Chapter 122: Born Again - Part 1

I don’t dream.
What I see are only memories of the past.

Dreams are possibilities.
Futures that could have been, branching paths that might exist… even if they seem absurd, they are nothing more than the results of countless small branches piling up.

Different dimensions. Different universes.
Worlds endlessly chaining and branching.

And in none of them do I exist.
I exist only here.
That’s why, for the choices I’ve made… there is no such thing as “What if.”

I do not dream.

And yet—

I hear it.
A voice.

From deep within, from the abyss.

『Are you happy?』

Ah, I am happy.

『Truly?』

Surrounded by my beloved partner and kind neighbors—how could I not be happy?

『Even if that happiness… is the result of shoving your sins onto the past?』

…What are you trying to say?

『You tell yourself that your past self was a villain… but that you’re different now.』

…Yes.
Because I’ve changed.

『Wrong.』

No, I haven’t.

『You haven’t changed at all. Only your environment has.』

That’s not true.
I—

『You cannot throw away your past. That red mask… it is a part of you.』

………。

『You cannot push away your sins and pretend you never knew them.』

Then, what should I—

『That’s for you—for me—to decide, isn’t it?』

—

I woke up.

Sweat clung to me in sheets.
When I squeezed my eyes shut, they ached faintly.

I must have been crying in my sleep.

What I saw just now wasn’t a dream.
It was my subconscious speaking—my own voice condemning me.

I keep telling myself I won’t see it, won’t hear it… but facing one’s sins is not easy.

Calm your heart.
So that I can be the cheerful me my neighbors wish to see… I sealed it away, shut it down tight.

I slipped out of my bed and headed to the sink.
Letting water gush out, I shoved my head beneath it.

Unseemly behavior.
But right now, that coldness was the only thing that could cool the heat coiled inside me.

I twisted the faucet shut.

My drenched hair soaked through my pajamas.
I peeled them off and rubbed my hair dry with a bath towel.

“……haa…”

I exhaled, long and deep—forcing out every bit of air in my lungs.

I felt awful.

Every time… every single time I sleep, I hear my own voice condemning me.
Every day, every day, every day, every day, every day, every day.

The only exception… is when someone is sleeping beside me.

…I stepped naked into the shower room.
Water streamed down, running over my body.

I choked.

If only all the invisible filth clinging to me could be washed away.
That thought lingers because I despise the sinner I once was.

I am not a good person.
But I am trying to become one.
I am trying to hate evil.
That is why I hate the me of the past.

It is perfectly natural—an unavoidable reality, as long as I exist as myself.

The existence called Redcap.
That is me.

I cannot forget it.
Like a shadow forever at my back, it cannot be cut away.

As long as I live, it will haunt me.
No—long after I die, it still will…

“…haa, haa…”

My breathing grew ragged.
When I twisted the faucet harder, the water’s force intensified.
Heavy droplets battered my body.

…No one wishes for me to harm myself.
And yet, deep inside, I crave it.

I longed for a pain so strong it could erase my sinful self—a punishment.

I always have, and always will.

Forever.

---

Afterwards, I came to Avengers Tower. I knocked at the door and swiped my ID card through the reader.

When the door opened, a man was waiting inside.

“You called for me, Director Nick Fury?”

The one-eyed man with the hard, scarred face… my current superior, Nick Fury.

“Glad you came.”

“…Of course.”

Once, I was stiff, tense, always on guard. Now, I’ve gotten at least a little better.
I try to behave properly toward my superior.

“Sit. That chair there.”

I sat where Fury pointed, facing him.
His gaze alone seemed sharp enough to kill.

No doubt he’s survived far more battlefields than I ever have.

“The reason I called you today… is about your suit.”

“…My suit?”

“Yes. The one that broke, back when you were still working as part of the organization.”

Fury tapped at his tablet, projecting an image onto the wall.

A vibranium suit—its chest torn wide open, mask shattered.
Spattered in blood, black around the head.

The red mask had been destroyed by Peter.
The last time I wore that suit, I’d used the spare mask my brother had made.

“…What about it?”

“Do you know where the vibranium that made that suit came from?”

I touched my chin, thinking.
…My brother, the Tinkerer, had said something once.

『Vibranium is a rare, precious metal. I bought it from a black-market dealer named Ulysses Klaue—』

I lifted my head to Fury.

