Chapter 71:
[Spartan POV]
[1 Day Later, Wakanda, Africa]
[Quinjet.] The quinjet hums steadily as we fly over the vast and varied landscape of Africa, the terrain a patchwork of savannas, forests, and mountains beneath us. My eyes are glued to the window, taking in the beauty and diversity of the continent. This is a far cry from the urban battlegrounds I'm used to. There's something almost serene about it, but I know the peace is deceptive. We're heading toward Wakanda, a place that's currently engulfed in political unrest and civil war. "Do not deviate from the course I laid out," T'Challa instructs Clint, who's at the helm of the craft. In his Hawkeye uniform, Clint nods in acknowledgment, his expression focused and serious. "Wakanda's defenses are highly advanced," T'Challa continues, his tone grave, "Any deviation could trigger a response." I glance over at T'Challa, who stands near the cockpit, his eyes scanning the readouts and the landscape outside.
Wanda sits next to me, her fingers drumming lightly on her thigh. She's always been one to sense the undercurrents of tension, and I can tell she's on edge. Her eyes are distant, staring out the window but not really seeing the landscape below. I know that look all too well. She's thinking about her time surviving the war-torn nation of Sokovia, the memories of chaos and loss that shaped who she is today. "Do you think we're ready for this?" she asks quietly, her voice almost a whisper. It's a rare moment of vulnerability from someone who's seen more than her fair share of horrors. I turn to her, offering a reassuring smile. "We've faced tough missions before, and we've always come through." But even as I say it, I know the weight of those words. This mission carries a different kind of burden, one that touches the raw nerves of her past. She nods, but the worry doesn't leave her eyes.
I reach out and place a hand on hers, hoping to offer some comfort. "Hey," I say softly, "We've got this." She squeezes my hand in return, a small gesture that speaks volumes, "It's just… Wakanda's current state reminds me of Sokovia in some ways. The hidden dangers, the potential for devastation. I can't help but think about the people there, caught in the middle." I nod, understanding her concern, "I know. But that's why we're here. To make sure what happened to Sokovia doesn't happen to Wakanda." Wanda takes a deep breath, "You're right. I just need to focus on that." "Exactly," I say, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go.
As we near the border of Wakanda, the landscape below shifts, revealing the hidden kingdom in all its glory. The transition is almost magical, the advanced technology blending seamlessly with the natural beauty of the land. It's like watching a curtain being drawn back, unveiling a world that defies the imagination. Lush, verdant forests stretch out as far as the eye can see, interspersed with gleaming structures that rise elegantly from the greenery, their design both futuristic and harmonious with nature. Clint's voice crackles over the comms, breaking my reverie. "Approaching Wakandan airspace." There's a note of awe in his usually steady tone, and I can't blame him.
Even from up here, the sight is breathtaking. T'Challa steps closer to the cockpit, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the landscape below. His presence is commanding, a reminder of the king he is and the fierce protector of this land. "Program the quinjet to autopilot and prepare to jump. From this point on, we'll travel the rest of the way on foot," he instructs. The gravity of the situation settles over us; the peaceful facade of Wakanda is a stark contrast to the turmoil within its borders. I stand and stretch, feeling the familiar tension of muscles preparing for action. The quinjet's hum is replaced by the rush of air as the ramp lowers, revealing the dense jungle below. The scents of the earth and foliage hit me, grounding me in the reality of where we are and what we're about to face. Wanda stands beside me, her earlier anxiety now a focused determination. I catch her eye and give her a reassuring nod. Captain America, with his iconic shield strapped to his back, moves to the front of the group, ready to lead the jump. T'Challa steps aside, giving a respectful nod to Steve, who returns it with the same gravity. "Remember, Wakanda's borders are heavily guarded. Stay close and watch each other's back," Steve says. We all nod, understanding the implicit trust we place in each other and in T'Challa's knowledge of his homeland.
