Chapter 17:

[Wanda Maximoff POV]

[Weeks later, AVENGERS HQ, New York City]

[Living-area.] SHIELD provides a new base of operation, a state-of-the-art helicarrier that seems like it's been plucked straight out of a sci-fi movie. The place is a marvel, boasting everything a person could possibly imagine for comfortable living and efficient workspaces. Each member of the team has their own personalized living quarters, complete with all the amenities one could desire. The kitchen is fully stocked with gourmet ingredients, ensuring that even the most discerning palate is satisfied. The training area is equipped with the latest technology and simulation programs to hone the skills of the Avengers to perfection. The R&D lab is a scientist's dream, filled with cutting-edge equipment and staffed by some of the brightest minds in the world. And, of course, the helicarrier comes complete with a built-in AI, seamlessly integrating technology into every aspect of daily life. Both SHIELD and Stark Industries have poured considerable resources into the construction and outfitting of this floating fortress, a testament to their commitment to supporting Earth's mightiest heroes. The addition of Sam Wilson, known as Falcon, to the Avengers team only serves to further solidify their ranks, bringing in another skilled and dedicated individual to fight alongside them. However, amidst all the excitement and luxury of the new headquarters, there is one member of the team who seems uneasy. From the corner of my eye, I notice Spartan standing by the railing, gazing out at the sprawling city below with a tense expression. It's obvious he's very uncomfortable, his unease palpable even from a distance. I can't help but recall sensing a similar feeling emanating from him back on the SHIELD BUS. "Are you alright?" I venture, making my way over to him, concern evident in my voice. Spartan offers a slight nod in response, but his demeanor speaks volumes. Folding my arms behind my back, I lean in closer, trying to gauge his feelings. "Are you not comfortable with heights?" Spartan shakes his head slightly, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "No, I'm fine with heights. Just not a fan of being trapped inside a box suspended in the air, but I tolerate it." As he speaks, it becomes clear that his discomfort stems not from a fear of heights but from a deeper sense of unease about the lack of control and the feeling of vulnerability that comes with being airborne. As a soldier, Spartan prefers to keep his feet firmly planted on solid ground, where he feels most in his element. The idea of being confined within the metal confines of the helicarrier, even as it soars through the sky, is enough to unsettle him. Despite his reservations, however, Spartan remained resolute, determined to fulfill his duty as an Avenger, even if it meant facing his fears head-on.

I find myself gazing at the super-soldier longer than I should. It's funny how everything seems easier every time I'm in Spartan's company. All the negativity in my life takes a back seat. His presence is like a beacon of strength and positivity that washes away any doubts or worries. Then, abruptly, Spartan fixes his focus on me, his piercing gaze cutting through the momentary reverie. "What's your plan for the day?" he inquires, his voice steady and commanding. I pull out a flier from my pocket and hand it to him, a faint smile playing at the corners of my lips. "During the week's hiatus, I started volunteering at the homeless shelter in Hell's Kitchen. There's a charity event today. Would you like to attend it with me?" I ask, my voice hopeful as I offer him the opportunity to share in this small act of kindness. To my delight, Spartan's face lights up with genuine enthusiasm, his eyes alight with interest. "Sure, it should be fun," he tells me, his voice warm and inviting. His willingness to join me in this endeavor fills me with a sense of gratitude and camaraderie. It's moments like these that remind me why I value his friendship so deeply. Together, we make plans to attend the charity event, eager to lend a helping hand and make a positive impact on the lives of those less fortunate.

