THE HEAT IN LAGOS clung to everything like a second skin. Humid, restless air buzzed with traffic, hawker calls, and the scent of roasted peanuts and diesel. The sun wasn't kind — it painted the pavement in gold and glare, making shadows sharp, details slippery. But the Avengers weren't here for sightseeing. Something about this day already smelled off — and it wasn't just the exhaust fumes.

"Alright. What do you see?" Steve's voice came low through the comms, calm as always, but sharp beneath the surface — like the edge of a shield just before it's thrown.

"Standard beat cops," Wanda answered, brushing a curl behind her ear and sipping from a white cup. She sat at a café table like a local, dressed in black jeans and a military green jacket, pretending to enjoy her cappuccino. The bitter sweetness of it somehow grounded her. "Small station. Quiet street. It's a good target."

"There's an ATM on the south corner. Which means?"

"Cameras," came a second voice. Calm. Quiet. From a few tables down, a girl in oversized sunglasses stirred her drink without looking up. Her hair — the kind of red you didn't forget — was styled half up, half down and wavy, and her lips curled around the hint of a smile. Ariel. She wore a long-sleeve dark aquamarine blouse tucked into high-waisted, black pants and boots that looked more fashion-forward than field-ready. She didn't look like much of a threat.

Which, of course, was exactly the point.

"Both cross-streets are one-way," Steve added from his perch in an apartment above the square. He crouched near the window, eyes on the target zone below.

"So, compromised escape routes," Wanda continued.

"Means our guy doesn't care about being seen. He isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out," Steve said. "You see that red Range Rover halfway up the block?"

"Yeah, the red one?" Wanda squinted. "It's cute."

"It's also bulletproof," Natasha's said dryly — also sitting at that café — sipping her espresso in her tight beige jacket and sunglasses. "which means private security... which means more guns... which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us."

"I can give them headaches, too," Ariel offered innocently, twirling her spoon in her cup, and Wanda couldn't help but snort. She spoke softly — always softly. As if every syllable was a negotiation between her voice and pain. But when she did speak, everyone listened.

"Save your screaming for Plan B," Natasha advised, eyeing the street.

"You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?" Wanda said confidently, sipping again, leaning back in her chair.

Nat didn't even blink. "Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature."

"Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?" Sam quipped, zooming in on a security van with suspicious blacked-out windows. He was walking on a rooftop, not too far away from them.

"Not to my face," Nat replied. "Why? Did you hear something?"

"Eyes on the prize, folks," Steve cut in, voice low. "This is the best lead we've had on Rumlow in six months. If don't want to lose him."

Sam exhaled through his nose, scoffing. "If he sees us coming, that won't be a problem. He kinda hates us."

Just then, Steve's eyes narrowed. A garbage truck barreled down the road, horn blaring. It clipped the edge of a parked car without slowing down.

"Sam," Steve said sharply, "you see that garbage truck? Tag it."

"On it," Sam muttered, launching Redwing into the air. The drone buzzed above Lagos, dipping between weather-worn buildings, scanning. "Cap, that truck's loaded for max weight."

"That thing's the battering ram," Natasha said, her voice firm and certain, eyes narrowed on the surveillance feed.

"Everyone move. NOW!" Steve's order rang out like thunder.

At the same moment, Sam readied his wings, the metallic plates unfolding with a sharp hiss.

"What?!" Wanda and Ariel said in unison, both slightly wide-eyed.

"He's not targeting the police!" Steve shouted over his shoulder as he bolted down the hall and out of the crumbling building, sprinting into daylight.

Outside, chaos ignited like a match to gasoline.

A garbage truck — rigged and reinforced — smashed through the front gates of the Institute for Infectious Diseases. Steel crumpled like paper. Behind it, two more blacked-out SUVs sped in, tires screeching against pavement.

From inside, a wave of masked mercenaries poured out — armored, armed, and ready for war.

Steve was the first on scene.

"Body armor. AR-15s," he said into his comms after disabling a few men with quick, precise blows — shield to chest, a leg sweep, then silence. "I make seven hostiles!"

From above Sam dove in, wings slicing through the air like blades. Twin guns flared, knocking out two more mercs in quick succession. His movements were smooth, practiced — a hawk in a storm. "I make five," he corrected.

From behind, a ripple of red mist appeared midair.

Wanda.

