Sokovia.
The name itself felt like a relic, a small Eastern European nation that seemed to exist only in history books and H.A.M.M.E.R. intelligence briefings. Its streets were a mosaic of faded grandeur and present-day decay, with proud Romanesque architecture crumbling under the weight of neglect. It was a place steeped in history, which only made its current state feel all the more tragic.
Just a few months ago, Steve and Peter had been here, dismantling the last remnants of a local Hydra cell. This, Hydra won't acquire the Mind Stone, meaning Wanda and Pietro Maximoff had never been drawn into their twisted experiments. They were just nineteen now, the age when most kids were stressing over college applications. Here, of course, survival was the only curriculum.
Contrary to the idyllic stereotype of European life, Sokovia was mired in a poverty that rivaled the most desperate corners of the world. Its people were pale and thin, their faces etched with a chronic hunger that had hollowed out their cheeks and left shadows in their eyes. The air was thick with the smell of coal smoke and desperation. The country's single international airport, a cruel monument to function over feeling, had been built by the very Hydra forces that had oppressed them for years. Ben found the irony staggering. Wakanda's vast international relief funds could transform this place overnight, but it remained a forgotten casualty of forgotten wars.
He navigated the labyrinthine streets, following the address E.U.N.I.C.E. had provided. The journey was not without its interruptions. More than a few "helpful" locals, their kindness backed by the glint of a knife in a dark alley, offered to guide him. After a series of brief, one-sided conversations that ended with them nursing bruised knuckles and Ben expressing his sincere gratitude for their input, he finally found his destination.
The building was a scar on an already wounded street. Its outer walls were shedding plaster like dry skin, and a permanent, greasy sheen coated the entryway. The air tasted of rot and stagnant water. Even in the grittiest parts of Hell's Kitchen, a hovel like this would have been condemned; here, it was simply home for another family.
Ben stood before the door and knocked gently. He wasn't Nick Fury; he had manners.
There was no immediate answer, but Ben's enhanced hearing picked up the faint scuffle of movement inside. He knocked again, three firm but patient raps, and then waited.
He heard the whisper of light footsteps approaching the door, then stopping just on the other side. Silence stretched, the only barrier between them a flimsy wooden door that looked like a single solid kick could splinter it. Ben showed no impatience. He could feel someone studying him, a cautious and unnervingly focused presence.
Inside, Wanda Maximoff held her breath. Just as Ben suspected, she was observing the stranger, her senses on high alert. His youthful face was handsome, the kind that might normally turn the head of a girl her age. But a boy like that—clean, well-dressed, radiating an aura of wealth and confidence—was an aberration in this neighborhood. A beautiful child born into the slums was a tragedy waiting to happen. She and Pietro had only survived to adulthood because of the strange, secret power that simmered under her skin, a whisper of witchcraft that had kept the wolves at bay.
This boy felt… different. She probed with her nascent abilities, but found nothing she could define. He felt like an ordinary, wealthy young man, yet his presence was a fundamental anomaly. Bolstered by the secret confidence of her own power, she hesitated for another moment before slowly, carefully, opening the door.
It opened with a groan of protest, revealing a narrow crack. Ben's eyes met hers.
"Ben Parker," he said smoothly, extending a simple business card from Primus Technologies.
Wanda took it, her gaze flicking over it without interest. She placed her hand back on the door. "Sorry," she said, her voice low and suspicious. "I don't know you."
She began to push the door shut, but Ben's hand shot out, catching it with gentle but immovable pressure. "I know you don't," he said, his tone even. "But I'm here for you and your brother."
Wanda froze, her mind instantly leaping to the worst conclusion. Pietro, in his desperate attempts to provide for them, had fallen in with a local gang. Had he finally gotten in over his head?
Fear, sharp and cold, seized her. "What happened to him?" she demanded, her voice rising with panic. "Don't you hurt him! I'll give you anything you want!"
Ben blinked, momentarily thrown by the melodramatic turn. Is this where I'm supposed to say, 'Wanda, you don't want anything to happen to your dear brother, do you?' The thought was so absurdly out of place he had to suppress a laugh.
"Ahem, you've misunderstood, Ms. Maximoff," he said, recovering quickly. "I'm here because I know you and your brother have… special abilities. I want to invite you to join us. I assume you're aware of the Battle of New York that happened a few days ago?"
