Time flowed slowly.
A week later.
Bucharest.
In a simple residence, Winter Soldier Bucky was now wanted across the globe, the first hero to be branded an international fugitive.
Through a CIA contact named Emily, Captain Steve had tracked Bucky's movements and rushed over early.
Inside a dim attic, Steve flipped through Bucky's belongings when he heard footsteps. Turning around, he saw none other than the Winter Soldier.
"Do you know me?" Steve asked with a rare, hopeful smile.
"Captain America. I read about you in the museum."
Bucky's voice was steady.
"Steve, the special forces are on their way. They've surrounded the place."
Falcon's voice crackled in through the earpiece—he was on lookout, but time was running out.
"I know you're nervous, Bucky. But you're lying to yourself. They're not here to take you in—they want to kill you. This doesn't have to end in a fight."
Steve's tone was firm, pleading.
He desperately hoped Bucky would surrender before things escalated.
Boom—
Before Bucky could answer, the door exploded open. Grenades were tossed inside.
One was hurled back out by Steve, the other kicked away by Bucky—Steve raised his shield to absorb the blast.
The vibranium shield held strong, turning into a makeshift blast wall.
The attic erupted into chaos. Over thirty heavily armed U.S. special forces stormed in, guns blazing.
Steve and Bucky fought side by side, their superhuman strength tearing through the formation.
Against the odds, they broke free and fled into the streets, finally spilling onto a crowded overpass.
"Bucky, stop! I'll find a way to clear your name!"
Steve shouted as he chased.
Screeech—
A dark figure dropped down from above.
Sharp claws slashed across Bucky's chest, blood spraying.
He twisted just enough to avoid a fatal blow, but his clothes were soaked scarlet.
From the shadows emerged the Black Panther—T'Challa, clad in vibranium armor, every movement fast and lethal.
The fight grew fierce. Bucky was cornered. Steve, however, kept holding back—more than once he even pushed Bucky away to stop T'Challa's killing strikes.
As the three clashed, a deafening roar filled the sky.
Clang!
A beam of white light descended.
War Machine. Colonel Rhodes' armored figure landed, and behind him came dozens of Mark suits—mostly second-generation, nowhere near Stark's cutting edge, but still a formidable force.
Dozens of armored suits—the odds were overwhelming.
"Sorry, Cap. From this moment, you're under arrest."
Rhodey's faceplate slid open, his expression hard.
Behind him, Falcon was already pinned down by several Mark suits.
…
At the U.S. Department of Homeland Security—
Winter Soldier was chained and locked into a reinforced cell.
Steve and Falcon were also shackled and confined.
"So this is what you wanted, Stark?"
Steve sneered, bound in special alloy cuffs, his eyes burning with accusation.
Watching them imprisoned, Stark and Natasha both wore heavy expressions.
"They're not exactly prisoners, are they?"
Stark muttered, clearly displeased.
Natasha frowned as well. The accords had supposedly preserved their privileges as superheroes, yet this looked less like oversight and more like the deliberate imprisonment of dangerous assets.
"Mr. Stark, threats don't always come from the battlefield. This was the decision of the United Nations."
The military officer in charge spoke coldly.
"Did the accords say we're prisoners?" Natasha asked sharply.
"..."
Stark had no answer. The military's overreach left him speechless.
Even as heroes who had saved the world, they were being locked away like criminals.
"Barton's gone dark. I haven't heard from him in days."
Natasha suddenly said.
Hawkeye—Clint Barton—had refused the accords, retiring quietly. He stayed in touch with Natasha, but now… silence.
"Jarvis, get me Barton. Or his family." Stark ordered from inside his armor.
"Yes, sir."
Jarvis attempted the call. No answer. Several tries later, someone finally picked up.
"Hello? Is this Miss Natasha?"
Before the call could continue, soldiers dragged Steve away.
Then a Mark suit stepped forward and spoke mechanically:
"According to federal law, Article 136, Natasha Romanoff, you are charged with the unlawful killing of—"
The armor's voice was merciless, listing her past missions.
"From this moment, due to your crimes, you are under surveillance and will be taken into custody."
"What the hell is this, Jarvis?"
Stark demanded, trying to shut the suit down—but his commands failed.
"Sir, these are not Stark Industries' Mark armors."
Jarvis's voice was grave.
A holographic map flickered into Stark's view.
The entire U.S. was littered with red dots.
Mark suits—dozens, hundreds.
Not his designs. At best "Mark II-and-a-half" knockoffs. Modified to mimic War Machine, stamped with the United Nations insignia.
"Stark… you'd better explain this."
Natasha's eyes widened as dozens of weapons locked onto her.
"Natasha is S.H.I.E.L.D., she—"
Stark tried to defend her, but the suits cut him off.
"Apologies, Mr. Stark. Federal orders. You have no authority here."
Even Stark was blocked from intervening.
"Tell me—Clint Barton. Is he in your so-called custody too?"
Natasha's voice was ice.
"Apologies, Miss Romanoff. That is classified."
The suit answered coldly.
Then they seized her, dragging her toward a reinforced cell.
"Stark, maybe… our choice wasn't the right one."
Natasha looked back at him, regret in her eyes.
"Sir, the evidence is clear. The technology we surrendered has been abused. The so-called United Nations—and the government—cannot be trusted."
Jarvis warned quietly.
"..."
Stark's face was grim.
(End of Chapter)
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