CHAPTER ELEVEN —
( You all pretend to be better. Like you're heroes. )

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As soon as the Avengers were suited up, they launched from the tower and soared across the sky in the Quinjet, slicing through clouds on their way to the African coast. Evelyn stood near one of the windows, arms crossed tightly, silent as the coastline came into view. Tension crackled beneath her skin.
  
Their target: a cargo ship off the coast of Wakanda, recently hijacked and crawling with Ultron's bots—and two dangerous new allies.

When they landed, the team moved with sharp precision. Evelyn stepped off the Quinjet first, followed closely by Steve, Thor, and Tony. The ground beneath them was rough, scattered with crates and rusting metal. They could hear Ultron's voice echoing off the shipping containers before reaching the main structure.

"Stark is... he's a sickness!"

Ultron's voice rang out like a child throwing a tantrum.

"That's our cue," Tony muttered.

The four of them pushed forward through the rusted corridors toward the centre of the ship, boots clanging against the metal walkway. Natasha and Clint had split off earlier, slipping in through a side entry to flank the target. Bruce and Eliza remained on the Quinjet—one in case a "code green" became unavoidable, the other monitoring comms and ready to give backup support.

As they entered the room, Ultron stood in the centre, surrounded by his sentries. His body was larger and glinted with metal, eyes glowing red. His voice warbled like a corrupted file.

"Ah, Junior," Tony said, keeping his tone light. "You're gonna break your old man's heart."

Ultron turned to face them, tilting his head with eerie calculation. "If I have to."

"Nobody has to break anything," Thor added, stepping forward. Mjolnir was already sparkling with lightning.

"Clearly you've never made an omelette," Ultron quipped casually.

Evelyn nodded in agreement while Tony muttered, "He beat me by one second..."

A flash of movement caught their eyes. Pietro Maximoff leaned against a crate nearby, arms folded, eyes flicking between the Avengers and the bombs scattered around the room.

"Ah, yes, he's funny. Mr. Stark," Pietro said coolly. "It's what? Comfortable? Like old times?"

Tony's face darkened. "This was never my life."

"You two can still walk away from this," Evelyn said, stepping slightly forward. Her voice was calm but firm. "No one's forcing you to stand with him."

Wanda's lips curled into a mock pout. "Oh, but this is our choice."

"I know you've suffered—" Steve started, his tone open and diplomatic.

"Blah!" Ultron cut him off with exaggerated disgust, spreading his arms wide. "Captain America. God's righteous man. Pretending you could live without a war." His tone turned mocking. "I can't physically throw up in my mouth, but..."

Thor tightened his grip on Mjolnir. "If you believe in peace, then let us keep it."

Ultron took a step closer, almost leisurely. "I think you're confusing peace with quiet."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to be funny? Because it isn't working. And that's coming from someone who laughs at everything."

Ultron turned to her, his red gaze locking with hers. "Evelyn Parrish. The daughter of the god who nearly destroyed New York."

Ultron took another step forward. "Tell me, what's it like having someone in your head? Whispering orders. Steering your hands while your mind screams to stop. What's it like, being the weapon that killed your parents?"

Time seemed to stop.

Her hands clenched so hard around her katanas that her knuckles went white. A cold sweat broke across her brow, and her breath caught in her throat. That moment—the worst in her life—flooded back like a broken dam: her mother's scream, her father's eyes wide, her own hands coated in blood she hadn't wanted to spill.

"You son of a bitch," she whispered.

"I've read your file," Ultron continued, voice syrupy. "You and the Winter Soldier. You've done some terrible things. So many corpses left in your wake." He turned his head slightly toward Tony. "And isn't it funny... You all pretend to be better. Like you're heroes."

Evelyn swallowed the rising bile in her throat and straightened. Her voice came out like steel.

"You don't know me. You don't get to use what was done to me as a punchline for your psychotic self-justification."

Ultron tilted his head again, like a child studying a trapped insect. "But it is the truth, Evelyn. Isn't it? It's all in there. The guilt. The anger. That thing inside you still whispering when you sleep..."

