Three days later, somewhere over the Indian Ocean, fifty kilometers from the Lemurian Star.
"Dante, you come in here with your schemes and your ambushes—and you don't think it's worth telling me, the Director, until the plan's already unfolding? You think that's appropriate? Is that appropriate??!"
"Haha, I just thought you'd definitely understand my intentions. Guess I'm not that important to you after all!"
Dante sat cross-legged, gazing at the night sky thick with clouds, casually speaking to Fury through the comms.
"Don't you start trying to change the subject!"
"Ahem. You want the truth?" Dante grinned. "It's because you, as Director, are constantly being watched by that pain-in-the-ass World Security Council."
"That was Alexander Pierce's decision. He insisted the Bureau needed oversight."
"Yeah? Well, Pierce is HYDRA. No surprise there. If I had to guess, I'd say he orchestrated the Bureau's last internal purge. Think about it—wasn't it right after that mess the U.S. Bureau started getting leashed?"
"…It was really him?" Fury muttered, then snapped back into volume. "When this is over, you better give me a full damn explanation!"
"Sure, sure. Don't forget to keep acting for Pierce's sake. Anyway, I'm hanging up now."
He checked the time, set the plane's autopilot, and stepped out of the cockpit. His face shifted from smirking trickster to no-nonsense field commander.
Everyone in the cabin went rigid.
Not from fear—but because the air was weird.
Weird.
No one spoke. No one even dared breathe loudly.
Because standing dead-center were two Captains, silently staring each other down.
Steve Rogers looked at Captain Carter with visible disbelief.
And though Carter was more composed, her pupils were visibly shaking.
They'd both lost their versions of each other.
And this meeting—despite the shock—wasn't emotional. Because neither one was the person the other had truly missed.
Skye was internally cringing so hard she might snap her spine. Her chronic secondhand embarrassment was kicking in.
As soon as she spotted Dante, she power-walked over.
"Was this really a good idea?" she whispered. "Throwing them together like this? Carter's one thing, but Steve only just came to terms with being frozen for half a century…"
"Relax," Dante said with a smile. "If he couldn't handle this, he wouldn't be Captain America. He's got way more inner strength than you give him credit for."
Still—this couldn't go on. They were at work, not a soap opera.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Dante clapped his hands, snapping the tension.
"I'm Level Seven Agent Dante Alighieri, and the overall commander for the Lemurian Star rescue operation."
"Skye—sync the mission info."
Skye nodded and tapped on her terminal. Data filled the large screen behind her.
"The Lemurian Star is a satellite launch vessel under the Bureau. It's currently under pirate occupation—forty-eight hostiles on board."
"They're heavily armed with automatic weapons. Six of them are equipped with individual grenade launchers."
"The leader is George Batroc—a world-class mercenary with a criminal record longer than a Netflix contract. Ruthless, lethal, and very much not a people person."
"Their raid began ninety-three minutes ago, right when the final satellite was launching."
Steve studied the screen and turned to Skye.
"How much are they asking?"
"One-point-five billion dollars. But, this is a Bureau ship…"
"So… we're cleaning up another one of Fury's messes?" Steve sighed and shook his head. Then he scanned the hostage list and frowned. "Wait—Sitwell? He's HR. What the hell is he doing on a launch ship?"
Dante stiffened. Sitwell?
Sure, in the original timeline Sitwell was here but—
Wasn't that guy dead?
Grant Ward had definitely killed him.
And Ward wasn't the type to lie about something like that. Especially not to Dante.
Too risky. Too dumb.
Killing Sitwell was faster, simpler… safer.
So if Sitwell's name was still on the active list, that meant someone had stepped in and filled the body slot almost immediately—so fast, no one noticed the original was missing.
But who?
Couldn't be Mystique—Mutants were on their side.
Skrull?
Or maybe a shapeshifter Agent?
Either way, once he got on that ship, Dante needed to go meet this "Sitwell" personally.
