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Steve sprinted along the side of the ship, taking down every patrolman he encountered with swift, decisive moves, never once slowing his pace.
His efficiency was unmatched—each opponent fell in a single strike—until finally, after dispatching yet another mercenary, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Just as he prepared to feign surrender and catch his attacker off guard, a gunshot rang out. The enemy collapsed, shot through the head.
Steve turned to see Crossbones, parachute still strapped to his back, lowering his rifle.
"Thanks," Steve acknowledged.
"Looks like you can't do without me!" Crossbones teased.
By now, the rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. team had landed on the deck. Thanks to Steve's earlier efforts, their arrival went unnoticed by the remaining mercenaries.
Meanwhile, inside the ship, a lesser leader sneered at the hostages. "I've already told Bartok, if we want S.H.I.E.L.D. to pay, we should start sending them bodies."
His suggestion earned murmurs of approval from his comrades, bolstering his confidence. They had no idea that Steve and his team were already moving.
Outside, Steve reached the control room, Natasha was at the engine, and Crossbones led the special forces to rescue the hostages. Everything was set.
"On my mark," Steve commanded. "Three, two, one—move."
The special forces unit executed precise shots, eliminating the guards around the hostages in seconds.
Jasper Sitwell, one of the captives, watched as his captor fell before him. "Told you, S.H.I.E.L.D. never negotiates."
Meanwhile, Bartok, sensing something was wrong, prepared to flee just as Steve hurled his shield. The seasoned mercenary ducked at the last moment, evading the high-speed projectile. Unfortunately for the man behind him, the shield hit home, slicing clean through.
Bartok bolted toward the deck. Steve recovered his shield and gave chase.
"Hostages are being evacuated. But Agent Natasha is missing from the target location," Crossbones reported in Steve's earpiece.
Steve, however, had no time to dwell on that. His focus remained on Bartok.
As Steve scanned the deck for his target, Bartok lunged from the side, catching him off guard. Steve barely had time to raise his shield as a flurry of punches rained down, knocking him back.
Instead of frustration, Steve felt a flicker of satisfaction. Bartok wasn't running—he was fighting. That meant he wouldn't need to track him down later.
Ducking and weaving, Steve waited for an opening. When Bartok momentarily overextended, Steve drove his shield into him, halting his offensive. With the momentum shifted, Steve countered with a series of well-placed strikes, forcing Bartok to retreat.
Bartok, realizing Steve's strength stemmed largely from his shield, decided to change tactics. "What? Can't fight without that thing?" he taunted.
Steve didn't hesitate. He slung the shield onto his back, removed his helmet, and squared up.
Bartok smirked, thinking he had gained the upper hand—until, within seconds, Steve's relentless fists sent him sprawling. A final kick sent Bartok staggering.
Seizing the opportunity, Steve tackled him through a door, pinning him to the floor. A rapid series of punches left Bartok unconscious.
As Steve ensured his foe was subdued, a voice interrupted, "Oh, how embarrassing."
Steve turned to find Natasha, typing away at a computer.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"Backing up the hard drive," she replied nonchalantly. "Good habit to have."
"Rumlow needs backup. You're supposed to be with him," Steve reminded her.
Natasha remained unbothered, watching the data transfer progress. "Just grabbing some S.H.I.E.L.D. files."
"Our mission was to rescue the hostages!" Steve argued.
"That was your mission." Natasha unplugged the USB drive and smirked. "And you did great."
Before Steve could press further, Bartok stirred. Without hesitation, he pulled a grenade and hurled it toward them.
Steve and Natasha crashed through a nearby window just as the explosion rocked the room.
Dusting themselves off, Natasha quipped, "Okay, that one's on me."
"Of course," Steve muttered, already on his feet, resuming the chase.
Watching him go, Natasha finally seemed to grasp the weight of what she had done.
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