[Spartan POV]

[1 day later, New York City]

[Hell's Kitchen.] Hell's Kitchen was once a melting pot of cultural diversity, a vibrant neighborhood pulsating with life and energy. However, since the Battle of New York, it's been transformed into a chaotic mess of poverty, crime, and anarchy. By hearsay and experience, Hell's Kitchen has become far more dangerous in recent times, with its streets fraught with tension and its residents struggling to survive amidst the turmoil. As Wanda and I make our way to Saint Luke's shelter, we navigate through the maze of dilapidated buildings and wary stares. The air is heavy with the scent of decay and desperation, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of life in this unforgiving city. Yet, despite the bleak surroundings, there is a glimmer of hope as we approach the shelter. We spot a priest manning a donation stand outside the shelter, his presence a beacon of compassion amidst the chaos. At the sound of our approach, he turns his head toward us, his expression severe yet tinged with kindness. His eyes light up as he recognizes Wanda, greeting her warmly. Wanda responds with a polite smile, her eyes reflecting gratitude for the familiar face amidst the unfamiliar terrain. While the two of them engage in conversation, I take a moment to observe our surroundings. The shelter is a humble haven in the midst of the storm, offering refuge to those in need. Children run around us, their laughter cutting through the somber atmosphere like a ray of sunshine. The priest's attention turns to me, and he inquires about my relationship with Wanda. Wanda blushes, stumbling over her words before clarifying that I am just a friend. I extend a hand in greeting, introducing myself as Gino. The priest shakes my hand warmly, welcoming me to the shelter with genuine warmth.

Curious about the work being done at Saint Luke's, I ask the priest about their activities. Father Lantom launches into an impassioned explanation, detailing the various services they provide to the community. From shelter and food to education and skill-building workshops, the shelter serves as a lifeline for the downtrodden. Wanda chimes in, praising Father Lantom's efforts and emphasizing the importance of community support. The priest nods in agreement, acknowledging the contributions of the volunteers who work tirelessly to make a difference in the lives of others. Moved by their dedication, I inquired about the shelter's needs and offered a substantial donation to help meet them. Father Lantom's eyes widen in astonishment and gratitude, overwhelmed by the generosity of the gesture. With heartfelt thanks, he assures me that the donation will be put to good use, making a tangible impact on the lives of those they serve. With our conversation drawing to a close, Wanda and I roll up our sleeves and get to work, eager to lend a hand and make a difference in whatever way we can. As we immerse ourselves in the tasks at hand, I can't help but feel a sense of fulfillment knowing that we are helping to brighten the lives of those in need, even in the darkest corners of the city.

[Steve Rogers POV]

[Hours later, AVENGERS HQ, New York City]

[Room.] Using SHIELD's best surveillance system, I tirelessly searched for any sighting or possible lead on Bucky's whereabouts, my eyes glued to the monitors displaying feeds from across the globe. Three hours in, and still nothing. Frustration courses through me as I drag a hand through my hair in exasperation. "Damn it, Buck, where are you?" I mutter under my breath, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me like a heavy burden. Leaning back in my chair, I stare out the window, lost in thought, as I grapple with a dilemma that threatens to consume me. Which Bucky am I going after? The brother I once knew, or the Winter Soldier, a shadow of his former self, haunted by the ghosts of his past? Will I be able to bring him in to save him, to reclaim the man he once was, or will I be forced to confront the harsh reality and put him down to prevent further harm? "God, I pray for the former over the latter," I whisper, my voice barely audible in the quiet of the room. The weight of the decision hangs heavy on my shoulders, a constant reminder of the stakes at hand. A sudden hand claps onto my shoulder, snapping me out of my chain of thought. I turn my attention to the person behind the gesture, finding Natasha standing beside me, her expression a mix of concern and determination. Though she doesn't vocalize it, her presence speaks volumes, silently questioning how the search is proceeding. I shake my head in disappointment, my frustration evident in my demeanor. Natasha sighs sympathetically, crossing her arms as she leans against the edge of the desk. "He's a ghost, Steve. He specialized in being invisible. It's going to be a challenge," she remarks, her voice tinged with a hint of resignation. I drop my shoulders in defeat for a moment, feeling the weight of the task ahead bearing down on me. But even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, I remain steadfast, a glimmer of determination igniting within me. "In spite of the odds, giving up is not an option," I declare, my voice firm with resolve. For as long as there is breath in my body, I will continue the search, refusing to rest until I have found my friend and brought him back from the darkness that threatens to consume him.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I can't help but wonder, 'When did things get so complicated?' The weight of responsibility and uncertainty bears down on me, pressing against my chest like a suffocating blanket. For the first time, I take note of how close Natasha is, her presence palpable beside me as I sit at my desk. I find myself studying her features, taking in every detail as if seeing her anew. Since the whole Triskelion takedown, she has been on my mind a lot more, her image lingering in my thoughts like a persistent whisper. When I'm in her company, all my doubts and worries fade away for a moment; I just focus on her. There's a comfort in her presence, a sense of ease that I haven't felt in a long time. Only one other person ever made me feel that way, but I left her behind in another life, a decision that still weighs heavily on my conscience. But now is not the time for regrets or dwelling on the past. I shake the thought off, banishing it to the recesses of my mind as I refocus on the task at hand. Pushing away from my desk, I feel the need for a break, the weight of the world lifting slightly as I move away from the confines of my office. The air outside feels crisp and refreshing, a welcome respite from the stale atmosphere of the room. As I make my way down the hallway, I can't shake the feeling of Natasha's presence lingering behind me, her proximity both comforting and unsettling in equal measure. With each step, I find myself reflecting on the complexities of our situation; the lines between friend and foe blurred beyond recognition. But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remains clear: Natasha is someone I can trust, someone I can rely on to have my back no matter what. And for that, I am grateful, my appreciation for her unwavering loyalty growing with each passing moment.

