"The decision to use nuclear weapons is pure insanity. We'll win this war — and we'll prove to the world that America can end this crisis without resorting to nukes!"
No matter how dire the situation grew, Captain America still radiated unyielding optimism, his words stirring morale across the command center.
Nick Fury gave a faint, approving smile and patted him on the shoulder.
"You're right. The whole world is expecting the U.S. to die with the zombie outbreak. Stopping that from happening — that's our duty. We have to win this war, pull New York back from the edge, and keep the government from collapsing."
The tension in the room eased slightly. Everyone knew the battles ahead would be even tougher, but at least for now, they had something to hold onto — a purpose beyond mourning the dead.
Marcus took the cue and raised his fist as well, feigning the same inspired conviction.
"Whatever Hydra's planning," he said firmly, "we'll crush them together."
Fury nodded but suddenly turned serious, his single eye sharp as a blade.
"Speaking of Hydra, Marcus — there's something else I need to ask you about."
He gestured toward Agent Hill. "Hill, bring up that footage."
The others exchanged puzzled glances, not sure what this was about. Marcus, however, already knew. Fury was about to confront him about the Raft Prison incident — something Marcus had already prepared a perfect explanation for. In fact, this would serve another purpose: giving him a legitimate excuse to stay behind on the Helicarrier during the upcoming battle, away from unnecessary suspicion.
The command room's central screen flickered to life, displaying a shaky, low-resolution video. The feed came from one of the emergency cameras installed inside the nuclear bunker of Raft Prison.
The footage showed chaos — prisoners rampaging, fire everywhere.
At the center of the carnage was a masked man wielding a katana wrapped in crimson flame, cutting down soldiers and enhanced inmates alike: Juggernaut, Sandman, Doctor Octopus, Green Goblin, and Lizard — all slain in rapid succession.
The recording stopped just as Abomination broke through the bunker's reinforced doors.
Everyone in the room stared at the paused image — at the mysterious warrior's silhouette. Even through the distortion, his physique and posture bore a disturbing resemblance to Marcus.
Fury stepped forward. "Before we deployed to Sokovia," he explained, "Hydra agents — the Winter Soldier, Crossbones, and Aldrich Killian of A.I.M. — launched a joint assault on Raft Prison. They freed numerous high-risk prisoners: Abomination, Whiplash, Quake, Toad, and Porcupine, among others. To prevent panic, I didn't tell the team earlier. I hope you understand."
Captain America frowned deeply. "So that's how Abomination ended up in Sokovia." His voice was edged with frustration — another lie from Fury, another truth hidden "for the greater good."
Fury nodded. "Exactly. But now there's something else."
He pointed at the screen. "This man — the one with the red flames — he appears to be working with A.I.M. Do you know who he is, Marcus? Have you ever come into contact with him?"
Marcus knew denial would only make things worse. Fury was too sharp to fall for a simple "I don't know." Fortunately, Marcus had already prepared a story that would not only clear suspicion but deepen their trust in him.
"I thought he was dead," Marcus began solemnly, his tone low and measured. "In fact… I thought I killed him."
The room went still.
"You remember what I told you about my past — how I was raised among Hydra assassins?"
Agent Hill's eyes widened as she recalled his earlier confession — the tragic story Marcus had once told Tony Stark.
"You said… if someone forced an eight-year-old to kill, made a ten-year-old fight his best friend to the death, sent him on solo assassinations by eleven — and finally shot him down in the street when he escaped — that's what true cruelty meant."
She paused, her voice catching. "Wait… you don't mean—"
The realization dawned across every face in the room.
Marcus's gaze dropped, his voice trembling just enough to sound real.
"Yes. The friend I killed that day… was my twin brother."
Gasps echoed softly through the command center.
"I didn't know," Marcus continued, each word heavy with fabricated sorrow. "I didn't even realize it was him until it was too late. We were both products of Hydra's program — two children shaped into weapons. I thought he died that day, but it seems Hydra found him… kept him alive… and experimented on him."
He gestured toward the image on the screen. "That red fire — it's not power. It's pain. The same torment I endured, magnified and twisted. I suppose… he became what I could have been, if I'd never escaped."
The silence that followed was suffocating. No one spoke.
Even Fury — hardened by decades of espionage — hesitated, struggling between skepticism and sympathy.
It was, in truth, one of the simplest lies Marcus had ever told. Yet it was also his most convincing. Because sometimes, the simplest stories — the ones painted in tragedy — are the easiest to believe.
Fury finally exhaled. He'd seen countless coincidences in his life — impossible ones. He knew that the Winter Soldier had once been Steve Rogers' best friend, Bucky Barnes. Stranger things had happened.
Two men with similar builds, different powers, different circumstances… it was implausible they were the same person.
A twin, on the other hand — that was possible.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Marcus… you're saying that man might really be your brother?"
Marcus lowered his eyes, feigning internal conflict. "I'm not sure. His movements, his height — they're too familiar. If it isn't coincidence, then… yes. It must be him."
He let his voice crack, just slightly. "But if he's still alive… I don't know if I could face him again. Not after what I did."
Steve Rogers stepped forward, his expression sympathetic. "Don't blame yourself, Marcus. If he really is your brother, no one expects you to fight him. Some things… are beyond duty."
Marcus looked up, eyes shimmering with just the right amount of emotion. "Thank you, Captain."
He lowered his gaze again, hiding the cold, calculating glint in his eyes.
The best lies were those built on human compassion.
And right now, they all believed his.
_____
T/N:
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