The feeling of adrenaline is pounding in your veins, like a frantic drummer counting out the rhythm of your desperate escape. Traitor. A brand now forever seared onto your soul, a brand with which S.H.I.E.L.D. has branded you. You are an undercover agent, having played the role of a double agent for too long, entangled in a web of lies and betrayal. But you chose a side. You always knew which side was right. And that truth cost you everything.

Now that your cover is blown, everyone is hunting you. S.H.I.E.L.D. wants your head for treason, and Hydra thirsts for revenge for the years you spent spying on them. You are a target, a walking target, and every breath you take could be your last.

Escape is the only way out. You must disappear, dissolve into the crowd, change your identity, and start all over. But for that, you need time, space, and a means of transportation.

Night envelops the city with its dark shroud, concealing your movements. The streets are deserted, like sets for a horror movie. You creep through the alleys like a ghost, looking for a chance. And there it is. A car parked in a dark corner, as if waiting for its moment. A black beast, exuding power and confidence. You don't know who it belongs to, but it doesn't matter now. It's your ticket to freedom.

Hacking the lock takes only a few seconds. The years spent in S.H.I.E.L.D. were not in vain. You get behind the wheel, feeling the leather seats envelop you in their warmth. You start the engine, and the roar of the motor echoes in your chest in a wave of adrenaline. You pull out onto the road, merging with the flow of night traffic.

You drive all night, not stopping for a second. Your goal is the border. You must leave the country, go into the shadows where neither S.H.I.E.L.D. nor Hydra can reach you. You race down the highway like a demon, squeezing everything the car can do out of it.

Night turns into dawn, and fatigue begins to take its toll. You stop at a motel on the outskirts of a small town. You need a few hours of sleep to recover your strength.

You wake up to a sharp knock on the door. Your heart sinks. It's them. They found you. You grab your gun, ready for a fight. But when you open the door, you don't see S.H.I.E.L.D. agents or Hydra thugs. Standing before you is... Brock Rumlow.

Brock Rumlow. His name sounds like a sentence. One of Hydra's most ruthless and merciless operatives. A man whose methods terrify even the most hardened agents. What is he doing here? How did he find you?

He looks at you with his cold, piercing eyes, and you feel a chill run down your spine. He doesn't say a word, just stands and stares.

"That's my car," he finally says, his voice sounding like the screech of metal.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You stole Brock Rumlow's car. This is the worst-case scenario imaginable.

You frantically try to figure out how to get out of this situation. Run? Fight? Neither seems like a good option. Rumlow is one of the best fighters in the world. You have no chance against him in a straight fight.