Chapter Text
Chapter 46:
[Steve Rogers POV]
[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[Living Area.] Our return to Avengers HQ is a welcome relief after what feels like an interminable mission overseas. Fury has entrusted us with the critical mission of hunting down the elusive HYDRA remnants who have scattered to the farthest corners of the world following their failed insurrection. The assignment is no walk in the park. These remnants are determined and resourceful, and they give us a relentless run for our money. We encounter them in remote locations, well-protected hideouts, and even within the deep shadows of densely populated cities. Each encounter is a test of our resolve and abilities, but we persevere. We pursue them across continents, crossing time zones and battling against the odds. Our teamwork and skills are put to the ultimate test as we face down HYDRA's agents, who are still holding on to their fanatical beliefs. It's a relentless game of cat and mouse, with each skirmish pushing us to our limits.
Despite the challenges, we never lose sight of our mission's importance. HYDRA's resurgence would have catastrophic consequences for global security. So, we press on, working tirelessly to uncover their hidden operations and dismantle their networks. In the end, our persistence pays off. We managed to track down and eliminate every last HYDRA operative. Their threat is finally neutralized, and the world can breathe a sigh of relief. Returning to Avengers HQ, we know that our mission is a success, but it comes at a cost. We are exhausted, both physically and mentally, but the satisfaction of knowing we have protected the world from HYDRA's resurgence makes it all worthwhile. Our journey overseas has tested our limits, but it also showcases the unwavering dedication of the Avengers to safeguarding humanity from the shadows that threaten it. At that pivotal moment, while standing in the midst of Avengers HQ, my attention is abruptly diverted as my comlink crackles to life with an incoming call from Spartan. The familiar yet distinctive chime of the device pierces through the ambient hum of the headquarters, instantly commanding my focus. Without hesitation, I react swiftly, my hand instinctively moving to my side where the comlink is securely fastened, answering it.
Spartan doesn't waste any time in our conversation. He's immediately launching into a detailed account of his recent skirmish with the DEMONS. He provides intricate descriptions of the battle, recounting the intensity of the confrontation, the tactics employed by the enemy, and the impressive display of his own combat skills. His report is thorough, leaving no stone unturned as he discusses every aspect of the encounter, from the initial confrontation to the final outcome. Ironically, I was already informed about this particular situation before Spartan's call. While on my way back to New York City, I took the opportunity to catch up on current events by watching the news. The broadcast covers the DEMONS' activities extensively, outlining their recent actions and the potential threat they pose. So, when Spartan begins recounting the details of his mission, I find myself nodding in agreement, already well-versed in the situation. Despite the redundancy of the information, Spartan's firsthand account provides valuable insights that can't be gleaned from a news broadcast.
[Karai POV]
[New York City]
I stand before the entrance of a dojo, one that Colleen Wing frequents for her training. Our paths crossed once more just days ago during one of my nightly patrols. In that encounter, I discovered that Colleen was more than just a skilled fighter; she holds the title of the Iron Fist, a mythical warrior. Intrigued yet cautious, I chose a covert approach. Without her knowledge, I acquired her phone and discreetly installed a tracking system. While it appeared as if I was simply providing her with a means of contact, the reality was that I used it to gain access to her device and maintain constant surveillance. This was a calculated move aimed at assessing whether she could be an asset or a potential threat. As I stand here, reflecting on my choices, the serene exterior of the dojo contrasts with the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. The world of espionage and intrigue blurs the lines between right and wrong, and I find myself navigating these uncertain waters.
My interaction with Colleen Wing piqued my curiosity, setting in motion a deep dive into the mysteries surrounding the Iron Fist title. As I delved into the annals of history and the lore of martial arts, I uncovered a captivating tapestry of individuals who had borne the mantle of the Iron Fist throughout the ages. What struck me most was the remarkable diversity within this lineage. These Iron Fists hailed from diverse corners of the world, representing various genders, nationalities, and races. The title's enduring legacy transcended these worldly boundaries, underscoring its universal appeal and significance. Yet, amid this rich diversity, a singular theme remained unwavering: only one Iron Fist could exist at any given time. This singular individual carried the immense power and responsibility of safeguarding the ancient legacy. It was a mantle that bore a weighty burden, demanding unwavering dedication and profound sacrifices from its bearer. As my research continued, I found myself contemplating the profound significance of this singular Iron Fist. The idea that, across the sweep of history and amidst the kaleidoscope of cultures, there was always only one Iron Fist intrigued me. It hinted at a deeper, almost metaphysical connection that bound these extraordinary individuals across generations, transcending the boundaries of ordinary existence. This revelation added an additional layer of mystique to an already captivating narrative.
