Framed

Secret Schemes

2016, Vienna, Austria

After over an hour, the firefighters managed to contain the blaze within a corner of the United Nations building. Using hoses, they subdued the flames, leaving behind a scene of destruction with shattered windows and charred walls.

A rescue helicopter lifted survivors from the roof while another rushed the injured to nearby hospitals. Despite parts of the stairway being inaccessible, everyone evacuated in an orderly manner after the explosion, thanks to the prompt activation of the fire alarm. Another helicopter was busy rushing those in need of immediate medical attention to the nearest hospital straight away to avoid any loss of life.

The Joint Terrorism Task Force arrived shortly after the incident, immediately deploying agents to assess and manage the situation. With agents scattered across the grounds, people kept their distance, allowing the task force to work efficiently.

Meanwhile, Natasha remained outside, observing the building. Reporters approached her for statements, eager to hear her perspective on the incident they knew of her fight against Winter. So, like the annoying people they can be, they wanted her to say something on national television regarding what happened here today.

Like she would do that.

This couldn't have been the work of the Winter Soldier she knew. Nothing about it added up if Marni had returned to her previous state - she would have remained in the shadows, not thrust herself into the spotlight as the murderer and terrorist her records suggest.

Winter would have reclaimed her name as the fleeting ghost that conspired in the dark.

Natasha wandered past the ambulances still parked at the scene, observing the paramedics tending to the minor injuries. Shortly afterwards, she noticed a familiar figure sitting alone on a bench, someone she hadn't seen since before the explosion.

T'Challa... the Prince of Wakanda.

T'Challa, a well-built man in his early 30s, possessed a neatly trimmed beard and was clad in a custom navy blue suit. He sat staring into space, absently fiddling with a black and silver ring crafted from black vibranium metal. The ring bore engraved markings of his culture and heritage.

Natasha faintly recalled him pulling it off his father's finger just before the paramedics took the body away.

Both were among the fortunate few who escaped the explosion with minor injuries. T'Challa bore multiple cuts on his face, likely to develop bruising later, having been thrown across the room by the blast's force. Natasha, relatively unharmed, owed her safety to the desk she took cover behind. Without T'Challa's timely warning, the casualty count could have been much higher.

Natasha approached the bench where T'Challa sat alone, hesitating for a moment before deciding to take the risk and sit down a little further away from him, giving him space. He seemed lost in his thoughts, not noticing her presence until she spoke softly.

He didn't seem to notice her presence as she took a seat. Her body was turned towards him as she observed his mentality for a few seconds. "I'm very sorry." She finally told him in a soft voice.

T'Challa glanced over to her, his expression oddly blank. Inside, he felt numbness mingled with a rising tide of anger, reliving his father's death repeatedly. Despite his initial reluctance, he couldn't find the energy to tell Natasha to leave.

He's also heard who committed this heinous crime, so he knew who caused the explosion. The pent-up bridge slowly built up inside of him a little further. He gradually looked away from her as a story came to mind... feeling as though if he told this story, maybe he'd feel a little better.