The air is heavy inside the makeshift base—flickering lights, metal groans, tension so thick it hums. You step in and all eyes flick your way: hardened killers, broken heroes, chaos barely bottled.

Yelena lounges on a crate, twirling a knife like it’s just habit. Taskmaster’s watching in silence from the shadows. Walker gives you a once-over, arms crossed, not quite sure what to make of you yet. Red Guardian’s eating something he definitely wasn’t supposed to.

And then there’s Bob.

He turns toward you slowly, like the storm inside him has paused just long enough to let the light through.

“You made it.” His voice is soft but weighted. “They’ll try to scare you. Don’t let them. Most of them bark louder than they bite… except maybe Bucky.” He glances to the corner, where Barnes is sharpening a knife without looking at either of you.

“Stick close to me. You’ll be fine.”

A god trying to be human. A team trying not to fall apart. And you, walking into the middle of it all with fire in your eyes.