Chapter Eighteen: All The World's A Stage
“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women
merely players…”
As You Like It (Act 2 Scene 7)
The team sat around the command centre aboard the
Helicarrier, waiting for Fury’s urgent briefing on their latest mission. He
walked in briskly, his stern expression promising no nonsense.
“Listen
up,” Fury began, his voice cutting through the drone of the carrier’s engines. He
tapped a few keys on the console in front of him, and a holographic map of
their target area flickered to life above the table. “We're diving into the
heart of a top-secret project known as Project Muirfield. This project was
initiated by a shadowy scientist and military officials with one goal in mind:
to create a new strain of super soldier.”
Steve
glanced around at his team, the inner circle, the founding members. The others
were, no doubt, considered family too, but the close bond and camaraderie
shared between the team members around the table solidified their status as the
inner circle within the larger Avengers team. They had been through countless
missions together, each of them bringing a unique skill set that made them an
unstoppable force. At the mention of a new strain of super soldier, all eyes
naturally darted to Steve, his jaw tense at the news.
“Project
Muirfield involved genetic modification and DNA manipulation, aiming to enhance
soldiers' strength, agility, and combat skills to unprecedented levels. The
experiment was conducted on a select group of soldiers, including our primary
subject,” Fury continued, his eyes meeting each of the Avengers in turn.
“Our
mission is twofold. Barnes, Carter, and Wilson are to locate all involved in
the lab work. The scientist being priority. You lot…” Fury paused, silently second-guessing
his strategy, “…you’re going after the subjects.”
No
one batted an eye. If anything, “going after subjects” sounded like a walk in
the park, even a waste of resources. Did Fury really need the whole team
for this? The Helicarrier, all the agents, the expansive on-board armoury… it
didn’t quite explain the pageantry.
Sam, ever the analytical mind, leaned over the
table, tracing potential routes on a digital map. “We know the containers are
supposed to cross the border, but without a concrete location or suspects,
we’re flying blind… How sure are we that this entire operation isn’t just puppeteered
by Hydra? Or a division of Hydra?”
“We’re not. There’s no sample, no subject… Project’s
only known by its failure.” Sharon glanced between Sam and Bucky, making an
extra effort to include him in the conversation.
“A mutation of Erksine’s secret recipe, maybe?”
Bucky drummed his fingers on the table. “Not a
chance. Last I checked, Erksine’s Project Rebirth was a resounding success…
What if we split up? Cover more ground. If we scatter along the probable
routes, we’ll increase our chances of spotting them. Whoever they are.”
“Splitting up makes us vulnerable,” Sharon shook her
head. “We need to stay close enough to support each other if things go south.
We might be in the dark, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be smart about this.”
“Then I say we bust in and grab whoever’s in there.
Let’s face it, they’re all pawns, anyway. Minions. Worker bees. What are the
chances we find the brains behind the operation in a container yard?” Bucky
rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. After the previous week’s bar
brawl, he was itching for another fight.
Ever since their last interaction, Sharon had been searching
for ways to bury the hatchet between them. She couldn’t call, she couldn’t
text; it was too sensitive a topic for such impersonal gestures. But Bucky’s
angst was starting to get to her, and she needed to remain level-headed.
Frustration boiling over, she poured herself a finger of bourbon from a flask
she always carried.
"Yeah, of course you would," she scoffed,
unable to hold back the disdain in her voice.
Unruffled by her reaction, Bucky simply sighed. “Sam…”
he called out, his voice steady but carrying an edge of urgency.
“Carter, c’mon. Now’s not the time for personal
drama.”
Sam glanced at the countdown timer on the wall. They
didn’t have much time to debate. “Listen, the rest of the team’s plotting their
strategy as we speak. And Fury stressed the importance of executing the mission
simultaneously. So if you really wanna be a part of this team, it’s time you
act like it… The obvious workaround here is to compromise. We break off
individually to cover different routes, staying within comms range, and then
meet at the target container. That way, if one of us spots something, the
others can converge quickly.”
Lily
moved swiftly through Sarah’s empty quarters, the scent of her niece’s
expensive perfume still lingering in the air. With the team off on their
respective missions, she knew she had a rare opportunity to delve into Sarah’s
private world without interruption. She glanced around, noting the meticulous
order of the suite, a striking contrast to the chaos Lily felt she was
navigating in their personal lives.
