Chapter 25:
[Natasha Romanova POV]
[AVENGERS HQ, New York City, USA]
[Living-area.] I hate lies. Lying, I'm okay with; it's a necessary tool in my trade. Being lied to, I hate. Everything Ivan used to say to me was a lie. I haven't thought about the man in a long time. Years even. Not after I killed him to free myself from the RED ROOM. I shift uneasily in my seat. A sudden thought. Even after all these years, I can never fully escape Ivan. No, that isn't right. The blood that was traded for freedom eats away at me. Ivan was the conductor of the RED-ROOM's WIDOW program. The program stole my life, autonomy, and independence and turned me into a bio-enhanced assassin. A tap on my shoulder snaps me back to reality.
"You zoned out for a moment there. You okay?" Rogers asks. I nod, "Yeah." His eyes linger on me for a short while, then discard the matter. The two of us have been pulling some much-needed R&R time after a three-day mission. Rogers is busying himself with his journal. Curious, I take a peek over the man's shoulder. He was writing his thoughts on the mission, particularly how he enjoyed my company. For a split second, the phantom of our kiss touches my lips. As much as I didn't want to admit it at the time, that kiss stirred something within me. Pinch of a feeling I had never felt before in my entire life. A foreign emotional response I was not accustomed to. Something Ivan had a hand in trying to erase, but it was still there.
[Steve Rogers POV]
[1 hour later]
[Mess-hall.] I shake my head slowly from side to side and say, "I don't think I can do this." "Sure you can," Natasha, the red-hair spy, sits on a table across from me, "You're Captain America. The man that can make the impossible possible." I look up at her, "Not this." She playfully rolls her eyes, "Oh, come on. Just try it. For me." Look down at the plate and scowl at the offered item, "I don't think so." Natasha palms her forehead, "Stubborn. Have I ever steered you wrong? Even once." I peer at the woman to see if she really wants me to answer her question. Even though the woman never purposely led me astray, there are one or two exceptions. After dropping all of HYDRA's dirty secrets onto the internet, Natasha's ledger came to light. The WIDOWS. RED-ROOM. Everything. No doubt, it left a few folks very uneasy. Some called her trustworthiness into question. Others believe she should be rotting in prison for her past crimes. Regardless of the strong opinions of bureaucrats, mobs, and the media, they don't define anyone. Only the person's action does.
Natasha waves it off, then reminds me, "When we went to Japan on that undercover SHIELD op. You thought you were going to barf when you first tried sushi. After one sample, you couldn't get enough." "That's different," I defend. She crosses her arm, "Raw fish? What could be more daunting than raw fish?" "I ate raw fish during my time in the ARMY. Part of survival training," I say. She looks a bit surprised, "You never talk about your time in the service." I shrug my shoulders, "Not a good conversation topic." In fact, that mission in Japan was our first night out when we were still getting to know each other as partners. Natasha nods, "Gotcha. But you're still not off the hook."
With a free hand, Natasha moves the plate closer to me, "One bite. That's all I'm asking." I force myself to consider what she ordered for me to try, "Pineapple on pizza?" The woman smiles, "There's a first time for everything." And in the last couple of months, she introduced me to several firsts. "Stalling, Rogers?" Natasha's voice cuts into my chain of thoughts. Blinking, I let out a defeated sigh and bit down on the pineapple pizza. "There," Nat says, looking ever so pleased with herself, "Was trying it so bad?"
I didn't answer. Too busy crunching pineapple chunks in my mouth and trying not to think about the awful combination of ingredients that butchered an old classic. The sweet, acidic pineapple doesn't convey well with pizza. Despite not saying anything, my facial expression on display tells Natasha I'm not a fan. She smiles, seemingly having fun with the situation. Natasha taps my shoulders, "Alright, big guy, I just wanted you to give it a try. Not torture you." I take out my notepad and aggressively cross pineapple pizza off the list. After putting the notepad back in my pocket, I look up at the red-haired woman, "What's next on the agenda?" She thumps on her chin, thinking, "A night out? You and me. A date." For a brief moment, the kiss we shared flashes in my mind's eyes. A recurrence as of late. Maybe it's a sign I'm ready to push forward. "Yeah. I'm up for it," I say as my answer.
