Nick Fury glanced at the cover—The Sokovia Accords—and his expression imdiately turned grave. Just as he had suspected. His face darkened as he flipped through the docunt.
"The Sokovia Accords have already been ratified by 117 countries," Ross stated concisely. "They stipulate that the Avengers will no longer operate as a private organization, but instead act under the supervision of a United Nations panel. Any action taken must be approved by this panel. The Avengers are no longer permitted to act independently."
Ross made it very clear: this was about control—bringing the Avengers under political authority and turning them into a weapon held firmly in the hands of world leaders.
Fury's concern lay precisely there. Steve shared it as well. Once the Avengers fell under political control, they would inevitably beco tools—sent wherever those in power wished. The justice they upheld would be twisted into sothing unrecognizable.
"The Avengers were ford to protect the world—to ensure global security," Steve said firmly. "And we've done exactly that. We're not here to beco weapons for any individual or organization."
"Captain, can you guarantee everyone will stick to that ideal?" Ross shot back imdiately. "That Asgardian, Banner, and especially that most dangerous one—Karl—and the people around him. Can you guarantee none of them will cross the line? If I lost track of a few weapons capable of destroying the world, do you think I'd sleep well at night?"
To politicians like Ross—and frankly, most of the world's governnts—anything beyond their control was a threat.
"Compromise. Assurance. That's how the world works," Ross continued. "Trust , this Accord is the best outco. Otherwise, you may find yourselves standing against the entire world."
His stance couldn't have been clearer. Refuse to sign, and they'd be treated as enemies. And the United States had never been kind to its enemies.
"This agreent doesn't take effect until it passes a UN vote. Right now, it's just paper," Fury said coldly, tossing the thick docunt back onto the table.
"Correct. In three days, the United Nations will convene in Vienna to vote on it," Ross replied, completely unfazed.
"You should think it over carefully."
With that, Ross turned to leave, his bodyguards following close behind. His purpose today had simply been to deliver the ssage.
But just as he reached the door, Natasha spoke.
"And what if our decision isn't the one you're hoping for?"
She phrased it diplomatically, but the aning was obvious.
"Then I'm afraid you'll all be forced into retirent," Ross shrugged. "Or worse."
The implication was clear.
For so, retirent ant little. Steve and Sam had long since left military life, and Tony was a billionaire—he didn't need the Avengers.
But for others, it was a different story.
Rhodey would simply lose his rank and his War Machine armor—he'd return to being an ordinary man.
Natasha, however, had no such luxury. If she lost the Avengers' protection, both the United States and Russia would co after her. That was the curse of a forr double agent. Without protection, her only choices would be constant flight—or hiding sowhere remote for the rest of her life.
---
Far away in Siberia, amidst endless snowfields, a lone figure trudged across the frozen wilderness.
A backpack hung from his shoulders, and in his hand was a worn map, marked with a single X—his destination.
Guided by a compass, he finally arrived at a half-buried military bunker. It looked ancient, but intact.
At the entrance, the man pulled out a red notebook and flipped to a page containing a password.
To his surprise, the facility still had power.
After entering the correct code, the heavy steel door creaked open, and he stepped inside.
As he moved forward, old incandescent lights flickered on one by one, illuminating the interior.
Rows of glass chambers lined the room.
Inside each one floated a human body—n and won alike—suspended in an unknown liquid.
All of them were alive.
The man approached a central control console and brushed away the dust, revealing a tal plaque:
Winter Soldier Program Roster
Below it, a screen displayed a list of nas—each belonging to one of the soldiers.
He skimd through them before walking toward the chambers.
The first three pods stood open and empty.
Their occupants had long since been awakened.
He glanced at the display beneath them.
Bucky Barnes.
Clearly, one of those empty pods had belonged to Steve's forr comrade.
But Bucky—and two others—had already been reduced to ashes by Karl.
The man paid it no mind.
He pulled out a handgun and began firing at the remaining chambers.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunshots echoed through the bunker.
Each bullet pierced through glass and struck its target—either through the heart or the head.
He killed them all.
All except one.
Taking out the red notebook again, he carefully followed the instructions to awaken the final Winter Soldier.
This man was the mastermind behind everything to co—
Helmut Zemo.
Originally, Zemo's plan had been to awaken Bucky, manipulate him, and use him to drive a wedge between Steve and Tony.
But Bucky had already been turned to ashes by Karl.
With his key piece gone, Zemo had no choice but to improvise.
He would awaken another Winter Soldier.
Then implant Bucky's mories into him.
Disfigure his face.
And create a perfect impostor.
Zemo didn't know Bucky was dead.
In fact, aside from Karl, no one knew.
So when he couldn't find the original—
He decided to make a replacent.
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