They've climbed out of the fire,
but the world still burns.
There are no heroes here.
Only people with pasts too heavy for their bones,
and futures stitched together in panic.
They're not a team.
They're not survivors.
Not yet.
Just broken pieces,
waiting for the next fracture.

They crawl out one by one, exhausted, coughing, skin slick with sweat. The air is thin and cruel.

John helps Ava up first.

He grunts, "Yeah. You're all safe now."

Ava scowls, still catching her breath, "Selfish prick."

"I made a tactical decision to secure my own safety and then ensure all of yours," John replies, puffing up like a soldier still hoping for medals in hell.

He turns, grabs Yelena's hand, helps her up next. Then Cici.

Cici glares at him like she might kill him with her eyes.

John rolls his, "Pretty ungrateful if you ask me. But you'll make it, right, Bobby? Looks like you might've missed leg day, arm day, and chest day."

He reaches down for Bob.

The moment their hands touch--

John stiffens.

His eyes go blank. He gasps, but no air comes in.

His head snaps slightly, just a tremor-- and he's gone.

Just like Cici was.

Just like Bob.

Inside the Void, John sees things he never wanted to see.

His hands shake in the real world, still clasped with Bob's.

Then he yanks them free like they're acid.

Gasps.

Sweats.

No one speaks.

But Cici notices.

She sees it.

The way his eyes go glassy.
The way something followed him back.

John straightens, says nothing.

And they move on.

But Cici doesn't forget.

They press forward, ducking low, the compound groaning above them.

They come to a corridor that widens into a chamber with a large glass door at the far end, a garage-style entrance fortified with metal and thick paneled glass.

On the other side--

Headlights.

Spotlights.

Valentina's cleanup crew.

Armed. Silent. Waiting.

Yelena peers around the corner, lip twitching.

"We need to come up with a plan."

John snorts, "This is what we're going to do--"

"Oh, now you're the boss? Cute," Ava interrupts, arms crossed.

"Well, yeah," John says, "It's your only chance to get out of here, so."

Bob quietly says, "Uh... I think I might just surrender. Probably."

Cici frowns. Her jaw tightens. She wants to grab him and shake the words out of him.

John mutters, "Fine. Every man for himself."

Ava steps forward, "Why should you be in charge? You almost got us all killed, didn't you?"

"Well, let's see," John begins, puffing his chest, "I've been in the trenches of every war-torn country on this planet, rescued God knows how many hostages, and shook the hands of two U.S. Presidents. What else? Oh-- high school state football champions. Back to back to back. Go Bears."

Yelena groans, "Oh, wow. When I was five, I was on a little league soccer team called West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, sponsored by Shane's Tire Shop. We didn't win a single game. This girl,Mindy, made a poo on the field. Anyone else have any pointless childhood stories to tell me?"

"I grew up in a lab prison," Ava says dryly.

Bob shrugs, "Meth-addicted sign-twirling chicken. Summer job."

Cici falters. Her mouth opens.

"I was..." She swallows, "Human trafficked before I got my period."

Yelena pauses, eyes flicking to her, "Jesus."

Cici shrugs, eyes distant, "Yeah."

Yelena clears her throat, "Okay. So. The plan, we set off an explosion to bring them in."

John: "I don't know. Too many variables with an explosion."

Yelena: "They turn on their night vision. You handle the first wave, but you wait for me after I've blinded the remaining troops."

John: "Everyone's going to wait for you?"

Yelena: "It'll only work if you wait."

John: "It's a terrible plan."

Yelena rolls her eyes, "Ava, find us an escape vehicle."

Ava nods and phases through the wall like smoke.

Bob lingers near the back, looking down.

"What about me?" He asks quietly.

Yelena gives him a sideways glance, then gestures to her and Cici, "Stay behind us, Bob."

She looks at Cici, "Cic, you don't happen to be bulletproof, do you?"

Cici shakes her head.

Yelena sighs, "Alright. Please don't die."

Ava disappears into the dark.

John moves to position.

Yelena checks her blades.

Bob looks at his hands.

"Maybe I should have a gun?"

Cici, stepping close, whispers: "It's okay. I got you."

He looks at her. Eyes wide, "But we're going to fight."

Yelena cuts in, firm: "We'll fight. You stay behind."

Bob's voice drops, "The medical trial was supposed to make me better. I don't know. I feel like maybe I could help."

