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✪ 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚-𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 ⤷a seventeen-year-old kid in Brooklyn.
2016. NIGERIA.
THE CITY STRETCHED FAR AND WIDE, a sprawling beast of glass and steel that pulsed with life. Lagos Lagoon shimmered under the hot sun, its waters glinting like shattered glass. The streets below bustled with movement, an endless current of people, cars, and motorbikes weaving through the chaos with practiced ease. Victoria Island stood at the heart of it all—glitzy, thriving, the financial core of Nigeria. But the team wasn't here for the beach resorts or the boutiques.
They were here for Rumlow.
High above the streets, in an abandoned building overlooking the target, Victor and Steve stood near a grimy window, eyes fixed on the small police station across the way. The place was unassuming—just a few officers moving in and out, chatting, checking paperwork. Nothing that screamed "high-value target," and that was exactly why it was perfect.
From inside a café a few streets over, Wanda stirred her tea absently, her green eyes watching the station from behind a pair of sunglasses.
"Alright, what do you see?" Steve's voice crackled through the comms.
Wanda took another sip, then set her cup down. "Standard beat cops," she replied, her Sokovian accent still present despite her time with the team. "Small station, quiet street, it's a good target."
Victor's voice followed. "There's an ATM on the south corner, which means?"
"Cameras." She responded immediately.
Steve continued the rundown. "Both cross streets are one-way..."
"So compromised escape routes."
"Means our guy doesn't care about being seen. He isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out. You see that Range Rover about halfway up the block?"
Wanda followed his direction and spotted the sleek red SUV parked near the station. "Yeah, the red one? It's cute."
"It's also bulletproof," Natasha's voice cut in, her usual sharpness edged with dry amusement. She was sitting at a table behind Wanda, stirring her own drink, her eyes fixed on a tablet screen. "Which means private security... which means more guns... which means more headaches for somebody, probably us."
Wanda smirked slightly. "You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?"
Nat didn't look up. "Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature."
"Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?" Sam's voice chimed in from the rooftop above.
"Not to my face." Nat deadpanned. "Why? Did you hear something?"