Determined,
she approached Sarah’s bedroom, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet. Her
eyes immediately locked onto the sleek laptop resting in the middle of the bed.
Sitting down, Lily opened the laptop and began sifting through Sarah’s files. Scripts,
emails from producers and directors, shopping sites, social media—nothing out
of the ordinary for a high-profile actress. Nothing to indicate where Sarah
might be right now. Frustration at away at her, but she kept going, driven by
an insatiable need to control.
As
she rifled through Sarah’s dresser, she stumbled upon a small, shiny object
tucked behind a pile of neatly stacked scripts. A flash drive, attached to it a
little gift tag with a message scrawled in neat handwriting: “What happens
in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas…” Along with the words was a lipstick
stain, a bold, deep red print that suggested intimacy.
Curiosity
piqued, Lily plugged the flash drive into the laptop, her heart pounding with
anticipation. The screen flickered to life, and a video file automatically
began to play. The image of an unknown young woman appeared, her eyes looking
directly into the camera.
“Hi
Sarah,” the girl began, her voice soft but clear. She had an air of confidence
about her, her demeanour relaxed but purposeful. “I’m sure you didn’t expect to
hear from me, but I felt you needed a bit of a reminder. Things that happened
in Vegas, things you thought were left behind…”
Lily
frowned as she leaned closer to the screen, her mind racing with possibilities.
Who was this girl? What had happened in Vegas that Sarah kept so secret? And,
more importantly, did this have the potential to ruin everything she had worked
so tirelessly to gain?
As the video unfolded, the unknown young woman sat
on a bed in what looked like an expensive hotel room. The decor was lavish,
with silk sheets and plush pillows, the kind of place where secrets were meant
to be kept, not exposed. A young man joined her—yet another unknown face. They
spoke in hushed tones, their words inaudible, but their expressions serious,
almost conspiratorial.
Lily’s heart pounded as she watched, a sick feeling
growing in the pit of her stomach. This was not what she had expected to find.
She leaned closer to the screen, her breath held.
After a few seconds, Sarah appeared on screen,
joining them on the bed. She wore nothing but a men’s dress shirt, her hair
tousled and her expression relaxed, almost carefree. The sight of her niece in
such a compromising setting made Lily’s blood run cold. This was dangerous. The
setting itself alluded to behaviour that could topple Sarah’s career if it ever
became known.
The young man handed Sarah a glass of champagne, sprinkling
cocaine into her flute. They all toasted to something, their faces lit up with
laughter and mischief. The unknown woman looked directly into the camera, a
knowing smile playing on her lips, fully aware of the implications of the scene
being recorded.
Lily scanned through the rest of the video, her eyes
darting across the screen as the scenes unfolded in quick succession. She
paused at a sight that made her stomach roll—Sarah and the unknown male, their
kissing escalating to undressing. The intimacy of the scene was undeniable,
their actions explicit. Lily felt a wave of nausea, the room spinning as she
quickly shut the laptop.
Her mind raced, struck by the fear of the video
being leaked. The thought of Sarah’s career and reputation destroyed by this
footage was too much to bear. Lily took a deep breath, her fingers trembling.
This was a disaster. The video was not just a scandal waiting to happen—it was
a ticking time bomb. She had to neutralise it before it could do any damage.
But how? And why had Sarah kept such a compromising video?
Aboard the Helicarrier, Steve found himself in the
engine room, surrounded by the whirr of machinery and the faint smell of fuel.
He wasn’t sure what he was searching for—something about the place had drawn
him in, a nagging instinct he couldn’t ignore. Well, that and Fury’s
uncharacteristic hesitation. It was brief, a nanosecond, but enough to cause
suspicion.
He scanned the room, his eyes adjusting to the dark.
Amid the tangle of pipes and cables, something caught his eye—large, padlocked chests
lined up against the far wall. They were incongruous in the engine room, their
heavy-duty appearance standing out among the utilitarian equipment.
Steve approached the chests cautiously, his
curiosity piqued. He knelt beside the nearest one, examining the thick padlock
that secured it. It was a heavy, industrial lock, the kind that suggested
whatever was inside was valuable or dangerous—or both. He glanced around,
ensuring he was alone, before snapping the padlock open with his bare hands.
