Chapter 103:
[Zemo POV]
[2 Weeks Later, CERBERUS HQ, New York City]
[Tarleton's Lab.] The rhythmic hum of machinery fills the air as I step into the lab, a familiar sanctuary of innovation and secrets. My footsteps echo slightly on the sterile, polished floor, the sound a sharp contrast to the quiet concentration that pervades the room. I'm here on a mission of critical importance, driven by the need to harness new advantages in our ongoing struggle for dominance. "What do you have for me, Doctor?" I ask, my voice cutting through the low buzz of electrical currents and the occasional clink of glassware. The urgency of my inquiry is masked by a veneer of calm control, a necessary composure for the games of power I navigate daily. Dr. Tarleton, a figure as enigmatic as the experiments he conducts, turns to face me. His eyes, usually a clear reflection of his obsession with his work, today burn with an unusual fervor. In his hands, he holds the artifact I had entrusted to him—a relic of ancient power, its origins as mysterious as the effects it promised. "This artifact you brought me is truly a marvel," Tarleton begins, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and scientific fervor. He carefully places the object on a nearby worktable, his fingers lingering on its intricate carvings as if to draw some arcane knowledge directly from its touch, "By studying it, I manage to create an elixir to make our forces into super soldiers who can use low-level magic."
The implications of his words ripple through the air, heavy with potential. My mind races with the strategic possibilities this elixir could open up. Super soldiers—enhanced not just with physical prowess but with magical abilities, however rudimentary—could shift the balance of power significantly in our favor. The thought of deploying units imbued with such capabilities against our adversaries sends a thrill of anticipation down my spine. "How stable is the serum?" I inquire, stepping closer to examine the vial of shimmering liquid that Tarleton now retrieves from a refrigerated container. The liquid's luminescence captivates me, its dance of colors like a captured aurora borealis. "It's stable and ready for field testing," Tarleton replies, his confidence evident in his posture, "Initial tests on subjects have shown promising results. Enhanced strength, accelerated healing, and a rudimentary ability to manipulate elemental energies." Elemental manipulation—fire, water, air, and earth—the basic forces of nature harnessed by human hands. The strategic applications are endless, from espionage to frontal assaults, from sabotage to high-value target extraction. My mind spins with the tactics we could revise, the operations we could reimagine with such forces at our disposal. "And the side effects?" I probe further, aware that such breakthroughs often come with unforeseen consequences. The balance between risk and reward is delicate in the art of war, especially when dealing with tools carved from the unknown.
"Minimal to none that we've observed so far. Some subjects experience brief disorientation or mild euphoria post-injection, but these symptoms dissipate quickly," Tarleton assures me, his tone dismissive of any concerns. Yet, I note the careful avoidance of a too-definitive guarantee—typical of a scientist who respects the unpredictable nature of his craft. I nod, processing this information. The decision to move forward seems clear, yet the weight of it rests heavily on my shoulders. The enhancement of our forces with such a tool could indeed tip the scales in our favor, potentially accelerating our plans and expanding our influence. "Prepare for immediate deployment in a controlled operation. I want a field report," I command, my decision made. The potential benefits outweigh the risks, and we are not in the business of shying away from bold moves. "Understood, Sir. I'll arrange for the first batch to be ready within the week," Tarleton responds, already turning back to his work, the artifact once again in his hands as he contemplates further refinements. As I leave the lab, the door sliding shut with a soft hiss behind me, I feel the gears of destiny turning.
[Spartan POV]
[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[Wanda's Room.] The soothing hum of Avengers HQ surrounds me as I step into the sunlit playroom, where light filters through large windows, casting playful shadows across the soft, cushioned floor. Wanda is already here, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a smile lighting up her face as she watches our son, Jericho, crawl toward a set of colorful blocks. Her hair catches the sunlight, framing her face with glints of red, and I'm struck anew by how much has changed since we stepped into the roles of parents. The room is alive with Jericho's delighted giggles, a sound that warms the corners of this high-tech fortress we call home. I join them on the floor, the soft mat pressing against my knees, and Jericho's eyes light up when he sees me. He babbles something incoherent but undoubtedly joyful, and I can't help but laugh. This, I think, is what true happiness must feel like—simple, pure, and unburdened by the weight of our other lives. Wanda passes me a soft, plush toy—a shield, a miniature replica of the one Captain America wields—and I wave it in front of Jericho, who claps his hands and reaches for it with eager little fingers. "Spartan tactics, buddy," I tease lightly, guiding his hands to hold the toy properly, "Hold it like this. You'll be defending the world in no time." Wanda chuckles at that, her magic subtly twinkling in her eyes as she watches us, the air around her shimmering with the residue of her power even in such peaceful moments.
