What is the HYDRA slogan? "Cut off one head, two more shall take its place."
They have done exactly that. After failing in World War II, they were not completely eliminated but went underground, infiltrating governments and organizations in various countries, spreading, growing, and waiting for the right moment like cancer cells.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was once their number one enemy, but now... HYDRA is almost successful.
They have planted their own people, controlled key departments, and even started secretly using S.H.I.E.L.D. resources for HYDRA's research projects.
But at this critical moment, in the blink of an eye, he is told that his ace, the Winter Soldier, has gone missing?
The Winter Soldier, who was brainwashed to be HYDRA's sharpest blade, has disappeared?
Pierce closed his eyes, forcing himself to think calmly.
The Winter Soldier could not have disappeared for no reason. He had absolute confidence in the control program for the Winter Soldier; it was Dr. Zola's masterpiece, perfected over decades, and had reached an almost perfect level.
The Winter Soldier had no autonomy, no memory, no self; he was just a perfect killing machine.
Unless...
"Did someone kidnap the Winter Soldier?" Pierce whispered to himself. "And took Mr. and Mrs. Stark along with him?"
This speculation was even more unsettling.
Not to mention that the Winter Soldier, as HYDRA's ace and a warrior who had been injected with the Super Soldier serum just like Captain America, could not be taken away silently without deploying an entire army. Who would have the ability to do that?
Furthermore, there were absolutely no traces left at the scene—no tire tracks, no helicopter landing marks, not even any extra footprints.
How did three living people leave?
Could they have flown away?
Pierce suddenly felt a chill. This inexplicable situation, this phenomenon that defied common sense, made him instinctively uneasy.
"Pull up all activity records for Howard Stark for the last six months," Pierce suddenly said, his voice regaining its calm.
"All itineraries, all contacts, all unusual incidents. I want to know what this old scientist has been doing lately, who he has met, and what he has been researching."
"Yes, Director." An intelligence analyst immediately responded.
"And!" Pierce added, his gaze sharp. "Focus on any... unusual connections, anything that defies common sense. No matter how absurd it seems, report it."
People in the room looked at each other, but no one dared to question him.
They began a new round of data mining, and the sound of keyboards clicking resumed, like some sort of anxious heartbeat.
Pierce walked back to the conference table, his hands pressed on the surface, looking down at the spread-out maps and reports.
His brain was racing, arranging, analyzing, and eliminating all possibilities.
Mr. and Mrs. Stark were still alive; that was almost certain, as there was too little blood at the scene to be fatal.
The Winter Soldier should also still be alive; the serum... it was a priceless treasure. Whoever obtained it would not destroy it easily.
So, who was it? What was the purpose?
A competitor? Other intelligence agencies? Or... some force he didn't even know about?
Pierce looked back at the big screen, staring at the blurry satellite images, looking at the empty car accident scene.
His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, making a ticking sound.
Whatever had happened, whoever the opponent was, he had to get back the Winter Soldier and the serum.
That was decades of HYDRA's hard work, the key to his future plans.
...
Stark Villa.
The morning sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the living room, casting warm spots of light on the floor.
Bucky Barnes was asleep in the guest room bed; this was the first time in seventy years he had truly slept.
There was no bone-chilling cold of the cryo-chamber, no drug injections before missions, no whispers of brainwashing programs in his mind.
There was only the soft mattress, the warm quilt, and the occasional chirping of birds outside the window.
Howard had helped him reattach that mechanical left arm; after all, he was awake now, and there was no need to be too wary of him. It was inconvenient to be missing a hand, after all.
Howard and Maria were also resting. Last night's ordeal had exhausted their energy. Although Mavuika's treatment had stabilized their injuries, the psychological shock would take time to heal.
Only Tony Stark had barely slept all night.
He was sitting in the Villa's study, which was Howard's private space, filled with books, blueprints, models, and various scientific instruments.
Tony rarely came in—not because he didn't want to, but because he felt it was too "Howard," full of his father's imprint and expectations.
But now, he sat at his father's desk, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth mahogany surface.
On the desk was an old photo taken during World War II. Young Howard Stark and Steve Rogers were standing together, with members of the Howling Commandos beside them, and Bucky Barnes was among them, smiling brightly.
Tony stared at that photo for a long time.
He had always known his father's work was risky; S.H.I.E.L.D. was not a charity, but an intelligence organization dealing with global security threats.
But he had never truly understood what that risk meant until last night, until he saw his parents in such a sorry state, and until he heard that the assassin known as the "Winter Soldier" had almost succeeded.
"If Mavuika had arrived a few seconds later..." Tony muttered to himself, leaving the hypothesis unfinished.
He dared not think about it.
Tony Stark had always considered himself a genius. He was smart, wealthy, young, and had everything an ordinary person dreamed of.
He designed weapons, drove sports cars, attended parties, and dated models... life was like a never-ending carnival.
But he had never really thought about what this carnival was built upon.
It was Stark Industries, built by his father's lifelong efforts; it was the relative peace of the World maintained by his parents' wisdom and courage; it was the safety bought by the lives of those who fought in the shadows.
And what was he, Tony Stark, doing?
Hosting lavish parties? Spending enough money in one night to support a small town for a month, pursuing thrills and pleasure? While his parents almost died on a remote country road.
He stood up and walked to the study window.
Outside the window was a meticulously maintained garden. Maria's favorite roses were in full bloom, looking delicate and dripping with dew in the morning light.
Further away, he could see the sea, sparkling, vast, and boundless.
He had thought all night. From the moment his parents were attacked, his brain had been racing, analyzing the situation, assessing risks, and looking for solutions.
The conclusion was clear: he needed power, resources, and influence.
And the fastest way to get all of that was to take over Stark Industries.
This was not an easy decision. Tony had always resisted this responsibility—not because he lacked the ability; he knew better than anyone that he was capable of managing the company well—but because he did not want to become the kind of person his father expected him to be.