Steve glanced at Rumlow and the four men beside him.
"No need. Let's see what they found first."
His eyes flicked to one of the agents. The man's hand rested on his holster, fingers repeatedly tightening around the grip of his pistol.
The elevator stopped.
Four more men stepped in.
The space grew cramped.
Steve was gradually pressed toward the back wall.
He noticed the man closest to him—well-dressed, composed—yet sweat beaded across his forehead. The building's temperature was carefully regulated. There was no reason for him to be sweating.
The elevator stopped again.
Three more entered, naturally positioning themselves near the doors.
Steve scanned the tight space.
Not accidental.
He was boxed in.
The doors shut.
Silence.
Thick. Intentional.
"Before this starts," Steve said evenly, looking around, "does anyone want to get off? I'm giving you a chance."
A split second later, the man in front lunged with a silver stun baton.
Steve twisted aside—
—and instantly several others grabbed him, pinning his arms in the confined space.
The man with the briefcase squeezed the handle.
The handle snapped open—revealing a high-powered magnetic restraint that slammed Steve's wrist against the elevator wall.
Steve kicked forward, crushing the man in front of him. With his free hand, he drove a punch backward, knocking out the one trying to choke him.
He pivoted and kicked the baton-wielding attacker so hard the man flew into the reinforced glass wall. The glass spiderwebbed with cracks.
In under fifteen seconds, more than half the men were down—groaning, ribs shattered, limbs twisted at unnatural angles.
Rumlow surged forward with his baton and struck.
The high-voltage charge coursed through Steve's body.
Pain exploded across every nerve.
His muscles locked—
—but he didn't fall.
With sheer will, he endured it.
He slammed his elbow into Rumlow's arm, knocking the baton loose, then hurled another attacker upward so violently the man's head smashed the ceiling-mounted camera.
In the control room, Sitwell barked, "Deploy tactical team to Floor Fifteen. Now."
Inside the elevator, Steve grabbed an attacker's wrist and redirected the stun baton into another man.
The electrical surge blasted the man backward.
Steve kicked him mid-fall and used the momentum to spin and strike another.
Both collapsed.
Seconds later, silence returned.
Everyone else lay unconscious.
Steve braced both feet against the wall and pulled against the magnetic restraint.
The magnet hummed—
Metal groaned—
With a burst of strength, he tore his wrist free.
He flipped backward, landing smoothly.
He stomped on his shield. It sprang upward, ricocheted twice inside the elevator, and locked onto his back.
The doors slid open.
A fully armed tactical squad waited outside.
"Stand down, Captain Rogers! Drop your weapon!"
Instead, Steve hurled his shield upward, severing the exposed elevator cable.
With a thunderous snap, the elevator plunged into freefall.
Steve crouched low as the car dropped several floors before emergency brakes engaged. It screeched to a violent halt between levels.
He pried open the upper hatch and climbed up—
Only to find another tactical unit waiting.
He dropped back inside and sealed the doors.
Every floor was covered.
The elevator wasn't an option.
Through the glass walls of the observation shaft, Steve assessed the distance.
More than ten stories down.
A large roof structure below could break part of the fall.
He stepped back—
—and sprinted straight through the glass.
It shattered outward as he dove.
Shield raised.
He crashed through the rooftop structure and slammed into the pavement below.
Even with the shield absorbing much of the impact, the shock rattled his bones.
Bystanders screamed.
People scattered.
Steve forced himself up.
He had seconds.
He sprinted toward the garage, moving as fast as traffic on the street.
In the control room, Sitwell shouted, "He's heading for the garage! Lock down the bridge! Deploy strike teams!"
Bridge gates began lowering.
Steve burst through the first barrier just before it sealed.
But ahead—
Spike traps rose from the asphalt.
Electrified barricades closed in.
A Quinjet roared overhead and hovered in front of him.
"Captain Rogers, power down and surrender!"
Heavy machine guns deployed beneath the jet.
Steve accelerated.
Gunfire erupted.
Bullets tore the pavement around him.
He weaved through the barrage and hurled his shield.
It arced upward and lodged into the Quinjet's turbine.
The aircraft lurched violently.
Steve slammed his brakes and launched himself upward onto the destabilized jet.
He ripped the shield free.
The aircraft tilted again.
With both hands, Steve drove the shield into the fuselage, anchoring himself against the wind as the jet bucked beneath him.
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