[Jungle.] One by one, we leap from the quinjet, the world blurring for a moment before we hit the ground. The canopy of the jungle envelops us. The air is thick with humidity and anticipation. Every rustle of leaves and every distant sound feels amplified. We move as a unit, our senses heightened, ready for whatever lies ahead. Steve leads us through the dense foliage with the confident strides of a seasoned soldier. The path we take winds through the heart of Wakanda, revealing glimpses of the kingdom's advanced infrastructure amidst the natural beauty.
Wanda stays close to me, her eyes scanning the surroundings, her fingers twitch slightly, ready to unleash her formidable abilities at a moment's notice. Karai is just ahead of us, moving with the silent grace of a seasoned operator. She and I press forward, our stun weapons at the aim to incapacitate any threat without lethal force. In this dense jungle, every shadow could conceal a danger, and every rustle of leaves is a potential threat. The sounds of the Wakandan wilderness surround us, a symphony of life that belies the tension simmering beneath the surface. Birds call out, their songs mingling with the distant hum of advanced technology hidden within the natural landscape. It's a strange juxtaposition, this blend of nature and innovation, and it only serves to heighten my awareness of the mission's stakes. "Stay sharp," I murmur, my voice low but steady. Wanda and Karai both nod, their expressions mirroring mine. As we move deeper into Wakanda, the terrain shifts subtly, the ground beneath our feet becoming softer and the vegetation denser. The advanced structures of Wakanda's hidden technology peek through the foliage.
T'Challa pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he senses something. The intensity in his gaze sharpens, and his entire posture changes, becoming even more alert. "We're not alone," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with a quiet authority that demands immediate attention. Instantly, Karai and I fall into a defensive stance, our stun weapons aimed and ready. The dense foliage around us seems to close in, every shadow and rustle suddenly more ominous. The rest of the Avengers quickly react to T'Challa's warning. Clint draws an arrow from his quiver, eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of threat. Wanda's hands glow faintly with red energy. Cap moves to the front, his shield at the ready. His eyes are sharp, assessing the situation with the calm precision that has seen us through countless battles. Natasha slips into the shadows, her movements silent and deadly. She signals to us with a series of quick hand gestures, indicating the positions of potential threats she detects. As we hold our positions, the jungle around us seems to hold its breath. The sounds of wildlife have faded, replaced by an eerie silence that amplifies every movement. I can hear my own heartbeat, the rhythmic thud a reminder of the stakes at hand. The air is thick with tension, each of us poised on the edge of action.
T'Challa's eyes sweep the surroundings, his posture that of a predator ready to pounce. "Stay close and be ready," he instructs, his voice in a low growl. We all nod. Wanda moves closer to me, her eyes never leaving the shadows that surround us. "Do you feel that?" she whispers, her voice barely audible. I nod, sensing the same unease. It's as if the jungle itself is alive, watching us, waiting for the right moment to strike. Suddenly, a rustle in the bushes to our left draws our attention. An old man, who appears to be a farmer, steps out from around the tree, hands raised. His eyes fall on T'Challa, "My king, you return." T'Challa steps forward, his posture shifting from that of a warrior to a leader. The transformation is subtle yet profound, a testament to the dual roles he must play. "Yes, I have returned," he replies, his voice steady and reassuring. There's a warmth in his eyes, a connection that speaks volumes about the bond between him and his people. The old man's face breaks into a relieved smile, the lines of worry easing slightly. "The village is not far from here. Many are still loyal to you, my king," he says, "But there are those who have sided with the usurpers. You must be careful." T'Challa salutes the old man by crossing his arms in an X, showing his thanks.
[Village, Wakanda]
The village, as the old man put it, is more like a small town. As we approach, the dense jungle gradually gives way to cultivated fields and scattered homes. The transition is subtle at first—narrow paths winding between tall grasses, a few goats grazing near a cluster of banana trees—but soon, the landscape opens up to reveal a vibrant community. The town is bustling with activity despite the underlying tension that pervades the air. Women carry baskets of fruits and vegetables on their heads, children chase each other in games of tag, and men work on various tasks, from repairing thatched roofs to tending to livestock. The buildings are a mix of traditional and modern, some constructed from mud and thatch, others from sleek metal and glass, a testament to Wakanda's unique blend of ancient heritage and cutting-edge technology. Walking through the village, I notice the subtle signs of unrest. There are hushed conversations, wary glances, and an occasional figure darting into the shadows at our approach. The presence of armed patrols is also evident, with men and women in uniform who eye us with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Despite the tension, there is a sense of resilience in the air, a determination to carry on with life despite the chaos that looms on the horizon.
