Marvel: Bloodstorm

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The truck rumbled and shifted along the icy road, its tires groaning against the frozen terrain. Inside, the young agents sat in a tense but comfortable silence, their thoughts consumed by the gravity of their mission.

The frosted windows revealed a landscape blanketed in white as they crossed the British border, officially entering the heart of Her Majesty's domain.

Ophelia, seated by the window, was utterly enchanted by the snow-covered surroundings.

Her wide eyes darted across the serene, wintry canvas as if it were a masterpiece.

She leaned closer to the open crack of the window, her mouth slightly ajar, attempting to catch a snowflake on her tongue.

"Is she always like this?" Zemo asked, a dry tone of incredulity coloring his words.

Vlad cast a sidelong glance at Ophelia, his expression betraying only the faintest trace of amusement. "This is her being calm. On a normal day, she'd be rambling about capturing ice gnomes or plotting to hunt Santa."

"Ice gnomes are real!" Ophelia snapped, her head whipping toward them as she furrowed her brows in defiance.

Zemo raised a brow and studied her with faint disbelief. With a resigned sigh, he made a mental note: 'Don't let her craziness get him killed.'

Vlad, however, ignored the back-and-forth, shifting the conversation to a more professional tone. "What else do we know about the mission objectives besides it being covert?"

Zemo pulled a leather-bound notebook from his bag, his movements deliberate as he flipped through its contents.

"Covert infiltration is just the starting point," he began, his tone steady and authoritative. "The larger goal is far more ambitious—finding allies within enemy ranks. The goal is to seed the next wave of Hydra's spies and agents in key positions within the Allied forces."

Vlad nodded, quickly grasping the intricate layers of the operation. It wasn't just about espionage—it was the slow, methodical construction of a Hydra web deep inside enemy territory.

Ophelia, still gazing at the snow, turned back to the group with a skeptical frown. "But doesn't this seem like odd timing? Why now? Why us?"

Zemo's jaw tightened as he leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. "The Allied forces are advancing faster than anyone predicted. Hydra bases are falling one after another. The SSR has become the spearhead of their operations, and the Howling Commandos are their hunting dogs. If we don't act now, we'll lose the upper hand entirely. This is precisely the time for infiltration."

Vlad frowned thoughtfully, flipping through a dossier Zemo had handed him earlier. "Still, this operation is high risk. The Strategic Scientific Reserve is already on high alert after Agent Kruger's cover was blown and Dr. Erskine was assassinated."

"And the intelligence we've been given?" Ophelia chimed in, her voice sharp with doubt. "None of it has been verified. For all we know, half of it could be a trap. Also, how are we supposed to infiltrate? The SSR isn't just going to draft random kids into their ranks, let alone bypass background checks."

Zemo let out a short laugh, passing Vlad a folder. "That won't be a problem. We already have an operative embedded within the SSR."

Ophelia's eyes widened in shock. "Someone's already inside? Undetected? Who is it?"

Zemo shrugged nonchalantly, but the faintest hint of pride flickered in his eyes. "I have no idea. Their identity is a closely guarded secret. What I do know is that they'll meet us near the London outskirts and guide us from there. Once inside, we follow their lead and trust their plan."

The truck fell into a brief silence, broken only by the faint rustle of paper as Vlad and Ophelia skimmed the documents. Vlad suddenly looked up. "Do we know what led to Kruger's cover being blown?"

Zemo chuckled, a humorless sound. "It wasn't blown. He broke his own cover."

Both Vlad and Ophelia blinked in disbelief.

"Why would a spy willingly blow their cover?" Ophelia asked, her voice tinged with confusion.

Zemo leaned forward, passing them a newspaper. "There's no official explanation, but rumors suggest it was tied to Dr. Erskine's work with the Americans on a super-soldier program. Kruger assassinated him before the project could gain traction."

The bold headline on the newspaper read: "Captain America Liberates Europe!" Below it, a striking image showed a broad-shouldered man clad in a star-spangled uniform, wielding a shield emblazoned with a star, surrounded by soldiers in Allied uniforms.

"Captain America?" Vlad murmured, scanning the image. "I thought he was just propaganda to sell war bonds."

"Not quite," Zemo replied, smirking. "The leader of the Howling Commandos is none other than Captain America himself."

A heavy silence settled over the group, the weight of facing a super-soldier sinking in. Ophelia, ever the one to break tension, suddenly grinned. "You know, I'm thinking 'Viper' for my codename."

Zemo sighed and crossed his arms. "Codenames aren't necessary. We'll be using aliases."

"But codenames are cool," Ophelia countered, pouting. "And besides, every good undercover agent needs one."

"Why Viper?" Zemo asked, arching a brow.

"She's a toxicologist," Vlad answered without looking up from his notes.

