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007 Hydra Hail!
🕑 Added 2025-06-16 12:05:56 +0000 UTCThe man slowly straightened up. His previously friendly expression disappeared, replaced by a sinister presence—his entire body cloaked in an eerie shadow, like a venomous snake ready to strike.
He ignored the severe burns on his hands and stared coldly, his eyes filled with malice.
“How did you figure out I’m not him?”
Russell looked at the man—who was clearly neither Captain America nor the Human Torch—and laughed.
“Because you were too enthusiastic.”
“Even though I don’t know the Human Torch that well, he’s definitely not the kind of guy you’re pretending to be.”
But that wasn’t the biggest giveaway—Russell kept the real reason to himself.
He remembered from Deadpool 3 that the Human Torch operated alone. He didn’t have teammates.
Which meant this imposter was trying to lure him to some so-called 'base'.
And the 'feast' he mentioned? That would’ve been him.
The man across from him sighed and shook his head with regret.
“I didn’t even want to impersonate the Human Torch. I just figured the guy looked enough like me to make it work.”
“Clearly, that was a mistake.”
Russell raised an eyebrow, curious. “So… is the foul mouth part of the act too?”
The man sneered.
“From a psychological standpoint, swearing can ease tension. Helps the other person let down their guard.”
“Especially time prisoners who just got pruned and don’t know what the hell is going on.”
Russell frowned inwardly. Psychological manipulation, huh? This place really is dangerous.
Then he suddenly asked:
“With a face like that, why not pretend to be Steve Rogers? I might’ve actually believed it.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the man tilted his head—and grinned darkly.
“I am Steve Rogers.”
“HAIL HYDRA!”
With a shout, his hand whipped down to his waist—he had drawn a massive revolver before Russell even noticed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
In less than half a second, three shots rang out.
Each one struck precisely: forehead, heart, and left lung.
Efficient. Lethal. Cold-blooded.
Steve blew away the smoke from the barrel, sneering at the motionless body in front of him.
“Friendly reminder,” he muttered, “don’t get cocky in the Void.”
“Even if you’ve got high-temperature powers, only constant vigilance will keep you alive.”
He holstered the revolver, tore off a strip of cloth from his trench coat, and began wrapping his burned hands. His expression was calm—no sign of pain. It was clear now: the earlier screams were all part of the act.
But then—
A voice that absolutely shouldn’t have been there rang out behind him:
“Didn’t expect to learn such a painful lesson right after entering the Void... but let me give you a piece of advice.”
“Next time, don’t pop champagne at halftime until you know your enemy is actually dead...”
“Hail HYDRA, Captain.”
The voice struck like thunder.
Steve’s expression changed in an instant—his pupils shrank, and he involuntarily took a step back.
The man he had just shot—who should’ve been dead—sat up.
From the bullet wounds on his forehead and chest, a glowing lava-like fluid poured out.
It was impossible to tell whether it was his blood... or melted bullets.
The blazing heat had incinerated his shirt, revealing a bare chest that glowed like molten iron. Red-gold veins pulsed under his skin, and his golden eyes burned with fire. The air around him shimmered and twisted with heat distortion.
For a second, Steve thought he was staring at a demon of fire... risen from the depths of hell.
“What the hell are you?!”
He stumbled back, drawing his revolver again and opening fire in a panic.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The shots landed squarely once more.
But this time… nothing.
The large-caliber rounds didn’t even knock the man down. They only made him stagger slightly.
Russell grinned, his teeth stark white in the glowing heat.
“Now... it’s my turn.”
This time, he wasn’t going to kill with a surprise strike.
He wanted this one alive.
Using the strength granted by Extremis, he crouched low and launched forward like a blazing arrow.
Across from him, Steve had no time to reload.
But his battlefield instincts kicked in.
He knew: turning to run would be suicide. His only shot was a direct counterattack.
And—he noticed—this guy didn’t seem to have much combat technique.
Advantage: me.
Steve threw aside the revolver, roared, “HAIL HYDRA!”, and charged.
Just as they were about to collide, he shifted his position—quickly grappling Russell’s left arm and attempting a shoulder throw, using the force of Russell’s momentum against him.
It was a clean move. A smart move.
But reality was cruel.
The moment Steve’s hand clamped down, he screamed in pain. It was like grabbing molten steel straight from the forge.
He miscalculated. The heat was way higher than before—far beyond human tolerance.
Even the super-soldier serum couldn’t save him from this.
His palm sizzled against the burning flesh. The searing smell of cooked meat filled the air. Steve’s grip weakened.
He couldn’t hold on.
If I keep grabbing him, my whole hand will be cooked!
And that misjudgment proved fatal.
He tried to pull away—but Russell didn’t let him.
Though Russell lacked technique, Steve had practically handed him the advantage by turning his back.
Russell clamped down harder, braced himself—and drove his fist into the back of Steve’s neck.
With his Extremis-enhanced strength, one strike was enough.
The great HYDRA Captain collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
But Russell didn’t relax.
In the very next second, his palms flared brighter—glowing red and scorching hot.
Then, without hesitation, he raised his hands like blades—and severed both of Steve Rogers’ arms at the shoulders.
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