She floated down like a fallen star, wrapped in her crimson energy. One gunman raised his weapon — too slow. A kinetic shield exploded from her fingertips, deflecting the bullets like they were nothing more than pebbles.

With a flick of her wrist, the man flew upwards — straight into Sam's path.

He didn't even blink. "Four," he said, after catching the guy with a well-placed punch.

Above them, Redwing — Sam's drone — zipped through the shattered upper windows, scanning the chaos.

"Rumlow's on the third floor," Sam called out.

Steve was already walking toward the entrance. "Wanda — just like we practiced!"

Wanda hesitated, her pulse skipping. "What about the gas?" she asked.

"Get it out," Steve said. His voice was steady, a grounding force. He trusted her.

And that trust mattered.

With a deep breath, Wanda raised both arms. The air shimmered with pressure — and in a heartbeat, Steve was lifted off the ground, levitating to the shattered third floor. He landed swiftly, rolling through broken glass, shield raised. There were more men waiting — but he didn't hesitate. One swing. One block. One punch. Another down. He moved like a storm. Purpose in every step.

Below, Wanda focused with all her might. Scarlet energy poured from her hands. She reached for the toxic gas — a thick green fog that had begun to seep from canisters dropped by Rumlow's men.

She twisted her fingers like she was pulling invisible threads — and the gas obeyed.

Windows shattered. The gas funneled out like a serpent fleeing fire, coiling upward, wrapped in red light.

Sam hovered nearby, keeping a sharp eye on her back.

"I got you," he muttered, wings angling to shield her.

Then Steve's voice crackled urgently through the comms.

"Rumlow has a biological weapon," he said, breathing hard. "I found what they stole."

He looked around the dark room. Files burned in piles. Lab equipment lay in ruins. But Rumlow was gone.

No trace of him.

Just a lingering stench of chemicals.

"We're up!" Natasha called, gunning the motorcycle as it roared down the debris-strewn road. The cool air screamed past them, and behind her, Ariel clung tightly, her red hair whipping in the wind like a banner.

"Now!"

At Natasha's command, Ariel launched off the backseat — a perfect mid-air twist, landing with the thud of boots meeting pavement.

Natasha jumped just seconds after her, flipping through the air like a bullet in motion. The abandoned bike kept speeding ahead — before crashing into an enemy truck in a burst of sparks and metal. It toppled, taking one attacker with it.

Back to back, the two women moved as one. Natasha's punches were brutal and efficient. Ariel's movements were more fluid, defensive, like a dance — spinning kicks and disarming strikes.

Ariel spotted a group of mercs gathering by a camouflaged van.

Without hesitation, she sprinted toward them — not with military precision, but with a fearless heart.

She managed to disarm two men with a flurry of quick strikes. Then she used her elbow to slam the third against the van. Her breath came fast, her pulse pounding — but she held her ground.

Behind her, Natasha fought like a storm born, taking down everything that moved. But neither of them saw Rumlow — until it was too late.

He grabbed Ariel from behind, his fist tightening in her hair, yanking her upward onto the roof of the van.

"Let go of me!" she wanted to scream — but couldn't. Not yet. Her voice wasn't fully healed— she didn't know if it would ever be. There was a limit to her powers. She had to go easy on her vocal cords.

So instead, she fought with everything else.

With a grunt, she drove her knee hard into Rumlow's stomach, making him double over with a curse. He swung at her — she dodged, slipping sideways with surprising speed.

"Aww," he mocked, lips curled cruelly. "Little mermaid has to save her voice?"

His hand wrapped around her throat.

She gasped — then suddenly, he howled in pain and released her.

Natasha was behind him, her Widow's Bite jammed into the back of his neck. The current lit him up like a Christmas tree.

"Get your hands off her," she growled.

But Rumlow wasn't done.

He grabbed Ariel, tossing her through an opening in the van's roof. Before Natasha could react, he hurled a grenade in after her — and slammed the hatch shut.

"No—!"

Natasha lunged for the door, but the explosion went off before she reached it. The van rocked violently, flames and smoke spewing from the seams. The shockwave hurled her off the side, sending both her and Rumlow crashing to the pavement.

The van doors blasted open, thrown off their hinges by an invisible force.

Ariel emerged, coughing, her skin smudged with ash, her expression steely. Her held up fists trembled, not with fear — but power. She had flung the doors open with a short but strong scream, powered by instinct and adrenaline. She made it out before the bomb could catch up to her.

