The Winter Soldier stumbled forward through the darkness, splashing through puddles of cold water as he tried desperately to keep himself awake. His emotions were a tangled mess of confusion, panic, and instinct. He didn't know where he was, but he knew one thing clearly:
He had to escape. Now.
His head throbbed violently. His consciousness flickered, dipping in and out like a malfunctioning light bulb. The only thing he could trust was instinct—run, hide, survive. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move.
Just as he reached the narrow service road above the fake Faust laboratory, a silver supercar came speeding toward him, its headlights cutting through the gloom. Inside, the driver and his girlfriend were laughing loudly, rock music blasting from the speakers. Suddenly, the driver froze as he saw a half-naked man stagger out of the shadows.
He slammed the brakes.
Screech!!
Rubber burned against concrete, leaving a long black skid mark. The car stopped barely a hand's length from the Winter Soldier's knees.
The driver's girlfriend groaned, rubbing her head. "Ugh… what happened?"
The driver opened his mouth to yell, but before he could even breathe properly, the Winter Soldier lifted his face. His eyes—cold, sharp, wild—glared directly at the man with terrifying intensity.
The driver's soul nearly left his body.
"G-Get out!" the Winter Soldier barked, raising a stolen gun toward him.
The driver didn't even pull up his pants properly. He rolled out of the car with a strangled scream, dragging his terrified girlfriend with him. They pressed themselves against a nearby wall, shivering.
The Winter Soldier jumped into the driver's seat. He stepped on the accelerator.
VROOOOM!!
The engine roared like a beast. In seconds, the sports car vanished into the night, heading straight toward HYDRA's secret New York base.
Behind him, the driver sobbed in fear and rage.
"W-We're calling the police! Somebody just stole our car!"
He called 911.
"Sorry, sir," the operator said, exhausted. "All units are occupied. We can't assist with car theft at the moment."
"What?!"
Before he could complain further, the line disconnected.
New York was in chaos.
Two major underground leaders had been assassinated the previous day — the Kingpin and the Blackwater Mercenary President.
Their deaths shook the entire city. News outlets went wild. Rumors spread everywhere. Criminal groups quietly panicked. Civilians locked themselves indoors. And the NYPD… well, they barely slept.
Detectives, officers, and specialists were dispatched across the city. The phone lines at the department rang nonstop. Carjacking complaints? Small fights? Noise disturbances?
Nobody had time for any of that.
Meanwhile, reports about Levi's "assassination attempt" also reached the police, but after Levi cleaned up the scene and Izzy erased every video on the network, the police only performed a routine check.
Then they concluded:
Three attacks = one terrorist group.
Levi survived thanks to Modia Units.
Rumors spread quietly—but not publicly. As wealthy elites heard the whispers, fear pushed them toward the same solution:
Buy Modia Units. Lots of them.
They didn't care if the rumors were exaggerated. When you're rich, you never gamble with your safety.
Modia Unit sales skyrocketed.
Levi welcomed every order with open arms. Installing Modia Units in rich households didn't just make him money.
It gave him access.
Every Modia Unit carried data, information, behavioral patterns, and private details that Levi could quietly observe.
It built a future network of influence—one that would be priceless.
Even NYPD Chief George publicly stated:
"If the first batch of Modia security units helps reduce crime, we'll purchase more to support the NYPD."
Perfect.
While Levi profited, the HYDRA base beneath the Empire State Building felt the opposite.
Fear. Pressure. Panic.
The mood in the underground HYDRA lab was suffocating.
Nobody dared breathe too loudly.
Nobody dared make eye contact.
Because the ruler of this base was in a terrible mood—
Dr. Arnim Zola.
The day before, he had received terrible news:
The operation failed.
The Winter Soldier team died.
Their target, Levi, was not captured.
And Pierce had ordered HYDRA to stop all actions against Vanderbuilt Technologies.
Zola felt humiliated. Furious. Betrayed.
He coveted Modia technology.
He needed it to revive HYDRA.
He needed it to give himself a new body.
He needed it to regain relevance.
Now Pierce had shut him down—publicly.
Even junior HYDRA officers treated him like he was nothing.
His rage exploded yesterday when a researcher made a small mistake.
Zola vaporized him instantly.
Not even bones were left.
The entire staff now walked like terrified mice.
Nobody dared look Zola in the eyes.
Zola worked alone in his dim lab, muttering to himself, plotting how to regain power.
Then—BOOM.
The door burst open, and a trembling subordinate rushed in.
"D-Dr. Zola!"
Zola's mechanical face swiveled toward him like an executioner.
"What is it? Speak carefully."
If the subordinate said anything trivial, he would die.
The man swallowed hard.
"D-Doctor… the Winter Soldier has returned!"
Zola froze.
What?
The Winter Soldier team had been declared wiped out.
How could one survive?
"Bring him in," Zola snapped.
Moments later, the injured Winter Soldier limped into the room, clutching his damaged arm. Zola's computer-screen face flickered with old memories.
"Long time, Bucky," Zola said. "We've known each other for many years."
The Winter Soldier stood straight. No emotion. Only duty.
"Report the mission."
He explained everything—
how Levi transformed into a powerful wolf-like form,
how the other Winter Soldiers died,
how he woke underground,
how he discovered the mysterious Faust Organization,
how Consortium X controlled everything behind the scenes,
and how Vanderbuilt Technologies was only a surface-level pawn.
Zola listened silently.
But when the Winter Soldier mentioned Consortium X, Zola's electronic eye flickered.
He had never heard of such an organization.
HYDRA had intelligence networks across the world—political, economic, military.
Their information gathering was unmatched.
So how could there be a group even more hidden than HYDRA?
"Evidence," Zola demanded.
The Winter Soldier handed him a USB drive.
Zola inserted it into his system.
Data poured onto the projection screens.
At first Zola dismissed it.
But the deeper he read, the more the scientist in him awakened.
Then excitement.
Then obsession.
Then madness.
"Excellent…" Zola whispered.
"This technology… if real… could remake humanity."
He saw designs for biochemical soldiers, enhanced human blueprints, transformation formulas—all fake, all created by Levi, but Zola couldn't tell the difference.
His ambitions exploded.
This technology could revive HYDRA.
This technology could make him powerful again.
This technology could make him unstoppable.
He started laughing—loud, mechanical, manic.
"Hahaha! This is perfect!"
But then he stopped.
He couldn't share this with Pierce.
He couldn't share this with Baron Zemo.
He couldn't share this with Strucker.
Not yet.
He needed to experiment first.
Only when he succeeded could he reclaim control.
"Seal this information," Zola ordered sharply.
"No one outside this lab must know. Do you understand?"
The Winter Soldier nodded.
Zola didn't know…
Every word spoken inside the lab was being watched by Levi.
Every reaction of Zola's was part of Levi's plan.
With a glass of wine in hand, Levi smiled faintly.
"Now the real game begins."
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