(AN: Apologies, I was bedridden and still currently sick. The hot weather got me. Here's the chapter I was able to write on my phone while lying in bed. I hope it satisfies the 3-day absence. Enjoy, and Sorry, not because of the late update. You'll understand after reading.)
The sky above Westview remained calm, undisturbed by anything that might hint at what was already in motion, yet far beyond its quiet streets, orders had been given—carefully worded, officially justified, and deliberately misleading, all to ensure that when S.W.O.R.D. arrived, it would not be as a request, but as an operation.
They were already on their way.
But they were not the first to arrive.
A sharp streak of light cut across the sky, descending rapidly before slowing just enough to land with controlled precision just outside Wanda's apartment complex, the nanotech plating of Iron Man retracting partially as Tony Stark stepped forward without hesitation, his expression already set, already aware that whatever conversation followed would not be simple.
Inside the apartment, Wanda did not need to be told.
She felt him the moment he arrived.
A faint shift in the air, subtle but distinct, enough for her to glance toward the door even before he stepped through it, her posture relaxed, her presence calm in a way that suggested she had already accounted for interruptions long before they came.
When Tony entered, he didn't find any tension in the atmosphere.
He found stillness as if everything was totally in control.
Wanda sat where she had been, her gaze lifting toward him with quiet awareness, while Kristen stood nearby, unmoving, her attention fixed entirely on the new arrival, analyzing, assessing, without a single wasted motion.
Wanda tilted her head slightly, her expression carrying the faintest trace of dry amusement.
"Oh," she said casually, her voice light but measured, "look who decided to visit without telling me ahead of time."
Tony didn't answer immediately.
Instead, his focus shifted, his eyes scanning the room as part of his suit reassembled fully across his arms, nanotech flowing into place with silent efficiency, subtle but deliberate, as multiple small devices deployed from his armor and anchored themselves across the walls and ceiling.
A soft pulse followed.
And just like that, the surveillance from S.W.O.R.D. was gone.
Tony finally looked at her.
"You've been watched," he said bluntly. "Tyler Hayward's men are already on their way."
Wanda's expression didn't change immediately, but something beneath it shifted, a quiet recognition settling into place as the name alone was enough to bring back a memory she had not forgotten.
"…Hayward," she repeated, softer now. The same man who refused to let her bury Vision's body.
Tony nodded once.
"They're on their way," he continued. "Officially, it's asking permission to 'cooperate.' Unofficially—" he exhaled slightly, the rest of the sentence not needing to be softened, "they want her." His gaze flicked briefly toward Kristen. "And you're not walking out of that clean."
Then Wanda exhaled, slow and controlled, as her gaze drifted away for a moment, her thoughts aligning with something far less restrained than her outward calm suggested.
"He wouldn't let me bury him," she said quietly.
Tony didn't interrupt.
"They kept Vision's body," Wanda continued, her voice steady but carrying something deeper now, something restrained rather than absent. "Told me it wasn't mine to take."
Her eyes lifted back to Tony.
"And now," she added, her tone sharpening just slightly, "he thinks he can come here and take something else from me?"
The air in the room shifted—subtle, but undeniable.
Not an explosion of power.
But pressure. Contained. Focused.
Wanda stood slowly, her posture straightening as her gaze locked onto Tony with a clarity that left no room for misinterpretation.
"Tell me something," she said.
Tony held her gaze.
"If I go there," Wanda continued, her voice calm, almost too calm, "and I take Vision back—by force if I have to—am I in the wrong?"
The question lingered.
Tony didn't answer immediately, his expression tightening slightly as the weight of it settled, because this wasn't just about rules or consequences—it was about something he had overlooked, something he had allowed to be pushed aside in the aftermath of everything else.
He exhaled slowly.
"…No, but," he admitted quietly, though there was no conviction behind it. "I should've handled that."
Wanda said nothing.
"I was dealing with a lot after the war," Tony continued, his tone more grounded now, less defensive and more honest. "Cleanup, fallout, rebuilding… I let things slip."
A brief pause.
"I, let that slip."
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
Tony looked at her fully now; whatever hesitation he might have had had already gone.
"I'm sorry," he said.
It wasn't a deflection or an excuse.
It was an acknowledgment.
"I'll help you."
The words carried weight not of obligation but by choice.
Behind Wanda, Kristen remained still, her gaze shifting between them, processing every word, every change in tone, yet offering no interruption, no input—only silent presence.
Outside, the faint sound of engines was heard.
S.W.O.R.D. was here.
.
.
.
At the edge of the street, two agents from S.W.O.R.D. stepped forward from an otherwise unremarkable vehicles, their posture composed, their expressions carefully neutral as they approached the apartment, every movement measured to match the instructions they had been given—to remain calm, to remain polite, and above all, to act as though this was nothing more than a routine request.
Not far behind them, hidden in plain sight, others waited.
Armed and ready, just waiting for the signal to move if necessary.
