𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 | " You're just a kid! "
" Yeah? Well this kid is willing to go through hell and back to save your stubborn ass and die for you, asshole. "
- in which STRIKE's strongest asset with a ridicul...
❝sometimes I wonder which will get me killed faster— my loyalty or my stubbornness?❞
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Traffic rolled around the Victory Column, the city's heartbeat pulsing with the rhythm of daily life. Police convoys drove beside the river Spree, their presence a stark contrast to the normalcy of Berlin. Amidst the convoy, a gray armed truck carried Bucky, the Winter Soldier. As we passed it, I felt an immense sense of dread and anger. Anger that they were treating Bucky this way, and anger that no one was listening to me.
In the SUV, T'Challa sat in front of Steve and me, with Sam sitting behind us.
"So, you like cats?" Sam said, breaking the tense silence. The three of us knew exactly who he was talking to. I tried to suppress a chuckle, knowing it wasn't the right time or place. Instead, I shook my head and chose to stay quiet.
"Sam," Steve said, his tone a clear warning to keep quiet.
"What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don't wanna know more?" Sam retorted.
I rolled my eyes, choosing to watch the scene outside through the window.
Steve finally broke the silence. "Your suit . . ."
"Vibranium," I finished, my eyes still fixed on the passing scenery. Steve glanced at me before nodding and returning his gaze to T'Challa.
T'Challa's eyes narrowed as he glanced sideways. "The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle passed from warrior to warrior. And now, because your friend murdered my father, I also wear the mantle of king. So, I ask you . . . as both warrior and king . . . how long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?"
My hand formed a fist, my anger barely contained. "I'm answering you as a friend and a hero. No offense, Your Highness, but no innocent friend of mine will die."
T'Challa's gaze shifted to me, his expression unreadable. The weight of his authority and grief pressed down on us, but my resolve didn't waver. The city blurred past us, the convoy a moving island of tension and unspoken threats. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: we would not abandon Bucky, no matter the cost.
The convoy rolled to a stop at their destination, the imposing structure looming ahead. Bucky's pod was carried away by a forklift, the whirring of the machinery a stark contrast to the silent tension in the air. Steve and I stepped out of the SUV, our eyes immediately finding Bucky. He didn't spot us, his attention elsewhere as he was transported away.
Sam and T'Challa exited the vehicle as well, and we all approached Sharon, who stood with a diminutive, gray-haired man I instantly recognized as Everett Ross.