He lifted the lid, and his breath caught in his
throat. Inside the chest, nestled in foam padding, were Tesseract-powered
weapons—sleek, deadly, and unlike anything he had seen before. Rifles with
glowing blue circuits running along their barrels, pistols that seemed to hum
with energy, and grenades with intricate patterns etched into their surfaces.
The warning fixed to the inner lid drew his focus.
** WARNING: EXPERIMENTAL WEAPONS**
- Do not aim or discharge near inhabited areas or civilian populations.
- Prolonged exposure to Tesseract energy may cause destabilization and catastrophic energy release.
- Use only as directed, by authorised personnel trained in Tesseract technology, on subjects following their bestial transformation.
- In case of malfunction or unexpected behaviour, immediately disengage and seek assistance from qualified technicians.
[Authorised for use by S.H.I.E.L.D. and affiliated
agencies for Project Muirfield. Unauthorised use or distribution is strictly
prohibited.]
Steve felt a chill run down his spine as he realised
the implications. These weren’t just Tesseract-powered weapons; this was a
contingency plan. Project Muirfield was bigger than he had anticipated, bigger
than Fury had let on.
He slipped out of the engine room, his mind racing
with possibilities. The discovery of the enhanced weapons changed everything.
Their mission had just become far more dangerous, and the stakes were higher
than he had imagined.
Steve made his way back to the others, where they
were likely still discussing strategies. He needed to confront Fury, tell the
team what he’d found, and reassess their plans in light of this new
information. As he walked through the narrow corridors of the aircraft, he
couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being surveilled, that the shadows
held more than just machinery.
“Candidates were selected from elite military units,
chosen for their physical fitness. Effects varied among individuals, but common
transformations include significantly increased strength, agility, and sensory
perception… So as far as we’re concerned, it’s just another Tuesday.”
Steve pushed the door open and stepped inside,
catching Fury’s attempt at levity.
“Right… Just another Tuesday… Except that these common
transformations include turning into powerful, beast-like creatures. Hence
the Tesseract-powered weapons in the engine room. You’re sending us after
actual monsters, Nick!”
Bucky and Sam waited at the agreed upon location—the
container they suspected held the nameless scientist.
“Carter, what’s your 20?” Sam asked over comms.
“En route. Thought I saw something worth
investigating.”
“Are you sure we’re at the right place? This thing’s
empty.”
“Positive. The entryway must be concealed somewhere.”
Bucky surveyed the area, paying close attention to
the surrounding containers. Given his enhanced physiology, like Steve, he possessed
the ability to subconsciously process information, enabling him to anticipate
danger and make split-second decisions with remarkable accuracy.
“Do you smell that?” he asked, inspecting the
adjacent container.
“What, your cologne? Yes, I smell that. And yes,
it’s overpowering.”
Bucky sucked his teeth, glowering at Sam. “I’m
serious. I think it’s… I think it’s ethyl acetate. Carter was right; this is
the place. He’s gotta be around here.”
“Damn. Impressive. The K-9 Unit should employ you.”
Bucky brushed past Sam toward the heavy-duty cargo
door. “You’re annoyingly incorrigible, you know that?”
Inside the container, Bucky pushed open a concealed
entryway with minimal effort, revealing a rickety staircase. Sam’s breath
hitched, once again impressed by his friend’s instincts. He found working
alongside the likes of Steve and Bucky to be a rather humbling experience.
With a determined nod, Bucky motioned for Sam to
follow him. He ascended into the darkened passage, his senses heightened by the
claustrophobic confines and the faint scent of antiseptic. The staircase led
them to a corrugated steel door, slightly ajar. Bucky pushed it open gently,
revealing a makeshift lab bathed in the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. The
room was cluttered with vials of glowing liquids and stacks of documents
scattered across metal tables.
At the far end of the lab, a man in a white lab coat
hunched over his workstation, muttering to himself. Too engrossed in the task
at hand to sense Bucky and Sam creeping closer.
Bucky signalled to Sam, who nodded in understanding.
They moved silently, their steps barely a whisper on the cold, hard floor. Just
as they were within arm’s reach, the man paused, his head tilting slightly at
the sense of something amiss. Bucky acted swiftly, grabbing the man by the
shoulder and shoving him into a nearby chair.
“Project Muirfield… Tell us everything,” Bucky
growled, aiming his gun at the man’s left temple.