“My brother said… he purchased it from a man called Ulysses Klaue.”

“That’s right. And if you trace it back further… it’s stolen goods. From Wakanda.”

I nodded.

Wakanda—an African nation of high technology.
A country blending traditions, rituals, futuristic science, and mysticism… and vibranium is found only in mines within Wakanda.

And the King of Wakanda has long imposed strict regulations on its trade, believing that if vibranium spread into the world, it would bring chaos.

But… Ulysses Klaue stole that vibranium.
Tinkerer bought it, and from that, my suit was made.

“…Is this… a serious problem?”

“There’s a risk it could escalate into an international incident. Wakanda is desperate to reclaim any vibranium that has leaked beyond their borders.”

That was understandable, from Wakanda’s perspective.
…Captain’s shield is also made of vibranium, but that was granted legitimately, with permission.

Wakanda doesn’t simply want to stop vibranium from leaking out.
At its core, they fear it being used to sow global chaos… or in the development of superweapons.

In other words, they fear it falling into the hands of villains who would use it for selfish gain.

“…Then, that broken suit is—”

“It will be returned to Wakanda. Sorry, but that’s how it is.”

Sorry?
What is there to be sorry about?

That suit is my symbol of sin.
What harm is there in discarding it?

Fury’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at me.

“The handover is in three days. You’ll be present as well.”

“…Understood.”

“That’s all.”

I bowed my head and left the director’s office.

…More than a year has passed since people stopped calling me Redcap.
Through countless events and encounters, I believe I’ve managed to change.

So I no longer need that suit.
Even if wearing it would make me stronger… I no longer want to kill anyone.

…But is that really true?
Am I so eager to discard the suit only because I don’t want to be reminded of my sins?

…I want to believe that isn’t the case.

The violent speech, the ruthless demeanor… the skills meant only for killing.

I no longer need them.
I will not return to them.

I am Michelle Jane Watson.
I am not Redcap.

---

The three days passed.
I spent them with Gwen, with Peter, with Ned and Harry…

…And, well, I also exchanged short messages with Kamala now and then.
Apparently, whenever trouble flares up nearby, she sneaks into her homemade suit and helps people.
…Small enough to leave me debating whether to report it to Fury. For now, I’ll let it be.

And so, the handover day arrived.

I entered Avengers Tower… and made my way to the storage room.
Into the small room labeled B-42.
In the center of the white-paneled room stood a transparent case.

Inside it was the battered suit. I exhaled at the sight.

…Did they really need me here, just for the handover?
But Fury wanted me to be present… so surely, it wasn’t meaningless.

Something I can’t yet see—a larger reason—

The door behind me opened.

“C’mon, it’s fine! Since we’re here, we should at least see New York!”

A girl entered—she looked a little younger than me, Wakandan, wearing sunglasses and a windbreaker. She looked like any modern youth.

“There’s no time to waste. Klaue may still be in this country. Besides, what is there you want to see? You can find everything in Wakanda.”

In contrast, another entered behind her—a tall, bald Wakandan woman.
Broad-shouldered, dressed in a jet-black business suit, with a wine-red shirt beneath… she looked more like mafia muscle than anything else.

…These two must be the envoys from Wakanda, here for the handover.
Still, they were quite the pair: the carefree girl, and the grim, intimidating woman.

“Like sneakers, coats, designer brands—wait a second. Who are you?”

The girl noticed me, eyeing me with suspicion.

“Stand back.”

The bald woman stepped forward, shielding the girl.
…It had been a long time since anyone projected such killing intent at me.

But they likely weren’t enemies.
Slowly, I raised my hands to show I had no hostility.

“…I–I’m… the original owner of this suit.”

“This one?”

The girl picked up the broken suit, turning it in her hands, studying it curiously.

“Yes… Director Fury asked me to attend the handover.”

“Really? Okoye.”

The girl turned toward the bald woman she had called Okoye.
…She shook her head.

“I wasn’t told.”

“Me neither.”

“…What?”

My gaze faltered.

Nick Fury… he was a secretive man.
That much I understood.

But still—he could have at least shared the basic information with the other side.

As I silently cursed him in my heart, the girl chuckled, teasing.

“Hm, well, she doesn’t seem like a bad person.”

“…Shuri.”