Cici turns toward him, watching his face.

"You remember?"

He nods, slow, "A little. I just remember they said I was going to die. That it was for people who wanted to do something better. Be something better."

Her voice lowers, "You can trust me, Bob."

He looks into her eyes, "Can I?"

Cici doesn't answer.

Not because she doesn't want to--

But because she's not sure.

He continues, voice brittle.

"I've always had these... episodes. Since I was a kid. There's a high. Then there's a low. Then nothing. Just black. Like my memory gets wiped. But this time... it feels different. This time I feel like something bad happened. Or I did something bad."

Cici opens her mouth, finally ready to speak. To share something she never has.

But it's too late.

The strike team enters.

Black-clad soldiers pour in.

Laser sights dance like red fireflies across the smoke.

Cici pulls Bob behind her.

She breathes deep.

Her heart hammers.

Bob stands behind her.

"Cici--" He says.

But she doesn't answer.

She draws her blade.

And lunges into the storm.

They charge into the fire.

Bullets ricochet. Boots pound. The strike team is everywhere, faceless in black gear, a single collective will of obedience and suppression.

Yelena moves like poetry.

Cici moves like violence.

They are a storm, a rhythm of cuts and cracks and bodies hitting the floor. Cici's brown leather jacket is slick with blood not her own. The lights are gone, the explosion took them. The hallway is now nothing but smoke and muzzle flashes and the occasional scream.

Behind them, Bob has somehow acquired a gun.

He's holding it like it's both a weapon and a question.

His hands shake. His stance is wrong. His finger twitches on the trigger, too tense, too soon.

He lifts the gun. A goon charges from the smoke.

Bob fires--

The shot misses the man entirely and nearly takes off Yelena's head.

"Whoa!" She yells, "That's it!"

She grabs Bob by the collar, spins him, yanks a length of wire from her utility belt, and ties them together, back to back.

"What are you--?" Bob stammers.

"Safety precautions," She snaps, "You get me killed, I come back and haunt you. Tie your shoelaces together every night. Watch you fall down stairs. Very tragic."

Another soldier lunges at Cici from behind.

"Cic, duck!" Yelena shouts.

Cici drops instantly.

The goon overshoots her, and Cici rises like a viper, grabs him by the throat, and slams his head into the floor with a crunch that echoes above the gunfire.

More shouts.

More incoming.

A hiss--

Smoke.

It rolls across the floor like mist, rising fast. Choking fast.

Cici pulls a gas mask from her belt, slides it on without hesitation. Her hands are steady now. Bloodied but steady. She tosses one to Bob.

"Put it on!"

Bob fumbles with the straps.

Yelena tugs hers on in a swift motion, voice muffled now: "No hero stuff, Bob. Just don't die."

The smoke thickens.

Figures dart and vanish.

It's hell, and they're in the center of it.

From the far side of the fog, movement.

Cici raises her blade, crouches low.

Yelena shouts over the comm, "Someone's coming!"

She opens fire.

A figure stumbles forward, clutching their side.

"It's me! John!"

Yelena freezes.

She yanks off her mask and shouts, "Where were you?!"

John rips his own off, eyes wide, "Where were you?!"

"The explosion fried the wires!"

"I told you, too many variables! I knew it!"

"And then you didn't wait!"

"I did wait!"

"You liar!"

Cici steps between them, blades out, her own breath fogging the inside of her mask, "Can we kill him now?"

Yelena grabs her mask again. John grabs his.

" No, Cic," She mutters, "Change of plans."

They move quickly.

Bob slings his arms around John and Yelena's shoulders, limping like a half-dead soldier just dragged out of the wreckage. His limbs hang loose, like he's forgotten how to move. Yelena growls through her teeth, "Bob, limp left, left!"

"Sorry!"

Cici walks behind them, rifle slung across her back, posture stiff. Her blade is still red. Her mask fogged. She looks like death borrowed a uniform.

They make it out of the hall.

And into the yard.

A massive black truck rolls to a stop in front of them.

No driver.

No headlights.

Just humming.

Just waiting.

Then--

Phantom light.

Distortion in the air.

Ava phases into the driver's seat.

She doesn't smile.

She just says:

"Get in."

They pile into the truck like animals fleeing a wildfire.

Bob slides into the back, untying the wire from around his waist.