T'Challa moves with the grace and authority of a king; his every step is measured and purposeful. The villagers' reactions to him are varied—some bow their heads in reverence, while others watch from a distance, their expressions guarded. It's clear that while many remain loyal to him, some are uncertain, perhaps even swayed by the usurpers' promises. The village might seem peaceful on the surface, but we all know how quickly that can change. An elderly woman steps forward, her eyes bright with recognition. "King T'Challa!" she exclaims, her voice filled with a mix of relief and worries, "You have returned. Praise Bast!" T'Challa smiles warmly at her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Yes, Mother Enzi. We are here to help. How fare you and the others?" Mother Enzi glances around nervously before replying, "We manage, but it is not easy. The usurpers have sown discord among us. Families are divided, friends turned against each other. We live in fear, but we hold on to hope."
Her words strike a chord within me. This village, with its mix of old and new, of hope and fear, is a microcosm of the larger struggle facing Wakanda. It's a reminder of why we're here, of the stakes involved. These people, their lives, their futures—they are what we're fighting for. Steve steps forward, his presence as commanding as ever. "We'll do everything we can to help," he assures her, his voice steady and reassuring, "We won't let Wakanda fall." Mother Enzi nods, tears of gratitude in her eyes, "Thank you, Captain. Your presence alongside our King gives us strength." We continue through the village, our destination being a large meeting hall at the center of town. It's a modest structure compared to the grand buildings of Wakanda's capital, but it serves as the heart of this community. As we enter, I'm struck by the sense of unity and purpose that fills the room. Men and women of all ages are gathered.
T'Challa addresses them, his voice strong and confident, "My people, I have returned to reclaim our land and restore peace. These are my allies, the Avengers. Together, we will fight to protect Wakanda and ensure our future remains bright." There's a murmur of approval, a wave of relief and hope washing over the crowd. I can see the resolve in their eyes and the willingness to stand and fight for their home. As the meeting progresses, we discuss strategies, share information, and plan our next moves. The villagers are eager to help, offering their knowledge of the area and their skills. It's clear that while they have been shaken, they are far from broken.
[Wakanda]
As night falls, Cap gathers us in a tight circle, his face illuminated by the dim light of a single lantern. His expression is serious, eyes sharp with determination. "Alright," Cap begins, "we need to gather more intel on the situation in the capital. Spartan, Karai, you're going to infiltrate the city and run recon." Karai and I exchange a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the task ahead. There's no need for words between us; we know what's at stake and what needs to be done. We move quickly, gearing up with the essentials for our mission. I check my weapons, ensuring my pistols are loaded and my knife is securely strapped to my belt. Karai does the same. We both know that even the smallest mistake could mean the difference between success and failure. We slip into the shadows, our forms blending seamlessly with the night. The air is cool and still, and the village behind us fades into the darkness as we move towards the capital. The journey is tense, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. The moon hangs high in the sky, casting a pale glow that guides our way through the dense jungle.
Approaching the outskirts of the capital, the landscape shifts dramatically. The dense jungle gives way to paved roads and modern buildings, their sleek lines a stark contrast to the natural beauty of the surrounding wilderness. The city is alive with lights, a glittering oasis amidst the darkness. The transformation is jarring, a reminder of the duality of Wakanda—a nation rooted in ancient traditions yet propelled by advanced technology. Navigating through the maze of streets and alleys, we keep to the shadows, our steps silent and deliberate. The usurpers' presence is evident, their soldiers patrolling the streets with an air of arrogance and authority. Their uniforms are crisp, their weapons gleaming under the streetlights. Karai and I stick close together, communicating with hand signals and whispered commands. Every movement is calculated, and every decision is weighed against the potential consequences.