Amidst my contemplation, a familiar buzz from my phone disrupts my thoughts. I instinctively reach for it, curious about the interruption. As I unlock the screen, I'm met with a message that immediately captures my attention. The city's mayor is planning an upcoming event—a reward ceremony. It's to commemorate and celebrate Detective Knight's exceptional bravery and valor displayed during her recent encounter with the DEMONS. This event is more than just a simple acknowledgment; it's a well-deserved recognition of her heroic efforts. It's a testament to her unwavering commitment to safeguarding the city and its residents from the threats that lurk in the shadows. The announcement of the ceremony brings with it a sense of pride and unity, a reminder that even in the face of darkness, there are individuals like Detective Knight who stand as beacons of hope, ready to protect and serve.
[Spartan POV]
[Hours Later, City Hall, New York City]
I step into the sprawling outdoor venue, where the atmosphere is exciting. It's a day of celebration and honor, drawing a massive crowd eager to recognize Detective Knight's extraordinary bravery in her recent confrontation with the DEMONS. The setting is magnificent, with the cerulean sky overhead and the gentle rustle of leaves in the nearby trees providing a soothing backdrop. This ceremony unfolds in a picturesque park, where neat rows of white chairs await on a lush, green lawn. Families, friends, and fellow officers have gathered beneath the open sky, forming a diverse mosaic of faces united in paying tribute to the hero of the hour. Finding my place among the crowd, I join in the anticipation. A procession of officers, led by Detective Knight, proceeds down a central pathway lined with vibrant, blooming flowers. Her steps are unwavering, her uniform impeccable, and her determination palpable to all in attendance. As she passes by, the crowd erupts in applause and cheers, a standing ovation of gratitude for her courage and dedication.
Following this admiration, speeches commence, delivered by colleagues who have witnessed Detective Knight's remarkable acts of valor. They speak of her resolute resolve, unwavering courage, and unparalleled commitment to justice. The cheers and applause from the public serve as a resounding echo of these sentiments. Taking the stage, the mayor acknowledges her service, praising her not only as a police officer but as a true hero within the force and the community. The pinnacle of the ceremony arrives as the mayor presents a medal to Detective Knight. The sunlight dances off the polished metal, symbolizing her remarkable bravery.
A figure draws my attention out of the corner of my eye, and a sense of unease creeps over me. This person stands unusually close to the stage, and something about his presence strikes me as off-kilter. He's not just a casual observer; he doesn't seem to blend in with the security staff or other personnel involved in the event. While the ceremony continues with its celebratory atmosphere, my focus subtly shifts towards this individual. His demeanor raises questions, and I can't help but wonder why he's positioned so conspicuously, almost as if he's deliberately trying to remain unnoticed. His attire, body language, and general aura seem out of place amidst the crowd gathered to honor Detective Knight. I keep a watchful eye on him, careful not to draw any attention. In the midst of my discreet surveillance, a sudden and violent flash erupts. The world around me plunges into darkness.
As I slowly open my eyes, I realize I'm lying flat on my back, sprawled out on the ground. The transition from darkness to consciousness is disorienting, and I quickly take in my surroundings. The once-jubilant atmosphere of the ceremony has been shattered, replaced by a tidal wave of chaos. Panic has gripped the crowd, and the air is thick with confusion and fear. People are scrambling in all directions, their voices a cacophony of distress. The orderly rows of chairs have been toppled, and the lush green lawn is now a scene of disarray. It's as if the very fabric of the event has unraveled, leaving chaos in its wake. Instinctively, I push myself up from the ground, assessing the situation. My attention is drawn to the source of the chaos. The stage, once the focal point of the ceremony, is now a scene of utter devastation. It appears as if it were the epicenter of a powerful blast, reduced to a mangled and smoldering wreck.
A chilling realization crashes into my thoughts like a thunderclap. Detective Knight had been on that stage. Without a moment's hesitation, I charge toward the wreckage, driven by a sense of urgency and dread. Desperation fuels my efforts as I begin to dig through the twisted metal and debris. My heart pounds in my chest, and each passing second feels like an eternity. And then, amidst the wreckage, I make a grim discovery. It's a body, or what's left of it, and it's clear that it's the mayor, his form barely recognizable. A wave of shock and horror washes over me as the magnitude of the situation becomes painfully clear. Detective Knight, the mayor, and who knows how many others have been caught in this catastrophic event. The once-celebratory atmosphere has given way to a nightmare, and I'm left to grapple with the grim reality of what has just unfolded.
