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Tony strode back toward his helicopter, his footsteps echoing against the metal platform of the Raft. Behind him, Secretary Ross's voice called out, sharp and demanding.
"Stark! Did he tell you where Rogers is?"
Tony didn't even turn around. "Nope. He told me to go to hell. I'm going back to the compound instead."
He paused at the helicopter door, then added with false cheerfulness, "But you can call me anytime. I'll put you on hold. I like to watch the line blink."
Ross's eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. He knew Tony had learned something in that corridor, but without proof, there was nothing he could do except watch the billionaire climb into his helicopter.
As the rotors began to spin and the aircraft lifted off, Tony sat in the pilot's seat, still wearing the sling on his left arm. Once they were clear of the Raft and out of visual range, he removed the sling entirely, flexing his hand experimentally. The injury had been exaggerated for Ross's benefit.
His fingers moved to a specific button on the console.
The moment he pressed it, the interior of the helicopter transformed. Panels slid open along the walls and ceiling, revealing the Mark 46 armor in its compartments. The seat beneath Tony began to move backward and recline as mechanical arms extended, carrying armor pieces toward him.
The boots attached first, then the leg plates, climbing upward. The torso pieces locked into place around his chest. Arms, gauntlets, helmet—each component fitted together with precision engineering until Tony Stark disappeared entirely beneath the red and gold armor.
With a sudden burst from his repulsors, Iron Man dropped through the open bay door of the helicopter, leaving it on autopilot as he rocketed toward Siberia.
What Tony didn't know was that he wasn't alone in the sky.
Far below him, hidden in the cloud cover, a sleek Wakandan fighter jet maintained a careful distance. Its advanced cloaking technology rendered it invisible to radar and the naked eye alike. Inside the cockpit, T'Challa sat at the controls, his expression focused and determined. He'd known Tony would find a way to locate Rogers and Barnes. All he'd had to do was wait and follow.
Meanwhile, in the frozen wasteland of Siberia, Captain America and Bucky had reached their destination.
The Quinjet sat on the snowy ground outside the bunker entrance, its ramp extended. Inside, Bucky opened a weapons locker marked with Cyrillic letters. He pulled out a rifle, checking the magazine and action with practiced efficiency.
Steve stood near the open bay door, looking out at the desolate landscape. The cold wind carried snow across the white expanse, and for a moment, he was transported back to another time.
"You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?" Steve asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
Bucky glanced over at him, his brow furrowing. "Was that the time you used our train money to buy hot dogs?"
Steve's smile widened slightly. "You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead."
"What was her name again?" Bucky asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
"Dolores. You called her Dot."
Bucky shook his head, a sad smile crossing his face. "She's gotta be a hundred years old right now."
Steve looked at him directly. "So are we, pal."
He reached out and clapped Bucky on the shoulder—a gesture of solidarity, of brotherhood that had survived decades and brainwashing and war.
Together, they approached the bunker entrance. The heavy door stood open, and fresh snow had blown inside but not accumulated much. Steve noticed the snowmobile parked near the entrance and studied the thin layer of snow covering it.
"He can't have been here more than a few hours," Steve observed.
Bucky's voice was grim. "Long enough to wake them up."
They entered the bunker, their breath misting in the cold air. The interior was dimly lit by emergency lighting that flickered occasionally. They found an industrial elevator and stepped inside. As the doors closed, Steve and Bucky exchanged a look—a wordless communication refined through years of fighting side by side. Both men nodded.
The elevator descended with a grinding mechanical sound, carrying them deeper into the abandoned HYDRA facility. When it finally stopped and the doors began to open, Steve immediately moved into position. He crouched low, shield ready, giving Bucky a clear line of sight over his head.
Bucky raised his rifle, aiming at the darkened corridor beyond.
They moved out carefully, Bucky taking point with his weapon while Steve covered their rear. The teamwork was seamless—exactly as it had been during their days with the Howling Commandos, when they'd fought HYDRA the first time.
Suddenly, a sound echoed from behind them. Metal on metal.
Steve immediately dropped into a defensive crouch. "Ready?"
"Yeah." Bucky spun, bringing his rifle to bear on the elevator shaft. His finger rested lightly on the trigger.
The sound grew louder—something mechanical, approaching fast.
Then, with a screech of protesting metal, the elevator doors were forced apart from the outside. Through the gap stepped Iron Man, his armor gleaming red and gold even in the dim light.
Steve's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected Tony to find this place.
The faceplate of Tony's helmet retracted, sliding back to reveal his face. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes moved between Steve and Bucky, assessing the situation.
Steve rose from his crouch, shield still held defensively. "You seem a little defensive."
Tony glanced at Bucky, who still had his rifle trained on him. "It's been a long day."
His gaze returned to Bucky, and he raised one hand in a casual gesture. "At ease, soldier. I'm not currently after you."
"Then why are you here?" Steve asked, his guard still up.
Tony spread his arms in a gesture of openness. "Maybe your story's not so crazy. Maybe. Ross has no idea I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I gotta arrest myself."
He leaned against one of the concrete support pillars, affecting a casual posture.
Steve's expression softened slightly. "Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork."
The corner of Tony's mouth lifted in a brief smile. "It's good to see you, Tony."
"You too, Cap."
Tony's gaze shifted to Bucky again. "Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you're killing me. There's a truce here. You can drop—"
Steve raised a hand toward Bucky, a silent signal. After a moment's hesitation, Bucky lowered his rifle.
The three of them began moving deeper into the facility, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. None of them noticed the shadow that slipped in behind them—T'Challa, moving with the silent grace of the panther whose mantle he bore.
Tony took point, his right arm raised with the repulsor charged and ready to fire. They passed through a narrow corridor that opened into a large chamber.
Steve checked a device on his wrist. "I got heat signatures."
"How many?" Tony asked.
"Uh, one."
As they entered the chamber, lights began flickering on automatically, triggered by their presence. Cylindrical cryogenic pods lined both walls, arranged in neat rows like coffins standing upright.
Steve's eyes widened as he recognized what they were. "If it's any of them—"
The pods were transparent, revealing the occupants inside. Each Winter Soldier was clearly visible—and clearly dead. Bullet holes marked each forehead, the wounds stark against their pale, frozen skin.
"If it's any comfort," a voice echoed through the chamber, amplified by speakers, "they died in their sleep."
Steve looked at the bodies, then around the room, searching for the source of the voice.
"Did you really think I wanted more of you?" the voice continued—Zemo's voice, thick with contempt.
Bucky's jaw tightened. "What the hell?"
"I'm grateful to them, though," Zemo said. "They brought you here."
A light flickered on behind a window set high in the wall. Through the reinforced glass, they could see Zemo's silhouette.
Tony immediately raised his arm. A small panel on his forearm opened, revealing a micro-missile in its launch tube.
But Steve was faster. His shield flew through the air, striking the glass with tremendous force—
—and bouncing off without leaving so much as a scratch. Steve caught the shield as it rebounded, reattaching it to his arm.
From behind the glass, Zemo's voice carried a note of dark amusement. "Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand UR-100 rockets."
"I'm betting I got something bigger," Tony said coolly, his weapons systems running through targeting calculations.
"Oh, I'm sure you do," Zemo replied. "But in the time it takes, you won't be able to hear why you came."