Natasha blinked, then let out a breathless laugh. "Not bad, El."

But Rumlow was gone.

He had slipped away and climbed into a massive armored tank disguised as a utility truck. From the cockpit, he spotted Steve on a second-story balcony.

He didn't hesitate — opened fire.

Steve barely had time to shield himself. The impact threw him backward, crashing into brick.

"Sam," he breathed into his comms, chest heaving, "he's in an AVF heading north!"

"Got it!" Sam replied, soaring across the skyline. He landed on a rooftop above the market square, scanning the area below through Redwing's sensors. "I've got four — they're splitting up!"

Natasha sped through the alleyways on a new bike, Ariel gripping her back, her expression fierce beneath the soot and bruises.

"The left ones are ours!" Natasha shouted.

Ariel nodded, clutching tighter. She was still learning to fight on her own—without mind manipulation. But she had one advantage no one else did: she had the best mentor when it comes to fighting. Natasha Romanoff.

"They ditched their gear," Steve said through comms. "It's a shell game now. One of them has the weapon."

Just then, a high-pitched beep-beep-beep caught his attention.

A blinking device had latched onto his shield.

With no time to think, Steve hurled the shield into the sky. The explosion lit up the afternoon like a firework gone wrong — shrapnel rained down, but the team was already on the move.

No time for fear. No time for mistakes.

Before Steve could reclaim his shield, Rumlow suddenly appeared behind him and shoved him forward with brutal force. "There you are, you son of a bitch!" Rumlow snarled through his mask, rage crackling in his voice. "I've been waiting for this!" He swung wildly with his weapons-turned-hands, pushing Steve back again, relentless and vicious.

Meanwhile, Sam, Natasha and Ariel were locked in a fierce battle with four armed men carrying the stolen vial from the lab. "He doesn't have it... I'm empty" Sam shouted, knocking out the first attacker and rifling through his bag.

"OUT OF THE WAY!" The two women warned as they chased the others across the chaotic market square.

Natasha pounced on a man, disarming him with fluid precision before landing a series of punishing blows to his gut.

From the distance, Ariel approached another attacker with swift, graceful steps — her eyes sharp and focused. With a quick, clear whistle — high-pitched but cutting through the noise — she startled him from behind. The sound hitting his ear.

Thanks to Wanda's training, Ariel had learned to use her unique ability in small but effective bursts — a sharp, piercing whistle that could incapacitate or disarm foes. The man clenched his teeth in pain and dropped his weapon.

In one smooth motion, Ariel grabbed the fallen gun and leveled it at him with a cool, steady gaze.

"DROP THE WEAPON!" A Mercenary commanded loudly, drawing a gun. The other holding the stolen vial, who was breathing heavily, clutching it tightly. "OR I'LL DROP THIS! DROP IT!"

"HE'LL DO IT!", the second mercenary said.

Natasha and Ariel exchanged uncertain glances — then small smiles broke through the tension as an unexpected ally appeared: Redwing, Sam's drone, swooped down with precision.

Two quick, sharp shots rang out, hitting the men in the neck — one of them dropped the precious vial.

Before it could shatter on the ground, Ariel's reflexes kicked in — she snatched it up effortlessly, cradling it like a fragile treasure.

"Payload secured!" Natasha panted, visibly relieved. "Thanks, Sam."

"Don't thank me," Sam replied proudly into his comms.

"I'm... not thanking that thing," Natasha grumbled. No way I'm thanking that flying toaster, she thought.

"Oh, come on — it's kinda cute," Ariel said with a soft laugh, exhaling deeply, a glimmer of warmth shining through her fierce exterior. "I think that little guy is awesome."

"Ha! See? Ariel gets it," Sam said triumphantly. "Ariel likes Redwing."

"She also talks to fish, so... I wouldn't take that as a huge win," Natasha deadpanned, nudging Ariel with her elbow.

"I do not talk to fish," Ariel huffed, wide-eyed. "That's a very outdated stereotype."

"But you're still with Steve, sooo... questionable taste confirmed," Natasha added casually.

"Wow," Ariel gasped, mock-offended. "I risked my life for that serum and this is the thanks I get?"

Sam snorted. "Welcome to the team, El."

The trio wasted no time — they headed back toward Steve, ready to help if Rumlow pushed the fight any further. But before they arrived, Steve had already gained the upper hand. Rumlow, disarmed and desperate, knelt on the dusty ground, defeated.

