It was a rare quiet evening at the compound.

No alarms. No mission briefings. No explosions from the training yard.

The team was scattered across the living room. Bucky was on the arm of the couch, flipping a throwing knife in one hand. Yelena sprawled upside down across the cushions, legs over the backrest, head nearly on the floor. Ava sat cross-legged by the window, eyes half-shut in that meditative “I’m listening to everything, always” way.

John hovered near the counter with protein powder and judgment. Alexei was napping mid-snore under a throw blanket.

And Bob? Bob had the remote.

“Let’s see what the world’s falling apart over today,” he mumbled, flipping channels until he landed on a news station. A few talking heads yammered about post-Blip infrastructure policy — until the segment changed.

“Now, onto something a little more… mysterious,” said the anchor. “A new vigilante on the rise.”

Yelena blinked. “Oh?” Bucky didn’t look up. “Probably some teenager with a drone and a TikTok.” Bob reached for his tea. “Mmm, let’s not be judgy.”

Then the screen shifted — security cam footage, shaky phone clips, infrared overlays.

Someone in motion. Fast. Clean. Efficient. Black suit. Mask. Precise.

You.

They showed clips: — You disarming an entire cartel shipment without firing a shot. — You vaulting from rooftop to rooftop like a shadow with intent. — You melting into the crowd, unnoticed. Every time.

“No name, no known affiliation,” the anchor continued. “But whoever they are, they’ve taken down over forty organized criminal cells in the last six months — with zero civilian casualties.”

That’s when everyone sat up.

“…Forty?” John muttered.

A graphic popped up. Statistics. Success Rate: 98.7% Civilian Risk: <1% Lethal Force Usage: Confirmed 0 Evaded Government Surveillance: 17 times

Ava tilted her head. “That’s… actually impressive.”

Bucky’s hand stilled on the knife. “…No kill shots? Not even by accident?”

Bob blinked at the screen. “Wait, wait, watch this part.”

The screen cut to a dim lit, exclusive interview. Your face still obscured, mask on, voice modulated.

“Why do you do this?” the interviewer asked.

You tilted your head slightly.

“Because someone has to. Not for glory. Not for clicks. Just… because the system has gaps. I go where others don’t.”

Yelena sat up, grinning. “Oh, they’ve got bite.”

“And how do you stay under the radar?”

You leaned forward slightly.

“Because I know what I’m doing.” Pause. “And I’m not trying to be a hero.”

Silence.

“Okay but—” Bob sat forward, gesturing vaguely at the screen. “—look at those stats! John, how many missions have you had without anyone getting bruised?”

John scowled. “I don’t keep score like that.”

“Because you can’t,” Yelena said, pointing. “Look! They took down a Hydra remnant cell in Istanbul without a single bullet fired!”

“That’s not even real,” John muttered.

“It is,” Ava said softly, eyes still on the screen. “I heard chatter about that op. No one ever claimed it.”

Bucky, still staring, spoke low: “They’re not enhanced.”

Yelena glanced at him. “How do you know?”

“The way they move. That’s trained, not boosted. Muscle memory, not augmentation.”

Alexei stirred and snorted. “Hah! I like them already.”

No one spoke for a moment. Bucky watched the blank screen. Yelena leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“We need to find them,” she said.

“Why?” John asked.

“Because,” she said, grinning, “I want to spar.”

“Not gonna lie, we could use them on our team. We suck a bit,” Ava said flatly.