Chapter Text
A/N: This AU has been in my head for a long time, but I've only just gotten around to beginning to tell this story that's been building. I know that it's a little outside of the box, but I'm particularly excited about this one! I hope this lovely fandom enjoys it!
Red lights the corridors up in eerie definition, stretching dark shadows across the walls, and the alarm continues to wail. Prisoners hammer at the walls of their cells, faces twisted in anger, and he swallows thickly, mouth dry with fear. "Peterson!" Edwards shouts, and he stands to attention, trying to harden his expression and hide his shaking hands. "Proceed into the east wing with Michaels, Thomas and Lance."
He nods, and Lance takes the lead, her gun poised to shoot, her every move cautious. Michaels is slows, his gaze flickering in every direction, Thomas murmurs reassurances to herself, and he brings up the rear, watching their backs.
The dull sound of a punch, and he wheels around to see Thomas crumpled on the ground. Despite Lance's hushed warning, Michaels fires, and they hear the sound of the bullet hitting a wall a second before a shadow crosses their path and Michaels is down. A glimpse of blue in the red light, and Lance crashes against the wall before hitting the floor. He clutches at his gun, shaking, terrified, and turns when he hears a sound behind him.
"Sorry about this," a familiar, feminine voice says, and he sees only a glimpse of a pale face before he's knocked out.
Alone in the common area, Stark and Rhodes shut away together in the training rooms downstairs, trying to find a way for Rhodes to continue his heroics the way he did before, Vision barely hears the soothing noise of the shopping channel, turning a chess piece over and over in his hands.
Red winds around Wanda's black knight, lifting it across the squares of the board, and Vision smiles softly at her, the satisfaction evident in her eyes. Leaning over, he moves his piece and says, "Checkmate."
"Vizh!" Wanda exclaims, a fond kind of anger to her voice. "I thought you were going to start letting me win!"
"Your talents lie elsewhere, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she smiles at him, so sweetly. "Perhaps another round? It did take me sixteen moves to defeat you this time. It was two when we began this routine."
She rolls her eyes, but there's fondness in the twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. They're alone in the compound, with Rogers, Romanoff and Wilson following a lead on Rumlow and Rhodes supervising Stark in the aftermath of his break-up with Ms. Potts. "I actually think I should start dinner," she says, standing up, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "Although there might not be much in the fridge."
"We could order a pizza?" he suggests, and she grins, leaning over to drop a kiss on his cheek. She's only recently begun doing it, but he looks forward to it each day.
"I like the way you think," she says, and moves away to retrieve her laptop.
So absorbed in memories, he starts when the theme of the news suddenly interrupts the soft voice of the hostess on the shopping channel, the stern voice of a newsreader drawing his attention to the screen. "We have just been informed of a breach at the maximum security ocean prison known as the Raft. Four prisoners have escaped - former Avengers Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff and Sam Wilson, with famous Vista Corp thief Scott Lang, fugitives from the law of one hundred and seventeen countries following the ratification of the Sokovia Accords. Appeals have been sent to all military operations to begin the hunt for the fugitives, following on the heels of appeals to search for former Avengers Captain Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, and James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier himself."
A chess piece snaps in Vision's hand.
Doctor Mamadou's hands are gentle as he finishes wrapping gauze over the shallow wound crossing Natasha's hip, inflicted by a guard in the Raft. He smiles gently when he's done, graciously helping her to her feet, and moves to Sam, tutting at the yellowing bruise over his eye.
Rolling her shirt back down, hiding her wounds, she crosses to stand with T'Challa at the balcony overlooking his country, mist rising from the dark leaves of the jungle, guards all in black patrolling the palace perimeter. "So what happens now?" she asks softly, not wanting to startle him.
"I do not know, Ms. Romanoff," he says, a darkness in his eyes. He looks back at the medical suite, the team being attended to, and adds, "But, for now, you are all under my protection. The US government cannot touch you here."
