Damn it. We got played.
Those three words were like a bucket of ice water poured straight from Levi's head down to his heels, chilling him to the bone.
In that instant, everything else vanished—Hydra, Captain America, whatever bullshit mission he was supposed to be on. All that remained was the cold fury of being deceived, followed by a tidal wave of fear that surged up without mercy.
He wasn't an idiot.
In his previous life, Levi had spent years clawing his way through society. He'd seen plenty of wordplay hidden in contracts, listened to more than enough empty promises from bosses. When it came to traps, he had an almost animal-like intuition.
The distances marked on the map and what he was seeing with his own eyes were completely off.
According to the scale on the map, their current position should still be at least seven or eight kilometers from the factory, separated by several mountain ridges. On a snowy night like this, even if the factory set off fireworks, all you'd see would be a faint glow on the horizon.
But now?
Not only could he see the continuous spread of lights, he could even vaguely make out the silhouettes of tall structures inside the factory complex.
That meant their straight-line distance from the factory was no more than two kilometers.
This wasn't just close.
This was practically sticking their faces right up against Hydra's surveillance cameras.
Why?
There was only one explanation.
The map was fake. Or rather—it had never been meant for "their own people" in the first place.
Cold sweat instantly soaked Levi's back.
The map had come from the Hydra squad leader he'd killed. At the time, he'd been too busy celebrating his good fortune, convinced he'd struck gold. He hadn't thought deeper.
Now that he did, the holes were everywhere.
What kind of patrol map was drawn so "artistically"? Crooked lines, vague scale, key locations reduced to crude doodles. This wasn't a proper military map at all.
It was far more likely… deliberate bait.
Hydra had surely captured Allied prisoners and spies more than once. It would be easy for them to intentionally "leak" false maps—letting prisoners glimpse them, or even planting them on officers who were guaranteed to be killed and searched.
Then, those poor bastards who thought they'd escaped with priceless intelligence would do exactly what Levi had done—follow the map, convinced they were taking the safest route.
Never realizing that the so-called "safe route" was actually a carefully prepared death trap.
That spot marked Hunter's Hut probably wasn't a shelter at all. It was more likely a minefield or an observation post packed with sensors. If they'd dragged Gabe straight over there, they'd probably be lighting up the night sky right about now.
"Levi… what's wrong?" Gabe, lying on the sled, sensed something was off. He saw Levi frozen in place, staring at the distant factory, his face frighteningly pale.
Levi didn't answer immediately. He crouched down, pulling the sled behind several thick spruce trees. Dense branches and piled snow concealed them for the moment.
Only then did he whisper, his voice barely audible:
"Gabe, we've been played. This map is fake."
Gabe Jones was a veteran soldier. He froze for a second, then followed Levi's gaze toward the factory. After just one look, his face turned deathly white.
As a soldier, he understood distance and visibility even better than Levi. They'd been dragging a sled across open ground for ages—basically strolling right under Hydra's noses.
"Those Nazi sons of bitches…" Gabe cursed softly, sweat beading on his forehead. He tightened his grip on his carbine and scanned the darkness.
"We weren't spotted, were we?"
"I don't know," Levi said, shaking his head. "But we can't gamble. From now on, we assume a search team is already moving this way."
Fear clenched both their hearts like an invisible hand.
Only now did Levi truly understand what war was. Not a movie. Not a game. No save points, no retries. One wrong step, one tiny oversight, and you were finished.
His precious foreknowledge from movies was laughably fragile in the face of real, brutal reality.
What now?
Go back? To the cave? No—that place would be found eventually.
Keep heading toward the "hunter's hut"? That was suicide.
They were stuck in a dead end.
"Levi, listen to me." Gabe suddenly spoke, his voice eerily calm. He grabbed Levi's arm, eyes filled with a soldier's resolve.
"Leave me here. Hide me somewhere. You go on alone—smaller target, easier to avoid patrols. Find the captain. Finish the mission. Don't worry about me. That's an order."
That again.
Levi looked at him, equal parts annoyed, amused—and strangely moved.
He patted Gabe's hand and shook his head.