The distance between courtesy and force was already set.
Inside, Wanda did not need to be told.
She felt them the moment they stepped onto the property, her awareness brushing against their presence as easily as one might notice a change in air pressure, and without a word, she turned toward the door just as they called her out.
"Miss Maximoff?" one of the agents called out, his voice steady, professional.
"We'd like a moment of your time."
The door opened without hesitation.
Three figures stepped out to meet them.
Wanda Maximoff stood at the front, her expression calm, unreadable, while Kristen remained just behind her, silent and still, her gaze fixed on the agents with quiet intensity. Beside them stood Tony Stark, no armor, no visible threat—just a man, for now.
The agents paused, just briefly at the sight of him, but recovered their composure as fast as they could.
"Ms. Maximoff," the lead agent began, his tone respectful, measured in a way that suggested careful rehearsal, "we're here on behalf of S.W.O.R.D. We'd like to request your cooperation regarding this recent… incident inside your home."
Wanda tilted her head slightly, her gaze steady.
"And what kind of cooperation would that be?" she asked.
The agent held her gaze, choosing his words carefully.
"Just a conversation," he said. "Clarification of events. Standard procedure."
It was honest. Just not complete.
Before Wanda could respond, Tony shifted slightly beside her, drawing just enough attention to himself without disrupting the tone of the exchange.
"Well," he said lightly, as though the situation carried far less weight than it actually did, "sounds like you've got a busy afternoon ahead."
Wanda glanced at him.
Tony met her gaze for a brief moment, something unspoken passing between them before he gave a small, almost casual nod.
"I've got a few things to get back to," he continued, his tone easy, unconcerned. "The world doesn't save itself, you know how it is."
"I'll visit again soon when I have time."
It was a simple goodbye, but it carried intent.
Before anyone could respond, nanotechnology surged across his body in a fluid, seamless motion, forming the armor of Iron Man in an instant, the transformation so quick it left no room for interruption.
Thrusters ignited almost immediately after, and in the next breath, he was gone—shooting into the sky in a streak of light that vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.
The agents exhaled—subtly, but noticeably.
They had expected complications with Tony's presence.
They had even prepared for any resistance.
But without Tony Stark standing there, the situation felt… manageable.
What they didn't know—what they couldn't know—was that even as he disappeared, Tony had already shifted his focus, his systems redirecting as he began quietly breaching S.W.O.R.D.'s network from above, slipping through layers of security with practiced ease while putting just enough distance between himself and the scene to avoid immediate suspicion.
He wasn't truly leaving. He was preparing for the chaos that would come later.
Back at the apartment, Wanda's attention returned fully to the agents, her expression unchanged as though nothing of significance had just occurred.
"I'll cooperate," she said simply.
The words came easily without hesitation.
But she immediately tells the reason for them to understand.
"I want to see Vision's body," she added, her voice steady. "One last time."
The agents exchanged a glance.
That hadn't been in the script.
But it wasn't unexpected either.
"I believe that can be arranged," the lead agent replied carefully.
Behind Wanda, Kristen stepped forward without being asked, her presence aligning naturally with Wanda's decision, her silence carrying its own form of confirmation.
"We'll need to bring you both in," the second agent added, his tone still polite, still controlled.
There was a plan to separate them, but he was having a hard time saying it when they were cooperating like this.
Elsewhere, watching the situation unfold in real time, Tyler Hayward made a different call.
"Don't separate them for no," he said, his voice cutting through the command channel without hesitation.
"Keep them together."
The agents received the order instantly, and adjustments were made.
"We'll handle everything once they're inside," Hayward continued, his tone low, decisive.
"By then, it won't matter."
Back on the ground, the agents straightened slightly; the shift in instruction reflected only in the smallest changes in posture.
"This way," the lead agent said, gesturing toward the waiting vehicle.
Wanda moved first.
Kristen followed closely behind, her awareness never dropping, her attention extending beyond the visible as though already anticipating what came next.
Neither of them resisted nor questioned the agents.
But neither of them was unaware.
That somewhere above, Tony Stark was already ensuring nothing unexpected happens when they start to take Vision's body parts.
Both of them knew they wouldn't be alone.
.
.
.
Long before Wanda ever set foot inside the facility, the fracture had already begun.
Within the cold, controlled interior of S.W.O.R.D. headquarters, Monica Rambeau stood rigid across from Tyler Hayward, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and restrained anger as the weight of what she had uncovered settled firmly into place.
She had followed the orders at first, trusted the chain of command, believed that whatever operation was being prepared carried justification—but the deeper she looked, the clearer it became that this was not about containment, nor protection.
"You're not bringing her in for questioning," Monica said, her voice steady but edged with tension.
"You're setting her up."
Hayward didn't flinch, nor did he deny it immediately; instead folding his hands behind his back as though the accusation itself was nothing more than a predictable inconvenience.
"You're overstepping," he replied calmly.
