22

The Army

Tony, Thor and a few others were already there when Monica ran in "So what's the plan?" Natasha, who just ran in after Monica, asked Tony who pointed at a weird contraption.

    "That, if Ultron gets his hands on it, it's game over."

Ultron appeared outside the church, looking as smug as an AI could. He took a moment, staring at them before Thor stepped forwards. He threw his arms out, gesturing at the broken robots scattered around. "This the best you can do?"

It was like a que, as soon as the words left the god's mouth, a swarm of robots came running, flying towards the group from behind Ultron. Like a second wave. "What the hell.." Monica mumbled.

"This is the best I can do. All of me, against all of you. How can you hope to stop me?"

They were still coming, hundreds of them, maybe a thousand. Too many to count, that's for sure.

"Like the old man said." Tony stepped forward. "Together."

They began fighting them all over again. Fight, destroy, repeat. Monica ripped one in half that was getting close to the core. She knew people were still being loaded onto the carriers as they stood fighting the army.

Above her, Ultron was fighting Vision. He slammed him into the wall of the church before Vision blasted him from his gem. He was sent flying out, Thor and Tony following. The rest of them were still in the broken structure when Thor spoke into the earpiece. "They're trying to get out of the city!"

"We can't let them, not even one." Tony spoke back. "Rhodey!"

"On it." 'Rhodey' spoke back.

"We gotta get going, even I can tell the air is getting thin up here." Cap yelled, cutting the head clean off a bot. "You guys get to the carriers, I'll sweep for stragglers."

"What about the core?" Clint asked as he jabbed an arrow into one of them.

"I'll stay and protect it." Wanda answered, standing near the thing.

The two blonde men nodded before splitting up. "Be careful." Monica said before following Clint out of the church. They ran back to where the bridge used to be, where the last carrier was. A few people were running onto it and a fluffy white dog.

Behind them, there was a blonde woman– maybe the twins age– yelling someone's name. Clint and Monica exchanged a glance before looking at her. "We were in the market." She cried, her forehead seeping blood.

Monica glanced around, spotting a young boy struggling to his feet maybe forty feet away from the carrier. Tapping Clint on the shoulder, she pointed. "Be right back." He ran off as Monica helped a few injured people onto the boat.

Shots were being fired, nearing quickly and Monica looked around. The quinjet was open firing everywhere. Police officers were going down, Clint and the boy in the line of fire. Before she could even blink, a blue blur zoomed past; pushing a car in front of them. Once the jet passed, Monica ran down to see if they were alright. Clint and the boy were safe; Pietro was on the ground, unconscious.

He had a wound in his leg, one on his arm and one on his side. "You idiot!" She ran to him as Clint set the boy down, propping him on a car. Monica dropped down by him, pulling one of the blades from her boot. She put it under his nose, watching as the metal fogged up. She looked at Clint, concern on his face. "He's alive."

Thor and Steve ran to them, and the god scooped him up; taking him to the carrier. They set him down across a few of the seats, Monica and Clint sitting by him. Some paramedics came by, offering to tend to their wounds. They both declined, telling them to check on Pietro.

Monica wiped some blood that was running down her lip, smearing it across her chin. The medics had patched up Pietro's wounds enough to stop the bleeding until they could be properly checked at the compound. They'd given Monica a cloth to press on the gash on her arm.

Eventually, she fell asleep. Though it wasn't very long; sleeping on a flying vessel was hard. It was very loud, people were talking; huddling with their families and weeping. Must've been traumatic, the whole city lost their homes and were attacked in the span of four hours. Some people died, some were badly injured. Monica wondered how many lost family members, they were mourning their home and someone they loved.

As soon as they got back to the compound, Maximoff was rushed to an operating room while the rest of them were in the lobby, waiting to be tended to. While Monica waited, two men walked into the room. Steve clasped hands with one of them, clapping him on the back. "This is Sam Wilson and James Rhodes." He introduced them to her and Wanda. "Sam, Rhodey, this is Wanda and Monica."

They both shook hands with the two and smiled before Monica was whisked away to a room. The nurse immediately began cleaning her wounds and dabbing up blood. She winced when she pressed a wet cloth onto her arm. It stung, tingling the torn flesh. She sterilized a needle and grabbed some thread, beginning to sew the gash closed. This was alway the part Monica had hated most, sewing wounds closed. It wasn't even the pain that got her, it just made the girl queasy.

    Tony led Wanda and Monica to their rooms, which were right across from each other. Walking into the large space, she looked around. The walls were a plain off white colour. There was a large bed on the far wall, two white night stands on either side. A desk was by the door with a lamp on it. A light blue fluffy carpet was in front of the bed. There was a closet across from it and a dresser with a TV next to that. A small hall by the door led into a bathroom and she immediately walked into it to shower.

    The bathroom was nice, a sink by the door, a toilet next to it and a huge shower on the far wall. Across from the counter was a shelf with toiletries and towels. Monica grabbed two and the shampoo and conditioner.

    Whoever made warm showers was officially my favourite person in history; she hadn't had one in years. She was fifteen and sent on a mission to massachusetts. She was sent back to her old home to assassinate someone. It was really bad, seeing them again. Rowan, 'dad'. The man who initiated the raid on the hospital she was born in.

    Monica wrapped the fluffy towels around herself and went to check if there was anything she could change into. The closet was pretty empty, a few pajamas, some sweat pants and a couple shirts and a bin of underwear and bras. She grabbed a tank top and some grey sweatpants and undergarments.

    Monica plopped down on the bed, it was hands down the comfiest thing she'd ever laid on. She didn't even make it under the covers before she fell asleep.