THE ROOM IS BRIGHTLY LIT, the walls grey and heavily fortified, hidden deep in the bunker of the Berlin UN building. A man, Everett Ross, enters the chamber, wearing a neat suit and brushed back hair. He looks over at the prison pod in the room, Zola sitting in the metal seat, his ankles cuffed to the chair legs but his hands are free from the constraints. He's in a similar pod that Bucky and Yawa had been placed in but because he wasn't enhanced like they were, he was left fairly free inside the pod. He glances over at Everett with dark eyes and a knowing smile.
"Meals at eight and five." Everett informs him, coming up to stand in front of the pod, his hands in front of him. "Toilet privileges twice a day. Raise your voice, zap. Touch the glass, zap. You step out of line, you deal with me." He smiles at him. "Please, step out of line. Hmm?" He watches Zemo's expression but is surprised to find that he doesn't react to the slight threat given by the man. "So how does it feel? To spend all that time, all that effort… and to see it fail so spectacularly?" He chuckles.
Zemo looks up from the floor, looking the man in the eyes, smirking. "Did it?" He gives him a manically smile.
— — — — —
The surrounding area is bright white. A guard is standing by the door, a spear in one of her hands, the metal glinting against the harsh light. The warrior is dressed in a red armour with silver plating on the edges and neck, their head completely shaved, instead replaced with an intricate design. Yawa sighs, slouching slightly forward on the bed she had been given. The cell was sparsely furnished with a bed, desk and a small cupboard pushed against the wall, a bathroom attached and hidden behind a wall, housing a toilet and small shower.
Yawa looks up at the guard, examining their movements - or lack of. She flexes the fingers on her right hand, the left arm having been removed in case she tries to attack them. She knew she didn't need the arm, but she assumed it just gave them a sense of security for her not to have it. She goes to lay back when footsteps bring her head out of her mind, a woman in a t-shirt, shorts and trainers walks into the room, her hair up in two buns. There is a pun of some sort on the t-shirt, but Yawa can't make it out fully. Beside her is another guard, for safety her mind supplies.
She does not close the door, which catches her as odd as everyone else makes sure to lock it when they enter or exit. She walks over to Yawa, sitting down beside her on the bed, taking her hand in a soft and caring grip. "Hi." She says softly, her voice is Wakandan… just like T'Challa's was, but it's more kind and playful than the king's ever was. "I know you won't reply, but you're safe, and we're going to help you." The more Yawa listens, the more the voice seems familiar to her but she can't place it.
Yawa looks at her, looking at her facial structure before looking over at the small mirror on the wall, at her damaged features. Her eyes are sunken in slightly, tired looking. Her hair is more neat than what it was when she first arrived but it's still in a bit of a disarray. The ex-assassin looks back at the woman, trying to piece why she seems so similar. Too similar. She goes to ask something when she feels something warm and comforting spread up her arm, her body going heavy and leaning into the woman. "I'll bring you back." The woman says, her voice distorted. Then everything goes black.
— — — — —
Back in the Avenger's compound, Tony and Rhodey are standing in a large open room with white walls, equipment is scattered about and the room looks like that of a gym, just slightly more simple. Tony is leaning against the wall, watching as Rhodey walks between parallel bars, his hands gripping it tightly as he tentatively walks, his legs supported by a metal exo-skeleton. "It's just the first pass." Tony reminds him, watching the movements with a crucial eye.
Rhodey nods. "Yeah." He answers.
"Give me some feedback." Tony tells him, tilting his head. "Anything you can think of. Shock absorption. Lateral movement. Cup holder?" He suggests.
Rhodey shakes his head playfully. "You may wanna think about some AC down in…" Before he can finish speaking, his legs give out and he falls to his hands and knees, shaking slightly.
Tony quickly walks over to him, bending down slightly. "Let's go." He tells him, holding his arms out, ready to steady him. "I'll give you a hand."
Rhodey shakes his head quickly, his hands gripping the poles tightly. "No, no, don't." He tells him and Tony takes a step away. "Don't help me. Don't help me." He repeats, slowly rising to his hands and knees, turning his body to sit on the floor beside Tony. "138. 138 combat missions. That's how many I've flown, Tony." He looks back over at him. "Every one of them could've been my last, but I flew 'em. Because the fight needed to be fought. It's the same with these Accords. I signed because it was the right thing to do. And, yeah, this sucks. This is…" He sighs. "…this is a bad beat. But it hasn't changed my mind. I don't think." He gives Tony a crooked smile, reaching his hand out and taking Tony's hand.
"You okay?" Tony asks, a smile coming on his lips.
Rhodey nods. "Oh yeah." He reassures him.
Suddenly there is a knock at the window, an old man with glasses in a FedEx uniform is standing there with a packet in his hand. The tag on his uniform says his name is Stan. He looks over at them through the glass. "Are you Tony 'Stank'?" He asks, glancing at the writing on the postal address.