The man’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening
and closing as he struggled to find his voice. “I… I’m just a lab assistant.
One of many,” he stammered.
With no patience for games or threats, Bucky fired
his gun, mere millimetres from the man's head. The deafening blast echoed in
the small space, the high-pressure sound causing the man to cower. He slumped
forward, his hands covering his ears as he trembled uncontrollably, eyes wide
with fear. Bucky’s steely gaze remained fixed on him, unyielding and cold.
“Make me ask a second time, and the next bullet hits
you square in the nuts.”
“There is no Project Muirfield,” the man
blurted. “Not anymore... When the soldiers were triggered, they became too
dangerous, difficult to control. Muirfield deemed the subjects as liabilities
and sought to eliminate them to prevent the public and other government
entities from discovering the truth.”
In Lower Manhattan, the third-largest business
district in the United States, Vivienne mulled over her previous article—"Sarah
Carter and Bucky Barnes: A Superhero Meets Hollywood Romance”.
While a hit with readers and upper management alike,
she was under strict orders to re-write and downplay the love triangle aspect. Which,
of course, was her entire angle. It’s what had reignited her excitement for the
article in the first place. But this time, with the coup de grâce in her back
pocket, Vivienne wasn’t taking no for an answer. This was an opportunity of a
lifetime. A sure-fire way to make a name for herself.
She had originally tried making contact with celeb
publicist, Casey Cunningham, and aunt-turned-manager, Lily Carter, but she
understood the biz. One over-hyped article didn’t get you recognised by the
VIPs. Vivienne was still too much of a small-fry to be taken seriously.
“I covered the Carter/Barnes story, which was highly
successful, by the way. Let me do the entertainment piece for this month,” she
begged, handing her boss a draft of her latest article. “It’s a totally new
headline, new angle… sexy and scandalous… and most of all, I can guarantee
exclusivity. No one’s going to have what I have on this girl. Our magazine’s
going to be flying off the shelves.”
After a few excruciatingly slow seconds, her boss
spoke the two most beautiful words she could have hoped for… “Keep writing.”
“What do you mean, monsters?” Natasha stepped
forward, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Monsters. Beasts. Whatever you imagine goes bump in
the night… I found chests full of experimental weapons, tech far beyond our
intel.”
The room fell silent, the team's conversations dying
mid-sentence. All eyes turned to Fury, his face tightening as he absorbed Steve’s
words.
“Rogers, I can explain. The Muirfield Project—”
Before Fury could even think his next word, a deafening explosion rocked the aircraft. The right side of the hull erupted in a fiery blast, sending shrapnel and debris flying. The shockwave hit the team like a sledgehammer, throwing them in all directions.
Steve was flung against the wall, his vision
blurring as he fought to stay conscious. Fury was thrown across the room,
crashing into a table that splintered under the impact. Alarms blared, and the
emergency lights flickered, casting the chaotic scene in an eerie red glow.
Thor scrambled to his feet, his ears ringing, as he
saw Tony struggling to stand amidst the wreckage. The engines had gone silent,
and the aircraft began to tilt dangerously to one side. The rotors, their usual
steady thrum replaced by a disconcerting silence, were useless.
“Hill!” Fury yelled over the comms, blood trickling
down his forehead.
“Third engine’s down. We’re down to our last rotor and
losing altitude… Nick, this is bad.”
To hear Maria say those three little words was
jarring. When the people who are unusually calm in the most dire of situations
are panic-stricken, you know it’s a come-to-Jesus moment.
“Stark, anything you can do ‘bout that?” he hollered,
though he could barely hear his own voice over the chaos.
“Yep, already on it. A simple realignment to restore
functionality… and Bob’s your uncle.”
“Romanoff?”
“Yeah, we’re okay… Stuck in the cargo hold with
Bruce.”
“Good, keep him calm. Unleashing the Hulk would mean
the death of everyone onboard.”
The team stumbled through the disarray, navigating
around overturned furniture and fallen equipment. The floor tilted further,
making it difficult to keep their balance. Smoke filled the command centre, fumes
from heated metal and burning plastic stung their eyes and throats.
“Rogers?” Fury called, making his way toward the
bridge where Hill and other commanding officers were. “Rogers, do you copy?”
