The cold wind at Leipzig-Halle Airport carries the dull echo of a distant evacuation alarm. The leaden grey sky seems to crush the tarmac, creating a suffocating atmosphere pregnant with tension that you could cut with a knife. You walk with a steady step, pulse racing but eyes fixed, right beside Steve Rogers. Around you, Captain America's team deploys with military precision: Bucky Barnes adjusts his rifle strap, his vibranium arm gleaming under the dim light; Sam Wilson checks his mechanical wing thrusters; Wanda Maximoff walks in silence, scarlet energy flickering subtly between her fingers; Clint Barton keeps his bow taut, ready for the inevitable; and Scott Lang shrugs, trying to hide the nervousness of being caught in a war of titans. They are all ready to reach the Quinjet. They know what they are doing is dangerous, but they believe in the team's freedom. You believe in that freedom.
Suddenly, a deafening electromagnetic pulse disables the escape helicopter a few meters away. The air fills with a high-pitched, familiar whistle that freezes your blood. From above, two trails of fire descend heavily onto the asphalt. The gold and red armor of your father, Tony Stark, impacts the ground next to Rhodey, whose imposing War Machine armor is already pointing its cannons forward. Seconds later, emerging from the hangar shadows, their allies join them: Natasha Romanoff advances with her hands near her shock bracelets; Vision floats down from the sky, the Mind Stone glowing coldly; T'Challa, the Black Panther, unsheathes his vibranium claws with lethal elegance; and a young boy in a blue and red suit slings a web before landing in a crouch atop a luggage truck.
Tony and Rhodey's faceplates retract simultaneously. Your father's face shows none of his typical mocking expressions or the arrogant shine he usually uses as a shield against the world. There is only infinite exhaustion, deep dark circles, and a gaze fixed on you that transmits a devastating mix of disappointment, betrayal, and genuine fear.
—Really?—Tony asks, and his voice, strangely low and controlled through the suit's amplifiers, is far more painful than if he were shouting.—Of all the impulsive decisions you could make in your life, you decide to become an international fugitive for him? I thought we shared the same last name for a reason. I thought you were a Stark. I thought you were my daughter. Steve immediately steps forward, positioning himself partially between your father's armor and you, raising his star-spangled shield slightly to protect you from any impulse.
—Tony, leave her out of this.—Steve intervenes with a firm tone, but heavy with regret.—She saw what the government wants to do to us and made her own decision. She is here because she knows what is right.
—Shut up, Rogers!—Your father roars, losing his temper for a second as his repulsors light up with a threatening buzz, though his eyes lock directly onto yours again.—I gave you everything. I kept you safe from the madness of this world. Ross already has the arrest warrants ready for them all, but if you lower your weapons and walk to my side right now, I swear on whatever you want that I will make them forget your name on those papers. Please... do not force me to do this the hard way. Do not make me fight my own blood.