"We can't thank you enough, King T'Challa," she says, and he appears to start a little at the title, perhaps still getting used to it after his father's death. It's an adjustment to change, wearing a new mantle - she remembers the days when she was changing herself from the Black Widow of the Red Room to Agent Romanoff of SHIELD.
"We are all victims of circumstance, Ms. Romanoff," he says softly. "Your allies did not deserve to be treated as they were in that prison."
"Damn right we didn't," comes Clint's voice as he joins them, clothed all in white, making the dark bruises and crimson cuts stand out even brighter on his skin. "Thanks for giving Cap and Tasha the tools to come for us, Your Highness."
"Perhaps it is time the world came to a greater understanding of the technology we have been working on in Wakanda," T'Challa says. "There is an advantage to a country developing its own technology outside of the world's race to be greater."
"What happens to the people we left behind?" Clint asks, addressing Natasha. "You've gotta know, Tasha. Signing the Accords and everything, you must've read them first."
"The US government will profile enhanced individuals," she explains. "Psych evaluations, blood and tissue samples, analysis of any suits they may use and chronicling of all abilities."
"Glad I escaped that," Clint comments. "Got enough of all that when I joined SHIELD." And, despite the length of the day, the escape from the Raft, the long flight to Wakanda, Natasha laughs.
Returning from a psychological evaluation with Ross' people, moodily rubbing at the inside of his arm where his blood was drawn, Rhodey sees Tony sitting at his desk, reading a briefing, the phone next to him blinking with a call on hold. "You gonna get that?" he asks.
"Nope," Tony replies simply, popping the p, almost happy. "It's Ross. Calling to complain about the breach at the Raft again. I want to see how long he'll stay on the line before giving up."
"You're such a shit, Tony," Rhodey says, and Tony grins at him. "You not even gonna tell him your speculation?"
"I might, if I was happy about him shutting up good heroes in the Raft," Tony says, turning a page with an ostentatious flick. "This way has a lot less red tape and no headache for me." Gaze turning up to Rhodey, he closes the briefing and asks, "How was the psych eval?"
"Nothing I haven't been asked before," Rhodey answers, pushing his wheelchair forward to glance at the briefing. A public relations package, from Maria. To try and begin to fix their completely shattered image. "They took my blood too. Seems a bit overboard when most of us don't have genetic powers."
"Ross wants a full profile on all enhanced individuals," Tony says, the line he's been spun. "We're the least interesting of what's out there. Too bad Wanda's gone dark, she would've been a fascinating prospect for all those scientists."
"They still have Vision to take in," Rhodey points out, peering around the doorway to see their teammate in his familiar position on the couch, toying with the chess pieces. "What about the Spiderling?"
"He's a minor, so there are more loopholes," Tony says, and Rhodey shakes his head gently at the knowledge that Tony brought a sixteen year old into their crazy world. "Ross has taken my profile and yours, so Vision is next. After that, who knows. T'Challa managed extradition and has gone back to Wakanda, and Nat's gone dark. I don't know what happens next."
Stars are brighter over Wakanda, gleaming silver against the black, a medal pinned to the chest of a soldier clothed in darkness. A cool breeze brings the thick scents of the jungle to the steps of the palace, and Wanda shivers slightly as the wind whispers over the cuts on her arms, blowing her hair against the bruises circling her neck.
A footstep behind her has her turning fast enough to send a jolt of pain through her side, pulling at her bruised ribs, but Steve's familiar soothing smile is reassuring as he sits down next to her. He's still wearing the clothes he broke them from the Raft in, barely a mark on them, and clasps his hands together. "You should sleep," he says softly.
"I had more than enough sleep under sedation in prison," she snaps, and he withdraws his words, silent next to her, a presence enough to keep her from growing frightened. "The stars are beautiful here."
"They are," Steve says softly, and she glances sideways at him to see his gaze on her, so filled with concern. "Do you know any of the constellations?"
