Part 1
– Beneath the Ice
Summary: S.H.I.E.L.D. divers discover a second frozen figure near the Captain America wreckage. He's embedded in ice deeper than Cap, body twisted in a fighting stance. His skin is pale and cracked with faint crimson veins, like glowing wounds.
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The ice groaned under pressure—deep, resonant, like a glacier exhaling after decades of silence.
"Sonar's pinging again. Two shapes now," said Agent Ramsey, voice muffled through his dive helmet. "Definitely not natural. One's the Captain's bird. The other's... something else."
Above them, the Arctic wind screamed across the dig site—nothing but white wasteland and steel scaffolding. Below, two S.H.I.E.L.D. divers maneuvered their way through the crevasse, careful not to touch the jagged walls. Their floodlights sliced through the murky blue, illuminating shattered fragments of wreckage, old metal beams—then bone.
"I've got eyes on him," Ramsey said. "Cap's still in there. Jesus, he's frozen solid."
The second diver adjusted their light. "Wait—there's... wait, zoom right. That shape—it's not from the plane."
No response.
"Ramsey?"
Ramsey's voice came back, strained. "It's a man. Not in uniform. No gear. No cold suit. Just pants. He's bare-chested."
The diver blinked. "That's impossible."
"I know what I'm seeing."
They moved closer, the glow from their shoulder lamps catching the surface of a jagged column of ice. And there—encased like a statue mid-attack—was the body.
The man was twisted slightly forward, one leg bent, one arm pulled back, fingers curled like claws. His face was angled down, mouth half open. His hair—frozen wild—spiked around his head like a crown of dark icicles.
But his skin…
Ramsey raised his hand. "Do you see that?"
The veins under the man's skin glowed faintly red. Not brightly. Just enough. Like the light was trying to get out.
"Get a scan," the second diver whispered. "Now."
From the surface, control buzzed in. "Agent Ramsey? Do you read?"
Ramsey didn't answer.
His eyes were locked on the frozen man's hand. Something about the fingers—it wasn't right. The way they hovered mid-motion, the shape, the stillness. It wasn't just that the man was frozen. It was that he looked like he chose to stop. Like he had paused in the middle of some lethal act, and time itself hadn't dared to finish the motion.
Suddenly, the lights flickered.
And for just a moment, the man's head twitched.
Only by a fraction. Only if you were watching.
Ramsey dropped the scanner.
The second diver's voice cracked through the radio: "That thing's not dead."
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