[Karai POV]
[J-Rabbit, New York City]
I sit quietly at the corner booth, enjoying the usual meal. The night has been fairly calm. Honestly, I don't like the quiet. It leaves too much time alone with my thoughts. The ghost of my sins haunts me. Even though everyone understood I wasn't in control of my actions, it doesn't change the fact that I still committed the act. I can't wash the innocent blood off my hands.
A girl in her 20s enters the diner and makes a b-line toward the nearest empty table. "The usual?" Judy asks her. She nods, taking a seat, "Thanks. What a fucking night." The owner of the J-Rabbit bods her head agreeingly, "Yeah, it's tough out there." Returning, Judy places a plate of food down, "Here you do, Ivy. Enjoy." "Hey, if you're cooking it, I know I'm going to love it," the girl says. Judy smiles then she walks off to serve another patron. "Vanguard?" the girl asks me. I blink, confused, "I'm sorry?" She points toward the book sitting at the edge. I smile dumbly, "Oh. Yeah, it's an excellent read. A friend recommended it. You're a book enthusiast?" "More or less," Ivy voices. After our small chit-chat, Ivy returns to her business, and I return to mine.
'So her name's Ivy or the alias she uses.' I've seen the girl a few times around the block, always at odd hours. It doesn't take a genius to figure out she's a call girl. A car pulls up. Ivy peers over to it and takes a deep breath, "How much do I owe you, Judy?" Judy glances at the car, then back to Ivy; her eyes practically beg the girl to stay. Ivy sets a $100 bill on the table and exits. I watch the car take off down the street with Ivy inside from my seat. "Fucking Bratva," Judy hisses. I snap my gaze toward the diner owner, "She's a Bratva girl?" The woman drops her head, "Yes. In that line of occupation, the girls working for the Bratva are indentured servants that never get out."
[New York City]
[Harlem.] After leaving the J-Rabbit, I walk the streets, following the car's path that carried Ivy away. Seven blocks later, I find the car parked in front of a plain brownstone building, an apartment complex used as an underground hotel by unsavory people to stay anonymous. [Inside.] Stroll into the lobby. Suddenly a girl's voice from the upper-level shouts at someone to stay away. Without a moment's hesitation, I sprint up the stairway. "Stop! I said no! Let go of me, you psycho!" "Bitch, there's no 'no' in this! You don't fucking say no to me!" Following the shouting, I hurry quickly toward the door at the end of the corridor and then break it open once I've reached it. A perk who oozes entitlement and privilege smacks Ivy hard across the face with enough force to knock her to the ground. The piss poor excuse for a man descries me at the doorway, "Who the fuck are you? Get lost, bitch, before something bad happens to you!"
I glare at the walking shit-stain, "No, I'm not going anywhere." The man comes at me, readying to swing a punch, "You barged into the wrong place tonight, bitch." Fists up, I intercept the perk. He fires his fist forward. Being a bio-enhanced super-soldier, his attack seems insanely slow, from my perspective. With zero effort, I dock under the strike and clock the man's jaw. It breaks under my fist. The man bellows and writhes in agony on the floor while holding his jaw. 'Should've held back on that punch a bit more; enhanced strength tends to do unnecessary damage, even if the bastard deserves it." Ivy recovers, nursing the now swollen cheek. "It's probably best if you leave," I tell the girl.
Ivy sighed a pained breath, "I'm not leaving until I get what's owed." "You're not getting shit, bitch," the man snaps, despite sounding like a mismatch of words tied together. I point toward the creep, "Keep talking shit, and I'll make a broken jaw the least painful experience of your night. Do not test me." He goes deathly quiet. I walk over to Ivy and study her over; the fucker did a real number on her. She peers up at me, and by the surprised expression, the girl recognizes me. "You good?" I ask. "Hunky-dory," Ivy voices sarcastically, "Look, this is just the start of a shitty night for me. I only need the money he owes, and then I'm gone." "You're dead, bitch! I'll fucking put you in the ground, whore." the man barks. Rolling my eyes, I draw my pistol and shoot the creep with a stun-bolt, shutting him up and knocking him out. After calling it in, Ivy and I leave the scene.
