In Marvel with Ultimate Gacha

Finally, Michael sighed and looked away. "Fine. I'll help." He raised a finger. "But not because you asked. I'm just curious to see how deep the infection goes before I decide what to burn next."

The way he said it sent a chill down their spines—not because it was cruel, but because it was honest.

Bucky murmured under his breath, "That's both reassuring and terrifying."

Michael simply smiled without humor. "Good."

"Since you know Hydra exist you must also have more knowledge on them" Bucky said as he looked at Michael, hearing him say this Steve and Natahs also looked at him.

Michael leaned back against the edge of the polished blackstone table, his form lit only by the soft overhead lights. He stood like a statue carved from fire and shadow—still, composed, but radiating a cold, commanding energy. His gaze swept across the trio in front of him: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and James Buchanan Barnes.

"You want to know what I know about Hydra's hidden roots?" he said, his voice even but layered with weight. The kind of weight that didn't come from speculation—but from firsthand knowledge.

He began, voice low like a teacher revealing a dark history written in blood:

"After World War II, the Strategic Scientific Reserve evolved into what we now know as S.H.I.E.L.D. It was meant to protect the world... but instead, it was infiltrated almost from the start. Arnim Zola—brilliant, twisted, patient. He was brought in under Operation Paperclip. And with him came rot. Hidden at first. A whisper. A suggestion. Then a network. A doctrine. A second skin under the noble face of your beloved agency."

He paused, eyes flicking to Steve. "Decades passed. HYDRA didn't die—they adapted. Evolved. Hid beneath your noses and took root like weeds in your garden. While you were saving the world, they were shaping it."

Steve just kept looking at him, but deep down he was boiling with anger, it was an legacy his lover have created and now seeing it being tainted while she is on her death bed make it hard for him. And to hear it now, like this, with such clarity, made his stomach turn.

Michael continued, his voice gaining the sharpness of a blade:

"Even after the fall of Hydra, their influence persisted. The rats didn't drown—they burrowed deeper. Survived in shadows. They migrated—into governments, tech companies, pharmaceutical giants. They're in the intelligence community. In the media. In places no one bothers to look because they think the war is over."

He leaned forward slightly. "But wars like this? They don't end. Not really. Hydra doesn't care about borders or ideologies. They just want control. And right now, they're watching, waiting... rebuilding."

Natasha's voice was quiet. "So you're saying they're still everywhere?"

Michael nodded. "Everywhere that matters."

A heavy silence fell.

Steve finally spoke, his voice rough with the gravity of what Michael had just laid out. "So what do we do?"

Michael's eyes narrowed, a flicker of power dancing in them like lightning behind storm clouds.

"We root them out," he said. "Every last one. No quarter. No mercy. You cut the weed at the root—not the stalk."

Bucky stepped forward then, his eyes hardened by decades of war and regret. He'd worn the Hydra symbol against his will, killed under their orders, lived in their chains. And now he stood as a man finally facing the monster without the muzzle.

"Then let's get to work," he said.

Michael gave him a slow nod, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Not of joy. Of satisfaction.

"Welcome to the real fight, with a clear real purpose," Michael said.

The words hung in the air, deceptively simple. But to the three standing before him, they cut far deeper than they seemed meant to. There was a weight behind them—an edge. Almost mocking, but not with cruelty. With clarity.

They knew what he was implying.

Bucky, the once brainwashed assassin, clenched his fists at his sides. He had fought for causes he hadn't chosen, bled for flags he couldn't remember. A puppet dancing on invisible strings, carrying the weight of lives he never wanted to take. This "real fight" sounded like a redemption he didn't ask for—but maybe one he needed.

Steve, the living symbol of righteousness, felt the sting most. He had always followed orders. Even when they didn't feel right. He was the shield they raised whenever they pointed a finger. Go there. Hit that. Save this. Carry the burden of truth even when it was built on lies. He stood for freedom, but how many times had he been used to defend something rotten?

And Natasha—she didn't move. She had always worn her past like armor, but tonight, it felt heavier. Red in her ledger, blood on her hands. She was used to doing "what had to be done," the spy who had done every kind of work, moral or monstrous. She saw through Michael's tone. Real fight, real purpose. Was it a condemnation? Or was it an invitation to something honest?

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

Each of them stood frozen—haunted not by what Michael said, but by what it forced them to see in themselves.

Michael didn't gloat. He didn't smirk. He simply turned away, pacing slowly toward the tall windows of White Estate. The wind brushed against the glass, stirring the curtains like silent ghosts.

He spoke again, more quietly this time.

"You were all weapons," he said. "Sharpened by others. Turned against your will. Now I'm offering you something different."

They looked at him, unsure.

He turned his head slightly, not quite facing them. "A fight you choose. Not because someone tells you to. Not for a flag. Not for vengeance. Not to repay the past."

"But because you know there's still a war worth finishing."

Michael's voice carried finality—but then his tone shifted.

"Let's start by making you all stronger," he added.

With a flick of his wrist, three aged books materialized in his hands—each bound in dark leather with symbols that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Without ceremony, he tossed one to each of them.

The books landed with a thud in their hands.

On the cover, embossed in fading gold:

"Basic Aura Manual."

*******

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