“C’mon, the security here was pretty strict, wasn’t it? If she got in, she must be legit.”

“…Fine. I’ll say no more.”

Shuri… that’s what she’d been called.
…Shuri?

I remembered hearing that name somewhere.
In my past life, or in this one… and in this life, only recently.

That was a name I came across when I was researching Wakanda, back when it was decided the suit would be returned there.

The king of Wakanda was T’Challa.
And his sister’s name was… if I remembered correctly—

“Princess Shuri…?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Why?”

For a moment, my consciousness wavered.

Why would a princess come all the way here just to retrieve stolen property?
It didn’t make any sense.

And what was with her outfit?
Not Wakandan traditional attire, not anything regal.
Just a cheap windbreaker, the kind you’d expect a New York high schooler—or even a middle schooler—to wear.

Not the kind of clothing a princess of a nation should be wearing.

But I didn’t let any of those thoughts show on my face.
I had no idea what might be considered disrespectful here.

…Shuri kept her eyes fixed on the armored suit.

“Not exactly groundbreaking, but solid work. The processing techniques are good—would hold up even in Wakanda. No special mechanisms. Shock absorption… and some kind of discharge system too?”

She muttered to herself, quietly, under her breath.

…I realized I had almost no memory of her.

Doctor Strange’s memory seal was perfect. Connections to the other world were all but cut off.

The memories I had already accessed weren’t gone, but I couldn’t pull out anything new.

So while I could tell from her mannerisms that she was familiar with advanced technology, I couldn’t recall the details.

Then, suddenly, Shuri turned her eyes on me.

“Hey, did you make this?”

“…No. My brother… did.”

I shook my head.
Why would she think I made it?

“Really? Then… where is he? Why isn’t he here?”

I froze for a second, then shook my head again.

“My brother… passed away.”

“…Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

I wasn’t bothered.

His death was painful, yes, but I couldn’t carry it forever.
He wouldn’t have wanted that.

At the very least, he wouldn’t have wanted me to bear guilt over it.

“Then why are you the one holding on to the suit?”

“…Why?”

“The one who wore it before. What happened to them?”

From that, I understood her confusion.

“I was the one who wore it originally.”

She must not have pictured me in it.
That’s why she assumed I was its creator.
And when she learned I wasn’t, the pieces didn’t add up for her.

“…Wait. You wore this?”

Shuri lifted part of the broken suit—the shattered helmet.

It still hadn’t been cleaned; dried blood clung to its surface.

I nodded.

“Yes.”

“……”

She looked at me for a moment with suspicion… and then with a faint trace of pity.

I wasn’t sure I deserved a look like that, but I didn’t find it unpleasant either.

Shuri stepped closer to me, speaking softly.

“I heard… this suit was used by an assassin we fought against.”

“That’s right. That was me.”

“…Huh.”

Her fingers trailed along the cracked helmet, brushing the jagged edges.

The fracture lines were sharp enough to cut skin.

I worried, silently. She was a princess of Wakanda, after all.

“What’s your name?”

“…I’m Michelle Jane Watson.”

“Got it. Nice to meet you.”

Shuri reached out her hand.

For a moment, I didn’t understand. I glanced at the other Wakandan—Okoye.

She didn’t move to stop it. If anything, she looked a little exasperated with Shuri.

…Resigned, I took her hand.

“Mind if I ask you for a story?”

“A story…?”

“Yeah. About your brother. I want to know what kind of person the man who made this suit was.”

Why did she want to know?
Simple curiosity? Something else?

Either way, refusing wasn’t an option.
Not only would it feel disrespectful—it would also destroy any chance of trust.

“My brother was—”

And so I began to speak about him.

About the man they once called the Tinkerer.

I wove in some of my own experiences as well, and Shuri listened closely the whole time.

I hadn’t wanted to remember.

But it wasn’t a painful memory.

Talking about him… it almost felt like he was with me again. It was comforting.

I ended up speaking for ten, no—twenty minutes.

Shuri never once interrupted, only nodded along.

Even Okoye, who at first looked uninterested, eventually listened—by the end, standing beside Shuri.

“That’s… everything.”

I had finished speaking, though I had left out the details of my brother’s death.

…No one would want to hear how I had taken apart the body of a brother who had killed himself.
And I had no desire to tell it.

Shuri listened until the very end, then lowered her gaze to the scarred, reflective mask.

