The tube hissed.
Everyone spun toward the sound, weapons rising on pure instinct. The containment unit holding the intact clone detached from the wall with a pneumatic whisper, beginning to move on ceiling-mounted rails toward an opening in the far wall.
"They're moving him," Tech breathed.
"What?" Wrecker's voice cracked. "Wait—where are they taking him?"
Steve's eyes tracked the tube's path, following it to a doorway that had just irised open. Beyond, he could see more operating tables. More mechanical arms. More tools.
"They're going to convert him." His voice was flat, dead. "Tech—where does that lead?"
Tech's goggles flickered, overlaying schematics on his vision. "Straight ahead. Thirty meters. Conversion chamber."
"Wrecker!" Steve was already moving, shield raised. "Move!"
The massive clone reacted instantly, charging after Steve. Together they hit the door like a battering ram—Vibranium and pure muscle combining to tear it from its housing.
The room beyond was cavernous.
And filled with Ultron drones.
They emerged from everywhere—wall panels sliding aside, ceiling hatches dropping open, floor grates lifting to disgorge mechanical death. Dozens of them, red eyes glowing in the shadows, weapons already tracking toward the intruders.
"Oh, there you are." Ultron's voice emanated from every drone at once, creating a surround-sound effect that was nauseating in its intimacy. "I was wondering when you'd arrive."
Steve and Natasha locked eyes. Years of partnership let them communicate without words—shared hatred, shared determination, shared guilt all passing between them in that single glance.
"Ultron," Steve said. The name was a curse.
"And you brought new friends!" Ultron's tone was delighted, mocking. One of the drones shifted focus to the Bad Batch. "Oh, how fascinating. More clones. Tell me—do you ever wonder what you are? Really?"
Hunter drew his vibroblade, the weapon humming to life. "Careful, tin can. We bite."
"How adorable." Ultron's laughter scraped against their ears like nails on metal. "Such fierce loyalty. Such brotherhood. Such delusion. Don't you understand what you are? Expendable. Replaceable. Disposable."
Steve's jaw clenched. "That's not true."
"Please. You're always so noble, Rogers. Like a child playing hero." The drones began to circle, predators sensing weakness. "Let me ask you something, clones. Would you rather be discarded when this war ends—thrown away like the biological waste you are—or would you rather become something greater?"
The operating table lit up.
The clone—the one from the tube—lay strapped down, his eyes wide with terror and confusion. Consciousness returning at the worst possible moment. Mechanical arms descended from the ceiling, each tipped with instruments of conversion.
Natasha saw the tendrils first. "Get him out of there! NOW!"
She sprinted forward. A drone fired. She twisted mid-stride, the blast missing by centimeters, and dove behind debris.
Steve hurled his shield. It should have taken the arm clean off—Vibranium could cut through anything—but a ray shield materialized, deflecting the disc. It caromed off at an angle, tearing through three drones before returning to his hand.
"Don't stop!" Hunter roared. "Push forward!"
The Bad Batch charged.
Drones poured in like a flood, but the clones met them with violence that bordered on feral. Hunter's blade found joints and optics with surgical precision. Crosshair's shots were mathematically perfect, each one dropping a target. Tech threw electronic grenades that overloaded entire clusters of machines.
But it wasn't enough.
They fought with everything they had—enhanced strength, superior training, cutting-edge equipment. None of it mattered. The drones kept coming, an endless tide, and every second they were delayed was another second that clone spent on that table.
The laser activated.
It cut through the center of his forehead, carving down to just below his left eye. His eyes rolled, wild with agony. A tube forced itself into his mouth before he could scream, pumping metallic suspension fluid directly into his throat.
He choked. Convulsed. Blood poured from his nose, his ears, anywhere the laser had breached.
"Get those arms away from him!" Natasha fired her Widow's Bites, but more tendrils dropped from the ceiling, intercepting the electrical charges before they could reach their target.
Mechanical limbs erupted from the floor, encircling the table. They moved with horrifying efficiency, working on exposed flesh and bone. The clone's body arched, every muscle seizing in what looked like a grand mal seizure.
His leg was severed. Clean cut, cauterized instantly. A mechanical replacement was already moving into position, metal clamps designed to anchor directly into bone, to fuse at the cellular level—
"I've got it!" Tech shouted.
His fingers flew across his datapad, FRIDAY and Karen feeding him access codes, override sequences, anything that might stop this nightmare. He found the command protocol, entered the override—
The chaos stopped.
Just like that. Tendrils froze mid-motion. Drones went still. The radiation shields flickered out.
