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V.G.D Base, Senior Instructor Dormitory.
Steve Rogers had just finished showering and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the black-and-white photo in his hand.
In the picture were his Howling Commandos comrades, with Bucky standing beside him, beaming in the sunlight.
"Bzz… bzz…"
The vintage keypad phone on the table suddenly vibrated.
"Hello, this is Rogers."
Steve set the photo down and answered the call.
"If you're selling insurance, I'm already fully covered."
"Skip the jokes, Captain. In my shape I'd need a crowdfund just to buy myself a wooden casket."
A weary voice came from the other end.
"Fury?"
"Yeah."
"Where are you?" Steve straightened up, his tone turning serious.
"Listen, Captain, no time for pleasantries. Natasha, Clint and I are together—in New Jersey."
"New Jersey?"
"Right, your second hometown." Fury gave a cold chuckle. "We found S.H.I.E.L.D.'s birthplace—also HYDRA's incubator."
"We found… Arnim Zola."
Steve's hand clenched. "Zola? He's alive?"
"His body's dead, but he turned his brain into data." Fury ground his teeth. "That Nazi bastard spilled everything. Pierce—the son of a bitch—is running HYDRA now. For decades they've been bleeding S.H.I.E.L.D. from the inside, sowing chaos."
"Nothing new, Nick," Steve said flatly. "I paid the Triskelion a visit not long ago—took me under five minutes to confirm it. At this efficiency, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget really should be slashed."
Silence on the line for two seconds.
"Motherf—… Fine, I got played." Fury sounded embarrassed, but quickly hardened. "There are things you don't know."
"Zola built an algorithm!" Fury's voice turned deadly serious.
"It predicts a person's future by analyzing their past—bank records, voting habits, even the pizza you order! If the algorithm decides you might hinder HYDRA… you die."
Fury snapped back into mission mode, words rushing out.
"Listen, Captain, the situation's worse than we thought."
"Pierce has lost it! In two days he plans to brainwash dissenting council reps and ram through the Insight Project."
"Once those three helicarriers launch, they'll sync with Insight satellites and eliminate twenty million targets in seconds."
"Among them: neurosurgeons, news anchors—and of course you and me."
"Plus… that metal-armed killer: the Winter Soldier."
"There's more than one Winter Soldier, Captain. Pierce will unleash all those monsters…"
"I need you, Steve. I need your help."
Steve was silent for a moment.
"Nick, I'm with Vought now."
"If you need assistance, go through proper channels—talk to my boss, Homelander. He'd love to save his Earth, and I'm sure he can handle a few lousy ships."
"Homelander?"
The name made Fury explode.
"You want me to beg that star-spangled narcissist? That camera-hogging showboat?!"
"Motherf— Steve, have you lost your mind?"
"I tried calling him! Dozens of times! And every damn time—"
—that Ashley woman picked up!"
Fury mimicked her in a cutting, nasal tone:
"Oh, sorry Director Fury, Mr. Homelander is shooting a Vanity Fair cover. Oh, he's at a Hollywood fan-meet. Sorry, he's golfing with the President."
"I can't reach him! He's busy being a celebrity, not a hero!"
"You'd put the fate of the World in that guy's hands?"
Steve listened to Fury's rant, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Nick, maybe he just ignores you because you're biased against him."
"He may be vain and love the spotlight, but when it counts he does protect the World."
"And…" Steve paused, "he's strong—stronger than all of us combined. If we're facing helicarriers and super-soldiers, he's our best shot."
"Motherf—" Fury grumbled. "I really don't want to owe that guy."
"Then we're done." Steve moved to hang up.
"Wait!!"
Fury panicked.
"Steve… one more thing."
Fury's voice dropped, heavy with a secret he'd rather bury.
"About the Winter Soldier."
"The metal-armed killer who knocked you flying."
"We found out who he is."
Steve's fingers froze.
"Who… is he?"
"James Buchanan Barnes."
Fury spoke the name slowly.
"Your old friend… Bucky."
Bzzzt—
Steve's mind went blank.
All sound vanished; only that name echoed.
Bucky.
Bucky's alive.
That metal-armed assassin… is Bucky?
"Impossible…" Steve whispered. "I saw him fall…"
"HYDRA fished him out and turned him into a monster." Fury's voice was cold. "It's what HYDRA does."
"Steve, if you want to save him—or put him out of his misery—you have to stop Pierce."
"Sure, I could toss my pride aside, kiss Homelander's boots and beg."
"Let's just hope he doesn't laser Bucky's head off."
Silence on the line.
Five seconds passed.
Steve's eyes hardened with resolve.
"Got it."
"I'll go ask Homelander for leave."
"Wait for my call."
He hung up, grabbed the shield from the desk, and strode out of the dorm—…toward the Boss's office.
Homelander was leaning back in his chair, enjoying Ashley's report.
"…new film Super Seven: Odyssey is breaking box-office records again. Also, Time wants you for their Person of the Year cover…"
Bang!
The door burst open.
Steve Rogers rushed in, more anxious than ever.
"Steve? You look like you just found out your wife's cheating."
"Worse." Steve cut straight to it. "I'm here to ask for leave."
"Leave?" Homelander arched a brow, walked behind the desk and sat.
"Reason? If it's about that blonde Nurse, I can give you three days."
"No." Steve shook his head, deadly serious. "Personal business. Some… unfinished old debts."