"I think I shot a trash can."

Yelena pats him on the head, "A very dangerous trash can. Probably armed. You did good."

Cici sits beside Bob.

She watches him breathe.

His mask dangles in one hand, his fingers still twitching.

"You okay?" She asks.

Bob looks at her.

"Yeah," He says.

Then pauses.

"...No."

She nods.

"Same."

In front of them, John now drives the truck, with Ava in the middle and Yelena in the passenger's seat.

Cici and Bob stay together in the back of the truck, a place meant to house criminals, a place meant to keep something inside of.

The truck rolls to a stop, uh oh.

They're being stopped, they're being questioned.

In the back, Cici stares through the small ventilation grate, her heart already in her throat.

And beside her, Bob is quiet.

Too quiet.

He's not looking at the doors.

He's looking at her.

And she knows.

She knows what's about to happen before it happens.

"Bob," She says, breath catching, "Don't--"

"I just want to help," He whispers.

"Bob, no--"

And then he moves.

He yanks the heavy truck door open, the creak echoing like the start of a nightmare. Cold air floods the compartment. Before anyone can react, he's running, gun in hand, straight into the lights.

"No!" Cici cries out, "No!"

She leaps after him.

She doesn't think.

She doesn't breathe.

She just moves.

John is out of the front seat in seconds.

He doesn't hesitate.

He's behind her before her feet hit the dirt.

"Cici!" He roars.

But she's already ten paces ahead.

Running like something feral. Unstoppable.

And then--

The gunfire starts.

Not warning shots.

Not tactical suppression.

They shoot to kill.

Cici watches Bob's body jerk in midair as the bullets hit. One. Two. Three. Then more. His legs buckle. He collapses like a broken doll, limbs folding in on themselves. Smoke rises from the barrel of his own gun as it clatters away.

She screams.

It's raw. Animal.

She doesn't know what she says.

Only that it's not enough.

Because nothing is.

John reaches her just before she crosses the line of fire.

He tackles her hard from behind, both of them rolling into the dust.

She fights him.

Knees. Elbows. Teeth.

She's not thinking. Just thrashing.

Just trying to get to him.

But John's strong.

Stronger than her.

He wraps both arms around her waist, locking her in place, dragging her backward like a soldier retrieving a body from the battlefield.

"No!" She sobs, "Let me go, let me go!"

"I can't," He grunts, holding her tighter, "I can't let you die."

She claws at his arms.

Bites his forearm.

But he doesn't let go.

Even when they crash into the truck again, he doesn't let go.

Even when Ava slams her foot on the gas and the armored vehicle lurches down the dirt path, tires skidding on loose rock, he holds her.

Even when the engine roars and they vanish down the hill, he holds her.

Cici is breaking.

She claws at the walls of the back of the truck.

At her chest.

At him.

"You let them kill him!" She screams.

John doesn't flinch.

He holds her tighter.

Her fists land hard against his shoulder. His ribs. She writhes in his grip like something burning alive.

"He didn't deserve that!" She sobs, "He didn't, he didn't do anything wrong! He just wanted to help!"

"I know," John says softly.

His voice is ragged. Quiet. Worn through.

"I know."

She cries harder.

Screams into his chest.

And still, he doesn't let go.

Her fingers dig into his skin.

And still, he doesn't let go.

Her whole body trembles like it's going to fall apart--

And still, he doesn't let go.

In that moment, Cici is no longer a weapon.

She's no longer the dog.

No longer the monster who rips out throats and obeys orders and doesn't flinch when blood hits her face.

She's a girl.

A girl who lost someone in front of her and couldn't stop it.

A girl who doesn't want to survive if it means everyone she touches dies.

And John--

For all his sins, for all his arrogance--

He becomes an anchor.

Just this once.

Just for her.

Somewhere between the fire and the silence,
he became more than a nuisance.
Somewhere in the dark,
the man with the shield became her anchor.
And somewhere down the hill,
the dead refused to stay dead.
Nothing makes sense anymore—
except the grief in her chest,
and the truth clawing its way out of the ashes.

John still holds her.

They sit crumpled in the back of the truck, the metal vibrating beneath them with each tire hitting a stone, each veering turn down the winding dirt road. The walls rattle. Dust seeps through the seams.

Cici is still crying.