"No," Monica shot back, stepping forward despite herself. "You pulled me out of active missions because of my mother's protocols—because of what happened during the Blip—and now you want me to sit here and watch while you turn Wanda into a target?"
A flicker of something passed through Hayward's gaze—annoyance, perhaps, or simply impatience.
"She is a target," he said plainly.
The words hung heavier than anything else he could have said.
Monica's jaw tightened. "She's an Avenger."
"And unstable," Hayward countered without hesitation.
"And now she's brought something else into play—something we don't understand."
Monica didn't need him to say who or what; it was obviously the woman with Wanda named Kristen.
"That doesn't justify this," she said, quieter now, but no less firm.
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them—then Hayward exhaled, not in frustration, but in decision.
"Detain her," he said.
The words weren't directed at Monica.
They were directed at the agents behind her.
She barely had time to react before hands closed around her arms, firm, pulling her back despite her resistance.
"Hayward—" she started, but it didn't matter. He had already turned away.
"Proceed with the operation," he ordered, his voice cutting cleanly through the room as Monica was dragged out, her protests fading into the distance while preparations continued without pause.
Hours later, the facility stood ready.
Every corridor secured. Every angle covered. Every outcome accounted for.
When Wanda and Kristen finally arrived, escorted by the same two agents who had approached them in Westview, the transition from quiet compliance to something far more controlled was immediate, though not yet obvious, as they were led through sterile hallways and reinforced doors that closed behind them with a finality that felt deliberate.
Wanda's gaze moved, taking everything in.
They didn't speak.
Not until they reached the center of it all.
The moment the final door slid shut behind them, everything changed.
The two agents who had escorted them stepped back in unison, their movements sharp now, practiced, as their weapons came up without hesitation, aimed directly at Wanda and Kristen.
"Don't move!"
The command rang out, loud, immediate, stripping away whatever illusion of cooperation had remained.
Wanda blinked once, caught off guard—not by fear, but by the sheer abruptness of it—her expression shifting from mild surprise into something colder, something far less forgiving as the realization settled in.
"You didn't even try to make it convincing," she said quietly.
Around them, more agents emerged from every direction, weapons drawn, forming a tightening perimeter that left no visible path forward, their fingers tense on triggers, their attention locked entirely on the two women at the center.
And beyond them, at a distance just safe enough to suggest caution, yet close enough to command attention, stood Hayward.
He stepped forward slowly, his posture relaxed in a way that suggested control, as though this moment had already played out exactly as he intended.
"Well," he began, his tone almost conversational, "I should thank you."
Wanda didn't respond.
"For bringing her to us," he continued, his gaze shifting briefly toward Kristen, interest clear in his eyes.
"Do you have any idea what she is?"
Wanda's silence remained.
"She's not just advanced," Hayward said, a faint smile forming. "She's beyond anything we've ever seen. A synthetic construct… refined, disguised." His eyes sharpened.
"Almost the same as Vision."
At that, Wanda's gaze hardened.
"And now," he went on, spreading his hands slightly as if presenting something inevitable, "we finally have the opportunity to understand the difference. To study it. To improve it."
His tone shifted—not louder, but heavier.
"Under my leadership, S.W.O.R.D. won't just react to the next alien threat," he said.
"We'll be ready for it."
"We'll control it and come out on top."
High above the facility, unseen by all but the systems he had already infiltrated, Tony Stark hovered in silence, his armor locked into position as lines of data streamed across his interface, every camera, every system, every locked door already under his influence.
"FRIDAY," he said calmly.
"Lockdown complete, boss," the A.I. responded. "No external transmission. No internal overrides without your authorization."
Tony smirked slightly.
"Good."
A hidden channel opened instantly, connecting him directly to Wanda and Kristen without alerting anyone else inside the building.
"You know," his voice slipped casually into their ears, smooth and unbothered, "for a guy who talks this much, he's really not saying anything new."
Back inside, Hayward was still speaking, justifying his actions and totally convinced himself to be doing the right thing.
But Wanda had already stopped listening.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her voice calm as she spoke—not to him, but to the one standing beside her.
"Kristen," she said.
The agents tensed immediately. But they didn't dare move until an order was given.
"Can you summon that again?"
Kristen smiled—an emotion his master had given to her upon agreement to be his left-hand.
She said softly, her eyes glinting with something far more dangerous than obedience, "I can do more than that."
Above them, Tony's voice came through one last time, laced with unmistakable anticipation.
"Alright," he said. "I'm coming down."
As Elias' left-hand, she had access not just to Elias' personal servants. She also has the power to summon his Generals or their minions. In this case, she's inclined to summon just the minions.
There are 300 Facehuggers and 200 Xenomorphs at the hands of the Generals, looking at the surrounding enemies numbering in 73, including Hayward, 100 Facehuggers, and the evolved xenomorph, should be enough for the surrounding enemies who dare harm his master's mistress.
End of Chapter