The play is simple, filled with exaggerated gasps and cheers as Jericho manages to stack a couple of blocks before knocking them down with a squeal. Wanda uses her magic to make the blocks float back into position, creating a gentle, captivating display that has Jericho laughing and clapping his hands. The magic isn't just for show; it's a part of her, a way she connects with our son, showing him the wonders of his heritage from a young age. As we play, my mind occasionally drifts to the responsibilities waiting just outside these walls—the calls to action, the crises to avert. But each time, Wanda's gentle touch on my arm or Jericho's joyful discoveries bring me back to the present. This room, with its toys and laughter, feels like a sanctuary, a bastion of normalcy in our chaotic existence. I look over at Wanda, her face aglow with maternal love and contentment, and realize how much she has grown into this role. She's a protector not just on the battlefield but also here in the way she nurtures and teaches Jericho about the world. It's a side of her that fills me with immense pride and a deeper, more profound love.
"Look at him, he's already trying to cast spells like his mom," I say, watching as Jericho waves his hands, mimicking Wanda's movements. She laughs, a sound like music, and demonstrates a small, harmless spark of red energy that dances between her fingers. Jericho's eyes widen in awe, and I can see the gears turning in his head, the innate curiosity of the Maximoff bloodline already bubbling within him. The afternoon stretches on, marked by the slow passage of the sun across the room, and our play evolves into a quiet time of reading. I pick up a brightly illustrated book about heroes and legends, reading aloud in a soft voice, emphasizing the values of courage and kindness. Jericho listens, fascinated by the pictures, reaching out now and then to turn the pages himself.
[Mission Room.] After Wanda and I put Jericho down for his nap, the two of us go back to our usual duties as Avengers. The transition from doting parents to defenders of the world always feels a bit surreal. One moment, I'm immersed in the innocent chuckles and bright-eyed wonder of our son, and the next, I'm gearing up, ready to face whatever threats loom on the horizon. Wanda, with her graceful composure, switches roles seamlessly, though I catch a lingering glance back towards Jericho's room, her expression tinged with the soft worry that marks all mothers, regardless of their supernatural abilities. We head to the mission room, where the atmosphere shifts palpably from the familial warmth of the playroom to the brisk efficiency that underscores the operations of the Avengers. Screens flicker with incoming data, reports from agents in the field, and updates on global incidents that might require our intervention. The weight of responsibility settles back onto my shoulders, familiar and heavy. Wanda steps up to one of the stations, her fingers dancing across the holographic displays with practiced ease, reviewing the latest intelligence reports. Her focus is total, every bit the seasoned hero who has saved the world more times than even she can count. As she works, I gear up, strapping on my armor and checking my equipment. The cool, hard surface of my tactical gear contrasts sharply with the soft toys I had been stacking with Jericho just an hour ago. I run a systems check, ensuring all communications are online and that my weaponry is in optimal condition. The process is methodical, almost meditative, allowing me a moment to shift my mental gears.
EPYON tags a mission from SHIELD. Captain America, Karai, Falcon, Scarlet Witch, and I are assigned to it. The mission is to raid a Black Market weapon auction. Sounds like a simple op, but nothing ever is truly simple. Sitting in the dimly lit briefing room, the heavy silence is occasionally pierced by the soft hum of equipment. The screen in front of us flickers to life, displaying the gritty details of our upcoming mission. The intel, sourced directly from SHIELD's reconnaissance teams, lays out the basics: a clandestine weapon auction, likely laced with international criminals and rogue agents hungry for power and profit. The auction's inventory isn't just illegal; it's extraordinarily dangerous, featuring everything from advanced firearms to experimental technology that no civilian should ever possess. Captain America stands at the head of the table, projecting a calm yet stern presence. He runs through the operation's objectives with surgical precision, his voice firm and commanding. Beside him, Karai, always the tactician, flips through her digital notes, adding her observations on potential security weak points and enemy count. Her focus is palpable, and her readiness to disrupt this shady gathering is clear in her keen eyes. Falcon, or Sam as we usually call him, is leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, but his gaze is anything but relaxed. He's thinking about the aerial insertion, his job to provide us with eyes in the sky and rapid mobility if things get heated. His tech is state-of-the-art, a testament to the innovation we often rely upon in these precarious situations. Next to me, the Scarlet Witch, Wanda, her face a mask of concentration, is mentally preparing herself, running through scenarios where her powers will be needed most.
During the time the briefing continues, I'm running through my own checklist. My gear, already prepped and waiting, includes the usual loadout plus a few extra gadgets that might give us an edge. EPYON sends through the last pieces of data, a 3D map of the auction site—a sprawling, decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It's isolated, which is good for us, minimizing civilian risk, but it also means if we run into trouble, we're on our own until backup can punch through. Steve wraps up the briefing.