[Rooftop.] Finding a vantage point atop a tall building gives us a clear view of the city below. From here, we can see the central palace, its grand architecture a symbol of Wakanda's pride and heritage. But tonight, it's also a symbol of the conflict tearing the nation apart. Using the HUD, I scan the palace grounds, noting the positions of guards and any unusual activity. Karai does the same, her sharp eyes picking out details I might miss. We take turns relaying our observations, piecing together a picture of the enemy's defenses and movements. "Looks like they've fortified the main entrances," Karai whispers, "And there's increased security around the perimeter. They're expecting trouble." I nod, my mind racing as I take in the information, "We need to find a way inside without raising any alarms. If we can get closer, we might be able to gather more intel on their plans." Karai's lips curve into a determined smile, "Then let's get moving. We've got a lot of ground to cover." We descend from our vantage point and slip back into the shadows, our destination clear. Every step brings us closer to the heart of the enemy's stronghold and, with it, the information we need to help T'Challa reclaim his throne and restore peace to Wakanda.
[Royal Palace, Wakanda]
To say the security at the royal palace is a tough nut to crack is a massive understatement. In fact, it's overkill. The palace stands like a fortress in the center of the capital, its high walls and imposing gates a testament to Wakanda's strength and vigilance. As Karai and I approach, the sheer scale of the defenses becomes glaringly apparent. The perimeter is patrolled by heavily armed guards, their movements precise and disciplined. Floodlights sweep across the grounds in wide arcs, leaving no shadow unexamined. We hunker down behind a low wall, taking in the scene. My mind races as I assess the situation. Every few meters, there's a guard station, each equipped with advanced surveillance technology. Infrared sensors, motion detectors, and automated turrets are strategically placed to cover every possible entry point. The main gate is flanked by two massive statues, each concealing hidden cameras and scanners capable of detecting even the slightest anomalies. "These guys thought of everything," Karai whispers, her eyes narrowing as she studies the layout. I nod in agreement, my brain working overtime to devise a plan, "We need to find a blind spot, some weakness in their defenses that we can exploit."
We inch closer, keeping to the shadows. The palace looms above us; its walls are constructed from vibranium-reinforced materials, making them nearly impenetrable. "Look there," I whisper, pointing to a section of the wall where the floodlights' beams don't quite reach. It's a narrow gap, but it might be our only chance, "If we can get past that guard post without being seen, we might be able to scale the wall and slip inside." Karai nods, her eyes scanning the path ahead, "We move when the patrols change shifts." We wait, muscles tense, as the guards complete their rounds. The seconds stretch into minutes, each one ticking by with agonizing slowness. Finally, the moment arrives. The guards at the post begin their shift change, creating a brief lapse in surveillance. "Now," I whisper urgently, and we move as one, darting from our hiding place and sprinting toward the wall. The two of us drop down into the courtyard, landing softly on the grass. Moving quickly, we navigate the maze, staying low and avoiding the patrols. The closer we get to the palace, the more intense the security becomes.
[Inside.] We reach a side door, partially hidden by a large decorative shrub. It's less guarded than the main entrances but still heavily secured. Karai works quickly, her nimble fingers deftly bypassing the electronic lock. The door clicks open, and we slip inside, the cool air of the palace interior washing over us. The halls are grand, adorned with intricate carvings and lavish tapestries that tell the story of Wakanda's rich history. But there's no time to admire the decor. The corridors are eerily silent; the only sound is the soft padding of our footsteps. As we approach the throne room, the tension builds. This is the most heavily guarded part of the palace. We reach the final corridor, and I signal for Karai to stop. Peering around the corner, I see the entrance to the throne room guarded by two elite soldiers, their stances alert and ready. I turn to Karai. "Sync-shot," I whisper. Karai nods, "On your move."
[Throne Room.] Stepping out from our concealed position, Karai and I raise our weapons, aiming with unerring accuracy. The guards barely have time to register our presence before we fire. The blue light of the stun bolts illuminates the dim corridor for a split second, the sharp crack of the discharge echoing off the walls. The bolts hit their marks, delivering a powerful jolt of electricity that sends the guards crumpling to the ground, unconscious. Both Karai and I enter the throne room. The space is immense, its vaulted ceiling towering high above us, creating a sense of both grandeur and weight.