“…Your brother must have cared about you a lot. I can tell just by looking at this suit.”

“From… the suit?”

I lowered my eyes to the armor sealed in the clear case.

“It’s built with incredible care. No unnecessary gimmicks, just a solid, reliable design. The joints, the shape, the shell, the shock absorbers… every part of it was made with the person inside in mind.”

“…For me—”

“Yeah. He didn’t want you getting hurt.”

In the black surface, my own face reflected back at me.

This suit… this shell called Redcap had always protected me.

My brother had made the suit, and I had shaped the persona that went with it. Together, that was Redcap.

The organization might have given it its name, but in truth, it was something born from the two of us.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized—why?

Why did I feel reluctant to let go of the very suit I had once wanted to cast off?

…Perhaps that was Fury’s intent when he made me hand it over. To force me to face this feeling.

But still—

I closed the case.

“…Are you sure about this?”

Shuri’s eyes turned to me.
I nodded.

“This suit… no, the vibranium itself… should be returned to where it truly belongs.”

Shuri closed her eyes briefly, then nodded back.

“I understand. We were planning to take it back anyway… but I swear to Bast, the Panther God, it won’t go to waste.”

“…Thank you.”

She grinned, lowering her sunglasses, then glanced over her shoulder at Okoye.

“Hey, Okoye. We’re done here, right? So can we do a little sightseeing?”

“…Fine. But not for too long.”

“Yes!”

Shuri pumped her fist slightly, then turned back to me.

“Michelle, you live in New York, right?”

“…Yes. I do.”

I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but I nodded.

“Then… could I ask you a favor?”

She spread her fingers a little, tilting her head up to look at me.
…She was still a princess. Refusing wasn’t an option.

“Of course.”

“Perfect—”

Shuri spread her arms wide and stepped toward the door.
…A bad feeling prickled at me.

“Show me around New York!”

And so, I found myself acting as guide to the princess herself.

The mere thought of making a misstep—and turning it into an international incident—made my stomach twist in knots.

---

To cut to the conclusion, it was needless worry.

Shuri was just like any girl her age—lively and spirited.

I ended up being dragged along by her, playing the role of a guide.

By the way, my suit isn’t here. It’s still in the warehouse… apparently, when Shuri and Okoye fly back to Wakanda this afternoon on their jet, they’ll take it with them.

As a result, we were just three people walking around empty-handed.

Princess Shuri, dressed in a cheap windbreaker that rustled with every step, Okoye in her pitch-black suit, and me.

Different clothes, different ages—seen from the outside, we probably looked suspicious. Especially Okoye.

She stood out far too much here in New York City. The sharp aura of a warrior radiated from her inescapably. I could tell at a glance that the people around us were consciously avoiding her.

Well, to put it simply—she was scary.

"…Hmm."

Shuri was rummaging through the open display case of accessories.

This was a small shop in New York’s Upper East Side. It sold folk crafts and trinkets aimed at young people. Necklaces, earrings, little accessories like that.

"Do you think this looks good on me?"

Shuri pressed a cheap necklace against her neck and showed it to Okoye. …She frowned and shook her head.

"Huh? Then what do you think looks good, Okoye?"

Okoye looked slightly troubled, then pointed. A claw-shaped necklace made of black crystal. It was a bit expensive.

"But that looks just like something from Wakanda!"

"It is not the same. Wakanda’s are of better quality."

"That makes it even worse!"

Shuri grimaced at her words and then turned her eyes toward me.

"Then what about you, Michelle? Which one do you think is good?"

Me? Why me?

Not that I had any confidence, but… I picked one from among the accessories.

It was—

"A panther?"

A silver head silhouette styled with leopard-like patterns, accented with touches of gold here and there.

"So? Does it suit me?"

She held it up to her neck and showed Okoye. After a short pause, Okoye nodded.

"Then I guess I’ll go with this one."

Shuri headed to the register, with Okoye following behind.

I trailed after them, letting my eyes wander around the store. This was a shop for young people, with prices that weren’t too steep. Maybe because of that… they also sold some things that looked a bit shady.

Masks lined the walls. Horror movie masks like the ones I’d worn at Halloween, Power Rangers masks… and even masks of real-life heroes.

Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Hulk… each and every one handmade-looking, rough in quality. But… there were also masks of some more minor heroes.