Looking up at the skies again, she points and explains, "That's Orion's belt. He was a hunter in Greek mythology, the son of Poseidon and the queen of the Amazons. He became the greatest hunter in the world, but his pride brought him down. He was killed by a small scorpion in response to his boasting, and the goddess Artemis placed him in the stars."
"How do you know that?" Steve asks, and she smiles softly to herself at the memories the question brings rushing to the surface.
"When I can't sleep, I go onto the roof of the compound and look at the stars," she explains, toying with a loose thread on the white clothes given to them to replace their prison uniforms. "When Vizh noticed, he read books on astrology and the constellations so he could keep me company and tell me the legends behind the constellations. I'd fall asleep there sometimes, with him. He always carried me back to bed." She blinks, and a silent tear falls to land on the back of her hand.
"You miss him," Steve says gently, and she nods, worried that if she starts to speak only sobs will come out. "I'm so sorry, Wanda. This whole thing with the Accords has divided us all."
Anger flares, easier to show than sadness, and she snaps, "Really? Divided us all? You have Sam and Bucky and Natasha here, with you. You can see them and talk to them and touch them. You have no idea how I feel!" Getting to her feet fast enough that it hurts, she runs from Steve's gentle sympathy and kind eyes, locking herself in the room T'Challa gave her and letting the memories of Vision flood through her mind until she can't do anything but let the tears spill over.
Tension threads thickly through the air in the stiflingly hot office, and Hunter wishes he could subtly fan himself with the thick briefing in his lap as his gaze follows Ross' pacing, his knuckles white on the phone pressed against his ear. Shifting Stark's psych evaluation into better place, letting his eyes roam over the familiar black text, he starts when Ross slams the phone back into its cradle, barely containing his fury.
"Wouldn't tell me anything," he spits, eyes blazing. "Swears up and down he didn't know about the Raft break-in and has no idea where the fugitives have escaped to. He's lying to me, that fucker."
"Sir, with all due respect, Stark has been a dead end from the start," Hunter says, knowing that now is the time to be bold, to help the countries of the world shape heroes to their liking. "He has a soft spot when it comes to the Avengers. He's protecting them. The only way to find the fugitives is under our own steam. I can contact SHIELD-"
"Absolutely not," Ross snaps, and Hunter leans back in his chair. "Fury never respected me, no one in that agency is any better. They unleashed the Avengers on the world, they will not be the ones to take them out."
"We're not talking about taking them out, sir, only bringing them in," Hunter says, but the words dry in his throat at the look on Ross' face. "Aren't we?"
"These people are extremely dangerous, and have broken out of one of the highest security prisons in the world, vanished to God knows where and somehow done all of that under the watch of the entire world," Ross says broodingly. "They cannot be allowed to continue roaming free. If it comes to it, all militaries are under orders to use lethal force in order to capture. If any of them are killed in the crossfire, it won't be a bad thing."
"Sir, with all due respect, sending military forces without any enhanced persons on their side against the former Avengers is risking a number of lives we can't afford to lose," Hunter says, and there's something foreboding in the curl of Ross' smile.
"We will have our own soldier, a single force to defeat all of the fugitives and end the changing of our world," he says darkly, and a trickle of cold fear slips down Hunter's spine. "Not Rhodes. Certainly not Stark. Both of them are human, and can be manipulated by their connections to the fugitives. There's only one option I can see that will place us on top."
He sets a new file in front of Hunter, slimmer than those they have on Stark and Rhodes, and Hunter swallows thickly as he opens the first page and sees the plan laid out before him.
Absorbed in another file delivered from Maria with a hint of a smirk, further polite and positively affirming answers to the questions the media keeps asking, Tony looks up when FRIDAY coolly states, "Secretary Ross is at the gates, boss."
"Let him in," Tony says, and the harsh buzzer of the gates being opened rings from the security office. Closing the file and sliding it into a drawer, locking it firmly away - trust is a luxury he can't afford to give many people in times like these - he stands and brushes himself down, affecting a charming demeanour before going to greet Ross, flanked by two guards with guns gleaming threateningly at their hips. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Secretary?"
