Marvel: The Villain

Anger is the fountain of the Hulk's power. Steve was now drowning in it.

It wasn't just the humiliation of being pinned down by small-time grunts; it was the realization that HYDRA had been a tumor inside SHIELD for seventy years, feeding off the world's resources while partnering with the Joker Organization to drown the globe in terror.

That thought made the fire in Steve's veins turn into a supernova.

He lunged out of the gas zone, leaving the STRIKE team in a daze as their primary suppression tactic failed. The commander, however, kept his cool. "Re-engage! Circle the target! Deploy more gas!"

But Steve didn't give them a second chance. His eyes locked onto the nearest helicopter. He sank into a deep crouch, his massive red thigh muscles coiling like steel springs.

CRACK!

The ground shattered under his feet as he launched himself like a heat-seeking missile. A split second later, the helicopter exploded in mid-air as Steve's massive bulk tore through the fuselage like tissue paper.

"He's gone feral! Watch the flanks!"

The remaining pilots switched to thermal imaging, trying to track the red blur. But Steve wasn't a mindless beast. He was a master tactician with the raw power of a god. He moved through the New Jersey woods with terrifying fluidity—leaping, rolling, and using the dense foliage to mask his approach. Every time a bird dipped too low, Steve would emerge from the shadows and swat it out of the sky.

Within minutes, the clearing was a graveyard of burning helicopters. The commander, watching his elite unit get liquidated, finally felt the cold grip of panic. Their anti-Hulk protocols were useless against a Hulk who actually knew how to fight.

He turned to the figure sitting in the back of the chopper, a shadow among shadows. "We've done all we can. He's yours."

The assassin wore a black respirator and high-tech tactical goggles. His left arm was a glinting sleeve of silver cybernetics. He held a massive long-range rifle across his lap.

The man's voice was a low, gravelly rasp. "He's here."

"What—?"

Before the commander could blink, the assassin kicked the door open and leaped into the night. A heartbeat later, Steve's vibranium shield whistled through the air, shearing the helicopter's rotor blades clean off. The bird plummeted, erupting into a fireball on impact.

The assassin drifted down on a parachute, landing with cat-like grace. He didn't spare a glance for his dead comrades. He unslung his rifle, checked his sidearm, and began walking toward the center of the ruins.

*

Steve stood amidst the burning wreckage, his chest heaving. Just as he prepared to catch his breath, a chill crawled up his spine. He raised his shield just in time.

CLANG!

A heavy-caliber sniper round struck the center of the shield, the force making even Steve's massive arm tremble. Then, a sharp, stinging pain flared in his leg.

The assassin had fired twice in a fraction of a second. The shot to the head was the bait; the second shot—a specialized dart—was the hook.

This wasn't SHIELD. This was a gift from the Joker Organization to HYDRA back when they were collaborating. The dart was tipped with vibranium-grade needles that could pierce Hulk-thick skin, delivering a concentrated suppressive serum.

Steve roared, his body beginning to smoke and shrink. Within seconds, the red titan was gone, leaving a gasping, weakened Steve curled on the ground behind his shield.

The assassin didn't rush. He knew Steve was still dangerous. He began a high-speed flanking maneuver, looking for a clear shot around the shield.

The two played a deadly game of cat-and-mouse in the ruins of Camp Lehigh. Steve knew every inch of this dirt, but the assassin had the advantage of thermal vision.

Steve scrambled behind a low concrete wall. He felt the assassin's presence behind him. He dove left just as a bullet pulverized the spot where his head had been. Steve blind-fired a salvaged rifle back at the muzzle flash, then moved immediately.

They were now less than fifty meters apart. The game would end for whoever blinked first.

Steve waited. He knew that as the serum wore off, his strength would return. He just needed to buy time. The assassin knew this too; he had to flush Steve out. The sound of heavy, mechanical breathing echoed through the dark. It was a taunt.

Steve decided to gamble. He fired a flare—a blinding red light that washed out the assassin's night vision.

BOOM!

Steve burst through the concrete wall like a linebacker, shield-first. The assassin, blinded but acting on instinct, swung his metal arm.

THUD!

The bionic fist hit the shield with enough force to stop Steve's charge cold. The assassin followed up with a brutal kick that sent Steve flying. Steve scrambled up, but the assassin was already raining fire with a submachine gun.

Steve blocked the spray, counted the rhythm, and lunged the moment the assassin went to reload. He kicked the gun away, but the assassin drew a pistol and fired three perfect shots—all caught on the shield. Steve closed the distance, throwing a haymaker that shattered the assassin's goggles.

They fell into a brutal, hand-to-hand struggle. Steve was shocked; even in his weakened state, he was a Super Soldier, yet this man was matching him blow for blow. He was fast, cold, and possessed a fighting style Steve hadn't seen in seventy years.

Steve grabbed the man's metal wrist, intending to pin him, but the assassin used the leverage to vault over Steve, landing a kick to his kidneys that staggered him. The assassin then grabbed Steve's own shield with his bionic hand and hurled it back at him.

Steve slid under the spinning disc, the vibration nearly taking his hair off. He grabbed the shield as it was embedded in a wall and charged again. This time, he caught the assassin in a grapple, slamming him into a pillar. The impact tore the respirator off the assassin's face.

The man rolled away and stood up slowly. Long, chestnut hair fell over his face. He turned around.

"Bucky?" Steve whispered, his voice trembling.

The assassin's expression didn't change. His eyes were hollow, wiped clean of memory. "Who the hell is Bucky?"

He reached for a hidden blade in his boot, but Steve was too stunned to move. He was staring at a ghost.

VROOOOM—ZAP!

A beam of concussive energy slammed into the assassin, sending him skidding across the dirt. Steve snapped out of it and looked up.

A red-and-gold suit of armor hovered above them, its palm thrusters glowing.

"Quite the show, Cap," Tony's voice crackled through the suit's speakers. "I was going to let you finish, but you started looking like a deer in headlights. Who's the side-show?"

Steve looked at the Winter Soldier, who was already scrambling to his feet, eyes darting between the Hulk-man and the Iron Man. Bucky made the only logical choice: he turned and sprinted into the treeline.

"Tony, don't kill him!" Steve yelled.

"Relax, I got him." Two micro-missiles launched from the suit's shoulders, deploying high-tensile capture nets that snared the assassin's legs and arms.

Bucky hit the ground, struggling against the electrified mesh. Steve ran over, relieved to see his friend—his brother—was alive, even if he was a brainwashed shell.

"Thanks, Tony. How did you find me?"

"I didn't. I'm in Miami," Tony replied. The faceplate of the armor retracted, revealing... nothing. It was empty. "This is an Iron Legion drone. My sensors picked up a ballistic missile launch over New Jersey. Figured you were in the middle of it."

Tony's voice turned serious. "Now, what the hell is going on? Why are SHIELD's elite teams trying to turn you into a crater?"

Steve looked at the empty suit, then at the man tied up in the net. "Tony... Fury is dead. SHIELD has fallen. It's HYDRA. It's always been HYDRA."

There was a long silence on the comms. "Okay," Tony said, his voice flat and dangerous. "I'm coming home. My private hanger is ten miles east. Jarvis will guide the drone to carry Legolas there. I'll meet you in three hours."

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