[The Docks, New York City]
[Quinjet.] From the quinjet, the team stakes out the docks. We're a little early. The auction doesn't start for another hour. In the meantime, we sent out a surveillance drone to recon the area. The bad guys are still in the process of setting everything up. "Do we know the player who set up the auction?" Sam asks. I shake my head, "Nope. According to SHIELD's intel team, they only managed to find out about the place by intercepting an encrypted invitation." I glance out the window of our hovering quinjet, parked discreetly above the warehouse; I observe the flurry of activity below through enhanced binoculars. Shady figures move back and forth, setting up what looks like high-stakes merchandise under the cover of derelict buildings and rusted shipping containers. The dock, usually bustling with the noise of cargo and machinery, tonight thrums with more sinister energy. Floodlights flick on, casting long shadows as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the scene in stark contrasts of light and dark. Karai is busy at her station, her fingers flying over the controls as she manipulates the drone's cameras for better angles. The screens flicker with live feeds, showing crates being unloaded and guarded by men with the look of mercenaries—hard eyes and harder jaws, armed to the teeth. It's a powder keg down there, just waiting for a spark.
Wanda, sitting next to me, keeps her gaze fixed on the main monitor, her brow furrowed in concentration. I can feel the tension radiating from her, a stark reminder of the stakes involved in tonight's operation. Every now and then, she jots down notes, potential points of entry for her to exploit with her magic if the need arises. Her readiness to leap into action is palpable, her fingers twitching subtly as if already weaving spells in the air. Cap reviews the mission parameters one last time, his voice low and steady. "Remember, we're here to disrupt and dismantle. No engagement unless absolutely necessary. We need to secure the weapons and apprehend as many players as possible." His strategy is clear, prioritize containment and capture to prevent these weapons from spilling out into the streets. Sam keeps a watchful eye on the external sensors, tracking any incoming or outgoing vehicles. His role as our eye in the sky once we move in is crucial; he'll be the one to give us real-time updates on enemy movements and possible escape routes. The tech in his suit allows him to be both guardian and aggressor, a balance he's mastered over countless missions. As the time ticks down, I recheck my own gear out of habit and slide my mask on.
The drone buzzes quietly in the background, a constant hum that's almost soothing if not for the images it sends back. "Looks like they're about to start," Karai announces, pointing to a group gathering near the center of the warehouse. A large screen displays what appears to be the auction catalog, a digital showcase of illegal armaments and banned tech. It's more than just guns; it's the kind of weaponry that could escalate conflicts to devastating levels. "Everyone ready?" Steve's voice cuts through the hum of preparation, clear and commanding. We respond in unison. "Let's move out," he commands, and we all nod, each of us mentally preparing to step into the fray. "The real question is now. Are we landing, or are we jumping?" Karai asks jokingly. Cap smirks, "We jump."
[Warehouse.] We all dive out of the quinjet and land not far from the auction location. "Keep it stealthy, people. I don't want to scare these scumbags too soon. Keep your HUD on. I want a face-scan of everyone who attends this auction and the Items they're selling," Cap orders. I keep low to the ground, my heart pounding with the electric buzz that always precedes a mission. The air smells of damp concrete and sea salt drifting in from the docks, a reminder of how close we are to the water. My visor's display flickers as I switch to infrared to confirm the outlines of our targets, scanning for any signs of unusual movement. I notice Karai in position to my left, her figure a silent shadow against the steel framework of a nearby shipping container. She gives me a quick hand signal, indicating the presence of two armed sentries patrolling the perimeter. Falcon hovers overhead, ready to drop in at a moment's notice, his gear humming faintly in the still air. I see Wanda and Steve close by, crouched behind a stack of wooden crates that look haphazardly placed, no doubt part of the makeshift auction setup. I can almost feel Wanda's magic pulsing at the edge of my awareness; she keeps it suppressed for now, waiting for Cap's signal before unleashing her formidable powers. The moonlight glints off Steve's shield, secured tightly on his back, as he double-checks our surroundings. We move in coordinated silence, each step carefully calculated to avoid drawing unwanted eyes.
My HUD pings with new data: the face-scanning software picks up a handful of low-level criminals but also a few high-profile suspects we've encountered on previous missions. They mill about in the dimly lit interior of the warehouse, their casual postures belying the lethal items being traded just out of sight. The tension in the air is almost tangible, like a coiled spring ready to snap. I grip my weapon tighter, scanning for vantage points that provide both cover and a clear line of sight to the main auction floor. The plan is simple: gather intel, identify key players, and shut this operation down before it can spread its poison through the city's underbelly. Another quick glance around confirms the team is in position, everyone poised on a razor's edge of readiness. For now, we watch and wait.
While sitting in the shadows, we catch sight of multiple vehicles approaching the warehouse. I tap my comlink, "We got a small army here." "Yeah, I also notice most of these guys used to work for Wilson Fisk," Karai voices, "Roaches always find a way to survive." After a few more minutes, the auction starts. A man walks up onto the stage wearing a lab coat. "All of you have gathered here today for the same reason. A taste for the future. But have no means to compete with your enemies. Enemies like the masked freaks who roam the city. Individuals like Daredevil, Luke Cage, Spider-Man, the X-Men, and the Avengers. You all need an equalizer. But not just any equalizer. An equalizer that can fight fire with fire," he tells the gathered group. "Who is this man," Wanda asks. "Tarleton," I answer, "The man was the top Scientist for AIM. HYDRA's scientific division. Thought he was dead. Last I heard, he was caught in an explosion during one of their failed experiments." Tarleton commands the stage with an unnerving charisma; the warehouse fills with the murmurs of criminals, mercenaries, and black-market dealers. From my hidden vantage point, I observe the array of attendees. It's a veritable who's who of the city's underworld, some of whom are notoriously difficult to catch outside their fortified hideouts. The presence of these figures here is a testament to the allure of what Tarleton is selling.