"…………"

I dug through a wagon filled with silicone masks thrown together haphazardly. Some had even begun peeling in spots… It didn’t look like they were serious about selling them—or maybe they didn’t think they would sell.

As I sifted through them, my hand froze on one mask I recognized.

"…Heh."

I pulled it out and held it in my hand. A red mask, patterned with black webbing lines… Spider-Man.

The fact that he was here even in a place like this must mean his reputation was growing. He was always out in Queens, helping people. No doubt beloved by the city as their “Friendly Neighborhood.” …Well, except by J. Jonah Jameson.

But anyway.

Running into Spider-Man so unexpectedly lifted my mood a little. …But right now, I was accompanying Princess Shuri. Buying a mask as a hobby while on duty felt… inappropriate.

I started to put the mask back into the wagon—

That’s when my enhanced hearing picked up something unusual.

A car roaring at incredible speed in the distance. Tires slipping, engine growling… as if in a hurry.

Or maybe—

But either way, this wasn’t someone else’s problem. The sound was getting louder.

I glanced at Shuri. She hadn’t noticed… but Okoye had, frowning toward the street.

…It wasn’t my imagination.

Mask still in hand, I quickly moved closer to Shuri. Okoye also drew near her… and suddenly produced a pair of silver batons. I hadn’t even seen where she’d been carrying them. One in each hand.

Shuri turned back at our sudden movements.

"Huh? What is it?"

Okoye didn’t even look at her when she spoke.

"Enemy attack. Hide yourself for a moment."

Then she gripped the batons tighter and connected them. They became a single long staff… and the tip transformed into a blade.

A silver spear—made of vibranium.

And then, her black business suit began to shred and fall apart. Beneath it—bright red fabric adorned with golden embellishments. Wakandan attire—

No, it was combat gear.

She wasn’t just a bodyguard. Standing here was the leader of the Dora Milaje, Wakanda’s elite royal guard—Okoye.

…The sound was getting closer.

Okoye turned her eyes toward me, standing at Shuri’s side.

"Can I trust you?"

It wasn’t about good or evil. She was asking if I could protect Shuri. I nodded firmly.

Okoye opened her mouth to say something further—

In the next instant, the shop’s entrance shattered.

I grabbed Shuri and dragged her under a large table inside.

Splinters of wood, shattered glass, and scattered accessories flew through the air, gouging the walls and floor.

There were no other customers. …As for the clerk, Okoye had already hurled them outside.

The attackers’ target was almost certainly—

"What… what is this?"

—The princess in my arms. They wouldn’t go so far as to kill unrelated bystanders.

Peeking out from the edge of the table, I looked toward the entrance.

A massive armored vehicle had rammed into the storefront. There was no mistaking it—this was no accident.

But why had it stopped at the entrance? If they’d driven all the way in, they could’ve killed their target.

…The reason was clear. The front of the vehicle was crumpled.

It had been stopped by something.

A silver spear, embedded in the floor.

At the very moment the vehicle struck, Okoye had driven her spear into the ground, anchoring it in place. This was only possible thanks to vibranium’s shock-absorbing properties.

"Whoever you are, that’s a rather primitive toy you’ve brought along."

Okoye taunted as she yanked the spear free from the floor.

Right then, the armored vehicle’s door swung open.

Inside were soldiers—no, mercenaries—wearing armor over red uniforms. Several of them.

Wordlessly, they leveled their weapons. Not assault rifles.

Spears. But unlike Okoye’s traditional weapon, these were sleek and futuristic, their tips split in two.

The shafts were metal, but the spearheads… made of something else.

The same metal as their armor.

Vibranium.

"…Claw’s men."

Okoye’s expression hardened as she raised her spear.

Claw—Ulysses Klaue. He had stolen vibranium in massive quantities. Enough to arm his private army.

"…Okoye."

Shuri’s small voice trembled in my arms. …She was the one I had to protect.

The mercenaries struck first. Their vibranium-tipped spears could be fatal with a single blow.

Okoye slipped past the strike by the narrowest margin, spun her body, and swept her spear in a tight arc—

Slicing deep into the mercenary’s arm.

"—Gahh!"

Blood spurted. His tendon must have been cut, because he dropped his weapon immediately. Okoye smashed her spear’s shaft into his gut, sending him sprawling to the ground.