Steve stepped closer, his gaze cold and steady as Rumlow ripped off his mask, face bruised and beaten.

With a fierce grip on Rumlow's scorched vest, Steve forced the burned man to meet his gaze. The jagged scars tracing Rumlow's face were brutal reminders of the massive explosion in Washington — a wound that hadn't healed, not just on the skin, but in the soul. Yet, despite everything, this was the first time Steve had laid eyes on him since the rescue of Wanda and Ariel.

"I think I look pretty good, all things considered" Rumlow smirked, his voice dripping with bitter amusement.

"Who's your buyer?" Steve demanded, his grip ironclad.

Rumlow exhaled with a twisted grin. "You know, he knew you. Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky." The name stung like salt in an open wound.

"What did you say?" Steve's voice was ice-cold.

"He remembered you," Rumlow sneered. "I was there. He got all weepy about it. He cried for you and your girl. Till they put his brain back in a blender. He wanted you to know something. He said to me, "Please tell Rogers. When you gotta go, you gotta go."" Rumlow's breath hitched, his smirk fading.

Steve stood frozen, the weight of the revelation crushing him.

"And you're coming with me," Rumlow finished, fingers twitching toward the hidden detonator in his suit.

A sharp click echoed in the charged air. But before the flames could erupt, Wanda's power surged—a crimson force crushing the explosion into a swirling orb of raw energy. The blast's fury was contained, shielding Steve and the panicked bystanders nearby.

Steve recoiled, eyes wide as Rumlow's agonized screams filled the air, the invisible pressure mounting. Wanda's strength wavered, her arms trembling under the strain. The pain in her eyes was a silent scream — the explosion was a prison she couldn't hold forever.

Finally, her resolve shattered. With a desperate cry, Wanda hurled the bomb skyward.

Chaos exploded below. The roar of panicked crowds scattered like leaves in a storm. Flames devoured a towering skyscraper, the inferno painting the air with flickering orange and black smoke.

Wanda stood frozen, heart pounding, tears tracing down her cheeks. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, swallowed by guilt's heavy grip.

I swore I'd be better. No more chaos, no more death. I have to make this right...

"Oh my..." Steve whispered, his voice cracked with dread as he looked up. "Sam... We need... Fire and Rescue... on the south side of the building" Steve said into his comm. "Uh... give Ariel a lift. She's going to help fight that fire!"

✧˚ · .

Sam flew in low, his wings slicing through the smoke.

"She's coming in!" he called into his comms, swooping down toward the fire trucks.

Ariel jumped off before he'd even touched the ground, boots landing in a puddle slick with ash. Her eyes darted up to the blaze licking at the building's top floor. The heat slammed into her like a wave. Shouting firemen rushed past, struggling with heavy hoses. One glanced her way — uncertain — until she raised a hand.

"I'm here to help," she said simply, voice hoarse.

With a sharp gesture, she drew water from the nearest tank, the liquid twisting and rising mid-air like a serpent. The firemen stepped back, stunned, as she raised both hands. The water obeyed her like muscle and breath, surging up the side of the building and crashing into the flames in violent rhythm.

Steam exploded from the impact. Ariel winced but didn't flinch. Her fingers moved like a conductor's, graceful and exact. More water followed — pulled from the air itself when she could manage it, but mostly from the fire truck's tank, which trembled under her effort.

For every flame she smothered, three more seemed to spring up. Her chest heaved. Her hands shook.

She fought anyway.

By the time the blaze was under control, she stood alone among the wreckage, steam curling around her like fog. Her hands trembled, her eyes stung from smoke and something deeper.

She looked up.

The building was still standing... but barely. And the cost—whatever it would be—had already been paid.

Behind her, Steve's voice crackled through the comms. "Ariel. Status?"

She swallowed. Then, softly: "...uh too late. for some of them."

Silence.

Ash drifted down around her like snowflakes, sticking to her wet curls and lashes. The air was thick—soot, heat, guilt. And in all that weight, she felt the helplessness settle in her bones.

She'd done everything she could. And it still wasn't enough. She couldn't save everyone. As much as she wanted to. And that truth burned more than the fire ever could.

She blinked back the sting in her eyes.

Then, quietly, into the comms: "Steve? Can you come get me, please?"

There was no hesitation.

"I'm on my way," came his answer, low and warm — and something in his voice made her chest tighten.

And even though she couldn't see him yet...
...she knew he'd come running.