"We're just here to collect your teammate for psychological evaluation, Stark," Ross says, but there's a quality to his words that sets Tony's teeth on edge, though he can't quite name it. "Would you be so kind as to find him?"
With a nod, Tony darts downstairs to the training room, finding Vision alone between the white walls, looking strangely small destroying the flickering blue holograms without anyone at his side. Watching him for a moment. Tony notices that he doesn't use the gem in the fight, only his superhuman strength and speed, and feels yet another twinge of regret over everything that happened, and is still happening. "Vision," he calls, and his teammate appears to start at his voice, cape whipping around him as he turns. "Secretary Ross is here. It's your turn for the psych eval."
Vision's uniform and cape morph easily into his usual sweater and slacks combination, and he brushes past Tony on the stairs, knocking him back into the wall. Brooding once again over the change in their synthezoid, Tony follows just in time to see the guards both take Vision by the shoulders and steer him outside. "Naturally, Stark, this evaluation will take longer than yours or Rhodes'," Ross says, and Tony nods, teeth gritted against what he wishes he could say. "Expect him back within thirty-six hours. Then we move on to tracking down the fugitives."
"Of course, Secretary," he says, hoping he sounds respectful and not quietly angry. "I'll do everything I can to help you find them." Perhaps he imagines the flicker of fury in Ross' eyes, a split-second change before he turns and leaves the compound.
After the car has driven away, leaving a bad taste in Tony's mouth, Rhodey emerges from his room, eyeing the door suspiciously. "I don't like this," he says immediately. "Ross didn't bring guards to collect either of us. He didn't even come himself."
"We're both powered by suits, I guess he came because Vision's so different," Tony says, hearing the hollowness behind his bracing tone. "You know no one really gets him. Not even us."
Though Rhodey smoothly turns his wheelchair and moves away, towards the gently humming coffee machine, Tony distinctly hears him murmur, "Wanda does."
Legs hanging over the edge of the roof, damp with the mist rising from the trees circling the palace as thickly as concrete walls, Sam takes another piece of melon from the plate between him and Scott. Below them, Steve is shut in the medical suite with Bucky, and Natasha is closeted with T'Challa trying to follow the news of the outside world, but up here they're sitting in companionable silence, the warm breeze whispering gently over their skin.
"So," Scott says around a mouthful of fruit, wiping his sticky hands on his thighs, "what's the whole team dynamic thing you guys have going on? Why'd the Widow come back to help?"
"She got herself into trouble too, had to go dark," Sam explains. "Steve went looking for her when they got back from Siberia, found her hiding out in a safe house in New Jersey. Her and Steve are really close, it's not surprising she came along with him. And it's good that we have someone T'Challa saw sign the Accords and offer their support with us."
"Right," Scott says, and falls silent for a moment. "So what about the rest of the team? What's the whole thing with Cap and Barnes?"
"You really want profiles of our entire team?" Sam asks wearily, and Scott's eager nod has him sighing and readjusting his position, preparing his usual speech. "So Steve and Bucky are best friends since childhood, but up until two years ago Steve thought he died in 1945. Then we found out he was alive but under HYDRA brainwashing, but he saved Steve's life so we started looking for him. I did a lot of the leg work while Steve and Nat were avenging, but we never managed to find him. Then all this happened, and it's good that we have him with us even if he does want to stay in cryo." Taking a moment to watch Scott taking in the entire story, the flickering in his eyes as he tries to process it all, he continues, "As for the rest, Clint was one of the founding Avengers and an assassin and spy for SHIELD until it fell two years ago. Now he's a stay-at-home dad, but you can always call on him in a crisis and he'll come through. Nat was Clint's partner in their SHIELD days, and she's still one of the most feared people in the intelligence community. Don't piss her off. Wanda is great, she joined the Avengers with me last year. Her brother died when we were fighting Ultron in Sokovia, so she's been fighting with us ever since, trying to make up for bad things they both did working for HYDRA. And I'm here to fight the good fight and protect everyone." Taking a breath, he asks, "And you?"
