The Raft Prison was an immense, flat cylindrical structure that shimmered with a metallic, futuristic sheen. For a facility built to operate in the crushing depths of the ocean, its outer walls could never have been ordinary reinforced concrete. Every inch of it was a masterpiece of high-pressure alloys and alien-grade composites — a fortress that had no business existing underwater.
Moving with the silence of ghosts, Marcus and the Winter Soldier avoided every window and surveillance angle as they approached the underside of the colossal structure. Their target was the reinforced lower hull — the best place to cut through without immediate detection.
The Winter Soldier went first. Detaching his mechanical arm from the bulky diving suit, he pressed his cybernetic palm against the wall. A faint ripple of blue light spread outward in concentric circles, disabling the nearby electronic alarm systems for a few minutes.
Then Marcus took over. Channeling his biometal ability, he formed a hemispherical barrier that displaced the surrounding seawater, creating a temporary air pocket. Within that enclosed dome, he unleashed his bloodflame — crimson fire burning hotter than plasma, vaporizing metal as though it were paper.
The alloy wall hissed, glowing white before melting away completely. No molten residue dripped; the material sublimated instantly, vanishing into steam. Within moments, a man-sized passage had opened through the hull.
Once inside, the bloodflame dome twisted and reformed, sealing the breach behind them. It wouldn't last long — an hour at most — before the organic metal disintegrated on its own, allowing the ocean to reclaim the Raft in a catastrophic flood.
Marcus doubted it would take anywhere near that long. But in the Marvel universe, one could never discount the likelihood of a self-righteous hero showing up at the worst possible time.
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They crept through the facility's lower maintenance corridors, moving like shadows between dim emergency lights and humming conduits, avoiding guards and automated drones until they finally reached the central cell block. Only then did Marcus get his first true look at the infamous Raft from within.
Each inmate was confined in a single, glass-fronted steel chamber — a metal cube stacked neatly like cargo containers. Every cell contained nothing but a plastic cot, a chair, and a toilet — all deliberately unbreakable, leaving no means of self-harm or escape.
The list of prisoners here read like a greatest hits of supervillainy: Green Goblin, Juggernaut, Lizard, Abomination… and Hydra's true objective — former S.H.I.E.L.D. director and covert Hydra leader Alexander Pierce.
Each high-risk prisoner had been "specially accommodated." Juggernaut's indestructible legs were shackled and folded beneath him, immobilized by reinforced restraints. Abomination, whose strength rivaled that of the Hulk, was pinned to the floor by massive chains thicker than a man's torso. Both were heavily sedated with superpower-suppressant serum, stripped of their monstrous capabilities.
In the central courtyard above, General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross oversaw a grim procession of inmates. Surrounded by guards in powered armor, he moved from cell to cell as a technician fitted a collar around Doctor Octopus's neck — a sleek metallic ring with a pulsing red light.
Within seconds, the device tightened violently, burrowing beneath the skin until it vanished completely. The pained grimace twisting Octavius's face made it clear this was no simple restraint.
"That's the Thunderbolt Program," the Winter Soldier murmured through the mental link as they climbed silently along the overhead supports.
"Officially, it's presented as a rehabilitation initiative — letting convicts serve the government in exchange for reduced sentences. In reality, it's Ross's way of creating disposable soldiers. Most of the missions are black ops — the kind the military can't admit to. Those collars are filled with nanobombs. One wrong move, one act of defiance, and—"
He made a slicing gesture across his throat.
Marcus's eyes flicked toward Ross below, observing the man's self-satisfied smirk. The general was the same tyrant who had once orchestrated the creation of the Abomination in his obsessive pursuit of the Hulk — a career soldier who cloaked cruelty in patriotism.
He was the kind of man who could justify anything in the name of "national security."
"If the Avengers hadn't been formed," Marcus thought darkly, "he'd still be hunting Banner across the globe."
Now that S.H.I.E.L.D. had claimed jurisdiction over the Avengers, Ross had simply found a new outlet for his zeal — turning the Raft into his personal war factory, weaponizing the very criminals he pretended to despise.
Watching the general supervise the forced conscription of villains, Marcus allowed himself a quiet smile.
"He'll make an excellent pawn," he murmured. "A spark like him could ignite the war between the government and the heroes."
His rank, his influence, his history — Ross was the perfect instrument. Another piece added to Marcus's grand design.
But first, there was the matter of reaching the control room. If they could seize it, the Raft could be forced to surface, bringing their allies above the waves and beginning the real operation.
With Ross and his guards preoccupied, security in the control sector would be at its weakest. Still, the challenge lay not only in avoiding the soldiers but also in avoiding the prisoners — many of whom would eagerly sell them out for a chance to earn favor or leniency from Ross.
It was a delicate balance of stealth and speed, and progress was painfully slow.
After several tense minutes of evasion, Marcus crouched behind a column, scanning their surroundings. "We'll need a new approach," he whispered. "Something a little less… patient."
His eyes flicked toward a pair of patrolling guards in Mach-V–designed armor.
"They'll do."
Each guard's helmet was a marvel of S.H.I.E.L.D. engineering — a translucent mask that distorted facial features beyond recognition, while the voice modulators rendered their speech unidentifiable. Designed to protect their identities from retaliation, the gear had the unintended effect of making them completely anonymous.
Marcus's grin widened slightly behind his mask.
"Perfect," he said softly. "No one will even notice when they disappear."
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T/N:
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