The trees were bare and covered in a thin layer of frost. The sea of trees on the rolling mountains had dropped all their fall leaves and were now barren and the ground dull.
In a valley between two bulging mountains sat an old broken down town on top of a hill: Zebreva. The Sokovian city that had its spirit broken and now carried on day after day, cracked and barely clinging on to life.
Old waterlogged posters about fighting America drifted around on the cobblestone streets while the dead leaves danced and swirled in circles.
Large cracks interrupted the now dulled paintings that covered the side of apartment buildings. The bright cloudless sky caused the buildings shadows to stretch thin and long across the empty outskirts of the Sokovian streets.
Beginning from the deserted outskirts all the way to the city centre were two constants: litter and debris.
As the streets began to narrow and wind the closer you got to the heart of the city, the sounds became louder. The echoing sounds that leapt and jump and rose off the walls: the angry shouts of a Sokovian city finally done with the powerlessness they faced everyday.
The powerlessness they faced in looking at each other's dull eyes in lost faces. The powerless they saw in the debris left from war, a war they had had no chance in winning and a war they had never wanted to enter in the first place. They saw powerlessness in the deficit of their buildings.
But something has changed the past year. An electric undercurrent that sparked and nipped at the people. They had had enough of the powerlessness. They wanted change. They wanted power. They wanted revenge.
And none wanted change more than the Maximova twins. It was what had drawn Romina Zuitev far over the Romanian border and right into the heart of Zebreva where the twins lived.
But Romina didn't want change. For nothing could change the fact that her brother was dead, burned in the fire on the American embassy in Romania by the nameless terrorist group from Sokovia.
From the second the first sparked flared up and sent a frenzy of heat that ate up and destroyed everything in its path Romina knew who had lit it.
The twins from the nameless group her brother had hated so much, and by proxy, her. They had declared war on Romania the second they had crossed her borders. But it hadn't been Romanians they were after, it had been the Americans; nonetheless they had still invaded Rominas homeland.
A century ago the Sokovians had fought for independence, and now they dared to cross the border back again. Romina shook her head in disdain at the irony.
No, Romina didn't want change. She wanted to finish what her brother couldn't do. Kill the twins.
She had never taken anyone's life before, but after her brothers had been taken, the last person she had loved had left her, something insider her had snapped. No, not snapped. Disappeared.
In its place, anger came, a constant burn that altered between rising and soaring and burning everything in its path, to the sparkling cracks of embers. But it was always there. She'd avenge Mikael. It was all she had left now.
And now she stood at the edge of the large crowd, feeling their pulsating anger, more toxic than the venom of a snake. Yells and screams rose in waves while the chants of change remained constant. There was a flurry of constant colours moving around as people pushed forwards and backwards and moved around, fists raised high in the air.
This time was different, all of them knew, including Romina. They were no longer screaming at the retreating backs of those they had thought loyal to them. This time there was someone to help them with change, someone who wasn't going to turn their backs and leave them. An international group called Shield. And they had soldiers, all dressed in black lining the streets with heavy guns in their hands, observing the crowd through masks as dark as night.
Up on a podium stood two camera men and two of the leaders. Romina had heard about them but never seen them before until now.
One of them she had learned just a few moment ago called himself The Baron. It was utterly pretentious. But she knew people disregarded ridiculous reasoning in their need for vengeance, and so they accepted this man with his mysterious name.
Then there was the other one, Malick. He was much older than his counter part and his wisdom and gathering of life long experience was written in his arrogant slouch and the way his hands rested loosely in his pants pockets as he gazed over the crowd.
Something in the way his eyes slid over the Sokovians had Romina feeling distrustful. She wondered if the cities citizens saw it too but decided to ignore it - or perhaps they didn't see it at all, too wrapped up in each other's emotions.
But she didn't care for the two men, or what they were trying to say. She cared for the twins. With a huff of frustration at being unable to spot them in the crowd she turn around and stalked forwards. Taking the stone church steps worn smooth through the years she stood at the top, hand to her forehead as she blocked out the sharp suns midday rays.
