SSC's logistics department arrived faster than the local police. She glanced at the injured being carried into ambulances by paramedics, then at Steve and his team standing by to assist with the rescue, walked up to them, and said calmly and efficiently, "We've contained the virus. You can go back now. It's not suitable for you to stay here any longer. Coulson and I will handle the follow-up."
Tony's face was expressionless, but the bloodshot in his eyes betrayed him. He paused noticeably when he heard Coulson's name, as if suddenly pulled from a tangled mess of thoughts, and looked up at Hill: " Coulson finally decided to come back? I haven't seen him in so long, I was starting to wonder what he was doing with my monthly salary."
"Didn't you send him to choose a new location for SSC? I didn't expect him to be so efficient." Hill's lips twitched slightly, as if he had smiled. "He not only chose a location, but he also got the base built during this time. He had to oversee the progress and the interior decoration, so it took some time."
Tony raised an eyebrow. This reaction was much calmer than when he usually heard good news, but he really didn't have the extra energy to express surprise.
He left only one message: let Hill handle the aftermath, and ask Pepper Potts for compensation. Then he drew a circle in front of him, and a portal opened. He didn't look back at anyone before walking in, only saying in the last second before the portal closed, "I'm going back to rest first. Contact me if there are any problems later. Let the rest of you handle it yourselves."
The portal opened directly in the center of the living room on the top floor of Stark Tower. Tony stepped out of the portal, still wearing his MK43 armor, but the thrusters were off, and each step was accompanied by a heavy metallic scraping sound. He walked to the center of the living room and took off his armor.
He stood there, wearing only a dark gray undershirt soaked with sweat. He walked directly to the sofa, leaned back, and sank into the soft leather. He stared motionless at the soft, warm light emanating from the concealed light strip on the ceiling.
The living room was quiet, with only the faint sound of the air conditioner blowing air. But Tony's mind was far from quiet. Scenes after the Lagos explosion kept replaying in his mind, as if on a loop.
Rumlow's fanatical smile as he pressed the detonator, Wanda's terrified expression as she hastily acted, the crimson and orange explosion in mid-air, the shockwave slamming into the office building, tearing apart half of its exterior walls, glass shards raining down. Screams from below, children's cries, blankets being carried out from the ruins.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he sensed someone standing beside him. He didn't hear footsteps, but rather a more subtle sensation, as if the flow of air had suddenly changed. JARVIS stood beside the sofa, not saying a word. He simply stood there quietly, his azure eyes gleaming softly in the dim living room, silently watching Tony.
Tony didn't turn his head; his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. " JARVIS, did we make a mistake?"
His voice was hoarse and low, as if squeezed from the depths of his chest, "We meant well, but unintentionally, we ruined many families."
JARVIS paused for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully, before speaking, his voice still gentle and steady. "Sir, this is an unexpected situation. Unexpected events cannot be predicted in advance. Objectively speaking, no one is at fault. But I understand that rational judgment can hardly soothe the self-blame in my heart."
Tony suddenly sat up, turned to look at JARVIS, and his eyes held an emotion JARVIS rarely saw in him—a near-uncontrollable sense of powerlessness. "If Lynn had been there, he could have absolutely prevented this tragedy!"
His voice rose several octaves, echoing in the empty living room, causing the French windows to tremble slightly. "He can rewrite the bomb's underlying structure the instant it's detonated, dissolving the explosion at the molecular level. He can do it! You know he can! But he's not here! Because we think it's a trivial matter! A Hydra henchman, no need to call him!"
JARVIS didn't back down. He looked into Tony's eyes, into those blue eyes that held a calm yet firm gentleness. "No one can predict when an accident will happen, Mr. Mr. Lynn, and that includes him."
Tony didn't argue further. He sat on the sofa, hands on his knees, head down, his breathing gradually returning to normal. After a long while, he stood up, told JARVIS to let him coordinate with Lynn about the current situation, then turned and walked towards the bedroom, his figure disappearing at the end of the corridor.
JARVIS stood quietly in place, silently retrieving all the search and rescue and casualty data in Lagos. He wanted to find a way to ease the burden in Tony's heart, but he also realized that many damages were irreversible.
The explosion site in Lagos quickly made headlines.
The office building with half of its exterior wall torn off stood out starkly in the night. Search and rescue team spotlights swept back and forth across the ruins, and occasionally a stretcher was carried out. When the camera zoomed in, a gray blanket could be seen covering the stretcher.
The anchor's voice was very low, probably because someone from Hill's or Coulson's side had contacted the media. The report made no mention of Hydra or Tony's group, nor of the crimson light that rose just before the explosion.