Amidst the chaos and devastation, a pained groan reaches my ears, cutting through the cacophony of the scene. Instinctively, I follow the sound to its source, a pit of dread gnawing at my stomach. With a rush of adrenaline, I begin to move the fallen debris out of the way. To my simultaneous horror and relief, my efforts reveal Detective Knight. Her figure, battered and bloodied, lies beneath the wreckage. My eyes lock onto her, and I can't help but gasp at the sight of her mangled right arm, hanging by a mere thread of flesh. Relief washes over me that she's alive, but the anguish of her suffering is evident. There's no time to waste. I need to act quickly to ensure her safety and get her the medical attention she urgently needs. I carefully clear Detective Knight from the debris that surrounds her. Once she's freed, I apply a tourniquet around the injury site, applying just enough pressure to stem the bleeding.
The ensuing events unfolded in a chaotic blur, a whirlwind of activity and urgency that seemed to compress time itself. As the emergency responders flooded the scene, their expertise and training kicked into high gear. They swiftly established a sprawling perimeter, stretching over a block's length, in order to secure the area and ensure the safety of everyone present. Medical teams descended upon the wounded with remarkable speed and precision. They moved like a well-coordinated ballet, each member knowing their role and executing it with unwavering determination. Paramedics assessed injuries, their faces marked with concern as they worked tirelessly to triage the wounded, prioritizing those in critical condition. With practiced hands, they applied bandages, immobilized fractures, and provided initial life-saving treatments, doing everything in their power to stabilize the injured.
The air was filled with the cacophony of sirens, the shrill wails of ambulances announcing their arrival and departure. Police officers, firefighters, and EMTs collaborated seamlessly, their communication and teamwork honed by countless emergencies. They ensured that the injured were swiftly evacuated from the scene, their well-being their paramount concern. Amidst the organized chaos, the injured were transported on stretchers and gurneys, their faces etched with pain and shock. Emergency medical personnel offered comfort and reassurance, their voices a soothing contrast to the turmoil around them. It was a race against time, and every second counted. Meanwhile, the block-wide perimeter was secured by law enforcement officers, who maintained a vigilant watch for any potential threats or further incidents.
Standing amidst the flurry of activity, my gaze was drawn to the EMS team as they carefully loaded Detective Knight onto a stretcher and into the waiting ambulance. The scene before me was a mix of concern and urgency as the medical professionals worked swiftly and efficiently to tend to her injuries. My heart clenched at the sight of her battered form, and a grimace crossed my face as my eyes settled on her mangled arm. It was a painful sight to behold, a stark reminder of the sheer force of the explosion that had torn through the once-celebratory event. While I lacked the formal medical training of the professionals at the scene, I possessed enough knowledge to recognize the severity of the situation. As I looked at Detective Knight's arm, reality settled heavily upon me. The extent of the damage was such that saving the limb seemed an impossibility. The limb's condition was beyond repair, and the decision to amputate was a painful inevitability that loomed like a shadow. Though not a medical expert, I understood that certain injuries had outcomes that couldn't be altered. The human body's resilience had its limits, and in some cases, it was necessary to make difficult choices for the greater well-being of the individual. The weight of this realization pressed upon me, and a sense of empathy surged as I imagined the physical and emotional toll that lay ahead for Detective Knight. As the EMS team continued their work, loading her into the back of the ambulance, a mix of emotions swirled within me. The sight of the ambulance doors closing felt like a tangible barrier separating us from the unfolding future. Though I couldn't predict what lay ahead, one thing was certain: Detective Knight's journey to recovery, both physical and emotional, would be an arduous one.
Off to the side, my attention is momentarily diverted from the scene unfolding with Detective Knight as I catch sight of something glinting on the ground. It's right where the mysterious stranger had stood, and a sense of unease creeps over me once again. With determined steps, I make my way over to the object and peer down at it. My fists involuntarily clench tightly. It's a DEMON mask. The eerie features and malevolent design are unmistakable.
