The rain had stopped, but the sky over New York remained gray.
Inside OsCorp's executive office, Nolan stared at the brass-trimmed urn resting on his desk silent, unmoving.
Max stepped in, slightly breathless, a folded piece of paper clutched in his hand.
Nolan stood, eyes still fixed on the urn. "Were you seen?"
"No. Not unless someone checks close and notices it's missing," Max said, handing over the page.
Nolan finally looked up, took the paper, and scanned the formula written in a familiar, methodical scrawl.
It was exactly what he needed.
"Good work." He didn't smile. "Collect twenty grand from finance."
Max blinked. "Twenty...? Thank you, boss!" He caught himself staring briefly at the urn then looked away and left quickly.
Nolan stood in place for a moment longer.
In the lab, Connors was already waiting when Nolan walked in, sleeves rolled, a fire burning behind his eyes.
Nolan didn't answer. He just placed the formula on the table, opened his laptop, and began running simulations.
"Start prepping the lab. We're making Phoenix Serum Version 3.0."
Connors grinned, awed.
Behind them, green lines streamed across the monitors matching genetic markers, simulating recombination models, and balancing volatile compounds.
Elsewhere, deep in OsCorp's containment levels...
Logan had been dragged from his cell.
He looked worse for wear, unkempt, and gaunt, but his eyes still burned with a familiar rage.
"You're going to pay for this," he growled.
Nolan didn't look up from his screen. "So. Xavier reached out."
But the twitch in his jaw was all the confirmation Nolan needed.
He clicked his tongue.
"Not that it matters. If the Professor was back at full power, he wouldn't be whispering in your mind he'd be knocking on my front door."
Logan's silence was telling.
Nolan tapped a command key. "Start prepping the match tests. Let's finish what we started with Weapon X."
Connors moved without a word.
Elsewhere — Stark Tower
In the dimly lit war room of Stark Tower, Tony stood with arms crossed, eyes locked on a series of suspended holograms. Images flickered a montage of brutal hits, silent assassinations, men and women falling to a ghost with a metal arm.
Steve Rogers said nothing.
"Not exactly the innocent victim story you painted, Cap," Tony said bitterly. "That metal-armed friend of yours? I've traced nearly a dozen kills to him. Executives. Senators. Entire families wiped out."
"He was brainwashed," Steve answered. "Used like a weapon."
"Used?" Tony snapped. "He is a weapon. And from what I've seen? He wasn't just used he was customized."
He flicked his wrist, closing the death logs and pulling up a newsfeed from OsCorp. Norman Osborn stood at a podium.
The headlines blared:
> "Superhuman Terror: OsCorp Facility Attacked." "Was Captain America Involved in Unauthorized Operation?"
Tony's voice turned icy. "And guess who they're blaming?"
"I didn't plan the op," Steve replied. "We were following Fury's orders."
"I don't care whose orders," Tony shot back. "You act like you're above the world. You're not. People died."
Steve finally said, "The Avengers don't answer to governments. We act where we're needed."
Then laughedbbitter, hollow.
"That's your excuse? No oversight, no responsibility? Just good intentions and a pretty shield?"
"From now on," he said coldly, "you clean up your own mess. Don't expect Stark Industries to sweep the blood under the rug."
He paused at the door.
"And Rogers, if I find out you moved Barnes... if he even breathes without me knowing, I'll have FRIDAY put a hole through his head before he blinks."
Alone in the silence, Steve Rogers exhaled a long, tired breath.
And quietly clenched his fist.
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