Steve Rogers ' face has been completely disfigured.
The bridge of my nose is definitely broken; no doctor's diagnosis is needed. The sharp, piercing pain that shot straight to the top of my head and the warm liquid blocking my airway said it all.
But his hand remained firmly gripping the armor on Rider No. 1's lower leg.
Even though her fingernails had been torn off from being dragged along the road, with blood and flesh hanging from her fingertips.
" Bucky..."
Steve struggled to open his eye, which was swollen shut and barely open.
Blood blurred his eyelashes, and the dark green insect helmet in his vision flickered with multiple images.
"I know you're in there..."
Rider No. 1 simply tilted its insect-like head.
This is reality.
Reality isn't like those third-rate Hollywood movies with five-cent special effects, where the villain just shouts his name and clutches his head, cries, kneels on the ground to repent for his childhood Shadow, and incidentally hands the murder weapon to the police.
Reality is harsh.
And it is usually accompanied by an extremely crisp cracking sound.
The right foot of Rider No. 1 responded to Steve's heartfelt call.
If that kick lands squarely, Captain America's head will splatter red and white all over the ground, like an overripe, rotten watermelon.
"Stop--!!"
This was followed by a visible ripple in the air.
"Buzz--!"
The shockwave slammed solidly into Rider No. 1's chest.
Rider No. 1 was able to remain perfectly still this time.
The kinetic energy forced him to take half a step back.
Before he could even get his footing, the noise of the propellers overhead drowned out the sound of the wind.
The door of a fighter jet was wide open.
"Shoot him through the air!"
The instructions are simple and direct.
Several Gatling guns had long since warmed up, their barrels spinning into a blurry, indistinct image.
This is not the kind of rubber bullet or stun gun used to tickle ordinary criminals.
This is S.H.I.E.L.D. -piercing round." Even if you're made of iron, it can turn you into scrap metal.
"Da da da da da da--"
Flames spewed out.
The drilling platform was submerged by this torrent of steel.
Rider No. 1 isn't stupid either.
Even if this armor can stop bullets, being pinned to the ground and subjected to a high-frequency massage with thousands of bullets is not a pleasant experience.
He swayed slightly, using the complex mechanical structure of the drilling rig as cover, and began to move at high speed.
"Grab him!"
A loud, excited shout, almost distorted, came from the communication channel.
That was the most outstanding speed-oriented agent in the " New Mad Dog " project, codenamed " Quaker."
This guy always looks down on others and believes he's a miracle created by God.
A silver blur darted through the gaps in the metal Stormfront, two high-frequency vibrating daggers in his hands buzzing, a sound that sent chills down one's spine.
He enjoys the thrill of using his speed to cut through enemies.
Especially cutting through armor that looks indestructible.
"Die, you big worm!"
Quaker circled around to the back of Rider No. 1, a sinister grin on his lips, as if he were about to succeed.
The dagger aimed straight for the tiny gap at the back of Rider No. 1's neck joint.
This is the confidence of a speed demon.
In his world, everyone else is a static sculpture, only he is alive.
But he forgot.
Some things are more terrifying than speed.
That's instinct.
Rider No. 1's left arm suddenly shot backward.
Quaker's neck tightened.
The feeling is no different from riding a motorcycle at 200 mph and suddenly having a steel cable put around your neck.
The person was abruptly brought to a stop during the high-speed sprint.
"Click."
The cracking sound was faint; the cervical vertebrae snapped, and the head flew off.
The inertia didn't disappear; the force caused his eyeballs to swell and burst out of their sockets.
Rider No. 1 flicked his wrist.
This body, which had been so arrogant just moments before, was flung into the air.
"Boom!"
An RPG Rocket fired from the side struck the "human shield" flying in mid-air precisely, without missing a beat.
Brilliant fireworks.
Blood, mixed with fragments of internal organs and unidentified pieces of flesh, dripped down on the group of agents below who were still in a daze.