A feeling of hopelessness began to grip at her heart as she saw where they stood: all the way up front, leading the crowd.
Of course they were, the two biggest nationalists would be front and centre. She had heard horrifying stories about the state of Sokovian prisons. Little food, cruel guards, little chance of ever getting out. But Romina wasn't afraid to get caught after taking at least one twin out.
She was afraid she wouldn't be able to get to them at all. The crowd was volatile and they were all desperate to be up front, as close to the two men on the podium as possible, and as close to the ones they called their leaders. It was turning into a riot. And riots were chaos; Romina didn't work under chaos, she worked under order. Precise and meticulous.
Even with shoves and harsh hits to their sides with elbows, there was little chance she'd be able to get close enough to either Pietro or Wanda.
Her ears perked up as she listened to the booming voice of The Baron's translator. Still Romina couldn't understand how easily they trusted this man - he couldn't even speak their language, yet here they all were gathering around. Typical Sokovians, she thought, following anyone like the sheep they are.
Their voices grew hushed as they listened to the translator. Sokovian wasn't Rominas first language, their grammar was warped and their accent different from Romanian, but it was just similar enough she could understand the translator for The Baron.
". . . You have all been wronged! Everyone thinks you were weak, that you are insignificant, that you are easily overpowered. But I've seen you, all of you. Every single one of you are strong. You fought for independence a hundred years ago and won! The blood of fighters still runs hot through your veins. Will you accept your enemies treatment or will you fight back? You are fighters and loyal to your people, your brothers and sisters. Look around at the people who stand with you now.
They are all fighters, but they are all just human - though with the heart of hero's. You have all seen the Avengers, who hold all the power that you do not have. You have seen the Man of Iron, the Stark man who tried to take away the glory of Sokovia, of Zebreva. These men soaring through the town, wrecking havoc, with no one to stop them." The translator roared in anger, his voice as passionate and heated as The Barons. Romina assumed as he Sokovian, perhaps from this very town himself. The town was whipped up into a frenzy, but still they managed to hang on to his every word.
The Baron paused for effect and the people leaned in, and at his next few words chaos erupted again. "What if you were given the chance to be as powerful as the Avengers? To help build your city to its former glory, to save your brothers and sisters and be their protector? Would you take it?!" He yelled, spittle flying as his arms raised in the air.
The riot turned full blown and the crowd pushed and shoved against each other as their cries of support rang through the square. Romina wouldn't be surprised if their battle cries could be hard on the mountain tops.
Once their fury would've shaken her to her core. Now she understood it as the untameable beast it was. Now, she welcomed it.
The Baron took out a large megaphone from behind him and came to stand at the front of the crowd. Hands slithered upwards and fingers just managed to touch the very edges of the stage. It was no ordinary megaphone. It carried such force Romina felt his words shake her bones. "All who wish to volunteer, stand over there." He ordered, pointing towards the church she stood at.
Half of the crowd broke away from the wave and surged straight at Romina.
Nimbly she sidestepped and dodged the furious crowd who stood in clusters, their voices never dimming. The Baron used the megaphone again, "In order! Stand in order!" He yelled.
Sokovians were notoriously bad at English, but some words they did understand. They pushed and shoved each other as they got into an wobbly straight line.
Still, they were jumping from foot to foot and couldn't stand still at all. Along with the fire blazing in their eyes came the steely look of determination. They were going to save and avenge their country and countrymen.
Romina roughly guessed there were two hundred volunteers. The Baron and Malick came over to the guards and gave them orders. But their words were too low and far away for Romina too hear. Immediately the guards saluted the two in charge and began going through the line.
Their gloved fingers grabbed the chins of the Sokovians and yanked their faces upwards, inspecting.
Small machines pricked each volunteers finger and a little light blipped shortly after. Green meant the volunteers stayed in line, red meant they were pulled out.
The beams of a flashlight flitted between the volunteers eyes. Their pupils retracted to small black pinpricks. And then the light moved way and immediately it expanded again; they blinked away the large bright circles that dotted their vision.