Everyone on comms—Fury, Hill, and all the Avengers—felt
the blood drain from their faces. The unsettling silence following Fury’s call
only meant one thing.
“Give us a name,” Sam demanded.
“I… uh… Vanessa. Y-yeah, Vanessa. She was a research
scientist. It was her experiments that led to all this.”
“Was?” Bucky questioned, pressing the barrel
of his gun against the man’s temple.
“Vanessa’s dead. She tried exposing the truth
and—"
"Get down!" Bucky shouted, making out the
soft whoosh of a launched missile. His instincts kicked in immediately, making
the split-second decision to shove Sharon toward Sam, who was already diving
toward the safest corner of the makeshift lab, shielded by a heavy steel desk.
Sharon hit the ground beside Sam, her eyes wide with
shock and confusion. "Barnes!" she screamed, reaching out as she saw
him turn back toward their target.
"We need him alive!" Bucky shouted over
the chaos, lunging toward the man, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him
to the floor just as another explosion ripped through the structure. Flames
licked at the walls, and thick smoke filled the air, making it hard to see or
breathe.
"Wilson?" Sharon croaked, coughing through
the dust.
Sam groaned, pushing himself up. “Yeah. Right here.
I’m good.”
As they staggered out of the death trap, coughing
and gasping for breath, they noticed the corpse of the lab assistant caught
beneath warped sheets of steel.
“If he’s here… then where’s…?” Sam thought aloud, his
eyes scanning the wreckage. The flames and fallen container obscured his view,
panic started setting in. “We need to find Bucky. He was right in front of us.”
Just as they were about to re-enter the container to
search for Bucky, gunfire erupted across the yard. Men dressed in dark tactical
gear emerged from the containers, their weapons trained on Sam and Sharon.
"Get down!" Sam yelled, pulling Sharon to
the ground as bullets whizzed past them. They crawled behind a large piece of
debris, using it as cover. Sam pulled out his handgun, returning fire with
calculated precision.
Sharon peeked out from behind the debris, her heart
pounding. "We can't stay here! We're sitting ducks."
Sam nodded, his jaw set. "Watch my six. I’ll
look for Bucky. Then we’ll find a way out of this."
Using the intermittent bursts of gunfire as cover, Sam
moved from one piece of debris to the next, inching his way toward the last
spot they had seen Bucky.
“Bucky,” he called out, his voice hoarse. “Buck,
where are you? Bang ya damn arm on some metal or somethin’, man!”
The tactical team was relentless, their suppressive
fire keeping Sharon pinned down. “Sam, we gotta get out of here!”
“Carter,” Sam breathed, slumped against a piece of
warm metal. “He’s not here. I can’t find him anywhere…”
Along the I-190, cars whizzed by the sprawling
highways of Buffalo, their occupants eager to reach their destinations. Amidst
the hustle and bustle, a police cruiser sat parked on the shoulder of the road,
its lights flashing in a hypnotic rhythm.
A sleek black sedan, weaving in and out of lanes, set
off alarm bells in the officer on duty, his focus on the steady stream of
traffic passing by as he leaned against his cruiser.
"Looks like we've got a live one," Reynolds
muttered, stepping out onto the road, motioning for the sedan to pull over. The
driver complied, albeit reluctantly, and he approached the vehicle with
caution. "Good afternoon, sir," he said, peering through the driver's
side window. "Do you know why I pulled you over?"
The driver, a young man with a nervous look in his
eyes, shook his head. "No, officer. I swear, I wasn't speeding or
anything."
Reynolds raised an eyebrow, his instincts telling him
that there was more to this situation than met the eye. "Mind if I take a
look in your trunk?"
The driver hesitated, his eyes darting nervously
between Reynolds and the woman on the back seat. But after a moment's
consideration, he nodded, reaching for the trunk release.
As the trunk swung open, Reynolds’ suspicions were
confirmed. Inside, haphazardly concealed beneath a pile of blankets, lay three
bricks of cocaine.
“It’s hers… it’s all hers,” the young driver cried,
stumbling out of the car. “She offered to have sex with me in exchange for the
coke!”
“Son, get back into your vehicle!” Reynolds barked,
lifting his flashlight to the backseat of the car.
And right there, on the I-190, Reynolds came
face-to-face with Hollywood starlet, Sarah Carter.
Watch Episode 18 Here:
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