According to the latest intelligence, Hitler himself was preparing to send envoys to inspect Hydra's main headquarters in the Alps.
Chen Mo wasn't surprised. The Führer's patience with Red Skull had been wearing thin. Hydra was supposed to be Hitler's secret weapon factory—creating advanced technology for the German army. But under Johann Schmidt's control, the organization had expanded like a beast, growing its own army, seizing its own resources—while providing fewer and fewer results to Berlin.
Chen Mo's recent maneuvers had made things worse. Hitler's suspicions finally snapped. Sending trusted men to investigate was inevitable.
But there was another report—one that made Chen Mo's eyes narrow.
Multiple Hydra bases across Europe had rebelled.
Before leaving Norway, Chen Mo had ordered all Hydra branches in Europe to withdraw their forces and focus entirely on technological research. They were to stay out of the ongoing war between the Allies and the Nazis.
Now, however, several bases—apart from the three he personally chose to preserve, including the Alpine headquarters—had openly defied his orders. Not only were they ignoring his commands, but some had joined Hitler's offensive campaign against the Allies.
"So," Chen Mo murmured with a cold smile, "they've finally lost their patience."
He wasn't surprised. In fact, he had expected—and even encouraged—this.
During his quiet takeover of Hydra, Chen Mo had discovered that while the majority of its members worshipped Red Skull like a god and obeyed his every command, a small number remained loyal to Hitler. They were the Führer's planted seeds, hidden deep within Hydra.
Now that Chen Mo had drawn away all those loyal to himself, the remaining "Hitler faction" had seized control of certain facilities. With Red Skull missing for so long, their rebellion was only a matter of time.
He folded the intelligence report neatly and slipped it into his spatial storage, then took out another sheet of coded parchment. Quickly, he scrawled new orders—cold, concise—and replaced it inside the hidden compartment.
The messages were written on self-destructive paper: open the secret latch incorrectly, and the entire sheet would burst into flame, leaving not even ash behind.
Chen Mo could have used Hydra's wireless transmitters—he had one in his spatial vault—but radio traffic risked interception, even if it couldn't be decrypted. It would still draw unwanted eyes.
So he preferred this older, quieter method of communication: invisible, untraceable, and absolutely secure.
As for Hitler's inspection team? Chen Mo's next message was simple: eliminate them all.
The rebelling Hydra outposts were to remain under surveillance until he personally dealt with them.
Meanwhile, Dr. Arnim Zola's research into the Tesseract had borne fruit. Its energy could now be extracted and converted for use. His earlier theories—once pure fantasy—were beginning to materialize. The first generation of Tesseract-powered weapons was complete. Their destructive power was staggering, though the devices were bulky and required long charging cycles.
Chen Mo had already ordered Zola to continue refining them, keeping the weapons off the battlefield for now. The rogue Hydra cells, therefore, had no access to energy weapons—only conventional arms.
—
From the London headquarters, Chen Mo led an elite Strike Team of the Strategic Scientific Reserve to the front lines. Their mission: purge the traitor Hydra bases.
He would personally cut away the infected branches—cleansing Hydra's image from the world's stage while ensuring only his loyal shadow remained.
Before departure, Howard Stark called him to his lab. Time was short—too short to custom-build new gear—so he gestured at a pile of experimental weapons.
"Pick whatever you like," Howard said.
Chen Mo's eyes swept past rifles, plasma prototypes, and gadgets that would look futuristic even decades later. Then he saw it—resting quietly on a stand.
A silver-white circular shield.
Ignoring everything else, he walked over and picked it up.
Howard's eyes widened. "No, no, that one isn't finished—"
Chen Mo turned it over in his hands. The balance was perfect. It wasn't nearly as heavy as it looked. "What's it made of?" he asked casually.
Howard hesitated. "Experimental alloy—absorption steel. Stronger than any known metal, only a third the weight of steel. Most importantly, it can nullify kinetic impact."
Chen Mo smiled faintly. "Interesting."
The shield was about seventy centimeters in diameter—wide enough to cover his torso. With a small crouch, it could even protect his head. A perfect defense on the battlefield.
But it was more than that. With his strength, it could also become a devastating weapon. In the right hands, this shield was the ultimate balance of offense and defense.
"If it's that good," Chen Mo asked, sliding his arm through the straps and testing the grip, "why isn't it standard issue?"
Howard sighed. "Because there's only one. The material's unbelievably rare. What you're holding is the only piece of its kind on Earth."
He grimaced as Chen Mo gave the shield an approving nod and swung it lightly, testing its weight.
"Don't tell me you're keeping it," Howard muttered weakly.
Chen Mo glanced over his shoulder, amused. "Why? You were just storing it here."
"Because it's mine!" Howard protested—then stopped himself. One look at Chen Mo's calm, unreadable eyes, and he wisely backed down with a groan.
"Who made it?" Chen Mo asked.
Howard rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Dr. Myron MacLain. Brilliant metallurgist. He accidentally fused vibranium, iron, and… something else during an experiment. That shield was the result. But he could never replicate it."
"MacLain," Chen Mo repeated thoughtfully. He knew that name.
Howard nodded. "He's still in New York, trying to recreate the alloy. But vibranium's almost impossible to obtain, so progress is… slow."
Chen Mo's expression softened with understanding. "I see."
Then, without asking further, he handed the shield back—only to add: "Paint it black for me."
Howard blinked. "Black? Why would you—"
But Chen Mo was already gone.
And so, as the lab lights glinted off the freshly painted black shield, Howard Stark could only sigh in defeat.
Somewhere deep down, he knew:
Once Chen Mo set his eyes on something—it would never leave his hands again.