More and more were weeded out by the guards and numbers dwindled. Finally they got to the Maximova twins, standing right in the middle of the line.
Unlike some of the other Sokovians who had been hesitant or downright angry at being poked and prodded the twins almost stepped forward eagerly. They passed all the quick physical assessments and the men in black moved on.
Romina gritted her teeth and snarled in anger. The volunteers who got accepted were being moved up to the castle where the twins would now be going, under the protection of Shield. There they would get powerful and to Romina they'd become untouchable.
The only way to get them would be to become a volunteer. She could mimic a Sokovian accent well enough if need be, and she hoped that's all she'd need, because her passport was Romanian and clearly that's not who they were interested in. In fact, with the current near violent mindset of the rioting crowd, she prayed no one found out her nationality. She'd be ripped apart.
But she needed the twins. If they escaped when she was so close she wasn't sure what she'd do. Clenching her jaw she moved towards and wrestled her way between two men.
The guards got to her and patted her down. Before she could say anything they took the knife that had been buried deep within her coat pocket and deposited it in a bag; she was about to defend the weapon but they didn't seem to care.
Rough hands harshly patted her down for more weapons. Then hands grabbed her chin, squeezing it tightly and yanking her face upwards then whipping it from side to side.
The harsh light from the flashlight blinded her eyesight as it moved across each green eye. Another hand grabbed her thumb and pulled it forward, squeezing down hard, cutting off the blood pressure.
She hissed in surprise at the sudden sharp pain in her thumb and didn't even see the bead of blood as the machine swallowed it. There went a long moment and panic gripped her heart; she was sure it's come back red.
Her shoulders sagged in relief as it blinked green. And then the guard moved onwards; both the men on either side of her were removed.
They continued their quick methodical procedures until only seventy eight volunteers were left standing in the spotty line. Seventy-seven Sokovians and one Romanian. Two soon to be dead Sokovians and one soon to be killer stood in the line.
Quickly the guards quieted down the disappointed volunteers who hadn't been selected. The translator spoke again, "All of the volunteers make your way up to the old castle; follow the two guards in front. To those that did not make it, thank you for your heart. Now pass on the fire in your hearts to the selected volunteers. They will need it." He said.
Cheers rose and people waved. Names were called in prideful cheers. But no names were yelled louder than the names of Wanda and Pietro.
Romina bared her teeth in disdain at the absolute arrogance in the way the boy held up his arms, fully accepting the crowds love with a cocky smirk. She wondered if he had worn that very same look when he had burned her brother to ashes. She wondered if he'd wear it when she killed him.
The girl was humble, ducking her head slightly and wearing a small grateful smile at being accepted as a volunteer.
And then the crowd began moving, everyone lumping together as they moved through the narrow alleyways. Romina became disoriented, losing the twins in the process.
But finally, as they began walking up the castles winding walkways, she spotted the back of Pietros dark brown tousled hair.
Her eyes hardened and the hate around her heart grew. She would do it. They would be in close quarters now. Any day now, she would watch the light leave their eyes. Any day now, she'd finish what her brother started.
Her hands clenched inside her grey jacket, "I do this for you, Mikael." She whispered to herself. Her words were lost to the wind and the giddy talks of the mass of Sokovians around her, feet moving in desperation to get inside the castles doors faster and start their new lives.
AUTHOR NOTES:
For now I'm keeping it as Maximova because it just sounds a little more Eastern Europe. At least personally I haven't encountered many f's in last names. So I'll make it in later chapters Maximoff as the english translation of the last name . . . sorry if that annoys you all.
Just some little things. One I hope you liked it, obviously.
But two: if you're bothered to read my other Avengers ff this one will not be like it. that one is about a highschool girl and has to do with romance. this one is much darker and will focus on loss, the effects of torture (both mental and physical), and battling vengeance with understanding and forgiveness among other things. I think this will be bumped up to M fairly quick depending on the guidelines (which I always forget what are, oops).
Thirdly: as far as I'm concerned right now there wont be romance. but there will be some probable friendship in the future.
Fourthly (and lastly, swear it): comments including constructive are always welcome!