Wanda's suit was finalized last.
Like Karl, she chose dark red as the primary color. The design was clean and minimal, without excessive ornantation. The most distinctive feature was her cape—it could extend and retract at will, much like Karl's, though limited to about three ters at maximum length.
The cape wasn't for style alone. It provided defensive utility, capable of hardening and shielding her when needed.
Beyond that, her armor offered no amplification systems.
Wanda didn't need them.
Chaos Magic was already an overwhelming force. There was nothing that could aningfully enhance it—and attempting to do so would likely be pointless.
"So these are your new suits," Shuri said, handing each of them a bracelet.
All three bracelets were crafted from vibranium. They appeared simple and elegant, distinctly Wakandan in aesthetic. At a glance, they looked like ordinary accessories—no one would suspect they were advanced combat systems.
The three won accepted them eagerly.
And then promptly dragged Shuri off for yet another round of girls-only adventures.
---
After a full month of unrestrained fun, Gwen, Skye, and Wanda had even beco friends with mbers of the Dora Milaje.
When it was finally ti to leave, they invited Shuri to visit New York soti soon.
At the farewell dinner, even Erik showed up to see them off—though he maintained his usual aloof deanor.
Karl then brought the three back to the agency.
Wanda imdiately returned to Kamar-Taj.
She had reached a critical phase in mastering Chaos Magic. To fully stabilize her control, she needed to repeatedly exhaust her power—pushing herself to complete depletion.
The Ancient One arranged battle after battle for her, even transporting her to dark dinsions to force her into extre conditions.
Growth through pressure.
As for Gwen and Skye, they returned to their routines.
One shuttled between lab and agency.
The other stayed ho coding.
---
Washington, D.C.
Early morning.
A Black man was jogging as the sun began to rise. Suddenly, a tall figure sprinted past him.
"On your left."
The jogger ignored it and kept running.
Ten minutes later, the sa figure passed him again.
"On your left."
The jogger finally snapped.
"On your left, on your left—man, can't you pass on the right just once? I'm gonna go deaf!"
He sped up, trying to catch the tall runner.
It was a hopeless effort.
The other man's stride was longer, faster, effortless.
By the ti they reached the plaza near the Washington Monunt, the tall runner lapped him again.
"On your left."
"Why are you like this—!"
The jogger collapsed onto the grass, breathing heavily.
The tall man finally stopped nearby, smiling.
"I think I need new lungs," the jogger joked. "These ones are thirty years old."
"You military?" the tall man asked.
"Used to be. Pararescue. Now I work at the VA."
He extended his hand and was pulled to his feet.
"Sam Wilson."
"Steve Rogers."
Sam blinked.
"Wait. I know who you are. Captain Arica, right?"
Steve gave a small nod.
"Nice to et you."
Before Sam could continue, Steve's phone buzzed.
Mission alert.
"Duty calls," Steve said. "If you ever want to run again—"
They shook hands.
"If you ever visit the VA, give a heads-up," Sam laughed. "I'd like to brag that I know Captain Arica."
At that mont, a sleek sports car screeched to a stop nearby.
Natasha lowered the window.
"I hear there's a fossil that needs a ride."
She glanced at Sam, then at Steve.
Steve sighed and got in.
The car roared away.
---
Later That Night – Quinjet
Steve and Natasha sat aboard, along with an elite tactical unit led by Brock Rumlow—Alexander Pierce's top operative.
Rumlow began the briefing.
"The target is a vessel functioning as a mobile satellite launch platform. Ninety minutes ago, after launching its final satellite, it was seized by pirates. The ship is now fully under their control."
The vessel's schematics appeared on screen.
"What do they want?" Steve asked.
"Fifteen billion dollars."
Steve blinked.
"Fifteen billion? What exactly did they find on that ship to demand that much?"
Rumlow answered flatly.
"It's a S.H.I.E.L.D. ship."
Steve rolled his eyes.
"Since when does S.H.I.E.L.D. conduct illegal cross-border operations? What is Nick Fury up to this ti? I'm getting tired of cleaning up his sses."
Natasha glanced at him.
"Relax. It's not that complicated."
Which, of course, ant it absolutely was.
If it were rely pirates, a few well-equipped strike teams would suffice.
Instead, they had Captain Arica, Black Widow, and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s premier tactical squad.
Overkill.
"How many hostiles?" Steve asked.
"Twenty-five," Rumlow replied. "Technically pirates—but in reality, top-tier rcenaries."
Profiles appeared on screen.
Rumlow zood in on one.
"Georges Batroc. Forr special operations in Western Europe. International fugitive. Thirty-plus assassinations before he went rogue. Zero failures. Known for extre brutality."
Steve studied the image carefully, morizing the face.
The mission was far from simple.
And everyone on that jet knew it.
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