[R&D-lab.] Making my way through the hallway, I pass by the Research and Development wing, where the genius billionaire Tony Stark is hard at work. Inside, I catch a glimpse of him outfitting Sam Wilson, also known as Falcon, with an upgraded suit. Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, stands off to the side, observing the proceedings with keen interest. "Alright, Sam, the suit operates the same way as the original. Just added a few extra functions," Tony explains enthusiastically, his hands moving deftly as he adjusts the various components of the suit. "Like HUD goggles, weapons, armor, comms, sensors, and a red trim for design," he adds, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Sam tinkers with the wrist-mounted computer, his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly, his head jerks up to Tony, a curious expression crossing his face. "What's a Redwing?" he inquires, prompting Tony to beam. "Redwing is a compact falcon-shaped drone stored within a compartment on the back of the suit," Tony replies, his enthusiasm infectious as he explains the innovative feature to the eager protégé.

In the zone, Tony then turns his attention to Wanda, addressing her with the same level of enthusiasm. "Oh, Wanda, being that you are now an Avenger, I took the liberty of creating a suit for you as well," he announces, placing a sleek case on the desk before her. Taking the suit in her hands, Wanda expresses her gratitude before moving to try it on. Stepping out of the booth, she showcases the new uniform, her eyes shining with excitement. Tony launches into a detailed explanation of the suit's features, outlining its advanced combat capabilities and cutting-edge technology. "It's an advanced combat-suit based on Steve's SHIELD suit," Tony explains, his voice brimming with pride. "Flexible plates overlaying an MR-fluid armor layer. The tri-weave consists of an outer and inner layer made of a titanium tri-weave fiber. Sandwiched in between is the MR-fluid liquid armor that hardens in response to impacts. The liquid body armor layer is flexible, giving the wearer greater mobility. Also, shockproof and fireproof," he elaborates, his words punctuated by gestures and diagrams projected onto the nearby screens. In appearance, the suit is dominantly black with a few overlaying red stripes, a sleek and formidable ensemble befitting Wanda's formidable powers. Her head is covered by a cowl, leaving her face and hair exposed, giving her a sense of both protection and freedom. "What do you think?" Wanda questions Sam and Tony, her voice filled with anticipation. The two men exchange approving nods, impressed by the suit's design and functionality. Wanda adds her own personal touch by throwing on her signature red cropped jacket, a subtle nod to her individuality and style.