A new agent wiped his face, his hands covered in a sticky, reddish-white substance.
"Vomit--"
The other agent's energy rifle was trembling, and he even forgot to pull the trigger.
Is this the target that the intelligence said was only a "Level B threat"?
Those idiots in the intelligence department who sit in their offices drinking coffee should be shot a hundred times over!
Taking advantage of this brief lull in the fighting, several agents wearing exoskeleton armor gritted their teeth and charged into the smoke-filled battlefield.
They didn't dare look at Rider No. 1; they simply lifted Steve Rogers, who was now a bloody mess, and dragged him backward.
"No... let me go..."
Steve is still struggling.
That's a stubbornness etched into muscle memory.
But at this moment, he didn't even have the strength to lift a finger, and could only be dragged along.
Rider No. 1 stood in the middle of the sea of fire.
Smoke was still rising from the dark green armor.
The disgusting tentacle on the left arm was slowly retracting into the body, the sound of flesh writhing sending chills down one's spine, and in the blink of an eye it returned to being an ordinary arm.
"Drop."
[Current environment hostile firepower index: High. Strategic value assessment: Decreasing. Order: Withdraw.]
"Enough, retreat."
Rider No. 1 acted without hesitation.
He turned around and gestured to the few Shocker Combatant behind him who were still yelling "Eee--!!"
The movements were swift and decisive.
"For Shocker!"
A combatant frantically grabbed a box of unopened C4 explosives from beside his feet.
He didn't throw it; he charged straight at the thickest main YouTube.
What is he doing?!
"Stop him!! Shoot him!!"
It's too late.
The madman is always one step ahead of the normal person.
"BOOM!!!"
A loud bang.
Immediately afterwards, a mushroom cloud rose into the sky.
The billowing smoke served as the perfect curtain, completely obscuring everything.
By the time the smoke cleared, the dark green figure had long since disappeared.
All that remained was a scene of devastation, with still-burning wreckage and the remains of several agents that had yet to be pieced together.
Washington, D. C., Triskelion.
The footage from earlier was playing on a loop on the big screen, over and over again.
Captain America was trampled underfoot by that green monster, like a dead dog.
That's Steve Rogers.
He is the living saint whom S.H.I.E.L.D.. has kept on a pedestal for so many years, and the embodiment of the America spirit.
Previously, posters of him and the Soldier Boy were pasted at the entrance of every recruitment station, and were even printed on elementary school students' lunchboxes.
Now he's been trampled into the mud, his face so swollen that even his mother wouldn't recognize him.
"Sir."
Maria Hill stood behind Nick Fury.
" Captain Rogers has been admitted to the ICU. He has 26 fractures throughout his body, a severe concussion, and a ruptured spleen."
She glanced at the report in her hand, and her voice lowered even further.
"The doctor said that if it weren't for the Super Soldier Serum still working, he would be a martyr in a box by now. We need to prepare the flag and play funeral music."
Nick Fury remained silent.
This operation was a textbook disaster.
Not only did they fail to catch anyone, they also ruined their own reputation.
"Three members of the ' New Mad Dog ' team were out of commission, including the most expensive Speedster," Hill added.
That's a significant amount of funding.
It's all taxpayers' money.
Hill.
Nick Fury finally spoke, his voice hoarse.
"Tell me, where did Rogers go wrong?"
"Intelligence misjudgment."
Hill's answer was straightforward, the most official and safest response.
" Sergeant Barnes's strength is completely off the charts; that arm is simply beyond the capabilities of Earth's technology. We don't even have a similar sample in our database."
"And..."
Hill paused, hesitating whether to tell the truth.
"And what?"
" Captain Rogers is out of his mind."
Hill slammed the damage report on the table.
He found relatives on the battlefield!
"The person opposite him is a killing machine, a monster, yet he wants to reminisce with them."
This is war, not a class reunion!