[2 Weeks Later, Recycling Center, New York City]
Following the attack on City Hall by the DEMONS, the city is in a state of flux. The road to recovery is anything but straightforward. The city's attempts to restore a sense of normalcy feel like a series of hurdles, each one more challenging than the last. The scars from the attack run deep, casting a long and pervasive shadow over every effort to rebuild what once was. Despite the sincere efforts of the city's residents and leadership, the path to healing is fraught with numerous obstacles. The wounds of fear and uncertainty prove to be remarkably enduring, catching many off guard. The very fabric of the community has been torn apart, breeding caution among individuals and hindering the much-needed sense of unity. Furthermore, the tangible consequences of the attack ripple through every aspect of urban life. City Hall, once a symbol of governance and civic life, lies in ruins. Its vital functions, including public service management and disaster response coordination, are thrown into disarray. The absence of this central institution exposes the complexities of city operations that were previously taken for granted. Efforts to restore order are further complicated by limited resources, both in terms of manpower and finances, leaving the city's leaders struggling to balance immediate recovery with the demands of long-term rebuilding. Ultimately, the phrase 'out of the frying pan into the fire' aptly describes the city's unfortunate state.
[Car.] The cityscape sprawls out before me, bathed in the eerie glow of flickering street lights and neon signs. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. It's just another night in our relentless crusade against the DEMONS, a criminal syndicate that has woven itself into the very fabric of the city. Karai's voice crackles through the comlink, and I instinctively adjust the device for better clarity. "How's the hunt going?" I echo, referring to the AVENGERS' crackdown on the DEMONS. Karai's response is tinged with frustration; I can imagine her brow furrowing as she speaks, "No dice on our end. Most of the DEMONS we round up have no idea what the other group is doing." Her words serve as a stark reminder of the shadowy nature of our adversaries. The DEMONS are cunning experts at compartmentalizing their operations, seemingly designed to evade our every move. I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of the situation settle in my chest. "That's not surprising," I admit, my voice carrying the weariness accumulated from countless nights of relentless pursuit. "These DEMONS are like smoke – slippery, elusive, and impossible to pin down." There is a sigh on the other end of the comlink, a sigh that seems to echo the collective frustration of our entire team. "I know," Karai responds, her determination shining through the static. "But we can't afford to let up. We need to find the source, the puppet master pulling the strings behind all of this chaos."
I nod, even though Karai can't see the gesture. "Agreed, Karai. We can't back down now. We have to maintain the pressure, keep digging, keep questioning. We'll get a break in this case eventually. And when we do, we'll make sure the DEMONS regret ever setting foot in our city." A heavy silence hangs between us, filled with unspoken determination and unwavering resolve. We both know the stakes are high, and failure is not an option. Finally, Karai's voice breaks through the quiet, strong, and resolute. "We won't rest until we've cleaned up this mess. Stay safe out there, partner." With that, we end the call, our shared mission clear in our minds. I resume my patrol. The night is far from over, and as I move through the darkened streets, I know that we are inching closer to unraveling the enigma of the DEMONS, no matter how elusive they might be.
EPYON flags suspicious activity at a recycling center. I head out to investigate the situation. Driving by the building, at first glance, nothing seems odd. Everything appears normal. However, I trust EPYON's capabilities and know that it wouldn't point my attention to it if something wasn't going on. I park my vehicle and conduct a more thorough investigation. As I step out of the car, I immediately notice the wet smell in the air. Soon after, raindrops begin to fall. Rain – I strongly dislike it. The unpredictable weather is never ideal for an investigation, but I can't let that deter me from finding out what's going on at the recycling center. I pull up my collar, brace myself for the downpour, and make my way towards the facility.
[Rooftop.] To get a better view, I parkour to the roof of a nearby building. Having successfully reached the roof, I activate the visor's recon mode, allowing me to scan the surrounding area with enhanced precision. The visor's advanced technology provides me with a comprehensive view of the recycling center and its vicinity, highlighting any unusual activity or anomalies that might have triggered EPYON's alert. Upon initial observation, the recycling center's exterior creates an impression of stillness. The surroundings are eerily quiet, with no signs of movement or life. It's the kind of scene that could easily lull someone into a false sense of security. However, as I activate my visor's enhanced capabilities to peer beyond the surface, a different narrative emerges. The interior of the recycling center comes alive with a palpable buzz of activity. Figures move with purpose, loading and unloading crates with an efficiency that belies the innocuous exterior of the building. This concealed world within the recycling center seems to operate under its own set of rules its own agenda. It's a puzzle waiting to be solved, a secret that demands to be uncovered. The unsuspecting surface of the center masks a complex web of clandestine activity, and it's clear that there's much more to this place than meets the eye.