Falcon, from his aerial lookout, whispers over the comms, "Visual confirmation on multiple high-value targets. This is bigger than we thought. Looks like half the city's underworld got the memo." His report only tightens the coil of tension in my gut. Karai's voice crackles through again, her tone low and urgent, "Looks like they're gearing up to showcase the tech. I'm seeing a lot of movement backstage." Her update prompts me to adjust my position slightly, ensuring I have a clear line of sight to the stage where Tarleton continues to preach about revolution and power. The scientist's speech grows more fervent, his gestures grandiose as he unveils a tarp to reveal what looks like advanced, experimental weaponry. "These are not just tools; they are the future! Today, you have the unique opportunity to level the playing field against those who would stand in your way," he announces, presenting a small box and withdrawing a glowing vile that houses an elixir.
Everyone looks at the man with a raised eyebrow. "What the hell is that?!" a merc barks. Tarleton grins, "Magic in a bottle." The crowd murmurs in disbelief, skepticism, and intrigue; I shift slightly in the shadows, enhancing my vantage point. The dim light of the warehouse barely illuminates the dusty air, but I can see clearly enough the expressions of those gathered. They are a mix of hardened criminals and desperate dealers, all brought together by the promise of power, the kind of power that can challenge heroes and law enforcers alike. Tarleton, holding the vial aloft, lets the low light catch its contents, creating a mesmerizing glow that seems to captivate even the most cynical of the audience. His voice cuts through the thick tension in the air, "This, my friends, is not just any concoction; it's a breakthrough that could change the very nature of conflict. Imagine possessing the strength to go toe-to-toe with a superhero, the agility to escape any pursuit, or the cunning to evade the most sophisticated security. This elixir offers all that and more." Tarleton continues his pitch, winding tighter around the crowd's imagination. "You have seen what beings like the Avengers can do. You know the threat they pose to operations like ours. With this"—he shakes the vial slightly, and it sparkles ominously—"you can meet them head-on. Turn the hunters into the hunted." The implications of his words send a chill down my spine despite the heated atmosphere of the room.
Sam, hovering unseen above the warehouse with the help of his advanced tech, whispers into the comms, "Got eyes on the exits; no one's sneaking out. Keep an eye on the eastern corner; a couple of guys looking twitchy." Karai's response is immediate, her voice steady in my ear, "On it. Also, looks like they've got additional security coming in. Seems Tarleton wasn't expecting just a casual evening chat." As Tarleton elaborates on the elixir's effects—enhanced reflexes, minor regenerative capabilities, a short burst of heightened awareness—the potential for disaster grows exponentially. Each claim he makes is more audacious than the last, painting a picture of an army of enhanced criminals rampaging through the streets, challenging heroes, and destabilizing the delicate balance of power in the underworld and beyond. The atmosphere grows heavy with greed and ambition. It's palpable, almost a physical weight in the air, as the criminals around me lean in, their earlier skepticism fading in the face of Tarleton's charismatic assurances. He concludes with a dramatic flourish, "And now, let us demonstrate the true potential of this marvel."
A volunteer from the crowd steps forward. Tarleton administers the elixir, and within moments, the change is visible. The man's muscles bulge, veins popping, his eyes glowing with a fierce, unnatural light. A murmur ripples through the crowd, a mix of fear and excitement. "This is our future," Tarleton declares, his voice now thunderous in the echo of the warehouse, "With this, we rewrite the rules of the game." Beside me, Wanda shifts, her focus narrowing. "We can't let this spread," she murmurs, more to herself than to me. Cap's voice, ever calm, breaks into my thoughts, "Stay sharp, team. Let's wrap this up before it escalates." I tighten my grip on my weapon, my other hand poised over the device that would signal our strike. The stakes couldn't be higher as I watched the newly empowered merc begin to test his abilities, smashing crates with casual backhands. The plan is simple: stop the distribution, secure the elixir, and neutralize the threat. Yet, as always, the simplicity belies the danger. We're on a razor's edge, and every movement must be precise.
