𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 | 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬¹

Down in the Dark

I tread with tentative steps along the perimeter of the lofty tower, my nasal passages flaring as I seek to imbue myself with the intimate aromas of a newfound abode. The air is thick with the scents of dust and metal, a potent cocktail that speaks of solitude and forgotten secrets. As the echoes of my footfalls dance upon the cold, hard floor, I am abruptly interrupted by the unexpected descent of Falcon from a conduit suspended above. He emerges from the shadows, a blur of motion that pierces the stillness, and the suddenness of his appearance sends a jolt of alarm coursing through my veins.

Our eyes lock in a silent battle, his pupils dilated with surprise, my own narrowed into slits of irritation. My serrated claws, a natural defense mechanism honed by evolutionary instinct, reflexively scrape against the metal grating of the tower floor, sending a cacophony of sound ricocheting through the chamber. Falcon, ever the acrobat, deftly sidesteps my flailing form, a crimson streak painting the metal where moments before, his flesh had been.

"Easy, Kira!" he barks, his voice a mix of amusement and admonition. The echo of his words reverberate off the towering steel walls, a symphony of surprise that seems to resonate within the very core of the structure. I feel a brief flicker of embarrassment, my ears flattening against my skull as I realize the gravity of my overreaction.

"Sam, I'm so sorry!" I mewl, my voice a soft crescendo of contrition.

Sam, ever the picture of stoicism, shakes his head, his visage etched with a wan smile that belies the pain searing through his body. "Don't worry, Kira. It happens to the best of us," he reassures, his words a gentle patter on the cobblestone of our encounter. "I shouldn't have startled you." He then winces, his hand moving to clutch the crimson-soaked fabric of his trousers, a grim reminder of our unintended tango.

Slowly, he hauls himself to his feet, his movements a study in controlled agony. The crimson rivulet that had been a testament to our encounter now pools at his feet, a stark contrast to the stark grayness of the floor. "Oh, I better take this to the lab," he murmurs, his voice a mere whisper in the vastness of the tower.

With a grace that seems to belie his injury, he vanishes from my line of sight, leaving a crimson trail in his wake like a macabre breadcrumb. I am momentarily paralyzed, my heart a tumultuous sea of guilt and regret. But then, I recall his words, a beacon of wisdom piercing through the fog of self-recrimination. I can't dwell on what's done; I must forge ahead.

Shaking the residue of guilt from my fur, I square my shoulders and set forth on an odyssey of exploration. Each corner turned, each floorboard trodden, reveals a tapestry of untold stories and hidden treasures. The tower is a labyrinth of mystery, a bastion of uncharted territory that whispers secrets to those who dare to listen.

And so, I proceed, my eyes a twin set of headlights cutting through the shadows, my claws tapping out a rhythm of discovery against the unforgiving floor. Falcon's retreating figure fades into the background, a fleeting memory as the intoxicating scent of adventure fills my nostrils, beckoning me further into the bowels of this metal monolith.

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

As the sun descends below the horizon, the Avengers' jet, a gleaming bastion of human innovation, slices through the azure sky, carrying us to the fateful Lockwood mansion. The very thought of returning to that hellish edifice sends a shiver down my reptilian spine, but necessity, cloaked in the fabric of duty, compels me. Steve's gaze, emanating a paternal concern, finds me on the floor, my diaphragm heaving under the weight of anticipation and dread.

"You're certain you wish to proceed with us?" His voice is a gentle caress in the cacophony of the jet's engines.

My crimson eyes lock onto his cerulean ones. "Is there truly an option, Captain?" I respond, the air escaping my nostrils in a weary sigh. "For you, for this world's salvation... Ingen's reign must be brought to a definitive end."

Thor, the mighty god of thunder, lends his support, his hand, a beacon of warmth, pressing into my hip. "If she considers this her quest of valor, then she should proceed," he rumbles. "Her tracking prowess is invaluable."

Clint, the silent sentinel at the window, his eyes a piercing hawk's, nods solemnly. "But if you need to step aside, just signal, Kira." His voice, a harmonious blend of reassurance and respect, resonates through the cabin.

Tony's voice crackles through the speakers, a metallic herald announcing our impending arrival. "Destination in view." He guides the jet through the emerald embrace of the forest canopy, its underbelly kissing the treetops as we descend towards the scarred mansion.

The jet's touchdown sends tremors through the ground beneath me, echoing the tumult within my soul. Natasha, the Widow, her eyes reflecting the wisdom of a thousand battles, nudges me. "Easy," she whispers, a promise of unity.

The mansion's decayed grandeur looms over us as we disembark, my jaws quivering, claws digging into the earth. Memories of pain and indignity flood back—the searing tasers, the avaricious gazes of the auctioneers. A snarl rips from my throat, a visceral response to the past's cruel embrace. Yet, amidst the chaos, a distant sound whispers to me, and my quills dance in anticipation.

Ignoring the cries of the team, I sprint into the mansion's gaping maw, the scent of freedom and vengeance guiding my steps. The basement beckons, and I navigate the debris-littered stairs, each step echoing through the bowels of the building. The lab lies before me, a grim monument to the horrors I've endured. The cages, once a prison to kin, now stand as silent sentinels of a brutal past.

With a deep inhale, I brace myself for the confrontation. "Who's there?" I challenge, my voice a serrated blade in the stillness, as I send forth an echolocation pulse. The air vibrates with the anticipation of discovery.

From the shadows, a colossal figure emerges—a twin to my own image, but more feral, more untamed. The yellow stripe along its side gleams like a beacon in the dimness, and eyes of molten gold bore into my soul.

"Sister?"