"Captain Rogers, Captain Carter," Dante began, flipping into ops mode, "you two will approach from opposite sides and clear the deck."
"Everyone else—parachute to the stern. Infiltrate and rescue the hostages."
"Skye, you're backup. Hack the Lemurian Star's security system. Get me a lockdown."
"As for me—I'll go directly for the engine room. I'll shut it down and clear access routes for extraction. Understood? Prep for deployment!"
As the assignments finished, the transport hovered above the Lemuria Star.
The Agent leading the combat squad stepped forward, hand extended.
"Agent Dante—I'll be commanding this elite formation."
"And you are?"
"Level Nine Agent Maria Hill," she said, removing her mask and revealing a sharp bob cut and serious eyes. "First time meeting, isn't it?"
"I've heard plenty." Dante shook her hand.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Maria smiled slightly. She liked Dante's personality; she wouldn't be here otherwise.
"Then I'm leaving the rescue team in your care."
"As you command."
"Hey, I'm only Level Seven. You don't need to be that formal."
Dante scratched his head.
After all, Level Nine was second only to Fury himself. Technically, she outranked him.
"Come on. Who in the Bureau still thinks you're just a Level Seven Agent? Anyone who does needs their head examined."
Maria waved it off like a joke.
Because really—who didn't know Dante was now one of the Bureau's top combat assets? His Level Seven badge was just window dressing.
"Appreciate the flattery."
They reached the drop point.
"Alright. Move out!"
At Dante's command, the first ones out were the two Captains.
As per usual, neither bothered with parachutes.
They jumped straight from the plane, no hesitation, leaving the elite Agents stunned.
"Don't worry about them," Dante said casually. "They never really liked parachutes anyway."
"Rescue team, hold position. Stagger the deck-clearing sequence."
Dante stood at the hatch, issued one more order—then leaned back and dove straight out of the plane.
The Agents rushed to the edge, only to hear a faint chant echoing behind him—
"With blood and rage of crimson red,
Ripped from a corpse so freshly dead,
Together with our hellish hate,
We'll burn you all—that is your fate!"
Red Lantern Transformation!
Dante lit up like a comet of crimson fury, streaking toward the Lemurian Star.
Skye crossed her arms and pouted.
"You're the last person who should complain about worldviews…"
...
"Have you seen Dante? I haven't been able to reach him."
"I can't either. But with his powers, what could happen to him?"
Steve and Carter met up mid-deck.
As they spoke, a blur zipped out from behind them—a vicious, twisting whip-kick flying at Steve Rogers' head.
A sneak attack.
Fast. Clean. Lethal.
It was George Batroc—the mercenary no one had been able to catch.
All surveillance across the Lemurian Star had already been replaced with home appliance ads and Crayon Shin-chan reruns.
Batroc had known the ship had been compromised the moment his comms started going dead.
He knew it was time to act.
He made it to the deck just in time to see the two Captains deep in conversation.
Instinct told him: target the guy in the S.H.I.E.L.D. combat uniform.
So, classic Batroc—strike first.
Bad move.
Very bad move.
Because the moment his foot launched—two Super Soldiers countered simultaneously.
What followed was a textbook example of a two-on-one beatdown.
A beatdown with rhythm.
"Agh-do you dare fight me one-on-one?!" Batroc wheezed from the ground, barely conscious. "You just rely on numbers-and that shield!"
Steve scoffed. "Buddy, I was fighting Nazis before your grandma hit puberty. One-on-one? This is war, not a gentleman's fencing match!"
Captain Carter gave Steve a rare nod of approval.
Exactly.
Every seasoned soldier curses.
They just hold it in during peacetime. On the field?
Let it fly.
They turned toward a nearby locked door—the Lemurian Star's central control room.
CRACK!
Captain Carter lifted her shield, slammed it down, and snapped the lock clean off.
The door swung open.
And inside?
Bent over a console, frantically copying files.
Dante.
"…Ah."
He looked up slowly.
"…Well, this is awkward."
(To be continued.)
***
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