Rhodey laughs at the name. "Yes, this is…" He points at Tony, trying to stop himself from laughing. "…this is Tony 'Stank'. You're in the right place. Thank you for that!" He looks back over at Tony, a gleeful smile on his face. "I'm never dropping that, by the way. Table for one, Mr. 'Stank'. Please, by the bathroom." The grin doesn't fall, sitting back down.
— — — — —
Tony sits alone in his office, picking at the seal of the envelope before finally opening it, looking down at the letter sitting inside it with a phone. He opens up the letter and starts to read it.
"Tony, I'm glad you're back at the compound. I don't like the idea of you ratting round a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine. I've been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say that for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn't. I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I'm sorry. Hopefully, one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you're doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do. That's all any of should…"
As he reads it, Tony realises what he must have done - breaking the other's out of prison. He doesn't think much of the idea when suddenly FRIDAY's voice chimes.
"Priority call from Secretary Ross. There's been a breach at the Raft prison."
Tony sighs slightly. "Yeah, put him through." He said.
The General's voice comes through the phone. "Tony, we have a problem."
Tony chuckles. "Ah, please hold." He said, a smile on his face.
"No. Don't…" He tries to argue but his voice is cut off when he's put on hold. Tony glances back towards the letter, reading the last of it.
"So, no matter what, I promise you, if you need us, if you need me, I'll be there."
— — — — —
Over in Wakanda, Steve is standing in front of Bucky, who is currently sitting on a gurney, an IV taped to his hand, his stump covered with a compression sleeve. Steve looks him up and down. "You sure about this?" Steve asks him softly, his voice kind, he takes his hand, stroking his skin in a comforting gesture.
Bucky looks up at him, "I can't trust my own mind." Bucky admits, squeezing Steve's hand gently. "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing…" He looks away for a second before looking back over at him. "…for everybody." Steve nods sadly before leaning forward. He goes to kiss him when footsteps come from the side, Shuri walking into the room. Her eyes widening, a knowing look on her face as she glances at two. Looking slightly sad, nodding her head to signify it's time.
The two follow her through to a white lab where different doctors are standing, looking over holographic devices. Steve looks over at the white tube, the glass door ready to slide shut in seconds. Bucky pecks him on the cheek, a cheeky smile on his face as he goes into the chamber, a soft strap being brought over his chest. He lays his head back and a button is pressed, the glass sliding shut and sealing down airtight. After a few seconds, a white gas is pumped into the chamber from the bottom, quickly covering Bucky and freezing him in place.
— — — — —
Steve is standing, looking out over a window, his eyes drifting to the vast sky-line, taking it all in. His mind is lost in thought when it's snapped back by the sound of footsteps coming up from behind him, T'Challa walking over to see him, dressed in more normal clothes compared to his Panther suit he was wearing when Steve had fought him. Steve glances over at him. "Thank you for this." He says softly.
"Your friend and my father, they were both victims." T'Challa replies softly, his hands clasping behind his back as he thinks back to the moment, closing his eyes slightly. "If I can help one of them find peace…" His voice trails off in thought.
"You know, If they find out he's here…" Steve starts to say, a hint of worry in his voice. He faces the king, his arm resting by the bar on the window. "…they'll come for him."
T'Challa gives the faintest of smirks. "Let them try." He says, more a warning than anything else.
— — — — —
Back over in Queens, Peter is laying down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. May's voice calls out from another part of the apartment. "So. Who was it? Who hit you?" She asks, concerned.
"Some guy." Peter remarks, fiddling with the band on his wrist. "So itchy, man. God."
May nods. "What's 'some guy's' name?" May questions.
Peter hesitates. "Uh, Steve." He says slowly.
"Steve?" May wonders. "From 12-C? With the overbite?"
"No, no, no." Peter replies quickly, shaking his head. "You don't know him, he's from Brooklyn." Peter says, covering his wrist band when May walks into his room, holding a towel. "Ouch."
"Well…" She waits for a few moments. "I hope you got a few good licks in."
"Yeah, I got quite a few in, actually. His friend was huge. Like huge." His widens as he tells her, being vague enough that she doesn't suspect anything. May chuckles before handing him the towel with ice inside it. "That's way better." He says, placing it over his eye. "Thank you."
"Okay, tough guy." She jokes before smiling broadly.
Peter smiles. "Love you, May." He replies, his eyes bright. He watches as she goes to leave and stops her. "Hey, can you shut the door?" He asks. She nods slightly before closing the door on the way out. Peter looks back up, fiddling with the web shooters settings. After a few moments, a large badge shines onto the ceiling of his room in a red glow. Peter looks up, the image of the Spider-Man mask staring back at him.