Further in, the sheer scale of the space becomes apparent, each detail meticulously crafted. At the far end of the room stands the throne itself, an imposing structure carved from the heart of a vibranium meteorite. Its sleek, black surface is etched with intricate designs. The throne is flanked by two massive panther statues, their eyes seemingly alive with a watchful intensity. We split up, each of us taking a side of the room to search. I approach the large desk near the throne, its surface cluttered with papers, maps, and ancient scrolls. This desk is a command center of sorts, a hub of information and strategy. I begin sifting through the documents, my fingers moving quickly but carefully, not wanting to miss anything crucial. Karai positions herself near the entrance, her senses on high alert for any signs of danger. As I work, I uncover blueprints of the palace, detailed reports on guard rotations, and notes on the usurpers' strategy. "Got it," I whisper, holding up the documents for Karai to see. Her eyes light up, and she steps closer, her gaze fixed on the papers.
The lights go out for a brief moment, plunging the throne room into an impenetrable darkness. My heart skips a beat, every muscle tensing as my eyes struggle to adjust. In that split second of blackness, the familiar sense of control slips away, replaced by a primal alertness. I reach instinctively for my sidearm, my fingers brushing against the cool metal. When the lights flicker back on, the room is illuminated once more, but the scene has changed drastically. Standing between Karai and me is a figure clad in a Black Panther-style Jaguar suit. The suit is sleek and formidable, its design echoing the elegant yet deadly aesthetics of the Black Panther but with a more predatory edge. The dark vibranium armor glistens under the soft light, each movement exuding a lethal grace. My grip tightens on my weapon, but I don't draw it just yet. The figure stands with an air of confidence, his posture relaxed yet ready as if he's completely in control of the situation. His mask, a menacing jaguar visage, hides his features, but I can feel his eyes boring into me, assessing and calculating.
The man in the Jaguar suit tilts his head slightly, a gesture that seems almost curious, as if he's sizing us up. The air between us crackles with tension, the room suddenly feeling much smaller. Before we can react, he moves. Fast. Faster than we anticipated. He lunges toward Karai with a terrifying speed, his movements a blur. With a powerful kick to her chest, he sends her flying across the room. She crashes into a wall, the impact echoing through the cavernous space. I spring into action, drawing my weapon and aiming at the mysterious assailant, but he's already moving again. He zigzags from side to side, his agility almost inhuman, making it impossible to get a clear shot. Before I can adjust, he closes the distance and lands a solid hook-punch to my face. Pain explodes through my jaw, and I stagger back, my vision momentarily blurring from the force of the blow. "Is that all you've got?" he taunts. It's at that moment I take notice of his accent. The man sounds more American than Wakandan. Putting the two pieces together, I discern the man we're engaging is Erik Killmonger. Killmonger stands before me, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as if he isn't in the middle of a battle.
I shake off the dizziness and refocus, the urgency of the situation burning through the fog of pain. "Karai, you okay?" I call out, my voice steady despite the throbbing in my jaw. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pushing herself to her feet. "I'm fine," she replies, her voice tight with pain but unwavering, "Let's take this bastard down." We regroup, our movements synchronized. Killmonger watches us, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He seems to relish the challenge, the thrill of combat. Karai and I launch a coordinated attack, moving in tandem. I aim a series of rapid-fire shots at Killmonger, forcing him to dodge and weave, while Karai moves in with a flurry of precise strikes. She aims for the weak points in his armor, her fists and feet a blur of motion. But Killmonger is relentless, his reflexes almost preternatural. He counters our attacks with brutal efficiency, his strikes powerful and precise. He grabs Karai's wrist mid-strike and twists, forcing her to the ground. I rush in, trying to exploit the opening, but he anticipates my move and swings a leg out, tripping me up. I hit the floor hard, the breath knocked out of me.
