The streets of Madripoor buzzed with danger, neon lights flickering overhead as the group of four made their way toward the bar. Sam adjusted the gaudy suit he was wearing, grimacing. "Smiling Tiger? Seriously? This is the guy I have to pretend to be?"

Zemo smirked. "You wear it well, Mr. Wilson."

Morgan and Bucky remained silent, their tension unspoken but thick in the air. They both knew what was coming. Pretending to be their old selves—the Winter Soldier and the Shadow—wasn't just an act. It was reopening wounds they had fought so hard to close.

Morgan clenched her fists. She wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't Shadow anymore.

But as soon as they stepped inside, the past felt closer than ever.

The bar reeked of alcohol, sweat, and blood. Dangerous men filled every corner, their eyes narrowing at the sight of them. Some recognized Bucky. Some recognized Morgan. And none of them looked happy about it.

The bartender slid a drink toward Sam—something dark and viscous with some kind of creature floating inside it. Sam forced a grin, lifting the glass. "Mmm... yeah, that's... fresh."

Zemo, ever the manipulative bastard, barely acknowledged him. Instead, he played his role to perfection. A man approached, placing a hand on Zemo's shoulder, and without missing a beat, Zemo turned slightly, looking at Bucky.

"Soldat," Zemo commanded.

Bucky stiffened. His jaw clenched so tight it ached, but he moved. His hand shot out, twisting the man's wrist until a sickening snap echoed through the bar. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as Bucky swung, taking down another attacker without hesitation.

The Winter Soldier had returned.

Morgan remained at the bar, watching. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to slip back into the role she had spent years escaping from.

But Zemo knew her well.

Before she could react, he was in front of her. Too close.

"Morgan," he murmured.

Her spine went rigid.

Then he whispered the words.

The words Hydra had carved into her soul. The words she had tried to erase from her mind.

The moment she heard the first one, her breath caught.

"No," she gasped, shaking her head. "Stop!"

But it was too late.

Her eyes darkened. Her breathing slowed. The war inside her was lost before it even began.

Shadow had awakened.

The men who dared to approach her didn't stand a chance. She moved like a phantom, her strikes lethal and precise. A knife flashed—she grabbed the wrist mid-air, twisting until the weapon clattered to the floor. Her foot slammed into another attacker's throat, sending him gasping to the ground.

Her face was emotionless. Cold. Efficient.

Bucky saw it all unfold.

His stomach twisted as he watched her fight, watched her fall back into the assassin Hydra had forced her to become. His anger burned red-hot when his gaze snapped to Zemo.

That bastard had done this on purpose.

Morgan took down the last of the men with a brutal efficiency that left the bar in stunned silence. Her fists were bloody. Her breathing was even. And her eyes...

Her eyes were empty.

Bucky clenched his fists, a storm raging inside him. He had spent years trying to break free from the chains Hydra had placed on him. Now, Zemo had shackled Morgan in them once again.

And Bucky swore—Zemo would pay for it.