Tony leaned in closer, eyes narrowing behind his visor as he expanded the holographic display. "You're right. It's not pure gamma. It's… mixed. Almost like it's syncing to a rhythm."
Banner adjusted a dial, watching the scepter's glow pulse faintly in time with the readings. "Rhythm? You mean it's alive?"
"Maybe not alive," Tony said, his tone sharp but fascinated. "But it's reacting—like it's waiting for something to happen. Or someone."
The scepter emitted a faint hum, a low vibration that resonated through the table. Tony tapped the glass. "You hear that?"
Banner frowned. "That's not from the containment field…"
Before he could finish, the light in the scepter flickered, then pulsed once—stronger. The readings on their monitors spiked.
"Uh, Stark?"
"Yeah, I see it."
For a few tense seconds, both men watched as the energy stabilized again, returning to a low, steady glow. The hum faded.
Tony exhaled. "Okay, that's new. Creepy new. But new."
Banner rubbed his temple. "I don't like this. It's almost as if it was listening to us."
Tony grinned faintly. "Then let's not say anything that might offend it."
Up on the command deck, Fury and Hill watched the fluctuating data feed streaming across their consoles. The readings were spiking wildly—beyond any stable threshold.
"What do those readings mean?" Hill asked, leaning closer, eyes flicking between the rising energy curves.
Fury's gaze hardened as he traced the signal pattern. "It's…" He stopped, realization flashing across his face. "Cut the transmission. Now."
Hill's hands moved quickly across the console. "Why? What's wrong?"
"He's sending a signal," Fury said, his tone sharp. "Loki's giving away our location."
Before Hill could react, the entire Helicarrier jolted violently. A deep explosion tore through the side decks, alarms blaring in every direction. The bridge lights dimmed, then flashed red as emergency sirens filled the air.
"We've been hit!" Hill shouted over the noise.
Fury grabbed the comm. "All units—report! We've got a breach on multiple levels!"
Through the rain-streaked windows, flashes of fire burned against the clouds.
Another blast shook the deck, harder this time. Consoles sparked. "Impact confirmed on levels seven through nine!" Hill called out.
A camera feed flickered to life—then zoomed in on a lone figure stepping through a breach in the hull. A woman clad in a black combat suit, her movement graceful but eerily rigid, like someone moving under invisible control. Her eyes glowed faint blue, almost lifeless.
Fury narrowed his eyes at the feed. "Who the hell is that?"
Hill's voice faltered. "That looks like… Romanoff."
The figure crouched low, and dark, threadlike strands spread from her hands—webs, thick and metallic, spinning outward as she launched herself deeper into the ship. Each line hissed faintly, coated with venom that corroded steel on contact.
The screen flickered as she turned toward the camera—expression blank, eyes unblinking—and then she raised a hand. A sharp pulse of energy flashed, and the feed went dark.
The command deck erupted into motion. Officers shouted over one another as reports poured in—hostiles breaching containment, systems going offline one after another.
Fury snapped into the comms. "Get Barton and Rogers to the command deck now! Stark, lock down the lab! Loki's playing his next hand!"
Outside, thunder rolled—deep and rumbling—echoing across the storm-choked sky as chaos spread through the Helicarrier.
The Helicarrier shook again, metal groaning under the strain as fire alarms blared through the corridors.
"Main power is fluctuating!" one of the technicians shouted. "Backup systems are kicking in, but we've got critical failures on the starboard thrusters!"
Hill steadied herself against the console, rain pelting the reinforced glass from above. "If we lose altitude now, we'll hit the water!"
"Then we don't lose altitude," Fury barked. "Get those engines stable!"
The comms crackled—Steve's voice cut through the noise. "We're on our way up. Barton's with me."
"Move faster," Fury ordered. "We've got a compromised agent on board."
In the lower decks, the corridor lights flickered as Natasha—or what was left of her control—moved like a ghost. Her body flowed with unnatural precision, flipping through doorways, disabling guards in silence. Her expression never changed. Each step was mechanical, deliberate. The faint blue glow in her eyes pulsed in sync with the scepter's energy.
Barton and Steve rounded a corner, weapons ready.
"Romanoff!" Steve shouted. "Nat! It's us!"
She turned her head, eyes vacant, then lunged forward. Barton barely ducked as a webline slashed past, slicing into the wall and leaving molten edges where it struck.
"Yeah, that's definitely not friendly," Tony's voice came through the comm, his tone tight. "We've got mind control, folks. Loki's pulling her strings."
Steve deflected another strike with his shield, sparks flying. "Banner—where's the scepter now?"
"In containment," Banner replied, voice tense. "But it's pulsing harder—the feedback loop's spiking with every hit she makes. It's like she's feeding it energy!"
Tony was already flying down the maintenance shaft, repulsors flaring. "Then I'm cutting the power feed before it blows this place to hell."
Back on the bridge, Fury watched multiple camera feeds flicker out one by one. "We've got sabotage across decks five through nine—something's taking out power relays manually."
"There are others aside from Widow," Hill said, scanning the feed as it crackled and died.
"Neutralize all of them," Fury ordered. "But try not to kill our own people."
Agents moved fast, grabbing weapons and dispersing through the corridors as the emergency lights bathed everything in red.
Down below, Clint sprinted alongside Steve, voice crackling over the comms. "She's one of us, Director. I'll handle her—try not to hurt her too much."
Tony's voice came in right after, strained but dry as ever. "Yeah, yeah—just a quick head bonk, right? That always fixes mind control."
"Just do it," Steve said sharply, turning another corner. "We can't risk her damaging the turbines."
"Copy that, Cap," Tony replied.
As the corridors trembled again from another internal blast, the team split—Steve heading toward the main turbine chamber, Tony toward the power conduits, and Clint following the faint blue glimmer that marked Widow's path through the chaos.
She was fast—too fast. Her movements were clean, flawless, almost superhuman in precision. Every strike was calculated to kill—and her eyes, glowing faintly blue, showed no hint of remorse.
"Natasha!" Clint shouted as he ducked under a sweeping kick. "It's me!"
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