Cap gives the order to strike. From my belt, I toss a few smoke grenades. The moment they hit the ground, a hissing sound fills the air, and thick plumes of gray smoke swirl upward, quickly engulfing the makeshift auction floor and shrouding the criminals in confusion. I keep my stance low and steady, gripping my stun pistol. The smoke instantly disrupts the overhead lights, creating dancing shadows that stretch and twist across the warehouse walls. Faint beams of light from the flood lamps outside filter through the broken windows, but inside, visibility drops to nearly zero. Over the cacophony of coughs and shouts, I hear someone scream, "It's the fucking Avengers!" Their panicked voice echoes off the concrete walls, a stark reminder of the fear our name invokes among those who profit from chaos. The mercenaries spring into action, their weapons firing wildly into the smoke, muzzle flashes illuminating the swirling fog in staccato bursts. I hear bullets ricocheting off metal crates and a spray of sparks near my feet, but I hold my ground. Cap's shield whistles through the darkness, a silver blur that connects with a startled merc before ricocheting into another. Swiftly, I squeeze the trigger on my stun pistol, picking off targets that wander too close. The pulsating energy discharge lights up the smoke momentarily, revealing silhouettes of startled faces before they collapse in a twitching heap. My heart pounds with adrenaline, but my mind remains focused and clear—no second-guessing, no hesitation.
I move deeper into the smoke, taking cover behind a rusted shipping container. Through my visor's enhanced sensors, I can just make out shapes darting back and forth, some trying to escape, others futilely attempting to mount a counterattack. Gunfire still crackles through the air, accompanied by the pungent smell of burning propellant. Behind me, I hear Wanda murmuring something under her breath, likely weaving her magic to corral the more elusive targets. A distant crash tells me Sam is in play, probably using his wing pack to slam into a cluster of enemies from above. Despite the chaos, our team maintains a ruthless efficiency, each of us working in tandem to disorient and dismantle the opposition.
Suddenly, I catch movement to my left. A merc with a submachine gun charges out of the swirling fog, hoping to take me by surprise. He's close—too close—before I can fully react. The muzzle of his weapon flashes, sending a hail of bullets toward me. I roll to the side, feeling the heat of rounds zipping past, my armor plating absorbing one or two glancing hits. With a sharp pivot, I seize his forearm and twist, forcing his weapon to the ground. He snarls, trying to wrestle free, but I'm quicker. I jam the barrel of my stun pistol into his gut, firing a short burst that sends him reeling backward. It's not enough to knock him out completely, so I kick the gun from his hand, spin him around, and deliver a solid strike to the back of his head. He crumples, unconscious. Before I can catch my breath, another merc tries to get the jump on me from behind, brandishing a combat knife. The blade glints in the dim light as it swipes dangerously close to my side. Adrenaline spikes in my veins, and I grab his wrist with a fierce grip, redirecting the knife away from my body. He's strong, but desperation has always been a poor substitute for training. With a quick shift, I press my pistol against his thigh, pulling the trigger. The shot crackles, and he howls as the impact sends him off balance. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, I execute a flawless follow-up: two more shots, center mass, dropping him to the ground.
All around me, the battle rages on. I can see glimpses of Cap's iconic shield spinning through the haze, hear Karai barking orders over the comms as she coordinates with Sam to secure the perimeter, and sense Wanda's scarlet magic flaring somewhere near the stage where Tarleton was last seen. The criminals who were so eager to purchase advanced weaponry moments ago now scramble for any exit they can find, their bravado evaporating as the reality of facing the Avengers sets in. Smoke continues to billow, thick and suffocating, but we've trained for situations like this. We thrive in unpredictability, turning enemy confusion into our advantage. With the immediate threats around me neutralized, I allow myself a quick scan of the area. Dozens of mercs and assorted criminals lie incapacitated or fled. Our infiltration is successful so far, but the mission isn't over until Tarleton is in custody and his deadly "equalizer" is secured.
At that very moment, the "equalizer" stumps into view. The augmented merc is a lot bigger close-up. Suddenly, I'm in the air and crash onto a nearby cargo crate. "Ow," I voice, grunting in pain. The jolt of impact reverberates through my armor, and I can practically feel every rivet on the crate digging into my back. My head spins for a second, but I force myself to stay focused. This merc is no ordinary thug—whatever Tarleton did to him has pushed his physical capabilities far beyond normal human limits. I scramble to my feet, wincing at the protest of sore muscles, and catch sight of the augmented brute stalking forward. His silhouette stands out in the swirling smoke, and for a brief moment, his eyes shine with a feral gleam that makes my pulse spike. Over the comms, I hear Wanda's urgent voice, "Spartan, are you all right?" I hiss back a response, "I'm in one piece. He just caught me off guard." I can hear the sounds of continuing skirmishes all around: the crack of Cap's shield striking armor, the sharp hiss of energy blasts—likely Wanda's doing—and the whir of Falcon's gear as he strafes overhead. The merc, chest heaving, is fixated on me like a predator zeroing in on prey. My HUD tags him as a high-threat target, flashing warnings about heightened muscle density and abnormal adrenal levels.
