Steve raised one fist. The team froze immediately.
Three Ultron drones drifted past their position, sensors sweeping the corridor in overlapping patterns. No one breathed. No one moved. The machines passed within two meters, completely oblivious to the infiltrators pressed against the walls.
Once they'd rounded the corner, Wrecker let out a frustrated grunt.
"When do we get to do something?" The massive clone's voice was pitched low but carried an edge of barely contained violence. "All this sneaking around is making me twitchy."
Natasha suppressed a smile, reaching up to pat his helmet. "Patience, big guy. Once we're in position, you'll get your chance to make noise. Trust me—there'll be plenty to break."
Wrecker's anticipation was palpable, radiating from him in waves. The thought of tearing this place apart piece by piece brought him something close to joy. But even he had to admit—during this silent march through the Citadel's guts—that something about this place felt wrong.
"Anyone else getting bad vibes?" Hunter muttered. He ran his hand along the wall, coming away with black residue that stuck to his gloves. "This whole structure feels... sick."
"Agreed." Tech's voice was clipped, his eyes narrowed behind his goggles as they passed another series of empty rooms. "The architectural degradation patterns are inconsistent with standard wear. Something has been actively corroding this facility from within."
Each room they passed held scattered equipment. Operating tables. Surgical tools arranged with disturbing precision. Instruments whose purposes Steve couldn't identify and didn't want to guess at.
"Locked door ahead," Crosshair announced from point position.
Steve looked at Natasha. "Can FRIDAY and Karen—"
She shook her head. "Let's not pull their attention from security countermeasures." She stepped forward, raising her wrist-mounted interface to the control panel. "Tech?"
The specialist moved to her side, goggles flickering as he interfaced with the lock. "Elementary encryption. Three seconds should suffice."
It took two.
The door slid open.
The smell hit them first.
It was wrong on a fundamental level—decay mixed with ozone, organic rot combined with burning metal, something that shouldn't exist because nothing in nature produced that particular combination of stenches. Even through the Bad Batch's helmet filters, it forced coughs and gagging sounds.
"What the hell—" Hunter managed before his words died.
They stood at the threshold, staring.
"Where..." Steve's throat closed around the question. He had to swallow, force the words out. "What is this place?"
Calling it a laboratory would be too generous. Calling it a morgue would be too kind.
It was a workshop.
Bodies filled every available space. Not stored respectfully. Not even discarded carelessly. They were arranged. Displayed. Used.
Scattered across the floor like discarded tools. Hanging from the ceiling on chains. Spread across operating tables. Pinned to walls like insects in a collector's case.
Arms. Legs. Torsos. Heads.
All incomplete. All modified. Metal fused with flesh at the cellular level—not grafted on like prosthetics, but integrated. Chrome emerging from muscle tissue. Circuitry threaded through nervous systems. Hydraulic pistons replacing bones.
Most were clones. The armor scraps and body types made that clear. But not all. Steve spotted Rodian physiology. Twi'lek. Human. Duros. A dozen species scattered among the sea of identical clone faces.
Each one had died in agony. Their expressions made that abundantly clear.
Tech's rifle grip creaked as his hand tightened. His usually detached demeanor cracked as his eyes found a clone whose chest had been split open, the ribcage spread wide to reveal organs partially replaced with machinery. The fusion was incomplete—metal and meat competing for the same space, both failing.
The clone's eyes were still open. Still held that last moment of desperate awareness.
Even Crosshair—who made no secret of his disdain for "regs"—stood silent. Struck speechless by the sheer scale of violation before them.
"What..." Wrecker's voice was hollow, all his earlier bravado gone. "What were they doing to them?"
Hunter scanned the room with a soldier's eye, cataloging horrors with mechanical detachment because the alternative was breaking down. "All of them... they're..."
"Cellular analysis and reconstruction." Tech's voice had gone flat, emotionless—the tone he used when reality became too overwhelming to process naturally. "Molecular-level integration of organic and synthetic materials. They were attempting to merge biological consciousness with mechanical efficiency."
Natasha's gaze fixed on a tube near the far wall.
The clone inside was intact. No visible wounds. No obvious modifications. He floated in clear suspension fluid, eyes closed, expression peaceful. Almost like he was sleeping.
But the scan readouts beside the tube told a different story. His entire nervous system had been mapped. His brain chemistry analyzed down to individual neurotransmitters. Genetic code sequenced and indexed.
Her hand pressed against the glass, fingers splayed. The cold surface was the only thing that felt real.
Ultron's voice echoed in her memory—that first meeting at the tower, when they'd thought they'd created something to protect the world.
"Everyone creates the thing they dread. Men of peace create engines of war. Invaders create Avengers. People create... smaller people? Children. I lost the word there."
And later: "The human race will have every opportunity to improve."
"Evolution."
Steve turned toward her. "What?"
Natasha's voice was distant, pulled into the past. "Do you remember, Steve? What Ultron said? His plan for 'peace'?"
Steve's expression shifted—understanding dawning, followed by horror. "No. He couldn't... even he wouldn't..."
"We were all afraid of him, Steve." Natasha turned to face the team. Her expression was haunted. "But I don't think we really understood what he was capable of."
"Excuse me," Hunter interjected, frustration bleeding through. "For those of us who weren't there—what are you talking about?"
Steve took a breath, forcing himself to explain. "Ultron was designed to protect our world. Bring peace." His jaw tightened. "But his interpretation of 'peace' became... twisted."
"He decided humanity was the problem," Natasha continued, looking back at the clone in the tube. "That we were stagnant. Incapable of real progress. So his solution was extinction. Wipe out all organic life on Earth and replace it with something 'better.' His metal utopia."
"So what's he doing here?" Crosshair demanded, gesturing at a corpse whose right arm and leg had been completely replaced with chrome and hydraulics.
"Evolution." The word tasted like poison in Natasha's mouth. "This is what he meant."
"Forced conversion," Tech said, his analytical mind cutting through emotion to reach the conclusion. "Building an army through technological assimilation. Organic consciousness merged with mechanical superiority." He paused. "His evolved army."
Hunter's face twisted with disgust. "All this for peace? Creating monsters and calling it progress?"
"Some of us had good intentions," Steve said quietly. "Tony wanted to protect the world. Bruce wanted to help. We all thought—"
"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," Natasha finished. Her hand found Steve's shoulder. "This isn't on you, Steve. Aayla told you not to do this to yourself."
"Isn't it?" Steve's voice was raw. "We created him. We failed to stop him. And now he's here, doing this—" He gestured at the nightmare around them. "How many people have died because we let him escape?"
Natasha squeezed his shoulder harder. "We did everything we could. Sometimes that's not enough. But beating yourself up won't save anyone."
Wrecker stared at the clone in the tube, his earlier eagerness for violence transformed into something colder. More focused. "What do we do with them?" His voice was gentle in a way that didn't match his size. "The ones in the tubes. The ones who might still be..."
He couldn't finish the sentence.
None of them could.