-Broadcast-
Steve knelt on the ground, breathing hard, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. He looked up at Tony, his expression pained but resolute.
"He's my friend," Steve said quietly.
Tony's voice was cold, emotionless. "So was I."
His fist came down, striking Steve's face. Then again. And again. Each blow landed with mechanical precision, the armor amplifying the force.
After several punches, Steve collapsed completely, coughing violently, blood spattering on the concrete floor.
Tony grabbed the straps of Steve's uniform and hurled him backward. Steve's body hit a concrete pillar with a sickening thud before sliding to the ground in a heap.
Tony stared down at him, his damaged faceplate revealing his battered, furious face.
"Stay down," Tony warned. "Final warning."
Steve's body was exhausted, broken, beaten beyond what most men could endure. But slowly, agonizingly, he pushed himself to his feet. He raised his fists in a fighting stance, blood dripping from his chin.
"I can do this all day," Steve said, the words carrying the weight of a lifetime of refusing to quit.
Tony slowly raised his arm, the palm repulsor beginning to glow as it charged.
Suddenly, Bucky's hand grabbed Tony's ankle.
Tony spun and kicked Bucky in the face, but the distraction gave Steve his opening. He lunged forward, grabbed Tony from behind, and lifted him off the ground.
Tony immediately fired his thrusters, trying to break free, but Steve held firm. With a roar of effort, Steve drove Tony down into the ground, the impact cratering the concrete.
Before Tony could recover, Steve was on top of him, his fists raining down on Tony's face. Left. Right. Left. Right. The super soldier serum gave him strength beyond human limits, and he used every bit of it.
Steve grabbed his shield from where it had fallen and brought it down on Tony's faceplate. Once. Twice. The armor cracked, then shattered, pieces falling away to reveal Tony's bloodied face beneath.
Steve raised the shield high above his head, preparing for one final strike. Tony threw his arms up defensively, trying to protect his face.
But Steve brought the shield down on the arc reactor instead.
The vibranium edge drove deep into the reactor housing. Sparks exploded. The blue light flickered, dimmed, and nearly went out, reduced to a faint dying glow.
Without the reactor's power, the Mark 46 became dead weight, its systems shutting down one by one.
Steve sat there, gasping for breath, staring down at Tony. His face was a mask of blood, his knuckles split open, his body screaming in pain from the injuries he'd sustained.
After a few seconds, Steve pulled the shield free from the reactor. The metal scraped against metal as it came loose.
He stood on unsteady legs, walked over to Bucky, and helped him to his feet. Together, supporting each other's weight, they began to walk away.
Tony's voice, hoarse and broken, called after them.
"That shield doesn't belong to you. You don't deserve it. My father made that shield."
Steve stopped. For a long moment, he stood there, his back to Tony. Then he looked down at the shield in his hand—the symbol he'd carried for so long, the legacy Howard Stark had given him.
He opened his grip, and the shield fell to the ground with a metallic clang. It rolled slightly before settling on the concrete.
Without another word, Steve helped Bucky toward the exit.
Tony watched them leave, every breath sending pain through his broken ribs. He spat blood onto the ground, the taste of copper filling his mouth. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
His eyes fell on the shield lying abandoned on the floor.
The symbol of everything they'd once stood for together.
Now just another piece of broken metal in a broken facility.
-Real World-
"Ah! So this is why Tony was so hesitant later! He and Captain completely fell out! Fortunately, such a terrible thing didn't happen here!"
Scott shrugged his shoulders, looking relieved.
Captain America glanced at Bucky and couldn't help but feel fortunate that Bucky had told Tony the truth directly after seeing him, so he didn't have to hide it from Tony.
"The Avengers were disbanded by this guy Zemo. How will Tony and the others deal with Thanos' attack? Is this the reason for their early defeat? Fighting on their own and then being defeated one by one?"
Nick Fury narrowed his eyes in thought. Maria Hill's words made sense. This possibility was not impossible! It was even very likely!