Killmonger watches us struggle on the ground, his presence a looming shadow over our prone forms. "I'm curious," he says, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, "What lie did T'Challa sell you to convince the Avengers to fight on his side?" His words hang in the air, charged with an underlying menace. The question is not just rhetorical; it's a challenge, a probe to see how much we truly believe in the cause we've pledged ourselves to. I push myself up onto my elbows, every muscle protesting in pain, but my resolve hardens with each passing second. Beside me, Karai does the same, her eyes never leaving Killmonger. "T'Challa didn't have to sell us anything," I say, my voice steady despite the pain, "We're here because we believe in him, in Wakanda, and in the right thing. He doesn't need to lie to us. We've seen what kind of leader he is." Killmonger tilts his head, considering my words, "Is that so? And what kind of leader is that?" There's a mocking edge to his tone, as if he's heard this all before and finds it laughable. Karai speaks up, "A leader who fights for his people, not just for power. A leader who understands that strength comes from unity, not from ruling through fear."
Killmonger's eyes narrow, the amusement fading slightly, "Unity? You think unity is what's going to save Wakanda? You're naive. T'Challa's vision is weak. He wants to play by the old rules in a world that's moved past them." I manage to sit up fully, my gaze locking with his, "And what about you, Killmonger? You think your way is better? Sowing chaos, ruling through fear and violence? That's not strength; it's tyranny. Wakanda deserves better than that." He laughs a short, sharp sound that echoes through the throne room. "You talk about deserving better, but what has the world ever given to us? To people like me? I had to fight for everything I have, claw my way up from nothing. Wakanda needs a leader who understands that. A leader who will take what is rightfully ours." "By destroying everything in the process?" Karai interjects, her voice hard and unyielding, "That's not leadership, that's madness. You're not building a future; you're tearing it apart."
Killmonger's eyes flash with anger, but he quickly regains his composure. "You think you understand, but you don't. You can't. T'Challa's vision is weak. He would see Wakanda remain hidden and isolated. While the rest of the world burns. I'm offering something different—a chance for Wakanda to rise, to lead, to be feared and respected." I shake my head, the pain momentarily forgotten in the face of his words, "Fear isn't respect, Killmonger. And ruling through fear isn't leading; it's oppressing. Wakanda's strength has always come from its people, from their loyalty and trust in their leader. T'Challa understands that. That's why we fight for him." For a moment, there's a silence, heavy and charged. Killmonger's gaze flickers between us, perhaps searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he lets out a slow breath, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're brave," he says finally, almost grudgingly, "I'll give you that. But bravery alone won't do shit."
Before we can respond, he moves again. He aims a powerful kick at my side, sending me sprawling back to the ground, pain radiating through my ribs. Karai attempts to counter, but he's already anticipated her move, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back with brutal efficiency. She gasps in pain, and I struggle to my feet, desperation fueling my movements. "Let her go!" I shout, but Killmonger merely tightens his grip, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "You're outmatched," he says coldly, "You can't win this fight. Not against me." Despite the searing pain, I push myself up once more, my vision blurring at the edges. Killmonger's smile fades, replaced by a look of irritation. He releases Karai with a shove, sending her crashing to the ground, and turns his attention back to me. But in that moment, Karai swings her leg in a sweeping arc that catches Killmonger off guard, knocking him off balance. Seizing the opportunity, I charge forward, tackling him to the ground. We grapple on the floor, a chaotic tangle of limbs and raw force. For a brief moment, it seems like I might have the upper hand. But Killmonger's ferocity is unmatched. With a roar of rage, he throws me off him. Breathing heavily, Killmonger and I scramble to our feet.
