Chapter 20:
[Wanda Maximoff POV]
[1 week later, AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[Wanda's Room.] Still reeling from the event from the previous week. Glance down at my hand; a small spark of scarlet aura flows about. Not for the first time; it makes me pause. Since being taken and forcefully augmented by a crazed mad man, I ask myself if I'm still even human anymore. Recently discovering I'm apparently a witch didn't calm my identity crisis. Spartan's recording played in my mind. What caused me to go to that state? Can that state even be controlled?
A knock on my door breaks me out of my dwelling. "It's open," I call out. Spartan steps in, "Hey, just wanted to check up on you." I shoot the man a small smile and make a poor attempt at humor, "Hell of a first date." He laughs a little. Despite everything, I'm happy that he's still willing to pursue this new relationship we have going. Hell, the man didn't seem bothered or fazed by the newfound craziness. There is a motto among SHIELD operators: expect the unexpected. I lean in to kiss Spartan, wanting to feel his lip on mine just for a moment to ground myself from all this new craziness. Spartan gets to his feet and reaches out a hand toward me, "Want to get out of here to get some air. You seem like you need a break from all this." I nod, "Yeah, I would very much like that."
[Blume, New York City]
By the time we get to Blume, a hole-in-the-wall Cafe/book store, a girl is on stage swaying back and forth in front of the microphone with her eyes shut, singing. It must be an event going on today. I grab Spartan's sleeve and tug him along to find a spot. The coffee shop is crowded for a Sunday; most of the threadbare-looking couches and armchairs enjoy the Saturday afternoon. The smell of coffee and clove cigarettes is overwhelming. Finally, I find an unoccupied love seat in a darkened corner toward the back. The only other person nearby was a blond girl in an orange tank top, absorbed in playing with her phone.
After a quick search through the menu, Spartan heads off toward the service table to get our order. While waiting, I stare out the window, allowing myself to drift. The city beams with life. People go about their daily business. Coming to this city for the first time was a culture shock to me. I've grown accustomed to ruined buildings, broken streets, and endless gunfire; it was like a whiplash. Everything was so vastly different from Sokovia. In Sokovia, crimes, apathy, and desperation that the war created transformed the country into something ugly. Even now, after General Kamil Novoty was imprisoned, not much has changed for the better. Doesn't matters now. Sokovia is not my home anymore. NYC is my home. America is not perfect, but it's far better than the former.
The blond girl leans over the side of her chair and taps me on the shoulder. "Excuse me." I look up in surprise. "Is that your boyfriend?" the girl asked. I follow the line of the girl's gaze, already prepared to say, No, I don't know him, when I realize the girl is referring to Spartan. He was in the process of making his way back, two cups in hand. "Uh, yes," I say. The girl sighs in defeat, then turn back in her seat without another word. Spartan sets the cups on the table and throws himself down next to me. "Ran out of mugs. Those paper cups are hot. Burn me a little," he blows on his fingers with a scowl. I try to hide a smile as I watch him. He informs me SHIELD raided the Yevon church and arrested everyone. Everyone but DeGuzman. The man was nowhere on site. Part of me wanted to talk to him about the OP. About my Witch-Out episode, as Natasha colorfully dubbed it. But I don't want to ruin the moment we have going.
[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[Steve Rogers's office.] Once Spartan and I return to HQ, Captain Rogers calls us into his office. Entering the office space, my eyes immediately shift toward the unknown man standing next to Captain Rogers. Spartan's shoulders stiffen, but his eyes shine with familiarity, "Fury?" 'Fury?' Though I never personally met the man, not counting the HYDRA's interruption incident, I knew of him. "It's been a while, Spartan," he voices. "What are you doing here, Sir?" Spartan questions, straightening himself. Fury's eyes go from Spartan toward me, "I'm here because of Ms. Maximoff." "M-me? Am I in trouble?" I ask nervously. Fury shakes his head, "No, but we a lot to talk about. Specifically to fill in the blanks about the existence of magic."
I was going to tell him there's no such thing as magic, but after the recent event, I held my tongue. He folds his arms, "A week ago, there was a shockwave of wild mythical energy." I clench my hand on the teacup nervously, already knowing what Fury is referring to. Doesn't need to elaborate. I shake my head. Everything within my worldview is starting to be challenged in a short amount of time. A headache is building up. "Why does it seem that you know more about than you're letting on?" I press. The man smirks, "Because I do know a lot more." Fury goes on to say SHIELD has tackled supernatural forces, then adds he wants me to join the mage division for more proper training. Left unchecked, I could be a danger to myself and others. That's why he sought me out. Peering into the man's mind, there's no ulterior motive. After a short deliberation, I agreed to the offer.
