𝑾𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴𝑺 ━━ 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

34 Red vs. Blue

The team arrived at the 6th level of a parking garage at the Leipzig/Halle airport, a forgotten corner of the world where shadows clung to the walls and the air held an eerie silence. Kalum Tiberias's car—Alora's sleek black sports Audi—sliced through the stillness. The engine roared like a beast, echoing off the concrete columns, its sound reverberating through the cavernous space before fading as the vehicle came to a halt.

Kalum eased the car into a parking spot beside a grey van, the tires crunching faintly on the cracked asphalt. The car's engine fell into an almost unnatural silence, the hum dying out as if the entire garage was holding its breath.

He was the first to step out of the vehicle, his tall frame unfolding with smooth, practiced movements. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, reading the space with the expertise of someone who had spent too many years navigating tense situations. It was a familiar feeling—the weight of expectation, the edge of something dangerous—but the atmosphere in the garage felt different today. The usual hum of his powers, the pulse of his connection to the cosmos, was quiet. This was more personal.

Behind him, Sam Wilson followed, his footsteps quick and confident, his expression set in determination. He'd been through countless missions, but this one felt like it would test them all. Bucky Barnes, ever the quiet sentinel, stepped out next, his hand instinctively brushing the familiar cold of his metal arm. Steve Rogers exited the car last, the leader of the group, calm and commanding despite the weight of the upcoming mission pressing down on him. And beside him, the final member of the team—Edda. Her eyes were hidden beneath the dark fringe of her hair, but anyone who knew her well could see the tension in her posture. She wasn't afraid of battle, not even of facing dangerous foes. What concerned her was the darkness lurking within—specifically, Medusa, and whatever the woman had in store for her. But she masked her fears, standing tall with her companions, a force in her own right.

Kalum's grin spread across his face as Clint Barton approached, cutting through the tension in the air like a familiar breeze in a storm. The sight of the sharp-shooter—still the same despite everything—was a welcome relief.

"Cap," Clint greeted with a slight nod, and Kalum responded with a warm, brotherly hug, clapping Clint on the back.

Steve Rogers chuckled, his expression softening as he turned toward the archer. "You know I wouldn't have called if I had any other choice."

Clint smirked, his voice laced with good-natured sarcasm. "Hey, man, you're doing me a favor. Besides, I owed one."

Wanda Maximoff stepped forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. A slight smirk tugged at her lips. "It was time to get off my ass," she said, the tone light, though Kalum could hear the underlying seriousness.

Kalum couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. He walked over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they stood side by side. The movement was instinctual, the comfort between them immediate.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Kalum remarked, his voice warm, almost brotherly. Wanda was like family to him, a sister he would protect with his life. It had always been that way.

Steve, taking in the sight of their tight-knit group, turned his attention back to the mission at hand. "How about our other recruit? Is he ready?"

Clint waved a hand dismissively, his smile wide. "He's raring to go. Had to put a little coffee in him, but he should be good to go."

Just as Clint finished speaking, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from behind them, and soon enough, a familiar face appeared. Scott Lang, a little more disheveled than usual but no less eager, made his way toward them. His hair was still rumpled from what was likely a half-sleep, but there was a sparkle of excitement in his eyes.