I edge around the crate, trying to put some distance between us and notice the flicker of the overhead lights playing across his unnaturally bulging veins. Shots ring out in the background as Karai provides covering fire for other team members, but it's clear I have to handle this guy on my own for the moment. Taking a deep breath, I activate a short-range thermal scan to pinpoint his vulnerabilities. Despite his enhancements, he still has joints and a nervous system. I aim my stun pistol at his center of mass, hoping to at least disorient him, but he lunges forward with startling speed. I barely manage to squeeze off one shot before his massive hand swats my pistol away, sending it clattering across the concrete floor. My weapon skitters to a stop somewhere in the fog, lost to my immediate reach. "Well, shit," I say. Without missing a beat, I pivot and drive my elbow into his ribcage—an attack that would normally stagger an ordinary human—but he hardly budges. Instead, he snarls and grabs my arm in a crushing grip. Pain flares in my shoulder as he lifts me off my feet again, his raw strength forcing the air from my lungs. Over the comm, I hear Sam's voice: "Hang on, Spartan, I'm en route." Desperation fuels me, and I twist my body sharply to break free of the hold. It's enough to force him to loosen his grip, and I drop to the ground, rolling clear just as he slams his fist down where my head was a second ago. The concrete cracks under his blow, a chilling testament to the power coursing through his veins.
I scrambled upright, scanning for an advantage. There's a tall stack of steel drums to my right, and I angle myself so that if he charges, I can use them as partial cover. He advances, still with that menacing glare, and I notice a faint shimmer in his eyes—a sign that maybe this enhancement is more than just physical. I wonder if Tarleton also tinkered with some kind of neural booster, making these mercs not just stronger but potentially more cunning. Suddenly, a burst of scarlet light arcs overhead and explodes near the brute's feet, courtesy of Wanda. She's trying to distract him so I can regain the upper hand. "Thanks," I mutter under my breath, though I'm not sure she hears me through the din. The augmented merc staggers for a moment, caught off guard by Wanda's intervention, and I seize the opportunity. Lunging forward, I grab a metal pipe from the debris around us and swing it with all my strength. The pipe collides with his torso in a resounding clang that reverberates through my arms. He staggers, but he's not down. With a terrifying growl, he wrenches the makeshift weapon from my hands and snaps it in half like a twig.
On the stage, Tarleton starts to laugh maniacally, "Even with your bioaugmentation, you stand no chance against my Equalizer. My creation is the ultimate weapon. A perfect fusion of magic and science. A magically enhanced being beyond your comprehension." I feel a surge of anger as his taunting voice echoes through the smoke-filled warehouse, the harsh lighting casting menacing shadows around the stage. I steady my breathing, keeping my eyes on him while the augmented merc that tossed me across the floor prowls at the edge of my vision. My back still aches from the impact of that cargo crate, and every labored breath reminds me that we are dealing with something far beyond normal human limits. Tarleton, standing under flickering spotlights and surrounded by half-unloaded weapon crates, appears eerily calm, as though he's relishing every second of this twisted showcase. I can't let his arrogance distract me, but the strain in my muscles and the sting in my ribs confirm that his so-called "Equalizer" is more than empty words.
With a burst of speed, the Equalizer dashes in front of me, then hammer strikes both his arms down on me. Cap jumps in front of me protectively and blocks the attack with his shield. The ground under our feet cracks from the force. "It's like fighting a less powerful Hulk," Cap comments through gritted teeth. I feel the shockwave reverberate through my knees, sending shudders up my spine as the Equalizer bears down on us with relentless power. The pungent smell of singed metal lingers in the air where sparks fly off Cap's shield, and for a fleeting moment, I lock eyes with him, a quick nod passing between us that says we're in this together. My muscles burn from the strain of the earlier hits, and I grit my teeth against the throb of pain that pulses through my ribs. The glare of overhead lights catches the sweat dripping down my forehead, and I blink furiously to keep my vision clear. Behind the Equalizer, I catch a glimpse of Tarleton standing atop the stage, his posture arrogant, arms folded, watching his creation engage us in a brutal dance of fists and steel. The Equalizer snarls, eyes glowing with some kind of unnatural energy, and with a snarl that resonates through the smoky air, he slams his fists against Cap's shield again, sending another shockwave rippling outward.
I move around Cap and toss two explosive charges onto the Equalizer's back. When the charges detonate, it staggers the Equalizer a few steps back. The dual blasts rip through the swirling smoke, momentarily illuminating the debris-strewn warehouse floor with a harsh, white glare. My ears ring from the concussive force, and the acrid scent of burning chemicals stings my nostrils. Despite the disorienting cacophony, I grit my teeth and keep my focus on the lumbering brute. He shudders under the impact, shoulders rolling as if trying to shake off the pain, but I see the faint flicker of confusion in his glowing eyes. For a second, it feels like we have the upper hand—a fleeting moment of advantage in this chaotic brawl. I don't wait for him to recover. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I rush forward, vaulting over a collapsed stack of crates that splinter under my boots. The Equalizer bellows, staggering as he reaches one massive hand behind his back to claw at the sizzling remains of the charges. Cap, shield at the ready, darts in to keep him distracted, slamming the vibranium disc against the merc's forearm in a shower of sparks and a jarring clang that resonates through the cavernous building. My visor's display flickers with real-time data, highlighting the brute's vital signs spiking in response to pain and anger. I tighten my grip on the hilt of a combat knife, my breath quickening as I consider my options. Close quarters with this monstrous figure is risky—I've already felt the force of his blows, and my ribs still ache from our last exchange—but we need to push our advantage while his guard is down. Cap steps to the side, his shield angled defensively, and I slip into the gap, aiming a precise slash at the back of the Equalizer's knee. My blade makes contact, but it's like slicing into reinforced steel; there's a brief spark as metal meets flesh, augmented by Tarleton's twisted cocktail of magic and science. The Equalizer roars, lashing out with a vicious elbow that catches me across the face. To take the blood fill my mouth.
