𝑾𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴𝑺 ━━ 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

4 The last whisper of love

Germany, HYDRA HQ, 1945

ALARMS pierced the air, echoing throughout the compound as Hydra soldiers raced into position. My breaths quickened, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and my heart pounding with fierce determination. As I careened forward on the bike, my aim was committed—to infiltrate, to avenge, and to save.

The bike became a weapon, ramming through gun emplacements, tearing through barbed wire, a force of reckoning against Hydra's defenses. With precision, I targeted the guards, each strike a blow for justice, for the ones I had lost. But the chaos surged around me, guards retaliating with gunfire and explosives, their assault relentless.

In the heat of battle, I maneuvered swiftly, using every skill at my disposal. Tossing a grenade, and deflecting blasts with the shield, I fought with an unwavering determination, an indomitable spirit fueling each move. However, the tides turned as a Hydra rifleman punctured my tire, sending me hurtling from the bike.

Even on foot, I refused to yield, fists swinging in every direction, a testament to my unyielding resolve. But the overwhelming number of guards dragged me in, their grip unyielding, as the sinister visage of the Red Skull confronted me.

"Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait... but I will say you do it better than anyone else," the Skull's voice dripped with malice, his twisted grin baring crimson teeth.

"He told me you were insane. That seemed like enough," I retorted, defiance etched in my voice, though my body ached from the assault.

"He resented my genius and tried to deny me what was rightfully mine. Yet he gave you everything. What made you so special?" the Skull seethed, taunting with every word.

"Nothing... I'm just a kid from Brooklyn," I declared, my voice laced with unyielding resilience.

The Skull's fury boiled over, his violent blows battering me relentlessly. I withstood, each strike bearing the weight of my determination, the strength drawn from the memories of my past.

"I can do this all day," I panted, my spirit unbroken, my resolve unwavering even in the face of agony.

"I believe you can. But I am on a schedule," the Skull sneered, raising his Luger, the threat imminent.

"So am I," I countered, steeling myself for whatever came next.

Before the final blow could land, three figures soared in, crashing through the window in a thunderous arrival. Dugan, Falsworth, and Jones—my comrades—erupted into the room, their arrival a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

As the tides turned, the skirmish ensued, a collision of chaos and fury against the Hydra regime. At that moment, amongst the mayhem and the fight, I found renewed strength, buoyed by the sight of my allies, fueled by the promise of justice and redemption.

The final clash loomed before me, an intense convergence in the heart of Hydra's stronghold. Dugan's fierce blow landed with staggering force, an opening that allowed me to incapacitate the other guard, their defeat a testament to our unwavering unity against tyranny.

The Skull, realizing his impending defeat, frantically discharged blasts as he retreated through the door. Allied soldiers stormed in, a wave of resilience and determination propelling our offensive. Falsworth, with precision and determination, wrested the shield from a fallen guard, a symbolic transition of power in that critical moment.