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Bucharest, Romania.
Bucky Barnes was buying plums.
That was all he wanted — to be an ordinary person in an ordinary market, picking fruit with a gloved metal hand, blending into a city that didn't know his name. But that luxury had evaporated the moment his face appeared on every news broadcast across Europe, labeled as the Vienna bomber.
When he returned to his apartment, his enhanced hearing caught the sound of SWAT boots on the stairwell three floors below.
BANG!
Windows shattered. Flashbangs exploded. German special forces poured through every entrance. Bucky didn't kill — he put his metal fist through the floor and dropped, punching his way downward through concrete and rebar.
A red-white-and-blue shield spun through the chaos and deflected a burst of automatic fire meant for Bucky's back.
"Steve?" Bucky stared at the face of a man he'd spent seventy years forgetting.
"Don't kill anyone, Bucky." Steve caught the returning shield. "Someone is framing you — Vienna, the bombing, all of it."
They fought their way to the rooftop together. But waiting there, cutting off their escape route, was a black blur moving with the precision of a predator and the fury of a man who'd just watched his father nearly die.
T'Challa. The Black Panther. Encased head to toe in vibranium-weave, claws extended, eyes burning behind the mask.
"A life for a life!"
T'Challa ignored Steve's shield — tanked the hit, vibranium absorbing the impact — and drove straight for Bucky's throat. This wasn't justice. This was vengeance, and it would not be reasoned with.
Helicopter gunfire forced all three off the roof. They dropped into a highway tunnel, and the chase exploded into full speed.
Above the overpass.
A black sedan paced the chaos below.
"Our Highness is really angry."
Gwen drove with one hand, watching Black Panther leap from car roof to car roof like a parkour athlete made of vibranium. "That suit absorbed Captain America's shield throw like it was nothing."
"Vibranium is hard," Jake said, rolling down the window. "But the body inside it is still human."
He opened the door.
"Gwen — you handle the police and Falcon. Keep them off me. The big black cat is mine."
"Copy." Gwen's mask went on. "Small fries for me, apex predator for you. Deal."
Blue light erupted.
XLR8.
Jake vanished from the car in a streak of blue-black lightning. Gwen cranked the wheel, popped the sunroof, and swung down into the tunnel on a web-line.
Inside the tunnel.
T'Challa had caught Bucky's motorcycle. He launched from the roof of an SUV, claws shrieking through the air, aimed at Bucky's spine—
WHOOSH—!
A blue lightning bolt slammed into Black Panther from the side. The impact was absolute — T'Challa was launched sideways like a cannonball and cratered into the tunnel wall hard enough to crack concrete.
"What was that?!" Bucky swerved, barely keeping the bike upright.
Behind them, police cruisers roared into formation. Falcon banked overhead, folding his wings for a dive.
"This lane is CLOSED!"
Gwen dropped from above onto the lead police car's roof. Her wrists blurred — web-lines spraying in rapid bursts, plastering across windshields and tires in precise, devastating strokes.
SZZZ-SZZZ-SZZZ—!
Three cruisers lost vision and traction simultaneously, spinning into each other and blocking the tunnel entrance in a pile-up of screeching metal.
Falcon dove — and a precisely aimed web-line caught his thruster, sending him into a crooked, uncontrolled landing.
"Good work, Gwen." Steve exhaled.
But the fight wasn't over.
T'Challa pushed debris aside and rose from the crater. The vibranium suit had absorbed every joule. He wasn't injured. But the humiliation had turned his fury into something volcanic.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!!"
He charged again — claws out, speed maximal — at the blue alien standing in the center of the tunnel.
"Stubborn cat."
XLR8's visor opened, revealing Jake's exasperated face. He didn't run.
Green flash. His body expanded.
The sleek speedster was gone. In his place: thirteen feet of red Tetramand muscle, four arms spread wide, filling the tunnel like a wall of combat-bred alien beef.
Four Arms.
