These are the Armenian mountains. Turkey rules some of them.
Down a mountain road, a coach rolls. Black mules haul it. The coach is covered in a Turkish-red canvas. Its sides bear the Turkish star and crescent.
Between the tall rocky hills, robotic wolves creep. They're as big as horses...if not bigger. By order of their alpha female, they hunger for Turkish flesh. They're close, and they can all mutually feel it...
Inside the coach, many Armenian captives tremble. They've been evicted from their homes by the Sultan's secret police. They're all Indo-European; they're not Turkic. As helpless subjects of a hostile nation, their destiny is to become fuel for their captor nation's bonfires...
Up ahead, there's a camp. It's surrounded by barbed wire. Inside, non-Turkic captives of all races, Indo-European and otherwise, wander the grounds. This camp is a slaughterhouse; and they're the doomed livestock.
The coach arrives. The gates open. The coach is hauled through. Promptly, before the captives can escape, the gates close.
The coach stops, in the middle of the compound. The guards get out, armed with lever-action rifles, and open the back. One gets in, and points a rifle all around. The captives stand, and proceed to exit the coach...
Outside the camp, the Wild Pack closes in. On their alpha female's command, one by one, they leap over the fence. They barely even graze the top wires. Good thing, too; the top wires are the most-barbed.
All around, the captives scream, and clear a path for the Wild Pack. But they need not worry; the Wild Pack is here for racist Turks; not Indo-Europeans.
From atop the fence, some Turkish guards shoot. One of the Wild Pack robowolves stops, scowls, glares, crouches, leaps, and takes out the guard nest in no time. The guard doesn't stand a chance...and neither does his fez-clad head. The robowolf bites it off, in one bite.
This, of course, is more than torture for the Turks. As Muslims, the Turks just HATE dogs...even robotic ones...
The Wild Pack kills many Turkish warriors. Outgunned, they all defend themselves in vain. In the end, their red robes and fezes are strewn all over the compound. Only the innocent remain.
Here, the robowolves lie flat on the ground, surrounded by scared ex-captives. Within the robowolves' minds, an AI voices the phrase "get on, and sit tight, we are here to help," in multiple languages. Armenians, after all, aren't the only foreigners here who need salvation. In this situation, the Wild Pack robowolves act as personnel carriers.
From a camera in a UAV, Ms. Sablinova watches, as the captives nervously mount her Wild Pack's robowolves. She takes pride in watching her inventions work...even if it does feel insufficient, that this is only one Turkish death camp, and there are too many more of those where this one comes from, on all of Turkey's borders...as well as a few more intense and brutal ones closer to Turkey's heartland...
Such a shame, Silvija thinks, that Constantinople isn't in Turkey's heartland. If it were, it's sure be safer from the Greeks...and the Romanians...and the Bulgarians...
She watches, as the robowolves flee the death camp, with their backs loaded with innocent passengers. By the time the last robowolf leaves, the camp is empty; only remnants Turkish corpses remain.
"Another mission," Ms. Sablinova muses, "another win. The Wild Pack will take them all back to their respective nations of origin. They won't all have homes there...but at least they'll be safe from those awful Turks. As long as a sultan sits on the throne of Turkey, there will NEVER be enough I can do for my fellow Indo-Europeans..."
Her monologue is cut short by her company's AI, who remind her that her next appointment is in five minutes. She sighs, abandons the UAV's video feeds, and attends to her latest client...who, she hopes, will soon become her coworker.
As she returns to her office, she passes through a hall. She passes a window. Inside it, an exosuit prototype is on display. It's crimson.
She returns to her office, and sits at her desk. On one side of her desk, a chrome sculpture of a marten stands, poised, and fangs bared. On the other side, a sculpture of an antelope, made of the same material, stands rearing, with horns to spare. They're both silver, and they're both sables.
She sits at her desk, and calms herself, for the job interview that's about to take place. "So," she asks the interviewee, in her familiar Slavic accent, "what makes you qualified to join my Wild Pack, Ms. Nemirovsky?"
To Ms. Sablinova, the interviewee has a strange face. But to the Avengers, it's VERY familiar. In fact, as far as they're concerned, she's supposed to be back in New York, attending to the Iron Man armor in her late predecessor's, Tony Stark's, stead...
"Well," Galina smiles, and flaps her bobbed raven hair, "let's just stay, first off, that I have dynamo experience with exosuits!"