"And Viper is the only snake that starts with V," Ophelia added smugly, casting a glance at Vlad.

Zemo smirked. "Fine. Call yourself whatever you want—just don't let your Romeo-Juliet antics interfere with the mission."

"I make no promises," Ophelia teased with a wink.

The truck jolted to a halt, its tires crunching against the snow-covered road. Inside, the young agents exchanged curious glances as Zemo peered through the small curtain separating the truck's cabin from the rear. His sharp intake of breath was audible.

"Inspection," Zemo muttered under his breath, his tone laced with irritation.

Vlad frowned, adjusting his coat. "You said there weren't any checkpoints on this route."

"There shouldn't be," Zemo snapped, clearly frustrated. His usual calm demeanor wavered, replaced by the tension that often accompanied the unexpected.

"Let's just show our IDs," Vlad suggested, already rummaging through his bag. "If they're local patrols, it should be enough to get us through."

Before anyone could respond, a gruff voice barked from outside, cutting through the cold air. "Step out! Now!"

The three of them exchanged quick, silent glances before obeying the command. They climbed out of the truck into the frigid air, their boots crunching on the icy road. A pale soldier, bearing the Union Jack on his uniform, stepped forward, rifle in hand, the barrel pointed directly at them.

"Where are you lot coming from?" the soldier demanded, his thick accent adding an edge of authority to his words.

Zemo was the first to respond, smoothly slipping into an impeccable British accent. "Ah, officer, we're from Oxford, just passing through. Lovely weather for a journey, don't you think?"

The soldier squinted, his suspicious gaze darting between the three of them. Vlad stepped forward, producing a set of forged identification papers, which the soldier snatched and examined briefly. His expression softened, though his tone remained gruff.

"You'd be better off back in the palace," the soldier muttered as he tossed the papers back. "Let 'em through!"

"Thank you, mate," Ophelia chimed in with a bright giggle, adopting a cheerful demeanor. They climbed back into the truck as casually as possible, though their movements were calculated and deliberate.

As the truck began moving again, crossing the checkpoint and leaving the soldiers behind, Zemo exhaled sharply.

"That could have gone worse," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "You're lucky I've spent years perfecting that accent."

"Let's just hope the rest of the mission runs as smoothly," Vlad replied, pulling his bag onto his lap.

The truck finally stopped on the outskirts of London. The agents climbed out, their boots hitting the muddy, snow-dusted ground. They stood silently for a moment, taking in the sight of the sprawling city.

Smoke rose from chimneys into the overcast sky, mixing with the pungent smell of coal and damp streets. Trash littered the narrow roads, and the occasional sound of a horse-drawn cart mingled with the distant hum of conversations and footsteps.

"God, now I see why these people deserve to die," Ophelia muttered, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Zemo glanced at her with a raised eyebrow before scanning the cityscape.

"It's worse than I remember," he commented. "The first time I was here, it wasn't this bad."

"You've been to London before?" Vlad asked, his eyes following a group of children running down the street.

Zemo nodded. "Years ago. My father and I visited as ambassadors for Sokovia. It's a city that looks glamorous on the surface but rots underneath."

He didn't wait for a reply, instead motioning for the others to follow him. They navigated the maze of narrow streets until they arrived at a modest café tucked into a quiet corner of the west side of London.

The café wasn't particularly crowded, but it wasn't empty either. A handful of men sipped their tea or coffee, glancing occasionally at the newcomers but quickly returning to their own business.

At a corner table, a solitary figure caught their attention—a woman sipping from a steaming cup.

Her blonde hair peeked out from beneath a black hat adorned with subtle red markings. Despite the shade from her hat, her sharp green eyes gleamed as she noticed their approach. She didn't move, but a faint smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.

Zemo led them toward her table and spoke in a low voice, delivering the first line of their prearranged code. "Cubes of sugar are missing from your drink."

The woman's smirk widened. She set the cup down delicately and folded her hands in front of her, leaning forward slightly.

"I had eight of them," she replied coolly, completing the code.

Ophelia, unable to resist, muttered under her breath, "Who even puts that much sugar in their tea?"

The woman chuckled softly, her demeanor calm and confident.

"Funny," she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

She reached up, removing her hat and letting her blonde hair fall freely over her shoulders. Her sharp, sparkling green eyes studied each of them in turn, lingering on Vlad a moment longer before she introduced herself.

"My name is Melina Vostokoff," she said, her tone authoritative yet oddly welcoming. "Codename: Widow. But for the purposes of this mission, you will address me as Private Lorraine."

Ophelia had a small grin, her faces betraying a mixture of surprise and curiosity. While Vlad and Zemo, however, simply nodded, with their expression unreadable.

"Welcome to London," Melina said with a sly grin. "Now, let's get to work."