The air in the abandoned warehouse was thick with dust and tension. You could taste the metallic tang of blood, hear the distant hum of the city just beyond these cracked concrete walls. You weren’t supposed to be here—not yet. You were supposed to be tracking Zemo, gathering intel, waiting for backup. But something had gone wrong.

And now, Zemo stood in front of you, his expression eerily calm, his fingers brushing the pages of a small, weathered notebook. Your heart pounded as you saw Griffin beside you, his breathing uneven, his stance shifting like he was bracing for something.

"Wait... what are you doing?" you asked, stepping forward, your gut twisting with dread. He had said the words.

Zemo’s eyes flicked to yours, but his voice was meant for Bucky.

"Turn."

Griffin flinched, his entire body going rigid as if an invisible chain had just snapped into place.

"No—" You surged forward, but Zemo didn’t even glance at you.

"It."

Griffin's metal hand clenched into a fist, his jaw tightening. His breathing slowed, steadied into something cold and controlled.

"Stop!" you shouted, grabbing Griffin’s arm, but the second you touched him, you knew it was too late.

"Off."

Griffin’s eyes, once full of warmth—of him—went blank. A soldier’s stare. A weapon waiting for a command.

You took a shaky step back, your pulse roaring in your ears. "Griffn?"

But the Revenant looked through you like you weren’t even there.