It's quieter now, but it's real. Messy. Her whole body is shaking, curled into herself like she's trying to disappear. And John, John, doesn't let her go.

He could. She's stopped fighting. But he doesn't.

His arms are strong around her, the shield tucked at their side. His shoulder is wet with her tears.

He doesn't speak.

And maybe that's why she lets him stay.

Then it happens.

The roar of something above.

A shriek of metal--

A slam--

Impact.

The truck lurches. Wheels lift off the ground. The world twists sideways.

They're flying.

Then--

Rolling.

Cici screams as gravity breaks apart. John locks both arms around her, pulling her close and dragging his shield over them like a curved shell.

"Hold on!" He shouts.

The shield isn't vibranium.

But it's his.

And right now, it's all they've got.

Metal screeches. Glass shatters. Gravity flips again.

The truck tumbles down the hill like a dying beast, dirt exploding around it in clouds.

And then--

Stillness.

A crackle of broken machinery.

A hiss of steam.

Groaning metal and groaning lungs.

They've landed sideways, half-buried in sand.

John breathes first.

Then Cici.

Still in his arms.

The doors creak open with a scream, and the desert air floods in.

Yelena climbs inside, coughing, her arms reaching.

She grabs Cici, gently pulling her upright.

Cici is dazed.

Her face is streaked with blood and dirt and tears. She doesn't speak.

Yelena holds her face with both hands.

"Cic. Focus."

Cici's lips part. Her breath shakes.

"Bob is alive," Yelena says.

Cici stares at her.

Uncomprehending.

She whispers, "Bob... didn't die?"

Yelena nods.

"Bob didn't die."

Behind them, John drags himself out of the wreck, shield in hand, covered in dust.

"Was he the tomahawk missile that just flipped us?"

Ava smacks him in the back of the head.

John spins, "What the hell was that for?!"

"She's crying!" Ava hisses.

"I know she's crying! I have her tears on my suit!"

"She can hear you!" Yelena yells, still holding Cici's face.

The desert hushes.

Everyone stills.

Cici looks at them through swollen eyes.

Yelena softens her voice, "Are you okay?"

A pause.

Cici nods.

Not because she is.

But because she's still here.

And that has to be enough.

They walk.

Through the night-stained desert.

Dust curling around their boots.

The wreckage behind them smolders against the stars, broken headlights flickering like dying fireflies.

They say nothing for a long time.

The only sound is wind.

Then Yelena speaks.

"You were right," She says to no one in particular, "She definitely wants us dead. Testing on someone like that is... unsafe."

"She lost it," John mutters.

"No," Yelena says, "She found it. And she's going to use it."

She pulls crumpled papers from her pocket, browned at the edges from smoke. The ink has bled, but it's still readable. Diagrams. Footnotes. A name.

A code name.

Ava takes the papers, scans them quickly. Her eyes darken.

" Power of a thousand suns in explosion. Golden guardian of the good," She reads, "It's a mouthful."

Cici's voice is low, hollow.

"It's Bob."

John sighs, "Sentry. Very bright."

Yelena turns, "What do you know about this?"

John runs a hand through his hair.

"Uh... There was a rumor. That OXE, Val's private team, was working on some kind of major breakthrough. An energy source, maybe. Or a person. Something big. Something world-changing."

He kicks a stone.

"It was unstable. Dangerous. Test subjects were dying. Then the government sniffed it out. Val shut it down. Buried it. Sent me in to clamp it down."

Cici looks at him sharply.

"You knew?"

John nods, slow, "I didn't know names. Faces. Just files. I didn't know it was Bob."

The name burns in the air.

Sentry.

Power of a thousand suns.

But all Cici sees is the boy in gray pajamas, holding a gun he didn't know how to use, saying cucumber to keep from sneezing.

She clenches her fists.

The papers flutter in Ava's hands.

Diagrams of light.

Blueprints of containment.

Words scratched into margins like prayers:

"He doesn't know what he is."

"He can rewrite matter."

"Do not activate alone."

"Obeys when afraid."

They walk.

Farther into the desert.

Now fugitives.

Now truths held in bruised hands.

Cici looks at the stars.

The night is so dark it presses against her lungs.

Somewhere out there, Bob is alive.

Somewhere, Valentina is smiling.

And somewhere deep inside her,

something begins to burn.