Steve was already moving, crossing the distance in three long strides. His hand found the clone's neck, pressing against the carotid artery.
He stood there for five seconds. Ten.
Then he slowly shook his head.
"At least—" Crosshair's voice was rough, words forced past something tight in his throat. "At least it's over. Better than..." He couldn't finish. Didn't need to.
Better than the endless horror they'd found in the previous room.
Alarms shrieked to life throughout the Citadel.
"Guys?" Scott's voice crackled through the comms. "I'm guessing you didn't want to stay subtle anymore?"
Steve took a breath, centering himself. They'd failed to save this one. But there were others. Even Piell. Coil. However many more prisoners Ultron had been torturing in this nightmare facility.
"The alarm's triggered," Natasha said quietly. "If we'd cracked the protocol sooner—"
"Don't." Hunter's voice cut through her self-recrimination. "That bastard wanted us to watch. This was always going to happen."
"He's right," Steve agreed. "Ultron plays games. Psychological warfare." His expression hardened. "Time to end the game. Aayla, Barriss—status?"
"Still with Coil," Aayla responded, her voice steady despite the background noise of movement. "We're approaching what looks like a larger detention block. If Ultron's holding prisoners in bulk, this is where they'd be."
"Focus on extraction," Steve ordered. "Scott, Hope—head to their position. Provide support."
"Copy that, Cap," Hope confirmed. "We've already placed charges at structural weak points. Once everyone's out, this place comes down."
"Quinlan?"
Blaster fire punctuated Vos's response, along with the distinctive sound of a lightsaber deflecting shots. "Little busy at the moment, Rogers. But we're mobile. What do you need?"
"Link up with Aayla's team. We're about to get very loud up here."
"Music to my ears."
Footsteps echoed from multiple corridors. Heavy. Metallic. Dozens—no, hundreds—of drones converging on their position.
Steve looked at Wrecker. The massive clone stood straighter, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury. They'd made him watch. Made him stand there, helpless, while they converted one of his brothers.
That was a mistake.
"Wrecker," Steve said quietly. "Make them pay."
The clone's helmet hid his expression, but Steve could feel the feral grin beneath. Wrecker holstered his primary weapon and cracked his knuckles—each one sounding like a gunshot in the sudden quiet.
"It's an honor, Captain." The words rumbled like distant thunder.
Drones flooded the corridor.
Wrecker didn't hesitate.
He exploded forward, a missile of rage and muscle. He leaped, catching two drones mid-flight by their heads, and came down on a third, his boot punching clean through its chassis. Before any of them could react, he smashed the two drones' heads together hard enough to shatter metal.
Then he was moving again.
He grabbed a drone's arm and ripped it off, servos screaming in protest. The limb became a club, and Wrecker swung it with devastating effect, using it to cave in skulls and crush optical sensors. When it finally broke, he dropped it and stomped on a fallen drone's head so hard the entire body crumpled.
His DC-15 came up, firing in controlled bursts. But when the clip ran dry, he didn't reload—he yanked a destroyed drone off the floor and used it as a shield, charging forward while the others poured fire over his head.
"Make way!"
Wrecker threw his arms wide, hurling drone bodies into the walls with enough force to leave dents in the metal. He grabbed another by the throat, twisted its head 180 degrees, then threw the sparking corpse at three more drones hard enough to knock them all down.
"Scrap—" He caught a drone's punch, crushed its hand in his grip, then headbutted it so hard its entire torso caved in. "—METAL!"
The Bad Batch followed in his wake, picking off stragglers and covering his flanks. Steve and Natasha moved with them, two humans keeping pace with enhanced clones through pure skill and determination.
"That's my boy!" Hunter laughed, genuinely proud. "Give 'em hell, Wrecker!"
Tech was less enthusiastic. "We need to maintain formation or we'll have nothing left to—"
He threw three grenades in rapid succession. Each one overloaded a cluster of drones, electromagnetic pulses frying their circuits.
"—neutralize," he finished calmly.
Crosshair said nothing. Just kept firing. Every shot perfect. Every target dropped. His rifle became an extension of his will, and his will was death.
This was different from their usual operations.
Normally, the Bad Batch fought to survive. To complete their mission parameters. Professional. Clinical.
Not this time.
This time it was personal.
They'd seen what Ultron did to clones. Seen them torn apart and rebuilt as mockeries of life. Seen them die screaming on operating tables while machines violated their bodies at the molecular level.
This wasn't about following orders.
This was about making sure no one else ended up in those tubes. In those chambers. On those tables.
This was about vengeance.
And vengeance, it turned out, was very, very loud.