Enraged, the Equalizer stalks toward me. Acting fast, I pull out a sonic device. It emits high-frequency sound. The Equalizer bellows in pain while cupping his ears, trying to block out the noise. From out of nowhere, a scarlet portal opens with a pack of large wolf-like creatures storming through and attacking the Equalizer. I see it's Wanda using a summoning spell. The warehouse lights flicker ominously as the screech of my sonic device mingles with the snarling of Wanda's summoned beasts, creating a chaotic symphony that resonates through the smoke-laden air. My heart pounds in my chest, the reverberations of the high-frequency pulses rattling my skull. The Equalizer staggers, his massive arms swinging at the wolves as they snap at his heels, dark fur bristling with arcane energy. Each time he tries to regain his footing, another one of Wanda's spectral creatures lunges, snapping viciously or clawing at his reinforced flesh. I can feel the air pressure shifting, swirling with the scent of magic and the tang of overheated metal from the ongoing battle. Shards of broken crates litter the floor around me, and the cloying haze of smoke and debris obscures my vision. Yet, I force myself to keep a steady aim, adjusting my stance to maintain the sonic beam's focus. The Equalizer's howl of agony rises above the din, an unearthly blend of fury and raw pain, and for a moment, I glimpse the toll our combined efforts are taking on him. Wanda's portal crackles at the edges, feeding a constant stream of shimmering mist into the fray, and I see her silhouette in the corner of my visor's display—hands raised, eyes glowing, every ounce of her concentration bent on controlling the rampaging wolves. My shoulders tremble under the weight of adrenaline, but I push the sensation aside. This is the edge we need, I tell myself. If we can keep him pinned down, if we can exploit his disorientation long enough, maybe we can finally subdue him once and for all.
Cap bolts to the pinned-down Equalizer and slams his shield in the center of his chest, bringing the dragged-out battle to an end. I stand a short distance away, my lungs burning from the intensity of the fight and my limbs quivering with adrenaline as I watch the brute's body spasm beneath the unwavering press of Cap's vibranium shield. The warehouse around us is a shambles; debris from our scuffle mixes with the remnants of illicit transactions halted mid-motion. The air is thick with dust and the sharp tang of ozone, evidence of the high-energy weapons discharged during the encounter. My ears are still ringing from the cacophony of combat. However, the win is overshadowed by the escape of our primary target—Tarleton. While we focused on subduing his monstrous creation, the scientist had taken the opportunity to slip away. Despite Tarleton's escape, we managed to complete the primary mission objective. A win is still a win. Sam and Karai proceed to round up the captured auction attendees. Out of curiosity, I go to extract some blood samples from the Equalizer, wanting to know what makes this thing tick. I kneel beside the Equalizer, pulling out a field medical kit from my utility belt. With precise movements, I insert a syringe into what I guess is a vein, under the tough, engineered skin that's more like armor than flesh. The syringe fills with a dark, viscous fluid, hinting at the unnatural enhancements coursing through his veins. As I label the sample, my mind races with questions about the concoction Tarleton might have used to augment this person into a near-unstoppable force. What balance of science and sorcery had he achieved? What potential horrors could we face if his work continued unchecked? These thoughts nag at me as I store the sample securely in my kit.
Around me, the cleanup operation is in full swing. Sam coordinates with local authorities and guides them through the maze of destruction to secure evidence and apprehend any stragglers. Karai, with her usual efficiency, hacks into the warehouse's security system, scanning for any data that might indicate where Tarleton could have fled. Her screen flickers with streams of data, her expression set in a grim line of determination. I stand up, feeling the strain in my muscles and the fatigue that begins to edge out the adrenaline. My regenerative healing starts to kick in, but it's a little too slow for Wanda's liking, so she helps out by using her magic. As she steps closer, her hands glow with a soft, crimson light that begins to envelop the wounds I've sustained in the fray. The sensation is both soothing and invigorating like warmth spreading through a body chilled by winter winds. I can't help but feel a moment of profound gratitude for her presence and her powers. She murmurs softly, a litany of spells whispered under her breath, each word laced with a potent energy that seeps into my skin, knitting flesh and bone back together with supernatural efficiency. Around us, the warehouse still buzzes with the aftermath of the battle. The air is thick with dust and the acrid smell of burnt electronics and gunpowder. Debris litters the ground—broken crates spent ammunition casings, and the remnants of shattered tech. The echoes of the conflict seem to hang in the air, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded in this very space. Despite this, Wanda's focus remains unbroken, her concentration absolute as she channels her magic to accelerate my healing.
