On nights without moonlight, the ocean turns pitch-black—like a boundless void capable of swallowing everything, seen and unseen.
In the Indian Ocean, under the cover of darkness, a vessel disguised as a cargo ship cut silently through the waves. In truth, it belonged to S.H.I.E.L.D., and it was carrying out a classified operation. From its deck, several orbital satellites—codenamed Lemurian Star—were being launched into space. Overseeing the mission was Agent Sitwell, a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative with Level Eight clearance.
As each satellite successfully lifted off, Sitwell's pulse quickened. If everything proceeded according to plan, the world itself would soon be within their grasp.
Then gunfire erupted outside the control room.
A group of heavily armed raiders stormed in, ruthless and efficient. Leading them was an internationally wanted criminal—responsible for thirty-six assassination attempts across multiple countries.
"Who's in charge here?" the man demanded.
"I am," Sitwell stepped forward.
Whatever secrets he carried, he was still a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. And S.H.I.E.L.D. agents did not cower.
"Call your superiors," the raid leader said coldly. "Tell them to wire 1.5 billion. If they don't, they'll be receiving your bodies—and this ship will conveniently dock on a foreign coastline. Try anything clever, and I'll send a few of you to meet God right now."
After the call was made, Sitwell and his team were handcuffed and locked inside the galley. As he was dragged away, Sitwell glanced back at the launch platform—frustration burning in his eyes. They had been so close. Just a little more time, and the mission would have been complete.
Now, it was all for nothing.
…..
The moment Director Nick Fury received news of the hijacking, he dispatched an elite response unit—along with Captain America, and Agent Natasha Romanoff.
"I'm getting real tired of cleaning up Fury's messes," Steve muttered after hearing the briefing.
Once again, S.H.I.E.L.D. had crossed borders and operated in legal gray zones. It wasn't new—but it never sat right with him.
"Relax," Natasha said calmly. "This one's not that complicated."
After assignments were handed out, Steve leapt from the aircraft directly into the sea near the hijacked ship.
"Did he… bring a parachute?" one of the agents asked, staring in disbelief as Steve vanished from a thousand-meter drop.
"No… he didn't."
Thanks to tight coordination, the rescue progressed smoothly. The raid leader seemed to be holding back—no hostages were harmed.
Everyone followed the plan.
Everyone except Natasha.
Fury had given her additional orders. When Steve finally found her, she was in the control room, copying S.H.I.E.L.D. data onto a USB drive.
"Our mission is to rescue the hostages," Steve said sharply.
"That's your mission," Natasha replied without looking up. "Not mine."
Her real objective had always been data extraction—and she was very good at it.
"Natasha, this puts the entire operation at risk!" Steve snapped.
She remained unconcerned.
Then the raid leader—whom Steve thought unconscious—suddenly sprang up and hurled a grenade at them. Steve deflected it with his shield, but the explosion's shockwave still knocked the air from Natasha's lungs. It took several minutes before she could breathe properly again.
"…Alright," she admitted at last. "That one's on me."
The mission concluded without casualties. The only flaw—the raid leader escaped.
----
In Washington, D.C., near the Potomac River, the White House, and the Washington Monument, stood the Triskelion—S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters. Sunlight glinted off its massive structure, making it appear almost radiant.
Inside, agents hurried through corridors—elite among elites.
Outside, the enormous S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle emblem stood watch, as it always had.
Steve had no patience to admire it.
Fury had assigned Natasha a separate mission without informing him. To Steve—who valued unity and trust above all—this was unacceptable. He stormed straight into Fury's office.
"You can't even control your lies anymore, can you?" Steve demanded.
"I didn't lie," Fury replied evenly. "Romanoff had a different assignment."
"And you didn't think I deserved to know?"
"I don't owe you anything."
"Those hostages could've died, Nick!"
"And I sent the best soldier in history to make sure they didn't."
"Soldiers are supposed to trust each other—to work as a unit!" Steve shot back. "Not run around with guns, shooting in every direction!"
"The last time I trusted someone completely," Fury said quietly, "I lost an eye. Listen, Captain—I don't force you to do things you don't believe in. Romanoff, however, will do whatever it takes."
Their philosophies clashed head-on.
Steve believed in unity.
Fury believed in compartmentalization—each person knowing only what they needed, minimizing leaks.
At last, Fury decided to show Steve the true nature of Natasha's mission.
They descended deep beneath the Triskelion.
Below lay a colossal underground hangar.
Three next-generation Helicarriers stood ready, their decks lined with countless Quinjets. Mounted along their sides were advanced long-range precision weapons—capable of eliminating thousands in moments.
Once airborne, these carriers could remain in sub-orbital flight indefinitely, sustained by anti-gravity engines.
Linked with specially designed satellites, they could identify threats before crimes were committed—using DNA targeting—and eliminate them remotely.
This was Project Insight.
Born after the Battle of New York, Fury had persuaded the World Security Council to approve it. A threat-analysis algorithm would calculate criminal intent in advance.
To Steve, it felt like pointing a gun at the entire world.
If this ever went public, panic would be inevitable.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. deals with the world as it is," Fury said. "Not as people wish it were. It's time you adapted, Captain."
But Fury underestimated Steve's resolve.
Steve left S.H.I.E.L.D. without another word.
----
With nowhere else to go, Steve wandered into the Smithsonian.
There, he saw his past self—the young soldier, burning with conviction, fighting for freedom. Back then, his purpose had been clear: defeat fascism, destroy the Nazis, return freedom to the people.
Now?
In a world without war, prosperous and complacent, his purpose had faded.
He thought he could continue serving—following orders, protecting civilians.
But when those orders began to contradict everything he believed in…
He found himself wanting to disobey.
Maybe…
Maybe he was no longer a qualified soldier after all.
--------------
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