Thor stepped closer now, voice rumbling. "Enough."

But Ultron didn't back down. He just smiled.

And Evelyn, trembling with fury and shame, took a step forward too—eyes bright with fire.

"Say another word," she hissed.

Ultron's mechanical jaw shifted into what almost resembled a grin. "See? You're still so angry. That's the part I like best."

"Oh, you're really pissing me off now," Steve said.

"And your engagement," Ultron drawled, his glowing eyes flicking between Evelyn and Steve. "I congratulate you both. Truly. Too bad you won't live long enough for the wedding."

Steve instinctively stepped in front of Evelyn, shield raised slightly, but she didn't flinch. She met Ultron's gaze with a hard glare.

Tony's voice cut through the tension. "What's the Vibranium for?"

Ultron spread his arms as if he were presenting to a stadium. "I'm glad you asked because I wanted to take the time to explain my evil plan."

Without warning, a pulse of energy blasted from his palm, slamming into Tony and sending him flying backwards into a stack of metal crates with a loud crash.

The first sentry dropped like a predator from the rafters, hands extended—but Evelyn moved faster. She spun, drew her katana with a sharp metallic hiss, and sliced it clean down the middle in one fluid motion. Sparks burst from its bisected body as it crumpled to the floor.

Another sentry was zeroing in on Steve from behind, its blaster charging.

"Steve!" Evelyn barked. He didn't hear her in time, so she launched into the air. Mid-jump, she flipped her blade into a reverse grip, driving it into the sentry's core just as she landed with a grunt. The robot shuddered and collapsed in a shower of metal shards.

Steve turned just in time to see her pull the katana free and toss him a confident wink before pivoting back into the fight.

"Show off," he muttered, but with a small smile.

More robots poured into the corridor. Gunfire exploded in a hail of noise and sparks. Evelyn dashed forward, dodging bullets with inhuman speed. She ducked low, slashed through the air with a blade in one hand, and a smaller knife in the other—swift, precise, brutal.

She sliced through a robot, then spun and carved another one. A third raised a gun, but Evelyn dropped to one knee, thrust her hand out—and a sphere of ice erupted from her palm. It slammed into the group of robots like a bowling ball of frost and force, knocking them back and encasing the metal in jagged ice. They sparked and then switched off.

Panting slightly, Evelyn stood tall again, flicking ice crystals off her fingers.

But then—a flicker of red.

She turned and Wanda Maximoff was standing behind her. The younger girl's hand was hovering near Evelyn's temple, crimson energy swirling ominously between her fingers. Her eyes were intense, unreadable.

Evelyn didn't hesitate. She reached out lightning-fast and seized Wanda's wrist, grip like iron. Their eyes locked.

"You're on the wrong side, kid," Evelyn said, voice low and threatening. "You better start making better choices because you are this close to killing someone. And if that happens, we'll stop you. Whether you want to be saved or not."

Wanda blinked, stunned, not used to anyone resisting her powers, much less physically grabbing her. But Evelyn didn't let go. Her grip only tightened.

Wanda's eyes widened... and then Evelyn's breath caught.

A sudden wave of nausea surged through her. Her vision blurred around the edges. Red tendrils of magic curled across her vision, pulling at her thoughts like smoke. Her knees buckled. She tried to raise her blade, tried to resist—but the darkness was too fast. Too thick. She staggered backward, one hand pressed to her forehead.

The last thing she heard was Wanda whispering, uncertain and almost frightened, "I'm sorry." Then—nothing.

Darkness pressed in from all sides. Thick. Heavy. Suffocating. Like being underwater, but not drowning—just endlessly, silently sinking. Evelyn opened her eyes, but there was no light, no sound. Not even the echo of her own breath.

Then—
A whisper.

Soft, cruel, and intimate. Her name. Spoken like a curse.

"Evelyn."

She spun instinctively, eyes wide, her muscles taut, hands raised and ready—but there was nothing. No source. No movement. Just the crushing stillness.

Until there was something.

Fire.