The desert is quiet.
Then loud.
Then ridiculous.
The sun rises like a warning,
casting long shadows behind fugitives and ghosts.
And sometimes, in the middle of survival,
life throws you a curveball dressed in red with a voice like vodka and fireworks.

The desert is endless.

Hot wind skates across cracked earth, biting at their skin, making ghosts of their footprints. The fire is far behind now, but Cici still hears it, still feels the way the truck rolled, still sees Bob's blood where it wasn't.

Her body aches. Her mind is sandpaper. But she keeps walking.

The sun has crept fully into the sky now. High, bright, merciless.

They move like shadows on a canvas that forgot color.

And then--

The buzz of rotors.

High above.

John's head snaps up, eyes narrowing under his sweat-slicked brow.

"Those birds are flying too high," He mutters, nodding at the dark shape of a military-style helicopter circling the horizon, "They're doing reconnaissance circuits at four thousand feet. I mean, they don't know what they're doing. They'll be five or ten clicks away in an instant."

Ava groans, "Okay, we get it, you're in the army."

She raises her voice into a sarcastic drone, "Five or ten clicks. Engage formation Delta. Eat MREs out of a bag and cry at football games."

John throws a glance over his shoulder, "You mock freedom. I defend it."

Yelena holds up a hand, "Dat, dat, dat!"

They fall quiet.

Yelena's eyes are narrowed into the glare. She's looking at something on the horizon.

Dust.

Movement.

And the faint honking of a car horn.

The group drops to the ground one by one, laying flat on the dirt.

John squints, "It's, uh... what is that?"

A single red speck against the sun, kicking up a thin plume of sand.

The horn blares again, short, joyful blasts like a broken trumpet.

"Is that a horn?" Ava asks.

"Definitely a horn," John confirms.

Then the silhouette sharpens--

And they see it.

A limo.

An actual, full-sized, beat-up Russian limo barreling across the sand like it missed the exit to Vegas.

"Oh no," Yelena mutters. Her whole body slumps. She presses her forehead into the dirt.

John lifts his head slightly, "It's coming right at us."

"Who the hell is that?" Ava asks.

Yelena groans into the dirt, "It's no one. It's nothing."

The limo skids. The horn blasts.

The car screeches to a stop twenty feet away.

Sand rains down.

The door flies open.

And out steps--

A fat man in a red suit.

Arms waving like pinwheels. Face lit up like a Christmas tree.

Alexei.

The Red Guardian.

Yelena buries her face deeper into the dirt.

"Oh no. No no no. Please let this be heatstroke. Please let this be a hallucination."

"Yelena!" A voice booms in thick, unmistakable Russian, "It's your dad! Don't go into the vault! Valentina is going to burn you alive! Yelena!"

But Cici watches him, this wild, unshaven man in crimson, shouting her teammate's name like the world's loudest, drunkest siren.

And something about it--

It makes her smile.

"He cares," She says gently, her voice small under the rising sun.

Yelena rolls her eyes and shoots her a glare.

"Maybe too much."

Cici shrugs, still smiling, "Still. It's sweet."

Alexei stumbles forward, panting dramatically, arms still in motion.

"Yelena! Do not trust the American woman with the widow's hair! She is a snake! A beautiful, long-legged snake! And Valentina, I told you! I told you she was evil, but no one listens to papa! Nooo, papa is dramatic, papa is drunk, papa is wearing his suit again But look! Look! I was right!"

He slips on a rock, catches himself on the limo's mirror, then stands proud like he meant to do it.

"I rescued you. You are welcome."

Yelena finally lifts her face from the sand and groans louder.

"God."

John glances over at her.

"So... just to clarify. You know him?"

Yelena lifts her head and sighs, "Unfortunately."

"I like him," Cici says.

Ava shakes her head, "Of course you do."

Yelena glares at all of them.

"You don't understand. He talks. Constantly. Loudly. And sometimes shirtless."

Alexei beams, "Yes! Very impressive shirtlessness!"

Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose, "This is going to be a long day."

They climb into the limo.

It smells like sweat, vodka, and motor oil. There's a balalaika shoved into the front seat. A half-eaten sandwich in the glovebox. Something that might be a Molotov cocktail in the cupholder.

"Don't touch anything," Yelena warns.

John, Ava, and Cici pile in. Cici sits nearest the window, watching the desert fade behind them.

Watching for something.