I stand before the gated door, the rain steadily falling as I examine the lock. The sight of this advanced lock, typically used by banks and high-security facilities, raises my suspicion. It's definitely out of place for a recycling center. The rain continues to pelt down, making the task more challenging. I work on the lock. The lock is complex, a testament to the secrecy of what lies within. After a few tense moments, there's a satisfying click, and the lock disengages. I carefully push the gate open, mindful of any sounds that might give away my presence. The rain-soaked ground beneath me offers some cover against any potential surveillance. Weapon aimed, I proceed cautiously, stepping inside the recycling center.
[Inside.] Navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the recycling center, my visor's enhanced recon mode proves invaluable. It allows me to spot DEMONS foot soldiers ahead. So, the recycling center is one of their bases of operations. I immediately duck behind a stack of crates. The rain outside continues to pour, providing some natural cover. From my concealed position, I observe the DEMON foot soldiers. They move with purpose, carrying out tasks that are anything but related to recycling. I silently activate the comlink, relaying this critical discovery to Karai, "Karai, I've located DEMONS at the recycling center. It appears to be one of their operational bases. Send the team to my location." I maintain my hidden vantage point, waiting for instructions while keeping a close eye on the enemy's movements, ready to act if necessary. Karai's voice cuts through the comlink, "Copy. The AVENGERS are rallying to your local now."
My heart races as I catch sight of the crates containing military-grade weapons being loaded onto a truck. The gravity of the situation hits me like a freight train. If those weapons make it to the streets, it could lead to a bloodbath of catastrophic proportions. Waiting for backup is no longer an option. I have to act now.
I disengage from my hiding spot and quietly approach an unsuspecting DEMON. With a swift, silent motion, I incapacitate the demon by delivering a solid pistol whip to the back of his head. Suddenly, another DEMON notices my action and swiftly raises his rifle at me. Before he has a chance to pull the trigger, an unseen force materializes behind him and snaps his neck, killing him instantly. The mysterious figure begins to flicker, revealing its true form; I tense, ready for whatever revelation awaits. It's Ghost. Kingpin's asset. "What are you doing here?" I question her, my voice edged with suspicion. "An enemy of my enemy is an ally. At least for now," Ghost states plainly, her tone betraying no emotion as she reaffirms her presence and purpose.
I recognize that the DEMONS are pursuing a calculated objective: seize control of Kingpin's criminal empire. The goal comes with the allure of immense power and influence. Kingpin's criminal empire transcends mere criminal operations; it encompasses territories, valuable resources, and an extensive network. To assume control of such an enterprise would not only mean acquiring tangible wealth but also the intangible influence the Kingpin wields. In their relentless pursuit, the DEMONS likely envision reshaping the city's criminal landscape to align with their desires. Their objective extends beyond mere conquest; it encompasses a vision of remolding the realm of illicit dealings according to their whims, imposing their dominion over clandestine trade routes, secretive deals, and the intricate power dynamics underpinning it all.
"This short-term alliance doesn't change anything. Once the DEMONS are out of play, I'm taking you and your boss down next," I growl. Ghost tilts her head, a hint of amusem*nt in her expression. "You can try," she replies, her voice calm and collected. Our unspoken challenge hangs in the air, and in that moment, it's clear that our paths are destined to cross again, on opposite sides. Ghost and I exchange a nod of understanding before we split up, each with our own mission to dismantle the DEMONS' operation. I move stealthily through the recycling center, taking out DEMON operatives. As I work my way deeper into the facility, I discover more about their operation—stacks of crates filled with illegal weapons, documents detailing their plans, and communication devices linking them to their shadowy network. It's a race against time, and I'm determined to disrupt their operation as much as possible. Meanwhile, Ghost moves silently through the shadows, her presence barely a whisper. Her skills are as formidable as her reputation suggests. She easily infiltrates their ranks, sabotaging their logistics and gathering valuable intel. The DEMONS are unaware of the threat lurking within their own operation. As we work separately but in tandem, the DEMONS' operation unravels. The once-efficient machine starts to falter, confusion and panic spreading among their ranks. We may come from different worlds, but for now, our goals align. The DEMONS won't know what hit them as we systematically dismantle their operation, piece by piece.