[Tony Stark POV]
[Stark's Room.] I study Wanda's mission report again. It's surreal. Despite the evidence, I'm still having a hard time believing it. The skeptic side of me is still chalking it as an advanced form of science. Hell, it's more reasonable than outright calling it magic. I slide a hand over my hair and steal a glance at my phone; 4 missed calls are displayed on the screen. All of them belong to Pepper Pots. No doubt to berate me about shareholders bitching. Unfortunately, I wasn't in the mood for any of the shit. Too tired. Another text appears. This time it's from Terri Topasandra. Most men would have donated a kidney to get near the sexy, platinum-haired supermodel.
Her producer had arranged an interview with me, serving as a corporate spokesperson for the Olympics, to discuss the upcoming games. The plan was for the two of us to meet for drinks to flesh out what we would say. However, one thing led to another. The message reads, 'Last night was fun.' Indeed it was, but there isn't going to be a sequel to last night's encounter. It was a one-night stand, nothing more, nothing less. I tap the control panel, waking the AI. "Jarvis, can you send a bouquet of flowers to Ms. Topasandra. A big one. Pour me a glass of whiskey while you're at it." I say. The AI chimes acknowledgingly, "Of course, sir. It will be done." Despite being a disembodied AI, Jarvis has a way of expressing himself through his tone. And I clearly detected annoyance with a hint of concern. The holo-computer gravitates my attention. A digital matrix displays. Ultron. The contingency plan. An armor to protect the world.
"Just come out with it, Jarvis," pinch the bridge of my nose. "You have been drinking a great deal of late, even for a man of your lifestyle. To the point, your liver has made a heroic effort to keep you from poisoning yourself, but I doubt it will be inclined to do so indefinitely," the AI voices his opinion on my slight drinking problem. I close my eyes and manage a wistful smile, "No need to worry about me for long, Jarvis." "Ah, yes, cancer," the AI states. Ironically the Arc reactor embedded in my chest to keep me alive is the thing killing me. The team doesn't know. No one knows. And I prefer to keep it that way. For the past few months, I've been trying to find a cure to no avail. From the desk's drawers, I pull on a syringe containing lithium dioxide from the desk's drawers and inject the substance into my arm. It's no cure, but it slows the progression.
[DeGuzman POV]
[DeGuzman's Penthouse, New York City]
Humiliated by my failure, I angrily throw an object across the room. With a frown, I stride across the floor, the heels of my boots echoing against the marble toward the book hovering suspended in the air. I can hear the master's words echoing through the wind, demanding its freedom from its prison. Through my eyes, the master saw the event that transpired. Witness the display of power the witch possesses. It deemed her a perfect candidate. With the book it has given me, I summon the master's best champions to undertake this task.
[Wanda Maximoff POV]
[Days later, SHIELD HQ, New York City]
The sky is a texture of old silver. SHIELD HQ, now really taking it in for the first time, is a high-security installation. A series of long, low double-story modules with deeply recessed windows reminiscent of a military command bunker. The only break in this pattern was a single dome at the western end. The whole complex was a pale granite grey, and the windows a smoky reflection. Spartan had volunteered to accompany me, but he was called away for an op, so going at this solo. I enter the main lobby and cross toward the reception desk. The woman points in the direction I need to go to next. Never realized just how big this building truly is. Then again, I never took the time to explore it. Limited access. I pass through a double door to another lobby area. A single guard mans a desk. " , Director Fury is expecting you. Please stand in the center." As instructed, I placed myself in the spot designated by the guard. A portal opens within the middle of the room. It happens so abruptly that I jump back in surprise. Fury stands on the other side, a hand stretched out toward me. With a sigh, I step forward.
[SHIELD Mages Division, New York City]
Emerging from the portal's threshold, I find myself in a completely different location from where I was a moment ago. Nausea quickly fills my stomach. "Sorry about that. First-timers always get hit hard. It'll pass quickly," Fury tells me. He gestures for me to follow him. During our walk, I took notice of the other people strolling about. "Who are these, people? Wizards? Sorcerers? Warlocks? Wishes?" I question. Fury points a thumb, "Mages. These men and women safeguard Earth-realm from mythical perils. There are things that strike within the shadows. We strike back."
We stroll down a hallway to a large open space. Fury flags someone down. A tall man in his mid-40s rushes over. "Wanda, this is Auron Winchester. He'll be teaching the ropes. One of the best mage instructors we have in the division," Fury says, introducing me to the man. He and I shake hands. After the introductions are done, Fury leaves. Auron interlocked his arms on top of his chest, studying me over, "Well, we can skip the basics since you were trained by AVENGERS. So tell me, how much do you know about the mythical world?" My lip forms a thin line, shake my head, "Outside of fantasy stories, absolutely nothing." "The language of the Mystic Arts is as old as civilization. The sorcerers of antiquity called the use of this language "spells," but if that word offends your modern sensibilities, you can call it a program, the source code that shapes reality. We harness energy drawn from other dimensions of the Multiverse to cast spells, to conjure shields and weapons, to make magic," the man tells me.