[East 120th street.] The two of us put some distance from the building. "Guess it'll be bad for you to return empty-handed," I state, despite already knowing the answer. Ivy's eyes carry a worried expression while forcing a smile, "I'll be fine." 'No, you're not.' I watch as Ivy starts to make her leave, "If you go back to the Bratva with nothing, they'll send you on a trip to the ER and that only if you're lucky." Back facing me, she stops mid-way into her stride, shoulders dropped, "Thank you for the concern, but I can take care of myself." Ivy leaves. I hang my head, disappointed. The whole fiasco weighed down on me. Part of me should've done more for the girl. Could've talked her into going to a shelter, like FEAST or something. 'Damn.'
[Drake POV]
[Warehouse District, New York City]
Under stealth-camo, I infiltrate the conclave of the city's major gangs. Not a single individual is aware of my presence; they are too busy conversing among themselves. A bold man in his 40s strides around the table, reminiscing on the old ways to the other gangsters, "This is the night for celebration. A night to discuss the future of our syndicate, a sober reflection. There was a time when we owned NYC. Wasn't a fucker who could make a move without giving us our due, and the sorry shit dull enough to cross us paid a heavy price. We had the cops, judges, councilman at our beck and call." His gaze drifts off, "Somewhere down the road, we got complacent. Lost our edge. Enough for new players to kick us in the balls and dump us to the curve. But the masked freaks have cut down the competition, and that provided us an opportunity to take back what's ours!"
Emerging out of the shadows, I fire shots, killing the gang leaders' bodyguards. "OH SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK?!" someone yells. Those who I didn't aim at duck for cover. When the shooting stops, the leaders slowly get to their feet. One of them catches sight of me, pointing. "You have no fucking idea who you're messing with! You're dead, you fuck!" the fatass on the far right yells to me. I roll my eyes, "Says the dumb-ass who hasn't realized there are multiple guns trained on him and the others." The man's face displays a confused expression. Out of the blue, laser beams appear, all aimed at the gangsters. A near-invisible shadow flickers into existence at my right, taking a female form. Skeith. "The hell do you freaks want?!" the same man yells, now sweating in fear. We flash a slasher grin. They quickly get the picture, to their horror.
[Spartan POV]
[New York City]
[Hell's Kitchen.] Out on patrol, EPYON tags a 9-1-1 call. Report of a shootout. Taking a sharp turn, I grapple-line toward the waypoint. [On-site.] [Rooftop.] The whole street block is clogged with police and emergency responders, light blazing. I perch down on the roof edge and then to recon mode on the HUD. Eavesdrop on the patrol officers talking among themselves. It appears the Kitchen Irish got hit hard. Club's exterior is riddled with bullet holes. It was a massacre. No survivors. This is the latest gang-related hit. Massive gang-on-gang overkill. Speculation of new players in town. Paramilitary types. At that moment, DD hits the scene. He crouches next to me. "It's been awhile," he tells me, "Was starting to grow concerned." I crack a smile under my mask, "Been busy dealing with AVENGERS related matters. Anyway, got any ideas who wiped out the Kitchen Irish?" The masked vigilante shakes his head, "No. But judging by their tactics and weapons. They're skilled, equipped, and connected. Same thing happened to the Dogs-Of-Hell a few days ago." "Dogs-Of-Hell? Aren't they a Jersey gang?" I ask. He nods, "Yeah. Whoever these people are, they're powerful players," DD says. "Good to know," I remark. DD remains steadfast, not deterred in the slightest.
[Warehouse, New York City]
Traveling the city via rooftops, DD stops suddenly. [Rooftop.] "What is it?" I ask the masked vigilante. "Something smells toxic," he tells me. Under my mask, I raise a brow in confusion but don't argue. We make our way toward the roof's edge, peering at the street below. A black van speeds down the street and into a warehouse. The HUD runs a scan, tagging a gang of armed goons. The punks dismount the vehicle. I count six targets in all. Moving toward the van's back, two men pull out a large container and drop it onto the floor off to the side. The HUD switches to recon-mode. "Watch it, morons! We're being paid to deliver that package in pristine condition," one goon yells, then points to another man, "Call the client and tell him we got the cargo." The two of us grapple onto the building and make entry.