[Outside.] Once the last DEMON operative is taken down, a sense of accomplishment washes over me. The recycling center is now devoid of enemy presence, and its operation has been thoroughly disrupted. It's a small victory in our ongoing battle against the DEMONS. I look around, but Ghost has vanished into the shadows, true to her enigmatic nature. She's gone, leaving me alone in the now-silent recycling center. I take a moment to catch my breath and assess the situation. We've dealt a significant blow to the DEMONS, but this is just one battle in a much larger war. With the information and evidence I've gathered, we can continue to chip away at their criminal network.
The HUD picks up a craft approaching. It hovers stationary above the recycling center. Two heavily armed soldiers fast-rope down from the craft and swiftly converge on the lone, barely conscious DEMON. Their actions are aggressive, and it's clear that they have no intention of showing restraint. While I may have little sympathy for the DEMONS. As a SHIELD operator, I have a duty to uphold their human rights. This DEMON foot soldier is now my prisoner, and regardless of his affiliation, he deserves to be treated per the law. Plus, the DEMON foot soldier is no longer an active threat. I waste no time. I approach the two soldiers and raise my weapon, not to threaten them but to get their attention. "Hold it!" I command firmly, my voice cutting through the tension, "He's my prisoner. Back off." The soldiers turn their attention to me, and for a moment, a standoff ensues. It's clear that they are operating under a different set of rules, possibly a different authority altogether. I keep my weapon trained on them, "This is an unnecessary act of violence, and it won't be tolerated. Step away from the prisoner. Now!"
Abruptly, a circular shaped object strikes me in the chest, momentarily knocking the breath out of me. Before I can react, I find myself surrounded by a squad of commandos, their weapons trained on me with lethal intent. My instincts kick in, and I attempt to raise my weapon, but it's too late. A commando fires a taser wire at me, and a searing wave of agony courses through my body. The electric shock incapacitates me, and I drop to my knees, muscles twitching uncontrollably as the world blurs around me. Helpless and disoriented, I struggle to regain control of my faculties, but the commandos have me firmly under their control.
Just then, another man leaps out of the craft, wearing a combat-suit similar to Cap's suit. He stalks towards me, but a red energy barrier forms between us before he can get any closer. The unmistakable voice of the real Captain America rings out, authoritative and commanding, "Stand down and back away!" In a moment of relief, I realize that the AVENGERS have arrived. Cap, in all his iconic glory, takes charge of the situation. He leaps out of the quinjet, landing in front of me. The rest of the AVENGERS follow suit. Cap's presence alone quells the tension, and the mysterious commandos hesitate under his watchful gaze. Wanda sprints to my side, breaking me free from the taser wire using her magic. "Thanks," I say in a low voice. Wanda smiles at me, "Anytime, love." We turn our attention back to the rip-off copy of Cap. "Who are you and why did you attack my soldier?" Cap barks with controlled fury. "John Walker. US Agent. Squad leader of the THUNDERBOLTS. My men and I retaliated because your soldier attacked two of my commandos."
Captain America fixes a scrutinizing gaze on Walker, his iconic shield resting at his side. "Really? That's not what I saw. From Spartan's visor, I witnessed him stopping your team from committing an execution of a non-threat." Walker's expression tightens, but he doesn't back down. "The DEMONS are terrorists," he snaps in defense of his actions. The Cap remains resolute, his unwavering commitment to justice evident. "Maybe so," he concedes. "But they're still human. They still have rights." The exchange highlights the fundamental difference in values and approaches between the two men. While Walker may prioritize expediency and security, Captain America firmly upholds human rights and due process principles, even when dealing with those society deems as criminals. The AVENGERS, standing behind Cap, embodies this commitment to justice, and their presence serves as a reminder that the rule of law and respect for human rights are non-negotiable, even in the face of formidable adversaries like the DEMONS.
Walker's frustration and disillusionment with Captain America's ideals are palpable as he rant, "I never realized Captain America was this stupidly idealistic. And to think I used to look up to you and wanted to be like you. Good thing I grew up in the real world." He turns to his team of commandos, making a decisive decision. "We're bugging out." As Walker and his commandos withdraw, it's clear that the divide in values and principles between him and Captain America is too significant to bridge. While Walker may have chosen a more pragmatic path, Captain America remains steadfast in his commitment to the principles of justice, human rights, and doing what's right, even in the face of adversity. With the immediate threat diffused, the focus now turns to unraveling the mysteries surrounding the DEMONS and this THUNDERBOLTS group.
