Sokovia, Wanda's Home
Coulson stepped carefully on the dark, uneven floor, his eyes scanning the cramped, dim room. Every detail told him something—each scuff mark, the neatly stacked dishes, the lingering scent of instant noodles. It was a poor but orderly place, suggesting the siblings had lived here for some time. There were no signs of a recent struggle. No overturned furniture or shattered glass, only the quiet echoes of lives abruptly uprooted.
As he moved, Coulson's eyes landed on a particular point on the wall—a torn image of Tony Stark, his face riddled with holes from repeated stabs. Smiling to himself, he thought back to Tony's usual smugness and how often he'd been on the receiving end of it. Here, he was hated, even demonized—a painful reminder of Sokovia's scars.
Though Coulson had long known the history of Stark Industries' weapons, the depth of hatred here made him uneasy. If these siblings harbored this resentment, and they were indeed the ones Wizard Professor sought, it would be challenging to get them to trust S.H.I.E.L.D. or anyone associated with Stark.
He moved his hand away from the wall, taking in other signs around the room: scuff marks on the ceiling and floor, a worn spot behind the sofa where something had clearly been stored, and muddy footprints by the window. From these traces, it seemed they'd taken all their belongings and left in haste, yet with enough time to make some preparations.
Pausing at the door, Coulson examined a dark, scorched mark on the chain lock—a clean cut, likely from a high-powered laser. His eyes narrowed. This was no ordinary gang chase; someone with advanced tech was involved, likely highly trained. Putting together the pieces, Coulson closed his eyes, reconstructing the scene as best he could.
The siblings had left last night, gathering their supplies as if they'd been warned. Shortly after, someone equipped with high-tech gear had broken in, only to find the siblings already gone. And this led to a more troubling question—how had they known to flee? And who were their pursuers?
An Alley in Valleda, Sokovia
A short distance away, in a narrow alley thick with shadows and the stench of discarded refuse, Wanda leaned against a grimy wall, trying to catch her breath. Her schoolbag, filled with rations, was slung over her shoulder as she clutched Pietro's hand, guiding him like a mother protecting her child.
"Are we safe now?" Pietro asked, his voice trembling with fatigue and uncertainty.
"Almost," Wanda replied, though a shadow of doubt crossed her face. Her instincts had warned her to flee, but something still felt wrong, as if an unseen danger was closing in.
They both clutched their bags, heavy with precious supplies—dried food, water, and whatever essentials they could carry. Wanda looked around, her nerves frayed but her mind sharp. She had learned long ago to trust her instincts, and they had saved them more than once.
"Wanda, I'm starving," Pietro whispered, his stomach rumbling.
With a soft smile, Wanda took out a packet of compressed biscuits and handed it to him along with a bottle of water. "Eat, but just a little," she warned. "We need to keep moving. Something feels off."
Pietro quickly tore into the biscuit, savoring each bite. He could tell Wanda was tense, her eyes darting around as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows at any moment. After finishing his snack, he glanced up, his face pensive. "Where are we going to hide this time?"
Wanda's expression softened at his question, her thoughts drifting back to the memories of their parents. She hesitated, then spoke quietly, "Maybe we can go home, Pietro. Visit Mom and Dad's graves."
Pietro's eyes brightened for a moment, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze. "Do you think those thugs have left our house?"
Wanda's face darkened as she remembered their family's house, battered by war but miraculously still standing. A Stark missile had fallen on it, but it had been a dud. Their parents hadn't been so lucky, killed by artillery fire before they could flee. After their deaths, opportunists had moved in, claiming the property.
Wanda clenched her jaw, pulling Pietro close. "We'll find out," she replied, her voice thick with determination.
Just as they prepared to leave, a familiar chill crawled up Wanda's spine. Her pulse quickened, her instincts screaming that danger was near.
"Pietro, we need to go. Now!" she whispered urgently, dropping the biscuit wrapper as she pulled him along.
They darted down the alley, the sound of footsteps echoing behind them. Moments later, three men in dark jackets emerged from the opposite end of the alley. Armed and alert, they scanned the area, one of them spotting the discarded water bottle on the ground.
"Slippery little rabbits," he muttered. He turned to his comrades, his voice tinged with irritation. "This is the fifth mission, and we're the only ones who haven't succeeded."