"Well, I got out of prison after doing three years for burglary, couldn't see my daughter, tried to rob a place some buddies of mine earmarked as a score and ended up finding the Ant Man suit," Scott explains, and Sam can't help but smile. It's definitely not the strangest origin story he's heard. "Hank Pym trained me up using it, and things were going pretty well for me when Clint showed up at my door and asked if I wanted to come help out Captain America. I didn't expect to have to fight Stark's team."
"None of us did," Sam says darkly. "We were supposed to all go to Siberia. We could've stopped the assassins. Tony threw a bit of a spanner in the works. At least we've got Nat and T'Challa standing with us now."
"What'll happen to the other four?" Scott asks, and Sam shrugs helplessly. "Stark and Rhodes and the spider guy and the robot? Will they be okay?"
"Never let Wanda hear you call Vision a robot," Sam says ruefully, and Scott winces. "I don't know. I think for now we don't have time to worry about them. Nat and T'Challa are trying to figure out what's going on. We've gotta focus on healing and starting to train again."
The doctors in the dimly-lit facility wear black rather than white, eyes cast down as they move through the room, Secretary Ross poised at the other side of a window set into the north wall, face set and eyes hard. Vision looks up at one doctor as cuffs are snapped tightly into place around his wrists, asking, "Is all of this entirely necessary?"
"Just precautions," one of the doctors, seemingly the leader, answers. Vision notes the way his jacket covers the distinct shape of a gun at his hip, and begins to feel the first stirrings of doubt. "The world has to see that we take enhanced threats seriously."
Secretary Ross' voice is jarring through the speaker system, electronic humming filling the room, reminiscent of the arrows Barton used when he helped Wanda to leave the compound. "We first have to ask you to describe your powers," he says, voice gruff and authoritative. "My deputy will be typing everything you tell us, so be thorough. And speak slowly - I'm sure you have a lot to cover."
The scratching of pens and the click of a keyboard presents a low beat with every word Vision says, describing everything he knows of his own powers, chronicled over the last year by an astounded Dr. Cho, by his confused teammates, by a disbelieving Agent Hill. He can't fail to notice that Ross' eyebrows creep closer to his hairline with every new ability he describes - durability, density manipulation, flight, energy blasts - or that there's something growing behind his eyes that he can't quite describe, but feels dangerous.
"That's quite the list," Ross comments when they're finally done, and the people surrounding Vision are murmuring to each other, exchanging long glances. "But we also must address your involvement in the fiasco at Leipzig. It was your abilities which led to Colonel Rhodes' potentially career-ending injuries, wasn't it?" Guilt surging up in his chest once again, uncomfortably hot and gnawing, Vision nods silently. "What led to that? A being of your...abilities, we would not expect you to make a mistake."
He has to be honest with the Secretary of State, even though the whole truth has remained sealed in his mind since the battle, despite the questions from Stark and the few probing looks from Romanoff before she disappeared. "I became distracted," he says, and Ross frowns. "My aim suffered because of this, and Wilson was able to avoid my attack. Unfortunately Colonel Rhodes took the blast instead."
"What could possibly distract an android enough to cause such a terrible accident?" Ross asks, and there's a brief twinge of anger in Vision's chest at the word he uses, one that his teammates have long since stopped using - he always suspected Wanda had told them to change their ways, but she never confirmed the fact beyond the occasional sweet secretive smile.
"An unfamiliar feeling, Secretary," he explains, and Ross leans forward against the window, a sudden eagerness in his body language. "An...affection for a former teammate. It will not be a problem again." Somewhere in his deepest mind, he knows this is a lie.
"Of course not," Ross says, and gives a nod to someone standing behind Vision. An elaborate metal machine is lowered over him, cuffs snapped around his ankles and those on his wrists tightened, and a cold sense of dread falls over him. "This is just an analysis of your body's material. It won't take long."