She then stepped on his fallen spear and kicked it across the floor toward me.

"Use that!"

I nodded quickly, snatching it up.

But in that moment, another mercenary lunged at Okoye, spear swinging—

"Haaah!"

She blocked with the vibranium shaft, turned it in a wide arc, and hooked the enemy weapon closer.

With the same motion, she drove her elbow into the man’s face, swept his legs out, then spun her body fully.

The centrifugal force sent him airborne, hurling him into the wall with a brutal crash.

"No matter how fine the weapons, they’re worthless in such clumsy hands."

She fought like a storm—like a whirlwind swallowing everything in its path.

Her spearwork was breathtaking. Truly worthy of the leader of the Dora Milaje.

Then—applause rang out.

"Impressive. How the hell did you pull that off? Care to teach me?"

The one clapping was a rugged, bearded man. Unlike the mercenaries, he wore no armor. Just a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a deep purple vest, and a loosely knotted tie.

His casual outfit only highlighted the confidence radiating from him. He was no ordinary man.

"Ulysses Klaue…!"

Shuri pushed her face out from my arms, glaring with fury.

So this was Klaue? His appearance wasn’t exactly what I remembered—but if she said so, it had to be true.

"Hey there, princess. Been a while."

"…Don’t you dare joke with me!"

Her anger burned hot. It wasn’t just about the vibranium theft. There was history between them.

"Aw, come on. Still mad? Can’t we get along?"

"As if I’d ever get along with the man who killed my father!"

"Fair point. Guess that was a bad joke."

I looked at Shuri’s face. Her father… King T’Chaka, the previous ruler of Wakanda.

And Wakanda’s king was also the Black Panther.

Wearing a vibranium suit, empowered by the sacred herb, wielding Wakanda’s martial arts—the Black Panther was both monarch and warrior, a superhuman passed down from generation to generation.

And this man claimed to have killed him.

The danger Ulysses Klaue represented pressed down on me harder than ever.

Crow suddenly turned his gaze toward me.

“Hey, there’s a girl I don’t know here too. Looks like you’re curious, so how about I tell you a little story from back in the day—”

“Dah!”

Okoye swung her spear.
It should have struck Crow directly—

But it passed right through him.

“You want me to go on? This was nearly twenty years ago.”

Crow carried on unfazed. The spearhead carved a gash into the shop’s wall.

…What was that just now?
Was the Crow standing before me not real?

“My old man found out about vibranium, so he came all the way to Wakanda—dragging me along when I was just a kid.”

…No, it wasn’t a hologram.

When he stepped, the wooden floor creaked.
When his hand brushed the table, the dust scattered away.

My enhanced senses told me—he was there.

“My father was a scientist. He wanted vibranium for his sonic research. At first, the former king welcomed us kindly. Escorting us around, like we were precious guests.”

Every move Crow made, Okoye followed with sharp, ready eyes.

“But that king right there refused to hand over any vibranium. My old man begged, pleaded—but it was no use.”

At that, Shuri leaned forward.

“Lies! Your father threatened mine! With weapons!”

“Huh? That how it went? Well, whatever. What matters is what happened next.”

Crow reached for a panther-shaped ornament hanging on the wall—the same one Shuri had almost bought earlier.

“My father was killed by that king. His throat slit… left to die. I was just a child, so they spared me, but…”

He clenched the ornament in his right hand.

“I never forgot. I made sure he paid for it. Slit his throat the same way.”

A sickening grind echoed.
Ulysses Klaue’s right hand began to change.

The artificial skin peeled back, revealing gleaming metal.
That was… a vibranium prosthetic.

“Your brother beat me back then, sure. But I still got away with a mountain of vibranium. I lost the fight, but I won the prize. I beat the Panther.”

When Crow opened his palm, the ornament was crushed and twisted beyond recognition.

“The Panther who killed my father is gone. The next one to pay… is your brother, Princess Shuri.”

A murderous intent radiated from him.
I pulled Shuri behind me, shielding her from Crow’s sight.

“He cut off my arm. Time to return the favor. Once I put a bullet through his precious little sister, let’s see how much he grieves.”

Crow’s prosthetic shifted again—reshaping into the form of a gun barrel.

Okoye, seeing it, set her stance and charged—

The weapon glowed red.