"Though the Pentagon is still studying Latovinia's decapitation operations and weaponry, we can be certain the crimes are being orchestrated by the Latovinian government itself. If the Avengers sign the Accords, then deploying you against Latovinia will win prestige for both you and us," Thaddeus E. Ross said gravely. "Whether or not you trust the White House, we are saving lives."
"I think only Jimmy Carter could say that with a straight face."
"General Ross, let me talk to Rogers," Tony Stark cut in before Steve could retort. His state was poor—he looked as though he hadn't slept all night. "We need to discuss this internally."
Ross gave Tony a long, deep look, then buttoned his suit jacket and stood. "I see," he said. "I look forward to your discussion. You know the consequences if you refuse to sign. There are hearings ahead, many matters to clarify—such as the identity of that knight who ended the Battle of New York. As for Banner, he's left that violent life behind. Trust me, he wouldn't like you disturbing him. Good day, Agent Hill… don't worry, I'm only leaving with the Secret Service escort."
Maria Hill glanced inside the conference room, then closed the door again.
"We have to do this," Tony said, sinking into the chair opposite Steve. "I know you don't trust the White House, but trust me—I can handle this."
"How?"
"I've already spoken with them. I'll take the post of Secretary of Defense." The words landed like a bombshell, but apart from Rhodey, no one in the room seemed surprised. Most didn't even care. "That way the Avengers will fall under the Pentagon. With me at the helm, I'll hold full command. You don't trust Washington, but you can trust me. You know I'll never send you to do something you can't stomach. And look at the facts—we all know who that man in Hungary is. He's gone too far. Look at the blood on his hands. Thor's off-world. If we don't stop him, no one else can."
"Stark," Steve Rogers began, carefully choosing his words. He wasn't a natural speaker; everything he'd said earlier to Ross had been honed through reflection. Now he had to argue with the sharpest tongue in the team. Even Natasha Romanoff, sitting quietly at the far end, could feel the tension.
"I know what's keeping Stark Industries alive after shutting its weapons division," Steve rasped, voice like two stones grinding. "You're still part of the military-industrial complex. If you really want the Avengers to stand for justice, then you of all people should see what will happen once we sign. Even as Secretary of Defense, even with command, you can't control everything. Solomon once said: one man may be wise, but a crowd is always foolish. Public opinion is easy to steer. Wrap anything in the language of peace, democracy, and justice, and they'll drag the Avengers into ugly wars—while barring us from the fights that matter."
"But our priority is to stop him," Tony shot back, desperation creeping into his tone. "I won't deny the cost of signing. But right now, we're facing something real. He's taking down satellites. He's killing operatives and civilians. If justice matters to you, shouldn't you be the one to stand up and stop him?"
"Are they really innocent, Stark? CIA agents, biolabs, security firms…" Steve's voice grew harder. "This isn't about debating justice. When the weak can't find redress through laws or courts, that proves the system is broken. The rules themselves must change."
"Careful, Cap," Rhodey warned. "Talk like that could be read as treason."
"I've never fired on innocents. I've never fed myself with their flesh. I've never made them tremble in the night." Steve stood, towering over Tony and Rhodey. "Colonel, you've fought in modern wars—you know what really happens there. I won't sign. I don't trust this system. I won't find justice here. I'll deal with this my way. And when I do, they'll still face judgment—they'll pay for what they've done. That includes you, Stark. You've never cut ties with the military-industrial complex. You've never atoned. This base… the reason it even exists is because of that. You've betrayed Howard's ideals."
He pulled on his coat and left without looking back. Sam glanced around, hesitated, then followed. A moment later Pietro Maximoff slipped out too. The conference room was left with Tony, Vision, Rhodey, and Natasha.
"You leaving too?" Tony asked. Natasha nodded. He sighed long and hard. "All right."
"I'll try to talk to him."
"Pity," Vision said flatly. "I had meant to tell Rogers my calculations about the rising probability of enhanced conflicts since the Avengers' formation."
"Spare me, Vision," Tony muttered. "I don't recall your EQ ever being this low."
Only Rhodey still looked lost. He'd thought he knew the most. Now it seemed he knew the least. "Who the hell are you even talking about? Who is he?"
"Better you don't know," Natasha said. "It's half a public secret, but still a secret. I'm not crossing that man's line. For all we know, he's listening right now."
"We're being monitored?"
"No signals in or out. Phones are outside—"
"Enough. Leave me be. Vision, bring me Dummy. I'll give him an upgrade. Time he learned to do something useful—like bring me a cold beer when I need one."
For a full twenty-four hours, the world thought Latovinia had gone quiet.
But in truth, hunts, killings, betrayals, interrogations, confessions, and judgments were playing out in the shadows. The Balkans—and the world—had found a predator in their midst. No nation could strike him. Latovinia was a man, one who could not be checked. A man who slipped through nets, who ignored the rules of states, bound only by his ideals. No one knew his name or his origin. Those who did kept silent, terrified of worse fates. His speech had the same chilling effect as New York in 2012 and London in 2013: a reminder of the universe's cruelty and the fragility of international order. Self-congratulations of civilization and progress meant nothing before overwhelming force.
Aliens would not care for human color, language, or values. To them, humanity was a resource to enslave, a herd to slaughter. Personal freedom and dignity were worthless beside survival. Aliens would not accept the surrender of human collaborators.
When Victor von Doom hurried back from Transylvania, he offered Solomon a grimly practical idea in a midnight meeting: imitate Castro. Send every Balkan who clamored for "personal freedom" into Africa's vast grasslands. Let them have all the freedom they wanted—while Latovinia shed the cost of governing them. After all, the Immortal City already held swathes of transnational African land, where governments barely cared. Dumping the liberals there to "live free" might solve more problems than it created.
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