I listen to every word with rapt attention, trying to uncover answers to questions I never once considered. "How do I get from here to there?" I question, gesturing my hands as a scale. "That depends solely on you," Auron states, "I can guide you to the path, but you're the one who has to walk it." He pauses and laughs at himself, "So this is what it feels like to be on this side of the fence." I raise a confused eyebrow. Auron waves it off, "Sorry, the scenario just reminded me of my first time learning of the fantastical and mystical from my old sensei." Together, Auron and I trudge toward a library section. "I'll give credit where credit is due; you got talent with magic but no skills. Been using your ability as a reactionary action," Auron says. I stop in mid-stride and remark, "To be fair, I was under the conception that I was an enhanced, a SUPER. Not a witch." "Fair point," he says, holding an amused expression.
[Library.] Books line the walls. Shelves so high ladders are set on casters are placed along with them at intervals. These are no ordinary books either. They're bound in leather and velvet, clasped with sturdy-looking locks and hinges made of brass and silver. The spines are studded with dully glowing jewels and illuminated with gold script. The books are worn and used but well taken care of. Auron pulls several reading materials and places them in my hand, "Lets get started."
[Spartan POV]
[New York City]
[Rooftop.] "Who are we babysitting again?" I question, bored out of my mind while scanning the area for threats. Karai shrugs her shoulders, "No idea. Some bigwig. Deakin Bancroft, I think." A convoy of SUVs rolls through a busy street. "All unit check-in," the dispatch over the comlink requests. "Unit-1. Green." "Unit-2. Green." Unit-3. All green." While under stealth-camo, Karai and I move out, following the convoy by rooftops. They hit a heavy traffic street. All three vehicles cut into a tight path. A rifle barrel sticks out one of the building windows. It fires multiple shots at the middle SUV. "CONTACT! SHOT FIRED! SHOT FIRED! THERE'S A SNIPER STATION SOMEWHERE!" The driver tries to drive away, but the cars are boxed in. Bancroft's security team quickly exits the vehicles and takes up a defensive position, firing in the general direction where the shot came from. A security staff near the middle SUV gets hit in the chest. Thankfully his vest protected him. Terrified and panicked people run for cover. The middle SUV pushes through the other cars blocking its path to make an escape. The assassin dashes toward the roof. Karai and I go off after him.
Over our heads, a police helicopter flies in, keeping a bird's eye view of the sniper. Dropping to a knee, the sniper trains his rifle on the helicopter and fires a perfect shot at the pilot. The helicopter wings out of control, crash landing on a nearby rooftop. Mid dash, Karai makes a sharp turn moving toward the down helicopter. "Keep on the pursuit! I'll catch up!" she yells over her shoulder. Up ahead, the assassin reach edge of the roof. He looks back to see I'm quickly gaining on him. With no other options, he leaps over the edge. I dive after him, shooting out a grapple-line. The assassin struggles under my grip, trying to get himself free. He draws a gun from his waistband, taking a shot inch from my head. "Fuck!" I exclaim, feeling a sharp ringing through my ears. The resulting action causes me to break my grip. The assassin plummets to the street below onto a parked taxi. We were close enough to the ground that the fall didn't kill him. Swiftly recovering, the assassin runs off again. "Damn this guy is resilient," I say to myself, dropping down. I chase the man all the way to a closed-off subway entrance.
[Subway.] Both the assassin and I jump onto the old abandoned track and dash down the tunnel. "FREEZE!" I yell. The man stops running, then turns to face me. "IT COMMING! IT WILL BREAK FREE FROM ITS PRISON. THE VESSEL HAS BEEN CHOSEN. THE AGE OF DARKNESS AND CHAOS HAS FALLEN UPON US! ALL THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN TOUCHED BY THE DEMON MUST DIE!" the man yells crazily, raising his gun. Acting fast, I fire two stun-bolt, dropping the nutjob. Keeping the pistol trained, I move toward the man and kick his weapon away. As I'm cuffing him, note the white collar around his neck. The man's a priest. Karai approaches, "What did I miss?" I show her the collar. Both of us share a puzzled expression.
[Outside.] Emergency responders hit the scene. An EMS team load the crazy priest onto an ambulance. "How are the helicopter crew?" I ask Karai, who's standing beside me. "Banged up but alive," she says. An NYPD detective walks over to us. Karai eyes the woman up and down. "MILF," she comments under her breath. "Down girl," I say with an eye roll but still smirk. "Detective O'Reilly. You're the guy who took down the assailant?" the woman questions. I nod. She looks at her notepad, "Said he spoke to you?" Again I nod, "Yeah. So?" O'Reilly pins me with a dubious stare, "The guy doesn't have a tongue." I jerk back in surprise, 'W-what? Don't have a tongue?' "Are you high or drunk on something?" O'Reilly presses. I glare at the woman, insulted, "No." She closes her notepad, shaking her head, "I'll leave that little detail out." O'Reilly walks off to join the other officers.
My jaw tightens, hands ball into fists, then I sigh in vexation. Consider the possibility if I did imagine everything. No, I push that thought out of my mind. That wasn't a figment of my imagination. Karai slaps a hand on my shoulder, "Hey, let it go."