His eyes are bright with triumph, the corner of his mouth curls in a smirk, and Vision almost makes the split-second decision to phase through the restraints and run.
A doctor - or perhaps not a doctor, dressed all in black - with cold eyes and a shark-like smile flicks a switch.
The pain is unimaginable.
Having only just fallen into a restless sleep after an evening in the medical suite, watching Bucky sleep beneath the ice, Steve is awoken suddenly by a terrible unearthly screaming, echoing through the palace. Bolting out of bed, he jerks his door open and nearly collides with Clint, eyes wild with panic.
"That's Wanda," he says, voice low and hoarse, and they both sprint down the corridor, Sam emerging from his room with a carefully set face and following. The door to her bedroom is locked, and Steve slams full force into it, putting all of his weight behind the blow. With a silent apology to T'Challa for destroying his palace, he hits the door once more and it caves in.
Wanda is tossing in her bed, still screaming, and they both run to her side, Sam turning on his heel and running for the medical suite. Clint calls her name over and over again, but she doesn't appear to hear them. Steve barely leaps out of the way when a jet of scarlet shoots from her hand, smashing a vase on a shelf behind him into nothing but dust. "We have to wake her," he says, and Clint's frantic eyes look back at him in the gloom filled with fear.
"What the hell is going on?" comes Scott's voice, the question coming through a yawn, and as Steve looks back at him the colour drains from his face. "Crap, what's wrong with her?"
"I think it's a nightmare," Steve says, trying to be bracing, to give the impression that he knows what's going on and can help, that he has the answers. "Can you help hold her down?" Scott nods, teeth gritted, and carefully takes Wanda's arm, pressing it as gently as possible into the bed.
"Watch out!" Clint shouts, and dives to the floor as another wave of scarlet bursts from Wanda's writhing body, sending a chair flying across the room and smashing against a wall. Every loose object in the room begins to rise, spinning on the wave of power, and Steve ducks to avoid being hit by anything, mind working frantically.
Gunshots draw a yelp from Scott and have Steve wheeling around. Natasha stands in the doorway, pistol smoking in her hand, and a distinct hole in the ceiling above her. Wanda's eyes finally fly open, her thrashing calming, and everything in the air clatters to the ground. Slowly standing up, caution in his every moment, Clint brushes himself down and snaps, "Jesus Christ, Tasha, you scared the shit out of me!"
"It worked, didn't it?" Natasha retorts sharply, slotting the gun neatly back into the holster wrapped around her thigh. "T'Challa will understand the hole in his ceiling as much as he'll understand the busted door."
Between them, all four of them breathing heavily in the aftermath of the panic, Wanda sits in silence for a moment, so frighteningly still, pale as a statue. Then she dissolves into sudden tears, and Clint is instantly at her side, and she falls against him and sobs desperately into his chest, loud, splintered sobs that have her entire body heaving and have their hearts quietly breaking for her. Looking around the room, cracks in the walls and the ornaments all broken, Steve gently suggests, "Let's all go to the front room and have something to eat."
Clint nods, and unhesitatingly lifts Wanda from the bed, carrying her into the common area and setting her gently down on the couch. She's shivering so violently that Scott rushes to light the fire, the cheerful crackling making the place feel a little more homely. Natasha gets the lights, illuminating drawn, sleepy faces and the tear tracks glittering silver on Wanda's cheeks. Sam returns from the medical suite with a pile of blankets under one arm, and Steve drapes one over Wanda, tucking it carefully around her as if she's a child.
They stay quiet while she slowly calms herself, sipping at steaming mugs of tea and watching her. At long last, Natasha adjusts her position to lean closer to her, and gently asks, "What were you dreaming about that got you so upset?"
"I don't know," Wanda answers weakly, voice thick with tears, fingers clutching tightly at the edges of the blanket. "There was so much pain. It had hold of me. It wouldn't let me go. Someone was smiling, at the edges of the pain, someone was laughing. They were happy." She blinks and raises a shaking hand to brush another tear away. "The worst part was that it felt so real."
