As Marcus had anticipated, Nick Fury wasted no time in setting up a test.
"Marcus," Fury began, with that deceptively polite tone of his, "I'm glad to welcome you among Earth's heroes. Don't take this the wrong way — it's not your past as a Hydra assassin that concerns me. It's just that your… training may have left you with habits that are a bit too ruthless — and deadly — for a hero's standards. So, I'd like you to undergo some retraining under our supervision. Captain Rogers will be your instructor. What do you say?"
It was an obvious trap — a cleverly disguised test aimed at the very heart of Marcus's fabricated identity as a former Hydra assassin. Fury must have noticed something off during Marcus's earlier confrontation with the Winter Soldier. His movements at the time hadn't matched those of a professionally trained killer — too clean, too efficient, too measured. Despite Marcus's efforts to mask his technique and minimize his movements, Fury's sharp eyes had caught the discrepancy.
He'd let it slide back then, likely to avoid jeopardizing the Hydra purge that was underway. But now that Marcus had willingly stepped onto Fury's floating fortress, the Director wasn't about to let such inconsistencies go unanswered.
Any sign of hesitation now — any trace of unease — would only confirm Fury's suspicions.
"It would be my honor," Marcus replied smoothly. There was no other answer he could safely give.
---
Beneath the helicarrier's deck lay a massive training facility — a combat simulator the size of a football field, built with reinforced alloy walls and capable of generating holographic battle environments for live drills. Of course, today's "training" had nothing to do with drills. It was an interrogation, masked as a sparring session.
Captain America stood across from Marcus, rolling his shoulders as he settled into a fighting stance. "Marcus," he said, his voice steady and direct, "before we can retrain you, I need to know what kind of combat background you have. Let's spar — your movements will tell me everything I need to know."
From behind, Fury added with deliberate calm, "Marcus, Tony's analysis shows your physical capabilities are about five times greater than the Captain's. So, please restrain yourself — this is a skill test, not a death match."
They were working in perfect sync — Rogers would fight, and Fury would watch every motion, every reaction, every telltale move. If Marcus's fighting style didn't match the profile of a Hydra assassin, he'd be exposed instantly.
And Captain America, a man who had spent decades fighting Hydra soldiers, would know the difference better than anyone.
It was the most effective test S.H.I.E.L.D. could have devised — short of telepathic interrogation from Professor X himself.
"Ready, Marcus?" Rogers called out, his expression calm but focused. "Let's see what kind of man you really are."
Marcus smiled faintly. "Of course, Captain."
Mental Possession: Winter Soldier.
Marcus's body tensed as his mind linked with his second vessel. He launched forward like a cannonball — his metalized left fist striking with explosive force.
The blow slammed into Captain America's shield with a deafening clang, the sound reverberating through the training chamber like a church bell. Sparks scattered as Marcus followed up instantly — his right hand darted out to knock the shield aside, and his left leg snapped upward in a brutal kick that drove into the Captain's midsection.
The super-soldier's body folded under the impact and was sent flying across the room, tumbling several times before he managed to regain his footing.
For a split second, even Steve Rogers looked stunned. Fury had told him to expect unrefined, amateurish movements — the sloppy strikes of a man trained only to kill, not to fight. But what he'd just encountered was the opposite. Every motion was fluid, precise, and devastatingly efficient — as smooth as a dance and as lethal as a machine.
Marcus, or rather, the Winter Soldier in his body, didn't give him time to recover.
With another thunderous step, Marcus lunged forward, leaping high into the air before driving his steel arm down like a hammer.
BOOM!
The metal floor buckled under the impact, caving in where his fist struck. If Rogers hadn't rolled aside at the last instant, the blow might have shattered half his bones.
But Captain America was no pushover. A veteran of a hundred battlefields, he quickly found his rhythm again. Spinning on one heel, he slashed forward with his shield in a blinding arc. The edge of the vibranium disc whistled through the air, close enough to shear off several strands of Marcus's hair.
It was a feint. The real attack came immediately after — a brutal knee strike aimed at Marcus's face.
At the last second, Marcus raised a hand to block, catching the blow but still forced several steps backward by the sheer force of it.
Rogers pressed the attack, pivoting with perfect precision as he hurled his shield like a discus. In a confined space like this, the ricocheting weapon was nearly impossible to evade — but Marcus didn't back down.
He stepped forward into the throw, catching the vibranium edge in his metal hand.
CLANG!
The shield froze between them, both men gripping it tightly, raw power rippling through their arms. For a moment, it was pure muscle against muscle, strength against strength — until Fury's voice cut through the tension.
"Enough! That's enough!"
The two men froze, breathing heavily. Marcus immediately released the shield, stepping back. Rogers blinked in surprise, his eyes refocusing as his combat instincts subsided.
"Your technique…" he said slowly, his gaze settling on Marcus's metallic arm. "It's familiar. You fight just like—"
"The Winter Soldier?" Marcus finished with a light smile. "He was my hand-to-hand combat instructor. I suppose I still mimic his movements without realizing it. Honestly, seeing him again that day… it rattled me more than I'd like to admit."
Rogers exhaled slowly, the pieces falling into place.
'So that's why he fought like that.'
In a single, effortless explanation, Marcus had turned suspicion into credibility. His previous "mistake" — the one Fury had noticed during the Hydra raid — now had a perfectly logical reason behind it.
Fury's expression softened, ever so slightly. His mind connected the dots — too neatly for Marcus's liking, but exactly as planned.
The story checked out. The inconsistencies were gone.
Marcus, the "defector from Hydra," had just become trustworthy.
After so much doubt, even the ever-cautious Nick Fury had to concede: this man's loyalty was genuine. Any remaining uncertainties could no longer be verified — and Charles Xavier had long since refused to use his telepathy for invasive probing.
Which meant, for now, Marcus was beyond reproach.
"Welcome to the Avengers," Captain America said warmly, extending a hand before Fury could speak.
Marcus clasped it with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
'Checkmate.'
__
T/N:
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