A flash—so sudden it stole the air from her lungs. Then the screams started.

Charred wood cracked overhead. The walls groaned under collapsing beams. Smoke coiled like serpents around her feet. And in the flickering, searing glow of it all, a silver necklace. Scorched. Blackened and still clutched in a small, limp hand.

A child's hand.

Her breath caught.

"No—" she whispered, staggering backward as heat licked at her heels.

An orphanage. That orphanage. She hadn't thought of it in years, hadn't let herself. The scent of burning flesh filled her nose. The thick, sweet rot of spilled blood. Soft cries for help twisted with crackling wood.

And behind it all, one voice.

"You did this."

It wasn't hers. But it felt like it belonged inside her. It lived in her spine, her gut, in the shadows of her soul.

She turned—and there she stood.

Herself.

But not. This version was feral—her catsuit torn and soaked with red, hair tangled, eyes blazing. Her body trembled with unspent power, and it was all teeth when she smiled.

The Annihilator. The thing she kept caged behind flesh and self-control. The weapon. The killer. The part of her that HYDRA created and controlled.

"You let them in," the other Evelyn sneered. "You let him take over. You were born a god. And now you pretend you're some fragile, wounded human."

"I didn't choose—"

"You did."

The echo cracked like thunder.

"You could've burned the whole world down. And you let yourself be tamed." She stepped closer. "You're not a hero. You're a weapon. A monster dressed in soft clothes, pretending you've changed."

Suddenly, the world lurched, rearranged. Evelyn stood on a blood-soaked helicarrier. Her blades dripped crimson. Dozens of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents lay sprawled around her, lifeless. Innocent. Their faces blurred and shifting, becoming familiar. Younger. Smiling. Dead.

And then—

Steve.

On his knees. His shield split beside him. His uniform was torn. Blood staining the collar.

"I trusted you," he said, voice hollow, distant. "And you did this anyway."

"No," Evelyn breathed. "This isn't real. Wanda—Wanda's doing this—"

The world fractured like shattered glass. And through the cracks, Evelyn saw slivers of now—her body convulsing on the ship's floor, ice spidering across the ground from her boots. Her fists clenched. She was there. But she couldn't get out.

Another voice rose behind her. One she knew in her bones.

Bucky.

He stepped into view from the shadows, face unreadable.

"You claim you want to help me. Save me. But you can't even stop yourself from slaughtering innocents," he said. "You're just like me."

Evelyn's jaw tightened, fury trembling beneath her skin.

"You can't trap me here forever," she growled.

Steve joined him, eyes solemn. "I don't have to," he said quietly. "You're already afraid of yourself. I just wanted to remind you."

And then—

The fall.

The ground vanished beneath her. She plummeted. Through fire. Through ice. Through blood. Faces whipped past her—her parents, her best friend. All the people she killed. All the ones she didn't save.

Each memory stabbed into her like shrapnel.

Her screams were silent. Her body split apart with grief and rage and the cold certainty that maybe—just maybe—they were right. She wasn't a hero. She was a weapon.

"Evelyn!"

Steve's voice cut through, desperate and real.

It cut through the void like sunlight through fog. Anchored her. Reminded her of something vital, something she'd nearly lost—herself.

Mid-fall, Evelyn twisted. Her eyes flared. Power surged—light, frost, and lightning bursting from her fingertips like a supernova. She shattered the dream world around her with a roar born of rage, pain, and defiance.

The illusion broke like glass.

She gasped awake, air burning in her lungs.

She was back on the ship. Smoke. Fire.

Evelyn lay on the floor, trembling. Her hands were slick with cold sweat, and frost clung to the deck around her. Blood screamed in her ears.

And then warm arms. Strong. Familiar.

Steve was kneeling beside her, cradling her head, repeating her name over and over like a lifeline.

"You're okay," he whispered. "Evelyn. You're okay. I've got you."

She blinked through the haze, locking onto his face.

And in that moment—sweat-drenched, still half-lost in her nightmare—Evelyn Parrish let herself believe him.

Just for a second.