in a cold metal hand, a Russian combat knife pressed to her throat with the other hand, she managed to catch a glimpse of the blade before it was thrust against her neck- There was a serial code ... she wasn't sure if it would be any help, but filed away information for later. It was a KGB issue knife, cleaned and sharpened, if it wasn't regularly maintained it would be rusted away from dozens of uses.
Bizarrely, he didn't kill her, the HYDRA goons snapped a picture, catching Haines in all her glory ... filthy and kneeling on a dirty floor with tears on her cheeks, her captor was cut off from the shoulders up, but the metal arm was in the picture. Captain America would be able to remember that much at least.

Then he left. Haines slumped down to the floor and he vanished into the night.

Captain America's apartment wasn't hard to find, it wasn't under super high-tech security, heck, she was a super soldier, if someone broke in, they would need protection, not her. But she wasn't there. Breaking in and planting the photo, and a lock of Haines' hair hastily hacked off, was easy and the Winter Soldier vanished without even being seen.

Sweeping a scrutinizing glance over the Captain as the taller woman spoke, Natasha could sympathise. Clad in gym wear and towel around her neck, her posture and actions were clear as crisp as usual, but the supersoldier's tone and minute facial expression exuded weariness to those who knew where to look. It was apparently becoming the norm for missions meant to be a cakewalk - compared to some of the things the Avengers could get tangled up in - to go south. Maintaining the same distance even as Rogers stopped to face her fully, Natasha adopted a more relaxed stance, folding her arms and shifting her weight slightly to one foot. By the seriousness in the Captain's voice, the contemplative but distant gleam in her gaze...this abrupt change in topic was obviously not going to lead to a light-hearted conversation between them. But then, since when did people like them have the luxury of exchanging words of nonsense?

Letting the second of silence stretch as Rogers stopped talking, Natasha broke the gaze to survey their surroundings with her peripheral vision. The corridor was wide and they were positioned at the far left up against the wall and the agent knew better than to step within the Black Widow's space. In such a public place, they had as much privacy as possible. Even so, Natasha tilted her head so her long hair fell like a curtain, covering the right side of her face and disabling anyone not directly before her the chance to read her lips.

"You are right. I am the last person you should ask about sparing a target." She replied softly, locking her gaze on the Captain's. "The closest I came to sparing someone who could kill me was Clint. Hawkeye, as you know him. But even then I still attacked him." Coulson didn't count as they had never gone at each other with the intention to kill. "From what little experience I have on this subject, I would say you pulled you punches because your mind subconsciously registered the target as a friend, most possibily a very close friend from your past. That's my opinion."

Family member was impossible, seeing as Rogers was the only child, and any other family she had like her mother were long dead. Her closest friend was Sergeant Barnes, who fell to his death before the war ended, so that option was also out. This individual Rogers faced being a member of the Howling Commandoes was possible if a ninety-year old could still move like a man at the peak of his youth. Then there is the option of said target being a mutant.

"Besides the metal arm and scar, do you remember anything else about him? Anything unique? Any distinguishing features? We might be able to narrow down the list of suspects, especailly since a cybernatc arm with a red star is rather rare in itself." And a red star would mean Soviet or a country ran by communists. Again, that was a short list. Nevertheless, something about the arm and mark niggled at her memories. Not the ones after joining S.H.I.E.L.D, but before, and that alone made her leery. Everything that had anything to do with the Red Room and Department X spelled trouble.

"Come on, Captain. Let's walk while you think it through." Natasha added, inclining her head towards the end of the hallway. "There might be an urgent assignment awaiting."

🐲 Chapter 1: Anything Better

________________________________

🐲 Chapter 2: The Kaiju, the Captain, and the Typewriter

He wore a mask that was red, white, and blue. Braddock was a patriot, and flying his top speed towards the coast. The plane of a scientist had to make an emergency landing in the ocean, and there was both a large red creature and a large orange creature to deal with. Captain Britain flew down to the ship that was floating pretty well for a plane its size while the creatures fought.

"I'm gonna get you guys out of here! I think I know what's going on out there. The red guy's new, but the orange thing in underwear is the last thing a guy named Charles Bentley wrote about on this mystic typewriter he came to possess..." the Captain began when the scientist interrupted from behind the protection of his guards in their big doofy life vests.

"That 'red guy' is my son, he's one character I didn't write about on an old typewriter..." Fred's father commented.

"We'll get to that later... for now strap back in. It'll be easier for me to carry you gentlemen to the coast in the plane..." Capt. Britain instructed as he took the plane in his hands and flew away.

Fred continued to grapple with the creature, blasting it in the face with fire breath and ripping at it's body with his claws and teeth. The red beast spun and struck the monster in yellow underoos with his tail and knocked it back in the ocean. The monster let the ocean consume him and peaked over the water one last time with his eyes before seemingly vanishing into thin air. Fred was stumped and Captain Britain didn't make it back in time. There was just a red kaiju in the water now, dumbfounded, and a patriotic superhero floating in mid air.

"Do you... understand English?" Braddock asked.

Later...

"So.. you say this was all the work of an old enchanted typewriter?" the scientist father of the kaiju hero asked as he was being tended to by a European EMS crew along with his guards and pilot.

"That creature in the underwear was called X by a writer named Bentley. I'll pay him a visit after I make sure you guys are good, you here for business or...?" CB inquired.

"I'm just here with my old man, I'm not chasing a supervillain or anything..." Fred commented laughing out loud a little.

"We're here for a science exhibition in Cambridge. Archaeologists in Europe always invite me out to these things." the father explained.

🐲 Epilogue...

