Underground Cage

The metal railing slid open slowly as Alexander Pierce entered the room with several guards, the door closing tightly behind him.

Soldiers in black combat gear were already on standby in this deep underground cell, each armed to the teeth with weapons aimed at the room's center, safeties off—as if thirty meters of earth and layers of security couldn't contain the beast in its cage.

The Winter Soldier, stripped of his jacket, sat motionless in the chair at the center of the encirclement. His expression was vacant, still, as though he hadn't noticed the seven or eight submachine guns trained on his head.

Pierce stepped into the room and waved a hand, signaling the nervous agents to lower their weapons and withdraw. He approached the Winter Soldier, removed his glasses, and carefully tucked them into his inner coat pocket.

The Winter Soldier ignored him, keeping his head down. This was unusual, and certainly not a good sign.

"Mission report," Pierce said.

The super-assassin lifted his head mechanically, his face filled with confusion and bewilderment.

"Mission report," Pierce repeated, bending closer. "Your comms went down for two minutes after the retreat order. What happened during that time? Were you attacked?"

The Winter Soldier met his pale gray eyes, stared for a long moment, then slowly nodded.

"By whom?" Pierce asked. "Who attacked you?"

The Winter Soldier furrowed his brow slightly, as if struggling to recall.

"I don't know."

Pierce took a deep breath. "Did you take them out?"

Another ten agonizing seconds passed before the Winter Soldier lifted his head again to meet his gaze. Alexander Pierce was certain he saw a flicker of eerie, shifting pale green mist in those confused eyes. Then the Winter Soldier's pupils contracted naturally, black ink surfacing beneath the mist, projecting some kind of barrier onto his retina.

Alexander Pierce instinctively stepped back. He'd never seen anything like it, but instinct told him it wasn't a good sign.

"No," the Winter Soldier finally answered. "He's here."

Pierce's face changed instantly. At the same moment, one of the black-clad Hydra soldiers in the room suddenly sprang into action. He twisted his palms, and two golden, translucent fan-shaped Magic Circles condensed in his hands, slicing along opposite trajectories as he spun. Two Hydra agents didn't even have time to scream before their throats were cut by the magical weapons, collapsing to their knees.

He wore Hydra's standard black combat gear, a helmet, and goggles so dark they hid his eyes—like a mass-produced Hydra grunt, utterly unremarkable.

"Take him down!" Pierce shouted, retreating toward the exit under his loyal men's cover.

It was that damned "Black Knight." Not only had the Winter Soldier failed to eliminate the target, but he'd brought him back to their stronghold!

No orders were needed; the Hydra soldiers in the room were already acting, but this task was clearly beyond them. The figure moved like a dragon through the crowd, the fan-shaped magical weapon cutting through steel like mud, blood splattering along fiery trails. Hydra agents fell one after another in pools of blood, while the black-clad invader seemed untouched, not even a thread out of place, utterly at ease.

"Take him down!" Pierce repeated the order, this time to the Winter Soldier. But the brainwashed super-assassin seemed determined to defy him, still sitting blankly in his chair, watching the black-clad man slaughter in the cramped cell as if it had nothing to do with him.

In close-quarters combat, no one could match this invader. Each man fell in an instant to that strange fan-shaped weapon. Everyone quickly realized the problem, and Hydra soldiers began trying to create distance, drawing guns to form a suppressive fire net.

Gunfire echoed like thunder in the room, a dense barrage surrounding the moving shadow. These Hydra soldiers were among the most rigorously trained, their tactical awareness rivaling any army in the world. Their fire crossed perfectly, so dense that not even a mosquito could slip through.

But the black-clad enemy didn't need to.

Not a single bullet touched him. The metal storm of gunfire stopped dead less than half a meter from him, as if hitting an invisible wall, each round deflected with a fleeting golden Magic Circle flashing in the air.

Shell casings clattered to the floor, and circles of varying sizes flickered without pause, like raindrops striking a still pond, rippling endlessly.

Alexander Pierce had no time for shock; survival was everything. He ducked, carefully avoiding the crossfire zone, and crept to the cell door, hoping to slip out. But he quickly found it locked.

Pierce was the facility's director; of course he knew the door code. He fought to steady his fingers—no easy feat with bullets flying past his head—and typed a string of numbers into the keypad, then hit "confirm."

The next second, the electronic lock let out a sharp beep, and the screen flashed red: "Error."

That invader must have changed the code.

The gunfire behind him was fading, signaling the fight's end. Most of the Hydra soldiers in the room, including Pierce's loyal guards, had already died for their duty. Only two remained, firing as they backed away in opposite directions, hoping to buy their boss a few more seconds.

Pierce typed another string of numbers, activating the password reset protocol. As one of Hydra's highest-ranking officers, he had emergency reset authority.

"Code XLZ-303," Pierce shouted. "Override security protocol!"

The screen blinked "Processing" for three agonizing seconds, then displayed the even more despairing message: "Unknown error, access denied."

Pierce froze.

How was this possible? He was one of Hydra's current Leaders, and this was his facility, his territory, housing one of his most valuable assets.

And now he was about to be locked in his own domain by his own damned door. How absurd was that?

The gunfire stopped. The last Hydra soldier fell, and no one was left to buy him time. The black-clad man swung his fan-shaped blade, cutting the final soldier's throat, then released his grip, and the two magical weapons vanished into thin air.

He began walking unhurriedly toward Pierce.

Pierce suddenly understood: the man had never been in a rush to stop him, because he knew Pierce couldn't escape.

Pierce's gaze finally fell on the Winter Soldier, that brainwashed brute still sitting blankly in his chair, utterly indifferent to the corpses and his Boss about to be killed.

But he was still Pierce's last hope. He shouted at the Winter Soldier, "Kill him! Do you hear me? I command you!"

"Don't bother," the black-clad man said, stepping in front of him. Pierce instinctively backed away.

"He's under a Hypnosis Spell. He won't wake up anytime soon," the man said flatly. "Honestly, if it weren't for that brainwashing program you gave him, the spell wouldn't have worked this well."

Pierce struggled to stay calm. "Who are you?"

"An old friend of yours," the man replied. "But that doesn't matter. Right now, I have a few questions I need you to answer. And then... I'll make sure you go quickly."

(Thanks to book friend Zhisheng Wang Yangming for the 600 starting coin tip, and book friends Smoke Think Wife, Pingtian Dasheng Want to Sing, and Wanshui Shuren for the 100 starting coin tips!)