The Winter Soldier: Master of Madripoor

4

The palpable excitement he'd felt as he watched the Insight helicarriers slowly rise into the air on their mission to eliminate all who could even possibly go against Hydra and their vision for the world almost made him shiver. He'd paused at a window in the Triskelion, ostensibly SHIELD headquarters but in fact it was really Hydra's headquarters, to watch the culmination of decades of work by so many different people in its triumphant ascendancy. He'd felt a lump in his throat at the sight, along with a surge of amusement at how he was getting misty eyed, he who'd been working in many different roles in Hydra since he was right out of high school and felt he was immune to any sentimentality. It was such a magnificent sight and soon he would be in a new role, in a new world and Hydra would be running everything. As it should be.

His current name was Diego Smith, as good a name as any, though it was not the one he was born with. He had chosen it as a name to keep on file in Hydra and SHIELD, one to go back to after whatever aliases he'd used on missions had to be discarded because it was a simple name, easy to remember without giving anything away about himself. He was of medium height, well built, with a face that was softly handsome, approachable, trustworthy and of indeterminate ethnicity at first glance. It made it easy for him to fit in anywhere, to gain entrance to anything, with a change of clothes and an easy smile that made more than a few people of any gender attracted to him. He could seduce anyone he had to for information, to manipulate them, or to kill them as Hydra commanded. He'd spent the last two decades of his life honing his skills at manipulation and information gathering more than anything, slowly rising until he reported to the leader of Hydra himself, Alexander Pierce.

Smith had gotten an order to report to the Triskelion only forty-eight hours earlier, as had many other Hydra members, to celebrate their nascent victory. He was still elated even as Steve Rogers had somehow made his announcement, entirely predictable and utterly inane in its call for action when he could never hope to stop what had been so long in the making. The helicarriers had risen anyway, with Smith watching almost in tears at the beauty and simplicity of it all. He'd wished briefly that Arnim Zola had lived to see such a magnificent sight and then he'd frozen in shock, fear and anger as the helicarriers began firing at each other.

Watching in horror, Smith realized Rogers had somehow been successful, against all odds and with few allies in SHIELD to help him. He'd ran to find anyone he could, desperate for news and been told, tersely by members of the Strike team that the helicarriers were compromised, the building had to be evacuated in light of how likely it was that the helicarriers would crash into it. Smith's anger crystalized as he ran for his life, only it was very nearly too late, as one of the helicarriers had indeed crashed into the building, burying him under rubble so near the exit he could have touched it.

"There's someone there!" The voice was distant, distorted as he slowly regained consciousness. "We'll get you out! Hold on!"

Hands reached for him, pulling him out as other hands pushed or pulled the debris from on top of him. He'd managed to clear his head enough to hoist himself out with help from the rescuers and he'd coughed roughly in the smoke, dust and dirt of what had once been the proud secret headquarters of Hydra. After a quick check by medics, he was cleared to leave as they had many other casualties in worse shape than he was with cuts, bruises and a concussion. He had turned immediately back into what was left of the building, flagging down a few Hydra members he'd recognized, until a small group, including a few of the black clad Strike team members finally made their way away from the scene.

They had stood near the river, away from the immediate chaos of rescuers, emergency vehicles and the smoking wrecks the helicarriers. Smith was seething at the sight of what had been Hydra's triumph, brought down by none other than Steve Rogers who still bore the title of Captain America as if it meant anything. He'd turned to the group, all equally angry or dazed and in shock and asked quietly, mindful of being overheard: