Not Fully Armed
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Compressed air shots echoed through the base as Steve used his shield to block each one. When they struck the vibranium, the projectiles lost much of their driving force.
Nicolas aimed at every exposed point on Steve's body. Even his feet. But Steve was not a super soldier for nothing. In one swift motion, he bounced the shield off the floor like a ball, intercepting a low shot meant to take his legs out from under him.
Closing the distance quickly, he launched a direct kick toward Nicolas' head, aiming to end the fight in one clean blow.
Nicolas raised his forearm to block while, with his other hand, he aimed straight at the incoming foot and fired at the exact moment of impact, dispersing the force and reducing the damage almost entirely. At the same time, he pulled the trigger with his second weapon, even from that awkward position, sending a blast straight into the Captain's shoulder and pushing him back once more.
Steve was forced backward again, giving Nicolas room. Nicolas used that second to eject a pair of special magazines. They looked less like magazines and more like compact batteries. His reloads were strapped across his chest, and he swapped them with quick, precise movements.
Steve stared at Nicolas as if searching for a weak point. But the doctor seemed to have none. At the same time, Nicolas studied him just as carefully.
They locked eyes in silence for a moment. Neither moved.
Then Steve pivoted and hurled the shield with greater force.
The vibranium shield flew toward the wall, ricocheted, and then shot toward Nicolas' back, as if aiming for a blind spot.
Nicolas turned to avoid it, and in that same instant he saw Steve leap at him with a punch aimed straight at his face. He barely slipped past it while firing at the Captain's stomach, this time at maximum output.
The impact sent Steve flying. But before he was thrown completely clear, he managed to land a solid kick to Nicolas' abdomen, driving him back as well.
Steve rolled across the floor and came up on his feet smoothly, guard raised once again.
Their eyes met.
Then, suddenly, Nicolas holstered his weapons and raised both hands.
"Alright, I surrender. They do not pay me enough for this," he said quickly. "Just follow that path."
He pointed toward one of the sealed doors, which slid open automatically.
Steve watched him for a moment, as if doubting he would give up so easily. But he caught a flicker of sincerity in his eyes and lowered his guard slightly.
Then, without warning, Nicolas grabbed what looked like a small ball and hurled it hard.
Steve raised his shield on instinct.
But the ball was not aimed at him. Nicolas threw it through the open doorway. It bounced off the wall at high speed and continued down the corridor, ricocheting again and again, gaining velocity with every impact.
Confusion crossed Steve's face.
"You had better be faster than the training ball. It accelerates with every bounce. And if my aim is still perfect, it should hit the ejection switch in about fifteen or twenty rebounds. And I never miss," Nicolas said with a faint, mocking smile.
Steve looked at him for one more second.
Then, without hesitation, he sprinted through the doorway.
The moment Steve disappeared down the hall, Nicolas bent forward, clutching his stomach.
"Son of… That is a little payback. I am not a hand to hand fighter," he muttered, clearly in pain, having endured the hit out of sheer pride.
Holding his abdomen, he walked down the corridor until he reached what looked like an ordinary wall. After tapping a hidden numeric keypad, it slid into view. He entered the code, and the wall parted, revealing a door behind it marked with the number 7.
Nicolas pushed it open and stepped inside, still sore, closing it behind him.
Then he froze.
Kamala was sitting calmly, eating snacks while watching several screens that displayed the battles taking place outside the base. Seated beside her was Peter, who looked as if he had gone through a serious fight; the suit Tony had made for him was dented in several places, though it was already repairing itself.
"What are you two doing here?" Nicolas could not help but ask.
"Well, they ran out of snacks in bunker 3 and 5. And 6 is still under construction, like 1, 2, and 4," Kamala said casually, popping another chip into her mouth.
"What? Did you eat my snacks again?" Nicolas asked with mild irritation.
"No. It was Peter," Kamala replied immediately, pointing at Spider-Man.
"What? I did not even know they were there until she found them hidden," Peter said defensively.
"That is because I hid them. Because they are mine. You know what? Just pretend I did not ask," Nicolas muttered as he went to lie down on a nearby couch, still in pain. He had no desire to argue with kids.
"Are you going to die?" Kamala asked with an overly serious expression. "Can I keep the chocolates you hide on top of the fridge?" she added quickly.
"In your dreams," Nicolas replied before closing his eyes. "And do not touch my chocolates."
"By the way, how did you get here? Weren't you at the Avengers' base?" Nicolas asked.
"I snuck into their jet when they were flying here. They only had old people food on board. Not a single candy," Kamala said matter of factly.
"Mmm… well, they do not have kids running around," Nicolas murmured before closing his eyes again.
"Adults who act like kids," Peter muttered under his breath, glancing at Nicolas, not including the others.
…
In another place, far from the noise of gunfire, explosions, and collapsing buildings, the supposed "prison island" did not look like a prison at all.
There were no cells.
No screams.
No armed guards watching every corner.
There was a pool.
There were umbrellas.
There were cold drinks.
And there were heroes who, according to the news, had been captured for refusing to register.
Banner was sitting in front of several televisions, calmly sipping a drink beneath a sunshade beside the pool. In the background, the sea stretched out, waves rolling in gently while the soft wind moved everything around.
It looked more like a vacation mansion.
Like many others scattered around the area watching the screens, each with different expressions.
Some, seeing the destruction unfolding in the clash between heroes, wore serious, disapproving looks. Others seemed rather relaxed, reassured by the fact that, at least, there were no injuries. Just as promised.
And yes, these were the supposed prisoners for refusing to sign the Special Individuals Registry, or as it had been officially named: the Hero Registration Act.
"That guy is completely insane. Does he really think something like this will work?" said one of those who disagreed. The ironic part was that he was sipping a piña colada while shaking his head. It was none other than Clint Barton. Supposedly retired.
Beside him, Natasha Romanoff, better known as Black Widow, was lying back comfortably, sunbathing.
"Well, it is not like we have another option. It is obvious how this could end," she said calmly.
"I am sure it could work. We all know Owen can pull it off," Jean said quietly, while Kitty Pryde, whose presence there was not widely known either, sat beside her idly playing with a tablet.
"If this was the plan all along… was the beating really necessary?" Matt Murdock said, still seeming to feel the pain from his confrontation with Owen. Unlike most of those present, he was not truly special. He had simply been trained by an old man who was something like a ninja.
Not everyone was there entirely by choice.
Some had agreed to be "captured" after a long and private conversation with Owen.
Others had simply been defeated in public… and decided not to resist too much.
"We should be grateful Owen managed to convince most of the ones who could have caused far greater destruction," Banner said, glancing around at the heroes swimming in the pool or lounging under the sun.
Among them was a woman known as Spectrum, a muscular man who called himself Hercules, Gladiator… and others who were technically retired, hidden as legends or exaggerated stories many believed were myths, yet who had always been quietly among them.
If they had stepped in, believing this to be a true battle and not something partially staged, the consequences could have been catastrophic. That was why they had spent several busy days tracking each of them down and convincing them not to interfere.
"Now all that remains is the political and social work," Banner said before turning his gaze toward a man who stood watching everything with a serious expression. The fight outside was only the visible part.
What would truly change everything had not begun yet.
He did not seem entirely in favor of it. But neither did he appear willing to openly oppose it.
His fingers brushed unconsciously against the vibranium necklace resting around his neck. He did not wear it out of habit. He wore it because he knew that, if necessary, the decision would have to be made in seconds.
His father had been the first to raise his voice.
The alleged deaths of citizens on foreign soil had sparked the flame.
The politicians had done the rest.
The law had advanced faster than anyone expected.
His country had publicly supported it.
Now… it was no longer so clear that it had been the right move.
And as the new king, the decision rested in his hands.
Support Owen Colt… or witness a war between heroes. This time real.
Not completely staged.