"It was just a dream," Steve says automatically, but the words ring hollow in the silence, and he exchanges a look of fear with Natasha. He can't help the twinge of worry, and thinks once again on the phone hidden in the depths of his nightstand. Perhaps he'll have to contact the compound in the morning.
The world swirls suddenly into sharp focus, distinct shapes of people and cabinets in the dim light of the bunker, and the cuffs click tighter. A shadow stoops down, grey hair and steely eyes, and the gruff voice says, "Can you hear me, Vision?"
"Yes." A name, in that gruff tone, brings a twinge of memory to the surface. Dark hair, silvery laugh, gentle hands. But it slips away like water through cupped fingers, his focus returning to the bunker.
"I'm Thaddeus Ross, the US Secretary of State," comes the explanation, and Vision stares straight into the hard eyes, unmoving in the metal chair. "I have been monitoring you in this facility after you sustained traumatic injuries during a clash with criminals who have escaped from prison. How do you feel?"
He ponders on the question for a moment, glancing down at himself. "Strong," he answers after a long silence, and Secretary Ross smiles in quiet satisfaction.
"Excellent," he says. "I have a job I need you to finish for me. You see, Vision, these prisoners are not like most people. They are dangerous and brash and will do anything to evade law enforcement. They know that they've done wrong, but they think they're right. That makes them dangerous. They will kill my men if they are given the chance. I can't afford to give them that chance. But you...you are stronger than any of them."
"Who exactly are you looking for, Secretary?" Vision asks, and Ross bows his head gently.
"Come with me," he says, and releases the cuffs binding Vision's wrists and ankles, allowing him to stand and follow Ross into a smaller room, a screen set up against one wall, flickering with static. "These are the criminals you are hunting for."
A man appears on the screen, blue eyes shining beneath a blue helmet. He looks up and sees the camera, and his arms moves fast enough to blur. A moment later, the picture turns black. "Steve Rogers," Ross says, distracting Vision from the memories crawling through his mind, shadowy and vague. "Alias Captain America."
Another man, dark hair hanging lank around his face, eyes dead. Silver hand wrapped securely around a shotgun. A crack of a bullet, and a scream. "James Buchanan Barnes. Alias the Winter Soldier." And yet another, metal wings extending from his shoulders. "Sam Wilson, alias the Falcon." A man crouches on a rooftop, pulling the string of a bow taught, an arrow flying out of the shot. "Clint Barton, alias Hawkeye." The screen appears to be empty, then a man appears from nowhere in a suit of red and black. "Scott Lang, alias Ant Man." A woman this time, red hair flying, taking down five guards surrounding her seemingly with little to no effort. "Natasha Romanoff, alias Black Widow."
Vision can't help the forward lean at the last shot, a woman who appears younger than any of the other criminals, hands encased in swirling red. "Wanda Maximoff, alias the Scarlet Witch," Ross says, a different quality to his voice. "They are all criminals. Seven in total. They have committed atrocities against the people of America, and other nations. Now they're on the run, somehow evading our best efforts to find them. You are our new soldier."
The screen turns black, the image of the young woman vanishing, and Vision finds that her eyes are seared into his mind, no matter how hard he blinks against the image. "So you want me to find them, sir?"
"Find them, and bring them in," Ross says. "They are all too dangerous to be left in the presence of civilians. We need them where we can keep an eye on them."
"You say they were able to escape from your prison?" Vision asks, and Ross grits his teeth and nods. "They will fight. What should I do if they will not cooperate?"
"Take them out," Ross says coldly. And, after a long moment of hesitation, Vision nods, understanding his mission, repeating the names of the criminals in the back of his mind. Rogers. Barnes. Wilson. Barton. Lang. Romanoff. Maximoff.
The criminals he must find and bring to Ross, to make sure that they stay in prison for the rest of their lives and no longer pose a threat to the humanity he knows the value of.
They will cooperate, or they will die.