Meanwhile, I remain stationed by the door, arms crossed over my chest as I watch the scene unfold. Despite the seriousness of our mission and the challenges we face, the camaraderie and sense of unity among the team lift the mood. I can't help but feel pride.

[Wanda Maximoff POV]

[Room.] I jerk awake, my heart pounding against my chest, my brow covered in cold sweats. The remnants of the nightmare cling to me like a suffocating shroud, leaving me trembling with indescribable fear. It takes me a moment to gather my wits to separate the twisted images of my dreams from reality. "A nightmare. It was only a terrible nightmare," I mutter to myself, though the words ring hollow in the silence of the room. Despite my attempts to convince myself otherwise, the lingering unease remains, a gnawing sense of dread that refuses to dissipate. Dragging a hand over my face and through my hair, I try to shake off the residual effects of the dream, but the memory lingers like a stubborn shadow, casting a pall over my thoughts. Glancing at the nightstand, I see the clock blinking 6:30 AM, its red digits casting an eerie glow in the dim light of dawn. The room is bathed in semi-darkness, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows across the floor. With a weary sigh, I realize that there's no point in trying to go back to sleep now, not with the lingering specter of the nightmare haunting my every thought. Resigned to my fate, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and rise to my feet, the floor cool beneath my bare feet. I throw on some clothes haphazardly, my movements fueled by the need to escape the suffocating grip of my own mind.

[Kitchen.] Exiting the room, I step out into the hallway, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken fears and restless dreams. The house is quiet; the only sound is the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds outside. As I make my way downstairs, I'm consumed by the need to distract my mind from the horrors of the night, to find solace in the simple routines of everyday life. In the kitchen, I set about preparing a cup of coffee, the familiar ritual of a comforting balm for my troubled soul. The rich aroma fills the air, wrapping around me like a warm embrace, offering a brief respite from the darkness that threatens to engulf me. Leaning against the counter, I take a sip of the steaming brew, the bitter taste awakening my senses and grounding me in the present moment. With each sip, I feel the tight knot of anxiety in my chest begin to unravel, the tendrils of fear slowly loosening their grip on my mind. As the first rays of sunlight filter through the window, casting a golden glow over the kitchen, I find myself filled with a renewed sense of hope and determination. Despite the nightmares that haunt me, I refuse to let them dictate my life. With each new day comes the opportunity for redemption, for healing, for finding peace amidst the chaos. And as I stand there, bathed in the warmth of the morning sun, I know that I am strong enough to face whatever challenges lie ahead, armed with nothing more than my own resilience and the unwavering belief that light will always triumph over darkness.

[Training-area.] I trek the hallway to find Spartan in the training area; his movements are fluid and precise as he spars with a few drones. A small smile escapes my lips at the sight of him. 'Wonder if all super-soldiers have that type of physique. Both males and females,' I muse silently to myself, unable to resist the urge to admire his strength and agility. As I approach, I find myself paying very close attention to the super-soldier, my gaze lingering on the contours of his muscles. There's a magnetic quality to him, a sense of gravitas that draws me in, leaving me mesmerized by his every move. The daze breaks away as Spartan becomes aware of my presence, his focused expression softening into one of concern. "Hey, you're up early," he greets me with a warm smile, his voice cutting through the silence of the training room. "You good?" he adds, his brow furrowing slightly as he takes in my appearance. I realize then that the expression on my face must still convey the aftereffect of the nightmare that had plagued me earlier. "Yes, I am fine. Just woke up from a bad dream, is all. Nothing to be concerned about," I assure him, though the remnants of the nightmare still linger in the recesses of my mind, casting a shadow over my thoughts. "Want to talk about it?" he offers, his concern palpable in his tone.