For him.

But he's not there.

Not yet.

Alexei floors the gas, the limo lurching forward with a dramatic growl.

"You are safe now, my child!" He shouts over the rattling engine, "Papa has rescued you!"

Yelena looks over to Cici. "Do you still think this is sweet?"

Cici's smile twitches, "A little."

And for the first time in days--

Yelena smiles too.

The heat has set in fully now. The sun blisters the glass of the limo. The A/C rattles weakly like it's trying to quit.

Alexei drives like a man possessed, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing wildly as he monologues over the rumble of the road.

"So I was able to catch up with Miss Fontaine at the fancy event, what a woman, yes? Very stern. I thought it would be good networking, maybe meet an ambassador, maybe a few free drinks. But as soon as I hear the coordinates of the vault, I rush back home! I understand the tactical part. Then I drive straight here. Oh, America is so big. Have you ever driven through Oklahoma? Terrible roads, no signs. And I forgot to tell you, do not drink from the big gulp in the back."

John, who's been eyeing the styrofoam cup with suspicion, winces. Cici almost gags.

Yelena, curled in the passenger's seat, one foot on the dash and the other tapping against the glovebox, narrows her eyes, "Alexei, have you slept?"

He beams at her through the rearview mirror.

"I'll sleep when I'm dead!"

John sighs, "I'd prefer not to die today. So maybe someone else should be driving?"

Alexei glances over at him with a twinkle in his eye.

"Mr. Walker. Second coming of Captain America. You and I have much in common, you know. I too was a state-sponsored super soldier. In Russia."

Yelena scoffs, "But also very different because Walker actually knows what he's doing."

Alexei shifts in his seat to look back at Ava, "And Ghost? What a magician! You disappear. You reappear. But when you reappear, sometimes things aren't in the right place? Yes?"

"I think it's better to just ignore him sometimes," Yelena mutters under her breath, staring out the window.

Alexei turns his full attention to the back.

"Ah... Cecilia!" He leans farther, "What big teeth you have, yes? Like... how do you say... Big Bad Wolf? Very cool! Very impressive! What impressive friends you've gathered!"

Cici blinks, startled.

She's half-curled in her seat, leaning against the window, the aftermath of her breakdown still written in salt on her cheeks. Her gaze flicks to Yelena, unsure how to respond.

Yelena doesn't miss a beat.

"We're not friends, Alexei."

Cici frowns.

Ava nods, deadpan, "No. We're just disposable criminals."

Alexei waves them off with a grunt.

"Whatever you are, the light inside you is brighter in my opinion. You are a team of anti-establishment fighters. Heroes!"

John lets out a dry laugh, "Go Thunderbolts."

Alexei lights up, eyes wide.

"What?!"

Yelena lets her head thunk back against the seat in defeat, "No..."

"The West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts!" Alexei exclaims, slapping the steering wheel, "Sponsored by Dimitri's Elite Industrial Lighting and Electronics! Never won a game. But you and I had so much fun. There was a girl who pooped during a game. It was crazy. I was yelling at the referee!"

Yelena groans, "It was sponsored by Shane's Tire Shop."

"Shane?" Alexei spits, "Shane didn't have that kind of money. Shane? No. Shane was a joke."

"You really need to sleep," Yelena mutters.

Alexei grins, proud and wild, "Never."

Then, finally, he asks, "What's the plan? Where am I driving to?"

Yelena straightens, sobering, "It's not like that. We need to escape. We need to hide."

"Yeah," John says, "Would be smarter if we split up. There's an airfield not far from here. We disappear. We don't make contact."

But Alexei shakes his head violently.

"No, no, no. Split up? No. You may not see what I see, but I have been around a long time. This team, it has everything. You have the scars. The edge. The heart. You are the kind of team that rises when no one expects it. A team that brings light from darkness. A team of heroes who can be deployed at the weakest points and perform at their best."

Yelena's voice rises, frustrated, "No. This isn't a marketing opportunity, Alexei! Valentina is hunting us. We can't win. Do you understand?"

Alexei's voice quiets.

He meets her eyes.

"You said she wants to use the power of this Sentry project to kill you. All of you. To turn it against the world. You can't run forever. You need to face her. You and your team."

But the moment lands with a thud.

Because John's voice cuts through:

"You've got a convoy approaching. Rapidly."

✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