Captain Britain touched down outside of a cottage where a car was parked outside along with a moving truck. The hero had no idea what was going on, had quite an odd look on his face. He walked up to a young man, probably in his twenties, who had a box in his hands. Before Braddock could say anything the man took off into the home. A woman came out and noticed the man in tights and just raised an eyebrow.

"Somethin' I can do for you, mate?" she asked.

"I'm looking for a man named Charles. Charles Bentley? I needed to ask him about his old typewriter?" Brian explained looking around at all of the stuff going into the cottage.

"The old timer who lived here died last week. Nobody said how, but the man who sold us the place... I think HE took the typewriter you're talking about. Why would a superhe.." she began to ask before the masked man cut her off.

"Did this man give you a name?" he asked the brunette who was picking up another box.

"Colt I think he said his name was... Jeffry Colt..." the brunette responded, "What in the 'ells goin' on mate?"

~KL~

Ah, broom closets. My home away from home. Just one of the many perks of swinging to school as Spider-Man; crawling through second-story windows, and hiding in empty closets while I changed into my civvies. Made even more enjoyable, of course, by having to wait quietly inside until the two faculty members just on the opposite side of the door had finished their riveting conversation about this upcoming season of the Bachelor. Crammed into a small room, pants halfway up, frozen in place, too worried of being discovered to make a sound. I'm sure half-naked college students in broom closets aren't entirely new or surprising concepts for the professors here at Empire State, but when it's just one student who also happens to be wearing part of a Spider-Man outfit it was probably a little more awkward to explain.

All-in-all, I had spent about fifteen minutes in there before the two professors walked away and I could make my escape. By the time I made it to my classroom, the door was already closed, and locked. As if my morning couldn't get any better. I still had plans to meet with Gwen on campus after class let out, so I figured I might as well wait here and speak to my professor afterwards. It was clear Professor Crane wasn't a fan of his students being tardy if the locked door was any indication, and I wanted to make sure I got off on the right foot with him. With any luck he'd be understanding, and I could get whatever notes from today's lecture I had missed. Thankfully it wouldn't be too much of a wait for the class to end, introductory sociology was one of the shortest courses I had signed up for this year, and so I found a small bench further down the hall to relax on for the next forty or so minutes.

As I waited, my thoughts returned to Frederick Myers - The Boomerang. The man was supposed to be locked up in prison after the last time I defeated him. Granted, he wasn't exactly a violent offender, nor very-threatening as a criminal. At least, he hadn't been back then with his regular, run-of-the-mill toy boomerangs and goofy costume so perhaps he had been released on good behavior. Ryker's Island did tend to be overcrowded during times, and given its status as a penitentiary for super-powered criminals I'd imagine they wouldn't be too concerned about keeping Freddy there for his full sentence. I had always found it odd that he had been sent there in the first place, and not an ordinary New York prison. But, even if he had gotten out early, that didn't explain his new get-up and skills. Those boomerangs he had been wielding this time were no gimmicks, and if it hadn't have been for my Spider-Sense I might have actually taken a few hits there. Where did a guy like Frederick Myers, a thirty-something-year-old high school drop out, get his hands on genuine body armor, and military-grade equipment?

My thoughts were interrupted at the sound of a few dozen feet scuffling about. The class had finally let up, and all the students were filing out. Slipping past them all, I quickly walked in to try and catch the professor before he too left. Crane was still at his desk, rifling through some papers, and he looked up at me briefly before returning his gaze back down.

"Professor Crane, my name's Peter Parker. I'm taking your class, and I was late coming in today," I began, offering my hand out for a shake. "I got caught up in... traffic, and by the time I got here the door was already locked..."

I trailed off, my hand still in the air, and the professor paying me no mind as he scribbled something briefly out on a scrap of paper.

"Um, I was wondering if I could maybe get some notes on today's lecture, or if there was any way I could get a recap on what I missed."

Still no response.

"Professor?" Now I wasn't sure what was going on, was I in the wrong room, or maybe the Twilight Zone? I wasn't used to an educator ignoring his student.

"Mister Parker," Crane said, finally finished with whatever it was he had been busy with. "I don't know what education you've been exposed to, but here in my class room you do not get free rides." He continued on, his voice not hiding his disinterest with me in the slightest. "If you decide to sleep in late, or brush off my course that is on you. You will receive no benefits or aid from me for slacking off, and if you want to learn what was discussed today you'll have to figure it out on your own time. Though, if you had wanted to learn in the first place you might have made more of an effort to arrive on time."

Wow. This guy knew how to make you feel at home. I wonder if he made all his students feel this warm and fuzzy inside, or if I was just special. He didn't even give me a chance to get a word in edgewise as he began walking towards the exit, still giving me that indifferent attitude.

"My class begins at ten A.M. sharp, Mister Parker, and at ten-oh-one my door is locked. If you want to waste your own time and money that is your choice, but you will not waste mine." Professor Crane then spun on his heel, the slightly taller man staring down at me - no, more like through me - and thrust a tiny scrap of paper into my hand. "Your partner for today's assignment was selected for you in your absence, get in touch with them sooner than later if you expect to receive credit on it. I suggest you arrive on time next week or look into switching to a class that's more suited to your... carefree nature." And, with that, he ushered me out and walked away, leaving me dumbfounded in silence.

Congratulations, Peter. Day one, and the teacher already hates you. I glanced down at the scrap of paper and the name of my forced partner. I didn't recognize them, but I hoped they were a little more forgiving of me than the professor had been. Last thing I need is for the student I was paired with to also think I'm an underachieving slacker. I'd have to try and get in contact with them later today using the school's email system, but for now Gwen was expecting me at the campus' coffee house. At least I could look forward to that bright spot of spending the rest of the day with her. After all, not like anything else could go wrong today.