At that moment, the throne room door bursts open, and a squad of armed royal guards storms in. Killmonger's eyes light up with a triumphant gleam. "Looks like my reinforcement has arrived," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. The guards fan out, their weapons trained on Karai and me. There's no hesitation in their movements, no doubt in their eyes. They are here to defend their king, and right now, that king is Killmonger. "Lay down your weapons," the leader of the guards commands, his voice cold and authoritative, "You are surrounded." Killmonger crosses his arms, watching us with a smug expression. "It's over," he says, "Surrender now, and maybe I'll be merciful." "Don't count on it," I mutter under my breath, my mind racing for a way out. Karai's eyes meet mine, and in that brief moment, we share a silent understanding. We're going to fight our way out. Chaos erupts as the guards move in. Karai and I engage the first wave of attackers. The room becomes a whirlwind of motion, the clashing sounds of combat filling the air. I block a strike from one guard, countering with a quick jab that sends him stumbling back. Another swings at me from the side, but I duck under his blow, sweeping his legs out from under him. Karai dispatches her attacker via a collar-tie-sweep. Despite our best efforts, the sheer number of guards begins to overwhelm us. They press in from all sides, their attacks relentless.
Out of desperation, I scan the room one last time, searching frantically for any possible way to escape. The guards close in, their weapons at the ready, and Killmonger watches with a cold, triumphant gleam in his eyes. The window is the only thing in this room not constructed of vibranium. It's narrow, but it might be just wide enough for Karai and me to squeeze through. "Karai!" I shout, "The window!" Her eyes follow my gaze, widening slightly as she realizes the same thing. We don't have much time; the guards are almost on us, and Killmonger isn't going to let us escape without a fight. "Cover me!" I shout as I make a dash for the window, pushing through the pain and exhaustion. Karai moves with me, her movements a blur as she fends off the approaching guards. I reach the base of the wall and leap, grabbing hold of the decorative ledge just below the window. With a grunt of effort, I pull myself up, muscles straining with the effort. The glass is thicker than I anticipated, designed to withstand force. I brace myself against the wall and deliver a powerful elbow, the impact sending cracks across the surface. A second elbow shatters the glass, sending shards raining down to the floor below. "Karai, come on!" I shout, reaching down to help her up. She's already moving, her agility and strength allowing her to leap up beside me. We both squeeze through the narrow opening, the jagged edges of the broken glass scraping against our clothes and skin. The cold night air hits us like a shock. We tumble out onto a narrow ledge high above the palace grounds. Below us, the lights of the city twinkle like stars. We have to keep moving. Once we clear the palace, we disappear into the night.
[Village, Wakanda]
Back in the village, the contrast between the serene surroundings and the chaos we left behind at the palace is almost surreal. The village is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The scent of night-blooming flowers hangs in the air, a gentle reminder of the peace we're fighting to protect. Despite the tranquility, my body is still buzzing with the adrenaline of our escape, every nerve on edge. Karai and I make our way through the narrow streets, the familiar sights and sounds of the village grounding us after the harrowing ordeal. The villagers are mostly indoors at this hour, but a few curious faces peer out from windows and doorways as we pass. They sense something significant has happened. We finally reach the small, makeshift command center where Cap and T'Challa are waiting. The building is modest, a simple structure of wood and thatch, but it serves its purpose well. Cap and T'Challa look up as we enter, their faces lighting up with relief and curiosity. "You made it," Cap says, his voice a blend of admiration and concern, "What happened out there?"
I take a deep breath, the weight of the mission pressing down on me once more. "We got the intel," I say, pulling the documents from my vest and handing them to Cap, "But it wasn't easy. Security is tight, and Killmonger got the palace locked down." T'Challa steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he takes the documents. "Tell me everything," he says. Karai and I begin recounting our ordeal. "We managed to infiltrate the palace," I start, my mind replaying every detail, "The security was intense, but we found a way inside. We reached the throne room and began gathering the intel when Killmonger showed up." Cap and T'Challa listen intently, their expressions grave as we describe the encounter. "He's wearing a suit similar to yours, T'Challa," Karai adds, "But it's designed like a jaguar. He's incredibly fast and strong, and he fights with a brutality that's hard to match." "He's using fear and intimidation to keep the guards loyal," I continue, "And it's working. We were almost overwhelmed, but we managed to escape." T'Challa nods, his jaw tightening, "I knew he would fortify his position, but this… it's worse than I expected. He's turning my own people against me." Cap places a reassuring hand on T'Challa's shoulder and then studies the documents, his eyes narrowing in concentration, "This will give us a fighting chance."