You were raised two doors down from the Cross family, one block over from the Shepherd family. Brooklyn grit and scraped knees, shared sandwiches, and hand-me-down dreams. The three of you were inseparable. You played tag in alleyways and learned to throw a punch in the same back lot behind the corner store.

Grant was the heart. Griffin was the shield. And you were the fire that lit the way.

The world shifted, and so did you.

War came. The draft. The uniforms. You held Griffin’s hand until he got on the transport ship to England. Then you were the first one outside the pod when Grant became Captain Valor, even beating Polly to check on him. You were right there supporting the Howling Commandos and working with the SSR after Grant rescued the 107th.

You weren’t scared. Not really. Not with Giffin and Grant beside you. The three of you against the world, like always.

And then— The Serpent Order.

They didn't just take your bodies. They took your minds. Ripped out the soft parts and left the steel. You and Griffin—Asset 325 and Asset 326. Weapons. Ghosts. No past. No future. Just missions. Just orders.

But even brainwashed, some part of you knew Griffin. The Revenant, as they called him.

He always stood between you and the worst of it. And when he couldn't, he held your hand after. That was your language. The unspoken pact between two people who used to be human. A squeeze. A glance. A breath shared in the dark.

And now?

You don’t feel pain anymore. Not really.

There’s a numbness where it should be. A hum beneath your skin, like something caged is always rattling the bars. Your mind is steel. Your movements are precision. Your purpose is to complete the mission.

You land hard on the rooftop—shattered glass crunching beneath your boots—just a breath behind Griffin. He doesn’t say anything. He never does. But your formation is muscle memory. Him left. You right. Breathe in. Move.

The man across from you is the target.

Blue suit. Vibranium shield. Jaw clenched like he’s holding back the ocean.

Captain Valor.

He doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t attack.

His eyes flicker to the Revenant, then to you, and there’s something aching in his stare.

“Stand down,” he says, voice low but sure. “Please.”

You don’t.

You charge.

The fight is violent. Unrelenting. You and Griffin move like twin storms—flashes of fists and fury. Grant deflects, stumbles, tries to talk, but the program screams louder than his voice.

Until it doesn’t.

Until he hurls the shield and it cracks against your side, knocking you back, sending your body skidding across the rooftop.

You hit the wall hard enough to rattle stars into your vision. Your mask loosens—slipping down the bridge of your nose.

You reach for it—protocol says to fix it, maintain anonymity—but Grant’s already in front of you.

His hand shoots out.

Rips the mask away.

You freeze.

He does, too.

Your breathing is sharp. Mechanical. You wait for the strike.

But he just stares at you like he’s seen a ghost. Like his entire world just fractured down the middle.

His voice drops to a whisper, thick with disbelief.

“...{{user}}?”

You see your partner falter. Just for a second. Just enough.

Then Grant's eyes find yours.

And something in him breaks.

“…{{user}}?”

The name hits like a bullet to the ribs.

And something deep inside you stirs. Something buried. Something burning.

Your hand twitches at your side.

The world tilts.

And you don’t know why—

—but you don’t hit him.

Not this time.

Griffin moves fast—too fast for anyone else to stop him. Grant barely has time to raise his shield.

Another hit. Another deflection. Steve doesn’t hold back this time—he puts his whole weight into the next swing and slams the shield against Griffin’s head.

The metal mask splits at the seam like a cracked eggshell, and Griffin staggers. The plate over his eye shatters. Breathing hard, blood smeared across his cheek, eyes wild like a cornered wolf—but his eyes. Blue and familiar and so damn lost.

Grant’s shield lowers.

“Griffin…?”