Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 11 - Framed and Hunted

The news broke like a thunderclap. We had been monitoring the international situation from the safe house, each day a mix of tense silence and furtive planning. Then, suddenly, every channel was flooded with images of a bombed UN building, chaotic screams, and fire. And in the midst of it all, grainy security footage showed a familiar face—Bucky's face.

I watched in horror as the broadcast replayed the footage on a loop. Bucky, caught in the act of planting the bomb that killed King T'Chaka of Wakanda. My hands tightened into fists as my stomach churned. This wasn't just an attack; it was an execution of Bucky's character.

Steve had been pacing, his eyes glued to the screen, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. I knew what he was thinking because I was thinking it too—this was a setup. But in the eyes of the world, it didn't matter if it was the truth. Bucky was now public enemy number one.

I turned to Steve, trying to mask the rising panic in my voice. "They framed him, Steve. This isn't him. It can't be."

He stopped pacing and looked at me, his jaw set in a grim line. "I know. But the world isn't going to care about the truth. They've been waiting for a reason to take him down, and now they have it."

I felt a wave of nausea wash over me as the gravity of the situation settled in. This wasn't just about us anymore; it was about international politics, power plays, and the public thirst for justice. The world would demand a scapegoat, and Bucky had been neatly served up to them on a silver platter.

"We need to get to him before they do," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "If they catch him first, they'll kill him. Or worse, they'll turn him into their weapon again."

Steve nodded, his expression hardening. "We don't have much time. They'll be hunting him down with everything they have."

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding. I had already made my choice when I agreed to help Bucky, but now that choice felt heavier, the consequences more immediate and dangerous. I was about to throw myself into the middle of an international manhunt to save a man most of the world believed was a monster.

"Steve," I said, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to steady it, "I'm in. Whatever it takes, we get him out of this."

He crossed the room in two quick strides and placed a hand on my shoulder, his eyes meeting mine with a fierce intensity. "Thank you, Emily. I knew I could count on you."

I forced a tight smile. "We're going to need a plan. A good one."

Steve moved to the table, where we had maps, blueprints, and surveillance data spread out. As he began outlining the intel we had on Bucky's last known location, I couldn't help but glance at the screen again. Bucky's image stared back at me, his face hard, devoid of emotion. They had used his past, his training, to paint him as the perfect assassin.

"This is going to be a global manhunt," I murmured, feeling the weight of the task ahead. "We're not just up against S.H.I.E.L.D. or the government. We're up against the whole world."

Steve looked up from the maps, his expression grim but resolute. "Then we just have to move faster and smarter than everyone else."

---

We worked through the night, every hour more precious than the last. We had to find Bucky before they did, before he became another casualty in a game of political chess. I used every contact I had left in S.H.I.E.L.D., scouring for information on the search patterns, trying to stay one step ahead.

By dawn, we had a lead. A rumored sighting of a man matching Bucky's description in Bucharest. It was a slim thread to hang our hopes on, but it was all we had.