Because Vision disappeared, Tony tried to contact Captain America, but who knew what the situation was with Captain America? And Strange was not very reliable!
Thinking of this, Nick Fury looked at him silently. He would never forget that Strange, under the instigation of Spider-Man, directly used the Oblivion Spell and caused a lot of trouble.
Even the scene in the final broadcast where Strange went to seek Wanda's help was related to this incident.
They still hadn't figured out what kind of trouble the future Strange was in, and why he specifically went to Wanda for help. After all, the Wanda on the Sky hadn't become a disciple of the Ancient One.
There was also the person who looked extremely similar to Strange and was most likely his counterpart in a parallel universe, and what the broken world was—they had not figured out yet.
They also investigated the Westview Town that Wanda mentioned. It was a very ordinary town. Because of Wanda's words, it even became a popular tourist attraction for a while.
After all, there were always people in this world who were not afraid of death and wanted to explore certain things.
Nick Fury couldn't help rubbing his temples. There was too much information and he had no idea what to prioritize. He hadn't been able to sleep well over the years and looked three years older than before.
As for the matter of the Skrulls, he had spent a lot of effort to finally resolve the crisis of trust within the top government. Although the Skrulls were not expelled, they were also prohibited from leaving a fixed area.
Each Skrull was equipped with a unique positioning shackle, and Tony had assured him that this thing was absolutely reliable.
-Broadcast-
Inside a high-security prison facility, Helmut Zemo sat in a sealed glass cell. The transparent walls offered no privacy, no dignity. He was on display, a specimen to be studied.
Everett Ross entered the observation area, walking up to stand directly in front of the cell. He looked at Zemo with barely concealed contempt.
"Breakfast at eight. Lunch at five. Dinner at eight. You will have two bathroom breaks per day. You will tell us your full name each time you use the facilities. If you raise your voice above a conversational tone, you'll be shocked. If you touch the glass, you'll be shocked. If you do anything other than sit quietly and contemplate your crimes, you'll be shocked." He paused. "Please, try something."
Zemo said nothing. He simply sat there, his expression blank.
Ross stepped closer to the glass, his voice taking on a mocking edge. "So how does it feel? All that effort. All that planning. And in the end, to fail. To achieve nothing."
Finally, Zemo raised his head. The corners of his mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles.
"Did I?" he asked quietly.
Ross stared at him. The smile on his own face slowly faded as understanding dawned.
Back in the United States, Tony drove his custom sports car up the long driveway to the Avengers compound in upstate New York. The facility loomed before him, modern and imposing.
He parked and stepped out, then stood there for a long moment, staring up at the large Avengers logo displayed prominently on the building's facade.
The symbol of unity.
Of a team that no longer existed.
Inside the compound, Vision sat alone in one of the common rooms, absently moving chess pieces across a board. His synthetic mind processed countless calculations, but none of them provided answers to the questions that truly mattered.
In another section of the facility, Tony worked with Rhodes in a rehabilitation area. Rhodes wore a sophisticated mechanical exoskeleton attached to his legs, the servos whirring softly as he attempted to walk.
"This is just a first test," Tony said, his voice clinical, detached—focusing on the work to avoid thinking about everything else. "Feedback. Anything you can think of. Shock absorption. Lateral movement..."
He forced a smile. "Cup holder?"
Rhodes managed a weak joke in return. "You should think about putting in a kick-stand for when I get tired."
But as he took another step, Rhodes lost his grip on the parallel bars. His legs gave out, and he fell.
Tony immediately dropped to his knees beside him. "Rhodey, come on—"
"No," Rhodes said firmly, holding up a hand. "Don't. Don't help me. Don't."
He braced his hands on the floor, took two deep breaths, then managed to turn himself around into a sitting position. He looked up at Tony and smiled—a genuine smile, despite everything.
After a moment of silence, Rhodes spoke.
"One hundred and thirty-eight combat missions, Tony. I flew one hundred and thirty-eight combat missions. Every time I got in that armor, there was a chance I wouldn't come back. But I went anyway. Because those were missions that mattered. That had to be done."