This is a Hydra facility. Its location, despite everything the Avengers have taken from Hydra, is classified...although it's believed to be somewhere in Wyoming, near the Tetons.

In a medical bay, shirtless, Grant Ward receives many inoculations, from Iranian and Latina nurses. They're just the way Grant likes his staff; all-white.

He knows that Hydra only used the Nazis as cover in WWII. He knows that Hydra hates the weak and crippled more than it does the Niger-Congolese, the Nilo-Saharan (whatever THEY'RE worth), the Afroasian, the Austronesian, the Sino-Tibetan, the LGBTQ, or otherwise. Even so, Grant comes from a long patriline of Wards. He has more than a right to hate non-whites.

The nurses ogle him, as they treat him. Some of them giggle behind his back. Grant grins. He's tempted to discipline them BDSM style...but decides against it. The Avengers are at large, armed, and dangerous. This is no time to reminisce on Hydra's heyday...whenever THAT was.

Before Grant, a pair of glass doors open, parting ways. Beyond them, a VERY nice bed sits. It resembles Odin's, on Asgard. In its twin, Odin would spend his Odinsleeps.

During the Odinsleep, Asgard is vulnerable to attack. As strong as Grant is, and as short-handed as Hydra is now, when it comes to major front-line players, Hydra just might be dooming itself, by doing this to Grant.

"How long," Grant asks Stephanie Malik, "will I be out?"

She shrugs. "We're not sure." She flaps her blonde hair. "But to whatever end, we're pretty sure you'll turn out the way we want." She kisses him on the cheek. "I know what you're thinking, but the Red Skull was created in haste, and not to mention scarcity."

"Steve Rogers is no ǫ́ss," Grant snaps. "I, OTOH, will be every bit an ǫ́ss as Thor, as soon as I get out of that Æsir master bed."

"He might not be an ǫ́ss," Stephanie pecks him on the cheek again. "But he is an ass, and you're better than he is."

Near the glass doors, an uru hammer sits. It looks almost exactly like Mjolnir...only with a Hydra octopus engraved on the sides, rather than the three rings of Asgard.

"Still don't know how I feel," Grant admits, "naming an uru hammer after an apocalyptic wolf...or a pair of Strucker-generated twin mutants with her name."

"Well," Stephanie pecks him on the cheek again. "You'll always be OUR black wolf...Herr Ward."

"We don't even know if it'll answer to me, if I come off that bed like we want me to."

"Stop worrying! What hammer, uru or otherwise, couldn't like you? Your hands are less calloused than Thor's...if not more red."

Grant ascends the steps to the Allfather Cask. He's white boxers. Behind him, women ogle, and giggle. They can't WAIT to see what Grant looks like, when he awakens.

It's a big bed. It's got white throws and pillows all in it.

Clumsily, Grant crawls across it. All around him, illusory golden arcs shoot from the bedsides, and reconnect on the opposite bedsides. They flood the bed. Some of them lasso parts of Grant, like illusory tentacles...or ropes of golden blonde ásynja hair...

Grant is sedated, of course. Soon, he sprawls out, hypnotically, and collapses.

Stephanie ascends, smiles, and watches Grant sleep. He looks so peaceful.

"Good year, Grant," she whispers. She kisses her hand, and barely touches the yellow arcs. "Sweet dreams...of Valhalla." She turns, and takes her leave.

If Grant were awake, he'd ogle Stephanie's ass, in her descent. He'd sure want to; she's wearing all-white today...as she often is. Her father, Gideon, seems to dis-prefer other colors...other than yellows, blues, pinks, or pastels otherwise.

This may look like the Allfather's Odinsleep bed. But its headboard is branded with the Hydra octopus symbol. (Or, is it the Hive symbol? These Hydra politics can be SO confusing, at times...)