"Save it. First, you're not my commanding officer. Second, the Howling Commandos don't abandon teammates. I'm not saying that a third time."
He took a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to calm.
The more dangerous things got, the calmer he had to be. That was the one useful thing he'd learned from countless late nights and getting chewed out by bosses.
"The map's fake, but our brains aren't," Levi said, his eyes sharpening. "If Hydra wants to screw with us, we'll play along—our way."
He crumpled the damn map and shoved it into his pocket. Then he closed his eyes, focusing entirely on his hearing.
The healing factor he'd copied came from the X-gene. Beyond regeneration, it enhanced his body across the board. The boost wasn't huge—but his hearing was far sharper than a normal person's.
Wind. Snow brushing against branches. The faint crack of overloaded limbs snapping under ice. Countless subtle sounds flowed into his ears, forming an invisible soundscape in his mind.
Gabe watched quietly, not daring to interrupt. From this young Eastern comrade, he felt a steadiness far beyond his years—something solid, dependable. His own panic slowly eased.
After a few minutes, Levi snapped his eyes open.
"Follow me."
Without hesitation, he grabbed the sled and headed in a direction completely opposite their original plan—toward lower ground, where the trees grew denser.
"Where are we going?" Gabe asked, confused.
"To somewhere actually safe," Levi replied, dragging the sled through the uneven snow.
"Listen—upwind. Hear that water?"
Gabe strained his ears. Between gusts of wind, a faint whoosh could indeed be heard.
"The river!" he blurted out. "The one we used to lose the dogs earlier!"
"Exactly," Levi said, a faint smile appearing.
"Hydra's map lured us toward high, open ground—trap zones. Which means the lowlands near water are their weak spot. They don't bother defending it because no one's stupid enough to head toward a river in winter."
"And rivers mean banks," he continued. "Banks get eroded. Natural caves and rock crevices. Way safer than any man-made 'hunter's hut.'"
Gabe was speechless. In just a few minutes, Levi had unraveled the trap and built a new plan that actually made sense.
Watching Levi drag the sled ahead, that not-especially-broad back somehow looked tall and unshakable.
The road ahead was even worse.
Snow lay deeper in the lowlands. Every step cost Levi enormous effort. The sled snagged on roots and rocks, forcing him to stop again and again. Sweat streamed down his face, freezing into frost along his eyebrows.
But his steps never faltered.
At last, the sound of running water grew clear. Pushing through the final brush, a river seven or eight meters wide appeared before them—only partially frozen, white mist rising from its surface.
Just as Levi predicted, the riverbank was riddled with rocks and crevices carved by the current.
His eyes scanned rapidly, locking onto a spot.
At a bend in the river, beneath a massive boulder, was a dark opening hidden by vines and dead grass—just big enough for a person to crouch through.
"There."
He pulled the sled over, checked the cave himself to make sure nothing was living inside, then helped Gabe in.
Together, they got Gabe settled into the narrow but dry and surprisingly warm rock shelter.
Less than ten square meters—but to two fugitives, it was a presidential suite.
Levi hauled in their gear, then camouflaged the entrance with branches and vines. From outside, nothing looked amiss.
Only then did he finally relax, slumping against the cold stone, utterly spent.
He was exhausted—not just physically, but mentally. The constant tension had drained him dry.
Gabe looked at him, eyes full of gratitude and guilt.
"Levi… thank you. If not for you—"
"Enough," Levi cut him off, waving a hand.
"We're safe for now. Rest. Heal your leg. I need to… I need to check how much time we have left."
He closed his eyes and sank into his mind.
The cold countdown ticked on, merciless as ever.
[Ability Copier] Cooldown Remaining: 2 days, 19 hours
Time was running out.
He didn't know where Captain America was. He didn't know what had happened to the rest of the Howling Commandos. All he knew was that he had to reach that damned factory within two days.
And now, he didn't even know its real position.
Levi opened his eyes, staring through the camouflaged gap at the endless night beyond.
For the first time, doubt crept into his heart.
Maybe… Gabe was right.
Maybe he really should go alone.