"I'll handle the helicopters."
As the only member of the group who could fly, Tony Stark took to the skies without hesitation. His armor engines roared as he climbed higher, drawing the attention—and the full brunt—of the enemy's air support. The machine guns mounted on the incoming choppers roared to life, weaving lines of red-hot tracer fire through the air like a deadly spiderweb.
Tony darted between those lines with practiced precision, firing concentrated beams of plasma that tore through the nearest helicopters. One exploded in midair, another spiraled out of control and crashed near Captain America's position.
The wreck detonated on impact, blasting a wave of dirt and debris across the field and taking out several Hydra soldiers in the process.
Captain America barely had time to regain his footing before a figure in heavy black exoskeletal armor charged through the smoke—a massive man with mechanical gauntlets that looked more like pile drivers than fists.
It was Crossbones.
His arm-mounted weapon hissed and snapped forward like a piston as he threw a brutal, armor-shattering punch.
The blow connected squarely with Steve Rogers's shield, sending the Captain flying more than ten meters back. His helmet clattered away, revealing his bloodied but defiant face.
Crossbones advanced without pause, his mechanical fists pounding forward in a relentless flurry. Rogers rolled aside, brought his shield up just in time, and blocked the next hit. Sparks flew with every impact.
Metal clashed against vibranium again and again, the sound like church bells ringing under fire.
"Is that all you've got, Captain?" sneered Crossbones, his black mask glinting with malice.
"You'll find out soon enough," Rogers shot back, eyes blazing.
Seizing an opening, he deflected Crossbones's right fist with his shield, grabbed the man's left arm, and used the momentum to pull him forward—then slammed his forehead into Crossbones's visor with a sickening crack. The strike shattered the mask, sending shards of reinforced glass flying. Blood trickled down Steve's forehead, but his resolve didn't waver.
While Tony and Steve were each locked in their own battles, that left Marcus with a far less glamorous but far more crucial task: protecting Nick Fury.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Marcus's mouth. 'Should I infect him now?' he wondered. It would certainly make controlling S.H.I.E.L.D. easier later. But with so many witnesses—and Fury still too useful—he decided against it.
For now.
Marcus reshaped his metallic body. Plates of liquid silver spread across his face, forming a half-mask that covered his mouth and nose. A hood extended from his shoulders, shadowing his eyes. His arms transformed into broad silver shields, one for each hand, intercepting every bullet fired toward Fury.
Fury ducked behind him, firing short bursts from his pistol whenever he had a clear shot. "I've got to say, Vale—your abilities are remarkably efficient."
Marcus didn't respond. His attention was already shifting. Somewhere through the chaos, his next opportunity had arrived.
A figure was moving calmly through the smoke, unfazed by the gunfire. He wore a black tactical suit, an M4A1 rifle slung in one hand with a grenade launcher attachment beneath it. His left arm gleamed metallic silver.
The Winter Soldier—Bucky Barnes.
Once Captain America's closest friend, now a brainwashed Hydra assassin. Normally, he was Steve's personal nemesis. But with Crossbones keeping the Captain busy, Bucky was making straight for Nick Fury.
Perfect.
Marcus already had Hawkeye as his sleeper agent inside S.H.I.E.L.D. Now he needed someone to infiltrate Hydra itself—and the Winter Soldier had just walked right into his trap.
Fury raised his gun and fired several rounds. The bullets never made it through—Bucky lifted his metal arm and deflected each shot effortlessly, sparks flashing off the reinforced plating.
"Damn," Fury muttered. "Does that arm come with a warranty?"
Then came the grenade.
"Whump!"
A 40mm round burst from Bucky's launcher, streaking toward Fury. Marcus swatted it away with one hand as if flicking an insect, sending it arcing harmlessly into the dirt a few meters away. The explosion tore a deep crater into the ground.
Undeterred, the Winter Soldier fired another volley. Marcus didn't even flinch. The bullets hit his body and flattened against the silver plating before being forced back out as his tissues rapidly regenerated.
Bucky's expression tightened. Realizing bullets were useless, he broke into a sprint—his metal arm cocked back, ready to strike. The blow he threw could have flipped a car.
Marcus caught it with one hand.
The impact sent a gust of wind through the smoke, but Marcus didn't budge. His fingers clamped down around Bucky's fist, the metal groaning under the pressure. No matter how much the Winter Soldier struggled, he couldn't move an inch. His arm twisted, servos whining as the frame began to warp.
This wasn't a contest. It was domination.
Marcus's body was already beyond human—ten times stronger than the physical limit of any enhanced soldier. Against him, even Bucky Barnes was powerless.
Marcus gave him a single contemptuous kick, launching him backward. As Bucky flew, a thin metallic spike formed beneath Marcus's boot. When it struck, the spike pierced Bucky's uniform, delivering a microscopic injection of the zombie virus.
He didn't kill him—of course not. Bucky was far too valuable alive. If the infection took hold and the Winter Soldier returned to Hydra's base, he'd become Marcus's perfect double agent.
[Virus Touch Activated]
Target: Winter Soldier. Zombie Virus Injected.
Status: Infection Successful. Host: Enhanced Human Variant Detected.
Estimated Transformation: 4 hours. Resulting Type: Mutated Infected Retaining Original Consciousness.
Recommendation: Domesticate or Erase Host Mind Upon Completion.
Marcus dusted off his hands and smirked. "Anyone else worth my time?"
As if in answer, the ground began to rumble.
Several armored vehicles burst through the fence surrounding the villa, their mounted cannons swiveling toward him.
Fury sighed, drawing his sidearm again. "Did you really have to ask?"
Marcus shrugged. "What can I say? Hydra's commitment to overkill never disappoints."
The tanks fired.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions rocked the earth, swallowing Marcus and Fury in a storm of dust and fire.
When the smoke cleared, they were still standing—Fury unharmed beneath the shimmering protection of Marcus's massive silver shield. The biometal gleamed in the light of the flames, unscathed by the barrage.
"Seriously?" Fury muttered, looking up at him. "Remind me to recruit you full-time."
Before Marcus could reply, a thunderous impact shook the battlefield.
A silver shape streaked down from the clouds and crashed into the center of the Hydra formation like a meteor. The shockwave toppled trees and flipped several armored vehicles. Through the settling smoke, tiny projectiles streaked out—micro-missiles, each one drilling into a tank before detonating in a synchronized chain of explosions.
The burning wrecks rose into the air before crashing back down in flames.
From the cloud of smoke, a heavy silver-gray figure stepped forward—his armor bulkier and more weaponized than Tony's.
"Miss me?" came the voice, crackling through the comms.
Tony grinned inside his helmet. "Took you long enough, Rhodey."
War Machine had arrived.
____
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