[Inside.] It was obvious to me that these guys were new to the game. Green as they come. Low-level hired-guns. Adhering to the shadows, DD tosses his baton to the power box, cutting the lights. The whole warehouse goes completely dark. "What the hell? Shit. Someone go check the breaker." From above, I trail the thug until he's isolated from the other gang members. Once alone, I strike, dropping down on him. 'One out of play. Five to go.' Staging a trap, DD grapple-lines a goon by the leg and drags him off into the shadows. Becoming suspicious, a few of the gang members go investigate. Leaping out of the darkness, drop them all with stun-bolts. Keeping the pistol aimed, I scan the surrounding for more threats. "Clear," I call out. DD and I move quickly to cuff them. Suddenly a beeping sound coming from the cargo container grabs our notice. The cargo box pops open. A humanoid figure unfolds itself. "The hell is that?!" one of the goons exclaims in fear. "Your cargo," DD deadpans. The two of us set into a fight stance.
The HUD runs a scan; it shows some type of android. Displaying superhuman strength, the android seizes the nearby van and flings it toward us. We jump out of the way. I charge forward, firing my pistol. It hit its mark, but it did little to no effect. Switching tactic, I power up my shock-knuckle and whale him with a punch. The android staggers but still stands. It reaches out, grabs me, holds me up, slams a fist to my face, sending me flying toward the wall. DD moves in; he leaps into the air and delivers a double-kick to the face. The soulless machine takes a few swings, but DD dodges it. From behind, I jump on its back, place some explosive charges. Putting some distance, I set it off. "Did that work?" DD asks. His question is quickly answered when the android steps out of the flames. "No, just piss it off," I remark.
It darts forward at blinding speed. 'Where the hell did this boost in speed come from?!' We jump-roll out of its path. The android comes to a dead stop, turns around, and fires an energy beam from his hands. DD and I make a tactical retreat. The android gives chase. Glancing behind us, I saw the android take flight. We grapple-line to higher ground. "Assessing tactics. Target acquired. Commencing termination," the android states. It gains on DD and grabs onto the masked hero. DD struggles to get free but can't. Acting fast, I drop onto the android.
"LET HIM GO!" I shout, drawing out the pistol and unloading it onto the humanoid robot's head. All three of us crash to the ground. "Ow," I say, slowly recovering. Peer around, spot DD; I rush to him. "You broken?" I question, assessing him over. The man holds his side and arm in support, grunting in pain, "Arm's broke, and two ribs are cracked." The synthetic android emerges from the small crater in the ground. "Can you still fight?" I ask, gun set at the aim. "Don't think I got a choice," he murmurs, readying himself. The bot advances forward and fires an energy blast. We evade the shots. Getting in close, DD slides under the droid and attacks its leg with his baton, breaking its balance. From above, I slam down double-hammer-fists at the android, shock-knuckle at full power. It's enough to put the android permanently out of commission. The two of us stand over the downed droid. DD takes an exhausted breath. I kneel to inspect the android but pull back when I see it starts to disintegrate, leaving nothing left. "What the hell just happened?" DD queries, shocked. "I have no idea," I tell him. Picking up a faint noise in the distance, the two of us snap our heads toward the source of the noise. A surveillance drone hovers in the air. It stays in the air for a moment and then flies off. "A stealth-drone?" I question.
[George Tarleton POV]
[AIM HQ, New York City]
The entirety of CERBERUS watches the battle between the two masked heroes and the prototype SENTINEL via live footage from a stealth drone. Finally, the android is defeated; I activate its built-in disintegration device. Arms crossed, Zemo lets out a controlled, furious sigh, "You're robot failed its mission. I do not tolerate failure, Dr. Tarleton." I roll my eyes and then whisper under my breath, "Reason why you would make a poor scientist." In an instant, Zemo's blade is at my throat, "Do not forget your place and never overestimate your value," he growls. Raise my hands in surrender, sweating, "The trial run was supposed to expose any design flaws. As a result, I have already upgraded the Adaptoid. I assure you it'll perform at its optimum for the next phase of the operation." Zemo draws back the sword, eyes narrow, "For your sake, doctor, it better."