I shake my head, forcing a reassuring smile. "No. As I said, it is nothing. Just a silly dream," I reply, though the memory of the nightmare still sends shivers down my spine. In my mind's eye, I can still see the bodies of the Avengers lying at the feet of the titan with the golden iron gauntlet, his twisted smile haunting me. "So you spend your morning beating up on drones?" I say, quickly changing the subject in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the dream. Spartan notices the shift in topic but doesn't push, respecting my desire to move past the unsettling thoughts that linger in my mind. I turn away, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I peer around the training area, noting the absence of the other Avengers. "Where are the others?" I inquire, curious about the whereabouts of our teammates. Spartan folds his arms in thought, considering my question carefully. "The others are all out doing their own things. It's just you and me," he explains, his voice tinged with a hint of solitude. "Want to join me for breakfast?" he adds, a hopeful smile playing at the corners of his lips.

I shy away, hesitant to impose on his morning routine. "I do not want to be a bother," I reply, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the thought of intruding on his solitude. Spartan pockets his hands, his expression softening with sincerity. "Wanda, you're not. Plus, I like your company," he reassures me, his words sending a warmth spreading through my chest. Unable to resist the genuine kindness in his offer, I return his smile with one of my own. "In that case, sure," I agree, grateful for the opportunity to spend some time in the company of someone who understands and accepts me, nightmares and all.

[Spartan POV]

[1 day later, New York City]

Out on patrol via the city rooftops, EPYON, my alias for covert operations, detects suspicious activity—a break-in at a tech company. Wasting no time, I swiftly navigate toward the location. Positioned atop a building in Hell's Kitchen, I activate my stealth-camo, blending seamlessly into the shadows as I assess the situation. My HUD tags various hostiles engaged in combat with a lone masked individual in a distinctive red-and-black combat suit. Realization dawns on me as I recognize the defender of Hell's Kitchen, Daredevil. We've crossed paths before, collaborating on an op to dismantle a gang of corrupt cops. Though he's more than capable of handling himself, I decide to provide backup, just in case. Inside the building's hallway, Daredevil demonstrates his formidable combat skills, swiftly dispatching the thugs with precise strikes and expertly executed maneuvers. With each blow, he incapacitates his opponents with ease, his movements fluid and graceful yet devastatingly effective.

As one thug falls to the ground, another charges at Daredevil with a bat in hand. Ducking low, he evades the swing and delivers a series of punishing blows, rendering the assailant unconscious in mere seconds. Meanwhile, Daredevil faces off against another thug, exchanging a flurry of punches before swiftly incapacitating him with a well-placed arm throw. Amidst the chaos, a downed thug attempts to retrieve a firearm, but Daredevil reacts with lightning speed, hurling his baton and disarming the assailant before he can pose a threat. With precision and finesse, he neutralizes the remaining threats, ensuring the safety of the premises. "Nice suit," I remark as I deactivate the stealth-camo, revealing my presence to Daredevil. He smirks in response, acknowledging our reunion after a period of absence. "It's been a while," he remarks, his tone tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, been busy," I reply, my mind already shifting gears as Daredevil presents me with new information. His demeanor turns serious as he divulges details of an impending underground auction involving human trafficking. My blood boils at the thought of innocent lives being exploited for profit. "Where?" I demand, my voice laced with determination as I prepare to confront the perpetrators head-on. Daredevil's response is grim but determined. "Don't know. But I think I know someone who does. A slime ball named Turk," he informs me, setting the stage for our next mission to root out the criminals and dismantle their operations, one step at a time.

[Bar-With-No-Name, New York City]

[Rooftop.] Both Daredevil and I crouch over the edge of the building, our eyes scanning the area below as the HUD marks a dozen individuals inside the building, half of them armed to the teeth. "How do you want to do this?" Daredevil inquires, his voice calm but resolute. I straighten myself, feeling the weight of the impending confrontation settle upon my shoulders. "I'll go in and drag Turk out," I assert, my tone firm and unwavering. The masked vigilante nods in agreement, his trust in my abilities evident as he prepares to provide backup from the shadows.