The process is not just physical. I feel a calming influence on my mind, a gentle nudge that eases the adrenaline-fueled tension that has tightened every muscle in my body. It's as if her magic is working on more than just the corporeal, soothing the psychological strains that come with close combat. "You took quite a beating," she remarks, her voice low and tinged with concern but with an underlying note of relief as she watches the worst of my injuries seal up. "Thanks to you, it won't keep me down for long," I respond, managing a weak smile despite the lingering pain. Her hands pause for a moment, and she gives me a stern look that's all too familiar. "Don't thank me yet. You need to be more careful. You're no good to us dead," she chides, but her eyes soften at the edges, betraying her deep concern.
[Avengers HQ, New York City]
[R Lab.] Returning to Avengers HQ, the atmosphere is a stark contrast to the chaos of the docks. Here, the air is calm and controlled, filled with the hum of technology and the subtle clinks of busy staff moving about. My muscles still carry the echo of the day's exertions, a reminder of the battle's intensity. I clutch the vial containing the blood sample tightly in my hand, its contents potentially the key to understanding what we were up against. With a determined stride, I make my way to the lab, where Dr. Helen Cho is already prepped and waiting, her expression serious and focused as she sees me enter. "Got something interesting for you, Doctor," I announce, handing over the vial with care. Dr. Cho, with her usual efficiency, takes the sample and places it under the advanced analytical instruments. Her lab, a state-of-the-art facility equipped with the latest in biotechnological and chemical analysis equipment, feels like the heart of Avengers HQ, where science meets superhero needs. As Dr. Cho works, I pace slightly, the wait feeling longer than it actually is. The walls of the lab are lined with screens displaying complex data, digital diagrams of DNA helices, and molecular structures that dance with vibrant colors. After a few minutes, which seem like hours to my anxious mind, Dr. Cho turns to face me, her face illuminated by the glow of the data on her screens.
"Spartan, this is unlike anything we've seen before," she begins, her voice measured but tinged with excitement. "The sample contains a sophisticated mix of biotech, which isn't surprising given what you described about the Equalizer's capabilities. However, there's also another component—something completely unknown." She gestures for me to come closer, pointing to the screen that shows a series of peaks and valleys representing the molecular makeup of the sample. "See here?" she points at a particular spike on the graph, "This signature doesn't match anything in our databases. It's neither synthetic nor natural—it's as if we're looking at a new element or compound altogether." My interest peaks and a mixture of concern and curiosity stirs within me, "What does that mean for us? How does this affect our approach to Tarleton and his creations?" Dr. Cho leans back, considering the implications, "It means that Tarleton has access to resources and knowledge that go beyond conventional science. This unknown substance could be what gave the Equalizer his enhanced abilities. It's possibly a new kind of performance enhancer, but infused with properties we can't yet understand without further testing."
The gravity of her words sinks in. Tarleton's work could represent a significant shift in how biological enhancements are viewed and used in the world. "We need to find out where this substance is coming from," I state firmly, "And more importantly, if there's more of it out there." Dr. Cho nods in agreement, "I'll need to run more tests. This could take some time, Spartan. The biochemical properties are... complex, to say the least." Understanding the necessity of patience in such a complex investigation, I agree to give her the time she needs. "Keep me updated, Doctor. The sooner we understand what we're dealing with, the sooner we can figure out how to stop Tarleton."
[Hallway.] Exiting the lab, I meet Wanda in the hallway. Her expression is intense, a mix of concern and revelation that immediately puts me on alert. "At the warehouse Tarleton mentioned his elixir was a perfect fusion of magic and science," she states, her tone grave. I raise a brow at that, more intrigued than skeptical, "Are you telling me you believe the man created man-made magic?" The notion seems far-fetched, even in our world where the impossible often becomes possible. Wanda nods, her gaze steady and serious. "I don't need to believe it, I know it because I felt it. But he didn't do it on his own. During the battle, I detected fragments of the stone's energy. The very mythical stone Zemo stole." Her revelation sends a chill down my spine. The implications of such a statement are enormous. As we walk together toward the briefing room, Wanda elaborates on her sensory experience at the docks, "The energy signature was unmistakable, Spartan. It was the very same arcane pulse." Her words weigh heavily on me. The corridor of Avengers HQ suddenly feels too narrow, the air too still. "This means that our fight with Tarleton might just be the tip of the iceberg," I muse aloud, the potential scale of the threat expanding in my mind. The idea that someone could manufacture magic, or something akin to it, challenges our understanding of both our abilities and our limits.