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At this moment, ten thousand meters above the ground.
An unmarked black Osprey transport plane was weaving through thick cumulonimbus clouds.
Baron Wolfgang von Strucker sat in a leather seat, his hand tightly clutching a lead box.
He opened the lid, and the T-VEX stock solution, emitting a faint blue light, lay quietly inside, swaying slightly with the plane's turbulence.
"What a pity."
Strucker sighed, a flash of regret crossing his eyes.
"That scepter... it was the key to unlocking an era of miracles. If only I had a little more time..."
"Damn those Avengers!"
"Be content, Baron." A voice came from beside Strucker's ear. He turned his head and saw Brock Rumlow walking over.
"...When God closes a door, He always opens a window. This thing might be even more practical than the scepter."
"With this, you can crack the secret of how those Vought superheroes become stronger. Then, we can create a super army belonging to HYDRA."
"Well said, Rumlow. When that time comes, HYDRA will no longer need to remain in hiding. We will rule the World!"
"In comparison, that idiot Garrett's 'Centipede Soldier' project used so many resources and only produced trash," Strucker said dismissively.
"Of course, all of this is thanks to you, Rumlow." He raised his glass in a toast to Rumlow.
"If it weren't for the evacuation route you provided, we might have been thrown into 'Arkham' by those freaks in tights by now."
"This was Officer Pierce's arrangement, Baron." Rumlow grinned, his voice raspy and low, sounding exactly like the original Crossbones.
"The Officer said you are the brain of HYDRA, and the brain must not be damaged."
"Ah, Pierce." Strucker nodded. "Though I don't like that old fox's bureaucratic style, he truly came through as a friend this time."
"To still be able to arrange an evacuation route and a new Base for me under these circumstances... it seems that even though he has lost power in the Security Council, his influence remains."
"Of course. If HYDRA cuts off one head, two more will grow in its place." Rumlow turned and raised his glass.
"We always have a backup plan."
"So, where is the new Base?" Strucker asked.
"Deep in the Alps," Rumlow replied. "It's a secret fortress left over from World War II that even the Germans couldn't find back then. Pierce has renovated it; it's fully equipped, has ample power, and is completely isolated from the World."
"Very good." Strucker closed his eyes in satisfaction. "I believe we will soon bring true order to the World."
...A few hours later.
The plane landed on a hidden runway in the Alps.
Strucker and his team, guided by Rumlow, walked into a blast-proof door hidden between the valleys.
"Welcome to the future, Baron."
Rumlow entered the password, and the heavy steel door slowly opened.
A blast of warm air hit them.
Strucker had originally expected to see a dilapidated, old Soviet bunker.
But the sight before him left him stunned.
A spacious, bright hall, spotless epoxy floors, the most advanced centrifuges, gene sequencers, miniature particle colliders... the equipment here was a full generation more advanced than what he had in Sokovia!
"This... this is simply paradise!"
Strucker quickly walked to an analyzer, stroking it lovingly.
"Where did Pierce get these things? I know some of this equipment is the latest model from Vought Technology that has only appeared in promotional videos!"
"Officer Pierce has some special channels," Rumlow explained flatly.
"It's not just the equipment."
Rumlow clapped his hands.
"Clap! Clap!"
The side doors on both sides of the hall opened simultaneously.
The rhythmic sound of marching echoed.
Da-da-da-da—!
Two squads of soldiers wearing black combat gear and full-face tactical helmets ran out.
They quickly lined up in formation before Strucker.
"Stomp!"
A hundred boots stomped the ground at once, the sound as unified as if it were a single person.
"Hail HYDRA!!"
One hundred men.
Exactly one hundred men.
Strucker was surprised to find that these men's height, physique, and even their standing postures were strikingly identical.
Their knotted muscles were clearly visible even under their uniforms, and every one of them exuded an aura of coldness, efficiency, and absolute obedience.
"This..."
Strucker walked up to a soldier, looking up at the burly man who was a head taller than himself.
"Are these also from Pierce?"
"Yes." Rumlow walked to his side. "These are the 'Winter Guard' recently trained by Officer Pierce. They have undergone special neural enhancement; they feel no pain, no fear, and are absolutely loyal."
"They will be your assistants as well as your bodyguards."
"Baron, you can conduct your research here with peace of mind. Even if the Avengers find this place, this guard can tear them to pieces."
Looking at this army filled with a murderous aura, Strucker's sense of security instantly surged.
"Good! Excellent!"
He laughed loudly, turning to clap Rumlow's firm shoulder.
"Thank Pierce for me! Tell him I take back my previous evaluation of him; from now on, we will be the best of partners!"
Rumlow looked at Strucker's wildly laughing face, a red light flashing briefly in his eyes before fading away.
"I will pass that along, Baron."
...Meanwhile, in a safe house somewhere on Earth.
At this moment, an aura of "despair" permeated the air.
The lights in the living room were off, with only the oversized wall-mounted TV illuminating the space.
Nick Fury sat slumped on the sofa, a posture of decadence he had never shown in public.
His trench coat was thrown on the floor, and his iconic eye patch had been removed, revealing his grayish-white blind eye.
On the TV, a special report from Vought News Network was being replayed.
On the screen was that hellish laboratory in Sokovia.
It showed those ragged, scarred children.
It showed the hollow eyes of that young boy, and the accusation that shot into Fury's heart like a bullet:
"...That Black man wearing an eye patch found me... He said S.H.I.E.L.D. would protect me..."
Immediately following was a close-up of an enlarged file.
The signature on it—Nick Fury.
Every letter was like a red-hot branding iron, searing itself into his retina.
"No... no..."
Fury's voice was raspy, like the mutterings of a dying old man.
"That was the 'Secret Warriors' project... it was to protect Earth..."
"I didn't sell them to HYDRA... I didn't!!"
He suddenly grabbed the crystal ashtray on the coffee table and hurled it at the television.
Crash!!
The screen shattered, sparks flying.
The accusing voice finally vanished, and silence returned to the room.
But Fury knew it was useless.
The whole World had seen it.
The whole World believed it.
In the face of that undeniable "evidence," any defense he made appeared weak and powerless.
He hadn't just lost.
His reputation was utterly destroyed.
He had spent his life doing countless dirty jobs in the shadows for S.H.I.E.L.D. and for Earth, bearing countless infamies.
He thought he was a night watchman, an unsung hero silently guarding the World.
But now, he had become a human trafficker, a HYDRA Director, a demon who sent children to hell.
It was over.
Completely and utterly over.
This scapegoat's burden was harder than Vibranium and blacker than a black hole.