[Inside.] With a silent nod, I leap off the roof, my senses heightened as I navigate the dimly lit interior of the building. Inside, the scene unfolds exactly as I had anticipated—a den of iniquity, teeming with unsavory characters and nefarious dealings. My gaze locks on Turk; he sits by the bar, surrounded by his cronies. Tonight, there will be no subtlety, no stealthy approach. I want to make a statement, to send a message to every criminal in New York City. Striding purposefully toward Turk, I make my presence known, my footsteps echoing through the room like a harbinger of justice. His eyes widen with fear as he realizes the gravity of the situation, scrambling to find an escape route while barking orders to his lackeys. Without hesitation, they move to intercept me, forming a barrier between Turk and myself, their weapons drawn and ready for action. As the tension mounts, I spring into action, dodging incoming attacks and retaliating with strikes of my own. I disarm a thug wielding a gun and incapacitate another with a well-placed kick to the chest. Drawing my pistol, I dispatch the remaining assailants with non-lethal stun bolts, clearing a path to Turk.

[Outback.] Seizing the opportunity, I grab Turk by the collar and haul him outside, where Daredevil awaits our arrival. Tossing Turk onto a pile of crates, I stand beside Daredevil, our united front, sending a clear message to our captive. "Oh, shit. You two are working together now? Fuck!" Turk curses, his bravado faltering. "We can do this in one of two ways, Turk. Easy or hard?" I state, my voice steady and authoritative. "Your call." The man barks a humorless laugh, "What the hell do you want?" "Info," DD tells him, "There's going to be an underground auction tonight. Where is it taking place?" "Man, I don't know anything about some auctions," he says. DD punches him right in the nose, then slams him to the wall, "Lie to me again; a broken nose will be the least of your troubles." "Okay! Okay! I heard about an auction taking place at a hotel in Chelsea. That's all I know!" Turk confesses, his voice tinged with desperation. With our mission accomplished, Daredevil and I make our leave, our minds already turning toward the next challenge that awaits us in the dark underbelly of the city.

[New York City]

[Chelsea.] Daredevil and I stand poised on the rooftop, our eyes fixed on the scene unfolding inside the hotel through the skyline window. The HUD provides crucial intel, tagging the influential figures mingling among the crowd—city officials, judges, businessmen, and even two politicians. A hush falls over the room as a man in an impeccably tailored suit takes the stage, signaling the commencement of the auction for the bidders. The HUD swiftly runs a facial scan of the ringleader, revealing his identity as Vasco Quinn—an import-export magnate with a dark and sinister past as a human trafficker. Despite his nefarious activities, the world perceives Quinn as a respectable businessman and philanthropist, ignorant of the horrors he perpetuates behind closed doors. I steal a glance at Quinn's entourage, noting the formidable security detail that surrounds him—a testament to the enemies he's amassed over the years. With a chilling command, Quinn orders his goons to bring forth a group of terrified young girls, their innocence stripped away and their bodies marked with dehumanizing tattoos. It's a sickening display of exploitation, and Daredevil and I know we must intervene before more lives are destroyed.

[Inside.] We burst into the hotel through the skyline window, and chaos erupts within the room. I unleash an EMP blast, plunging the area into darkness and disabling electronic devices, while Daredevil swiftly takes cover under a nearby table, using it as a makeshift shield against the incoming gunfire. With precision and speed, I engage the hired guns, incapacitating them one by one with a flurry of punches and well-aimed shots from my pistol. In the midst of the mayhem, Quinn attempts to flee, but Daredevil intercepts him with a well-aimed grappling line, yanking him back with a forceful tug. Together, we unleash our fury upon these monsters masquerading as men, refusing to show them any mercy as we dismantle their operation piece by piece. With each blow, each strike, we send a message—a message that the innocent will not be forsaken, and justice will prevail. By the time we're finished, not a single one of Quinn's henchmen remains standing, their faces bloodied and bruised but their lives spared. Daredevil moves to secure the hostages; I swiftly tap my comlink, alerting SHIELD.