T'Challa's vibranium claws met Four Arms' upper hands in a collision that echoed through the tunnel.
Pfft!
The claws pierced Four Arms' red skin — half an inch deep. Vibranium earned its reputation. But that was all. The claw tips hit muscle density equivalent to high-grade alloy and stopped. Stuck. Embedded. Going nowhere.
T'Challa's eyes went wide behind his mask.
"That stings a little, kitty."
Jake grinned — a mouthful of white teeth in a thirteen-foot red face.
"Since you love grabbing people so much—"
His lower two hands shot out. One seized T'Challa by the neck. The other grabbed his belt.
"—go cool off!"
BOOM!
Four Arms hoisted Black Panther overhead — the King of Wakanda, encased in the most advanced suit on Earth, dangling in the air like a kitten held by the scruff. His legs kicked. His claws scratched uselessly at arms that could bench-press a tank.
"LET ME GO! I WILL KILL HIM!"
"I'll put you down when you learn to use your words."
Jake turned to Steve and Bucky, who'd arrived behind him.
"Is this your plan? A highway chase? You couldn't have picked a lower-profile approach?"
Steve gave a pained smile. "Things got... out of hand."
At the tunnel's far end, heavy boots hit concrete.
War Machine. Colonel Rhodes. The silver-gray armor landed with authority, shoulder cannons deploying, palm repulsors locked and glowing.
"EVERYONE STOP!" Rhodes's amplified voice bounced off the tunnel walls. "Steve, Jake — hands up! Final warning, or I use heavy ordnance!"
Red laser sights bloomed across every surface. Dozens of them, converging on the small group in the tunnel.
Bucky looked at Steve. Slowly raised his hands. Steve sighed, put the shield on his back, and knelt.
Every muzzle swung to Jake — still standing, still holding Black Panther over his head.
"Jake! Put His Highness DOWN! Revert your transformation! NOW!"
Four Arms looked down at the struggling king in his grip.
T'Challa stopped fighting and met Jake's gaze with cold fury. "What — surrendering too? Monster."
"Surrender?"
Jake laughed. The sound bounced off every wall in the tunnel.
He dropped T'Challa at Rhodes's feet — casually, like discarding something he'd finished with. Rhodes flinched hard enough to nearly misfire.
Then Jake brought all four fists together against his chest.
BANG!!!
The shockwave rattled every SWAT officer's teeth and sent several stumbling backward.
"Rhodes. Go back and tell General Ross."
Jake's voice filled the tunnel — arrogance, disdain, and the particular calm of a man who was choosing not to fight, and wanted everyone to understand how generous that choice was.
"I'll come to Berlin. I'll watch your so-called doctor evaluate Bucky. I'll play along."
Green flash. Human again. Hands in his pockets. Standing under a hundred gun barrels with the posture of someone waiting for a bus.
"But this isn't surrender."
He walked to Steve, clapped him on the shoulder, and looked back at Rhodes.
"This is me giving you a chance to live. If I'd wanted to resist — you'd all be in ambulances."
Gwen swung down and landed beside him, arms crossed.
"By the way — all your tires are webbed. Consider it traffic management. You're welcome."
Dead silence.
T'Challa rose from the ground. He looked at the teenager's back — the teenager who'd just held the King of Wakanda overhead like a toy — and did not charge again.
As a warrior, he could feel it. That red giant could have crushed him. Even through the vibranium. The suit would have held. The bones underneath would not.
Deep in the Omnitrix:
[Powerful intervention in tunnel engagement — successful.]
[Black Panther suppressed via absolute strength. War Machine deterred via intimidation.]
[Emotion resonance points: 750,000.]
[Wakanda faction reputation updated: T'Challa — EXTREME APPREHENSION + CURIOSITY.]
[Current progress: En route to Berlin Counter-Terrorism HQ.]
[Critical node detected: Zemo is infiltrating.]
[Are you ready for the real psychological warfare?]
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