Understanding dawned on Wanda's face, immediately replaced by a complex storm of emotions. The Chitauri invasion had been broadcast across the globe. "So, you're an Avenger?"
The question was laced with ice. She knew the Avengers had saved the world, but she also knew who was one of them. Tony Stark. It was impossible to say that Sokovia's endless cycle of poverty and war had nothing to do with him. For years, Stark Industries weapons had flooded her country. Her parents, her neighbors, her entire childhood had been consumed by a war fueled by his technology. She could still see the English letters stenciled on the shell of the missile that had torn her life apart.
Stark. He was a merchant of death who had rebranded himself as a savior. Perhaps he had paid a price, but for those buried under the rubble of his creations, it was an unforgivable absurdity.
"Get out," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "I will never join the Avengers."
She shoved the door with all her might, but Ben's hand remained firm. "Wait. I'm not here for the Avengers."
Wanda paused, her anger momentarily checked by confusion. "Not an Avenger?"
"They played a vital role, yes," Ben conceded. "But don't forget who ultimately decided the outcome of that war. It was the Plumbers."
Wanda's effort to close the door slackened. "The… Plumbers?" she asked, the name sounding strange on her tongue. "I know of them. The massive starships that arrived at the end… that was them, correct? I heard they were an alien organization." Why would an alien organization be on her doorstep?
"To them, a human is an alien," Ben said with a shrug. "The universe is a big neighborhood. That fleet was from Plumbers Command, our headquarters. But we have a branch right here on Earth. And I'm the one in charge."
He saw the hook was set. Now it was time to reel her in. He decided to skip the philosophical preamble and get straight to the point.
"I am formally inviting you and your brother, Pietro, to join the Plumbers. The starting salary is one million U.S. dollars a month."
Wanda's brain screeched to a halt.
"We provide full relocation," Ben continued, his voice as casual as if he were ordering coffee. "A fully furnished villa in Queens, New York is waiting for you. Work hours are from two to six p.m., three days a week, focusing on understanding and developing your abilities. We provide free, five-star employee meals, a comprehensive health and retirement benefits package, and a company vehicle will be allocated to you both."
The list of benefits washed over Wanda in a tidal wave of pure disbelief. A monthly salary of one million dollars? A villa? A car? Working only twelve hours a week?
She stared at Ben, her eyes wide. Is he speaking a human language? For a girl whose entire life had been a desperate scramble for their next meal, one million dollars was more money than she could ever conceive of earning in a dozen lifetimes. And he was just… offering it to her. All she had to do was nod.
"I… I need to talk to my brother," she stammered, her mind completely short-circuiting.
"Of course," Ben nodded sympathetically. "May I come in and wait?"
As if in a trance, Wanda opened the door, her eyes vacant. She led him inside, and Ben finally got a clear look at her. She wore a simple white shirt that had faded to a dingy yellow, and her worn pants had been patched more than once. The apartment was even more desolate inside. He sat on a threadbare sofa, startling a mouse that scurried for cover underneath. An ancient black-and-white television, a relic even older than the one in his uncle's house, sat in the corner like a tombstone. Compared to this, the oldest houses in Queens were palaces.
A few minutes later, Wanda returned with a glass of slightly cloudy water, her fingers twitching as she silently counted, her lips moving. "…five zeros? Six?" she muttered, handing him the glass.
"And that's before you convert it to the local currency," Ben added helpfully.
Wanda looked as if she might faint.
It was evening when Pietro returned. He burst through the door in a blur of motion, a human hedgehog bristling with suspicion at the sight of a stranger in his home. Wanda quickly explained the situation, her voice still laced with dazed wonder.
Pietro's reaction was the polar opposite of his sister's cautious shock. His eyes lit up with a fierce, desperate excitement.
"Is everything you said true?" he demanded, his words tumbling out in a rush.
To them, Sokovia was a quagmire, a pit of mud that was slowly suffocating them. This wasn't just an offer; it was an escape rope. But as the initial euphoria settled, a hard glint of suspicion returned to his eyes. There was always a catch.
He took a step forward, his posture confrontational. "I have one question. If the day comes when we have to fight Tony Stark… whose side are you on?"
Ben's calm expression didn't falter, but inwardly, he sighed. First Steve and Tony, now these two.
Why, he thought, a sense of profound weariness washing over him, do I always have to do the multiple-choice questions?