Another man scowled. "Our superiors aren't happy. Let's finish this quickly."
Their leader glared at the others. "No more mistakes. We're closing in, and we're getting backup. Move!"
They set off in the direction Wanda and Pietro had fled, their steps quick and purposeful.
KFC Restaurant, East End of Valleda
Inside a brightly lit KFC, the contrast to the grimy streets outside was striking. Sitting at a table laden with fries, chicken, and cold soda, Coulson, Natasha, and Rumlow looked like any ordinary group of travelers enjoying a meal. But their quiet intensity betrayed their real purpose.
Natasha dipped a fry in ketchup, savoring it as she listened to Rumlow's report. "What did you find?" Coulson asked, his tone measured but urgent.
Rumlow leaned back, his voice low. "Two of the families we investigated had definite signs of forced entry. Looks like their parents tried to resist—one didn't make it."
Coulson nodded solemnly, absorbing the grim news. "And the assailants?"
"Not your typical thugs," Rumlow replied. "Three men, late twenties to early thirties, military training. They left no witnesses. This is an organized group, not just random gangsters."
Coulson looked over at Natasha, who was thoughtfully swirling her drink. "Natasha, any luck on your end?"
She glanced up, a smirk playing on her lips. "I might have a lead, though it cost me 100 grand. Reimburse me later."
Coulson winced but nodded. "Let's hear it."
Natasha leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "Our mystery assailants seem to be affiliated with a pharmaceutical company here. Rumors suggest they're conducting… human experiments."
Coulson's expression darkened as he listened to Natasha's findings. After she finished, he shared his own observations.
"The siblings I tracked seemed to have fled before anyone could catch them," he noted. "I think they sensed the danger and bolted. If they're our targets, we need to find them fast. Whoever is after them won't be far behind."
Natasha and Rumlow both nodded, recognizing the urgency. They resumed eating, though their eyes were alert, tracking every person who entered or left the restaurant.
Hydra's Underground Base, Sokovia
In a cold, sterile lab deep underground, rows of researchers in white coats observed the prisoners encased in glass cells, their faces obscured behind clipboards. Inside each glass chamber, test subjects twitched and convulsed as mysterious injections surged through their veins, their bodies writhing in agony. Outside, armed guards stood watch, their faces impassive.
Baron Strucker, dressed in a crisp black uniform, surveyed the scene with steely indifference. Beside him, Dr. List reviewed notes on a tablet, his hands trembling slightly.
"How is the super-soldier program progressing?" Strucker inquired, his voice carrying a chilling calm.
Dr. List swallowed nervously. "Some progress, but still... limited. We've been experimenting with Captain America's blood, but results remain… mixed. Some subjects show temporary enhancement, but they ultimately succumb."
Strucker narrowed his eyes, nodding thoughtfully as he placed a reassuring hand on Dr. List's shoulder. "Failure is unacceptable, Doctor. I trust you'll find a solution."
List gulped, nodding rapidly. "Yes, sir. We have one lead—a unique gene sample we acquired. The subject is resilient. If we could acquire them, they might hold the key."
Strucker's gaze hardened, considering the implications. He knew the sample in question had ties to Pierce and was being closely monitored, but the promise of progress was tempting.
"Proceed," Strucker finally replied. "But use discretion. I want results, not complications."
A Dilapidated Alley in Sokovia
Wanda and Pietro tore down the narrow alley, their breaths coming in shallow, panicked bursts. Their bags of rations and supplies were long gone, abandoned in their frantic escape. Wanda's mind raced, her heart pounding as her instincts screamed that danger was close.
Pietro's hand tightened around hers, his face pale with fear. He hadn't seen Wanda look this worried since the day they'd lost their parents. Her resolve had kept them safe, but now, even her bravery seemed uncertain.
As they rounded a corner, Wanda spotted a figure blocking the alley ahead—a large, menacing man in black combat gear, his face split into a cold, cruel smile. She heard footsteps approaching from behind. They were surrounded.
Wanda pulled Pietro close, her voice steady as she murmured, "Stay with me. No matter what."
She withdrew two sharp daggers from her belt, holding them in a firm grip as she positioned herself between Pietro and the advancing man. Her eyes narrowed, ready to fight, even against impossible odds.
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