Alexander Pierce stood before a window in his office at Triskellion, gazing away from a STRIKE commander, Brock Rumlow, who was waiting at parade rest, and one of administrative agents, Jasper Sitwell, who was sifting through a stack of documents. It was quiet save for a low hum of sound scramblers establishing no word of their conversation would get out of this room. Finally, Secretary of Defense spoke.
“We’re ready to proceed with Operation Insight. HYDRA was never this close to establishing a new order. Our order. However, we may encounter a… hitch in our plans if we’re not careful.”
Other men kept silent.
“Once already, Steve Rogers thwarted our plans. Last time, it was enough he happened at a critical place at the wrong time, and he destroyed everything we worked so hard for. Now, we have to make sure it won’t repeat again."
Pierce finally turned his cold blue eyes on his main enforcer.
“Sir?” What are my orders?
“In an hour, you’ll be sent on a mission to Europe. Captain America will be sent along. Proceed as usual, but be ready to take him out at a moment’s notice. Even if you don’t succeed, it should give us enough time to launch New Dawn to a fully operational level. He can hardly be expected to avoid bullets from that afar” lips thinned by age curled in a smile.
“What about Black Widow, sir? She might notice something’s off.”
“For safety reasons, Romanov will be sent to Asia, instead.” Secretary gazed again at a breathtaking panorama outside.
“Thank you, sir.”
Sitwell raised his head from the papers.
“Sir, wouldn’t it be more prudent to send Fist of Hydra, instead?”
Pierce looked at him with a pity.
“No. Winter Soldier is a magnificent weapon, but he’s not always reliable. He also has a history with Romanov, and Barnes’ friendship with Rogers is legendary. We can’t risk him breaking his programming and giving Rogers more power and incentive to take us down again.”
“Understood. Sorry, sir.”
“He already has another mission to see through.” Head of Hydra mentioned in passing, and for the first time turned fully to other occupants of the office. “Any questions?”
“No, sir!” they called in duet.
“Dismissed.”
___
Mission in Mediolan was pretty standard. Get in, find and take down the bad guys – this time it was a group far too fond of pyrotechnics – secure the area, wait for a pickup, back to base, debrief, get their reports straight and then downtime until another mission.
They have secured the area when Rogers just walked off.
“Cap? Where you going?”
Rogers disappeared behind a corner without an answer. Rumlow cursed internally; he silently warned Rollins and followed at a fast pace.
When he turned said corner, he stopped at a curious view that greeted him; Rogers looking himself over, gazing at his own body as if seeing it for the first time. Then the man accelerated at a brick wall, climbed it in a record time and sat on the crown, grinning to himself. He leaned back on his hands and turned his face to the sun with a happy smile, eyes closing in pleasure.
It was highly uncharacteristic of Cap, who was friendly enough, but pretty much stoic towards any situation unless it was Romanov trying to get him to date any acquaintance of hers. Frankly, Rumlow had hard time processing the man swinging his legs like a pre-school girl, with according body language. Something was seriously off.
“Cap? You alright?” he called, warily moving closer. At least the area was still cordoned off, so there was no unhandy witnesses to take care of.
“Hi!” a carefree smile turned his way “you think I could Eccio my way to the roof?” blond head quirked, playfully assessing the front of a five-floor building next to the wall. Voice and accent also differed from Cap’s.
“Who are you?” Brock asked a pressing question. He was still in combat gear, so it was odd sight of his weapons caused no reaction, like it didn’t matter. On the accord of Rogers’ body language losing all hints of combat training, he didn’t pull a gun from his holster.
“Just passing through” the stranger in a familiar body leaned forward, still smiling friendlily. The answer was cryptic as all hell.
“How are you in him, though? And why?”
A shrug.
“I’m asleep.”
Brock have never heard about anyone being able to hijack someone’s body like that, and definitely not when the owner of the body was conscious. HYDRA could be very interested in this anomaly.
“Where are you from?” he continued the twenty questions game.
Blond head swiveled around.
“Don’t remember. Dreams make my head fuzzy. What’s this place? It’s pretty.” So, the hijacker probably had no access to knowledge already there. Short and out-of-it sentences suggested either a small child, or someone out of their faculties, which was common for sleeping people. Both unlikely to be any danger.
“Mediolan.” He didn’t see answering becoming a problem. In approximately half an hour the world will shudder and kneel before a full firepower of three helicarriers, and either the Cap will die, or the body snatcher will, which… “Do you switch the minds, or do you suppress the one already there?”
“I always wake up in my bed.” It kind of made sense.
“What if the body dies?”
Their earpieces cracked to life. A frantic voice urged:
“Captain, Rumlow and STRIKE are traitors! Take them down, NOW!”
Ah, so someone finally noticed something's off with Insight. No matter; by now, only Stark could successfully intervene, and even then he’d need to outdo himself performing a miracle. This time, HYDRA will come on top.
The body-snatcher froze, frightened and unsure. Brock grinned. That was the first and the last time he saw a deer-in-the-headlights look on Rogers’ face. It was hilarious.
___
You stared up, eyes not seeing the reality before you, but still focused on Rumlow's condescending smirk - the last thing you saw before waking up. You blinked a few times before closing them again. That was one of the weirdest dreams you had so far.