I cracked open a can of Dr. Pepper and listened to it hiss, savoring the early morning. Never let anybody tell you winning doesn't feel good. President Ellis was scampering, my position in Hydra was secure, PRIDE answered to me, and I was now the richest man in the world by market evaluation. Winning felt great.

My beautiful fiancee was sitting on the mid-century couch of my sparsely populated living room in some very flattering workout clothes, looking up at me with a smile that somehow still took my breath away. The world wasn't fair. There were so many people with so much less than me. But I was the guy sowing the seeds of prosperity for all mankind, an end to scarcity, to hunger, to want. This was just an early return on that investment.

"You know they say your body is your temple," she said, referencing when we first met.

"Well, it'll make you praise with a joyful noise," I replied with a wink.

She laughed at that and got up off the couch, throwing her arms around me, "Thank you for working on the dance routine with me."

My dance skills weren't great, but it was important to her that we have a good dance for our wedding. I put my hands around her hips and started to step slowly to an invisible tune. "It's basically the only thing I have to do with those planners you hired."

Andromeda laughed, kissed my cheek and said, "So glad I don't have to worry about the details. The invitations are basically written up by my mom, the planners handle all the stuff, and I'm wearing my mom's dress for the wedding."

"Very uncomplicated."

"I like things uncomplicated," Andromeda said, stepping up the tempo and forcing me to match her beat.

"You're a spy,"

"I have desk duty now. I'm not sure I want to keep doing it. Would that be okay?"

I smiled at her, "I'm richer than the Pharaohs, unless you want to buy a million dollars worth of prostitutes a day, it'll be fine."

"So a hundred thousand dollars worth of prostitutes is fine?"

"I would prefer no prostitutes."

Andromeda gave a theatrical sigh, "No prostitutes it is, then. May it never be said that I am not agreeable."

I kissed her then, felt her body drawn up against mine, and then almost forgot I was feeling at all. Just her and me.

It ended too soon of course, and we were back to slow stepping in my house. After awhile, we separated. I, at least, had things to do today. I always had things to do every day. It wasn't as bad as building the ship had been - That had been an endless series of disasters I had to fix, but it was still something.

Today, though, was worse.

"I knew you'd make head fast, but I wasn't expecting it to be this fast."

"Hey, I'm the Man of the Year," I said teasingly. "Not a ton of other choices available."

—

I was sitting at a large, long table, holding a Time Magazine naming me Person of the Year. I had already finished it obviously but it was a demonstration of my relative standing in the world. My right leg was shaking from nerves, honestly though not involuntarily. The great roofs of this wine cellar were private and had heavy Hydra guard outside.

"I've never seen you this nervous," Pierce said, leaning against the table and facing away from the door.

"You've never seen me acting this nervous," I corrected. It was a calculated display of vulnerability. I was now, effectively, Pierce's lieutenant. Or I would be, after tonight. "You're sure they're ready for a neophyte to sit at their table?"

"Hydra is an organization predicated on the belief that the worthy elect should rise and lead the world. They will not resent you… too much. We're only human, after all."

"A weakness they should overcome."

"Of course," Pierce said, offering me a Dr. Pepper before sliding into the chair at the top of the table. "But ambition is a key component in leadership. If I weren't comfortable with that, you wouldn't be sitting here."

I nodded my head in understanding and turned back towards the door.

The room began to fill. Gideon Malick, presently sitting on the world security council, a middle aged man with a receding hairline. Daniel Whitehall, a skinny scientist who I believed might have been the Nazi from Agents of SHIELD. It had been so long since I watched that show I wasn't sure. Baron Von Strucker, with his weird little monocle and bald head. He and Whitehall were the two mad scientists besides me within Hydra. Both employed, legally speaking, by SHIELD. An absolute waste of materials. The best we have - And they're not even that good. The Baroness and the Banker, an upper class woman from Europe, a rich Swiss banker who was probably a major source of pocket books. Octavian Bloom, one of the most prominent men in a number of fields, arrived last, his hair receding like his relevance in the world.

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"Thank you all for coming," Pierce said. "Things have changed a lot this year. Some for the better, some for the worse. I would like to introduce you to our newest head, Michael Gideon Trent, who's been making some major splashes."

There were polite head nods. Whitehall was gauging me like a frog he wanted to dissect. I could see that Strucker was particularly uncomfortable with my preference, his thumb had a very slight twitch that was suspicious. I didn't grin at them, many of them were European and do not have the effusive face language that we Americans speak natively.

"I know his unconventional approach has at times struck us as reckless. But I think it's borne itself out in influence. Today, we welcome him as a head of Hydra. Hail Hydra!" Pierce raised a drink and we all took one with a matching Hail Hydra. I felt a little silly drinking Dr. Pepper, but I don't like alcohol, it's only worse with my heightened senses, and I have no idea what it would do to my Super-Brain™ so I'm not risking it. "Mr. Trent, if you would, explain the initial plans of Operation SWORD,"

"The Starward World Organization for Research and Development is the largest opportunity for Hydra since the Tesseract. Space includes a vast supply of materials for our use - And lots of space to move dissident populations ultimately. Earth seems to be a relative backwater for space travel, if our sparse archaeological records of contact are any indication. But we shouldn't be overconfident," I cautioned quickly. "We all know that the capacity of non-terrestrial species that made contact with humanity was awe inspiring. Indeed, I'm counting on it. Humanity is born to strife, to contempt, to war. Hydra has always understood this. Once, we believed that we could come to power by embodying that trait. But we learned better. So what humanity needs is something outward to target. And there will be many options. We will be ready, ready with political and economic and operational expertise. People will flood to work at SWORD and we will create its culture from the ground up, unlike SHIELD. One dedicated to humanity and the future, not the soft promises of comfort that are all liberal democracies have left."

"And how," Whitehall said, "do you propose to do that when Captain America is leading a ship?"

"We shouldn't view Captain America's presence as too much of an impediment. I simply want the exploratory vessel to have a viable chance of surviving encounters. That means sending the best. For extraction industries and long-term research, we can make more ideological hires."

Strucker frowned, "All of this is reckless. Pushing forward without thinking, it's incredibly American. We should be careful. Precise. There is no rush."

"Mr. Strucker." I tapped the table, trying to hold my anger in, "The future is full of unknowns. It doesn't become less dangerous because we bury our heads in the sand."

"Gentlemen," Pierce interrupted, "It's a little late for this argument now. Rest assured, all of us will profit handsomely from SWORD's military, scientific, and industrial contracts as we work toward Hydra's supremacy over the globe."

And the meeting went on from there. Strucker was going to be a problem for me. He was not pleased to have me around. Fractiousness was wound into Hydra like barbed wire but it wasn't anything spectacular. Strucker couldn't do any more to me than I could to him, not with the social incentive structure that Zola had worked out.

Afterward, Gideon Malick approached me, "I have an alien artifact, that I'd like you to take a look at."

"I can make time eventually," I said cautiously. "What's the artifact?"

"It's an ancient object called a monolith, I think it might be a faster form of travel than the spaceship you designed."

"Fascinating, I'll definitely make time to look into it," is this the space cult guy? I had stopped watching SHIELD but I heard that there was like a secret space cult origin. "But I have a wedding in process now."

"Of course, when you're able," he handed me his contact info.

In the meantime, I had some destinies to reshape in Sokovia.