Meanwhile, the Quinjet landed on the tarmac at the SSC headquarters in New York. The atmosphere in the cabin was much more subdued than on the flight to Lagos. No one spoke, no one joked the entire way.
Pietro leaned back in his seat, not scrolling through his phone as usual, but watching Wanda with concern. Steve sat in the front row, his shield at his feet, not changing his position the entire time. Bucky sat opposite him, occasionally glancing up at him.
Wanda sat in the innermost corner of the cabin, her knees curled up, chin resting on her knees, her face turned towards the window. Outside was the New York night view, brightly lit, bustling yet peaceful, a completely different world from the Lagos neighborhood ripped apart by the explosion. Her eyes remained open, staring out the window, but her gaze seemed not to be focused on any particular building.
She hasn't uttered a single word since taking off from Lagos.
Pietro would glance at her every few minutes, his lips moving several times, but each time he swallowed back the words. He didn't know how to Wanda in this situation.
Sam sat across the aisle, occasionally exchanging a silent glance with Clint. Clint simply shook his head slightly, signaling him not to speak. Natasha wasn't there, Lynn wasn't there, and several people who could lighten the mood were missing from the cabin. The silence seemed to have some kind of gravity, pressing everyone down in their seats.
Back at SSC headquarters, everyone disembarked from the aircraft. Steve stood at the bottom of the gangway for a while, patting each person on the shoulder lightly and saying very little.
When it was Wanda's turn, his hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment, and he whispered, "That's not your fault."
Wanda didn't respond, only nodded slightly, and walked past him. She crossed the corridor, opened her bedroom door, and closed it behind her. The lock clicked, and silence fell over the corridor once more.
The room was dark. Wanda leaned against the cold door, her body slowly sliding down until she curled up on the small patch of floor behind it. The New York night view outside the window was still dazzling, but those lights now seemed to her like a pair of silent, questioning eyes.
She raised her hands, those hands that controlled the crimson energy, which were now trembling violently. She had clearly wanted to save people. Why had it turned out like this?
The shockwave from the explosion, the torn walls, the cries from the ruins—these images played on a loop in her mind, each replay feeling like a knife being slashed at her heart. She even clearly remembered that when the shockwave struck the building, a mother holding her child below turned away at the last moment, her back to the incoming debris.
Just like back then, her mother shielded her and Pietro beneath her.
The thought pierced through all her defenses like a needle. Tears welled up without warning. She buried her face in her knees, her shoulders heaving violently, her sobs suppressed in her throat, afraid that the person outside the door would hear.
She had finally crawled out of the ruins of the past, thinking she had found a meaning to fight for, and that her strength could finally be used to protect something.
But now, she has personally destroyed someone else's family and their life. She has become the cannonball that destroyed someone else's family.
This realization suffocated her. She felt utterly unworthy of being there, unworthy of this power, and even less worthy of standing beside her teammates. She was afraid to see Lynn's disappointed eyes again, afraid to hear Steve's "It's not your fault." To her, it sounded more like pity for an incompetent person.
She didn't know how long she had cried, staring blankly out the window at the dazzling night view that didn't belong to her. At this moment, she was no longer the fearless Scarlet Witch on the battlefield, but just a girl filled with remorse, crushed by the terrible mistake she had made with her good intentions.
Pietro stood outside her door, raised his hand to knock, his fingers lingering on the door for several seconds before finally lowering his hand. He didn't leave; instead, he leaned against the wall of the corridor, slowly slid down to the floor, rested the back of his head against the wall, and closed his eyes.
Lynn was strolling through the night market with Natasha when he received the message. He was holding a skewer of freshly baked sweet potato noodles in his left hand and a glass of iced lemonade in his right, about to offer her a taste, when his phone rang in his pocket.
He switched the roasted sweet potato skin to his right hand, took out his phone and glanced at it. It contained an encrypted text message from JARVIS, the wording as concise and restrained as ever. After reading it, he froze in the middle of the bustling pedestrian street, almost dropping the sweet potato skin in his hand.
He'd already modified the Hydra- related storylines so drastically, how could he possibly return to this place? Operation Lagos still happened, the explosion affected civilians, and every detail matched the original timeline, just at different times. He went through the whole thing in his mind, somewhat speechless.
He didn't dwell on it for long. Things had come to this point; there was no need to go back now. Going back wouldn't change what had already happened. Wanda didn't need him as a life coach; she needed time. Steve and Tony weren't dealing with post-war situations for the first time; they knew what to do.
Just as he was about to put his phone away, it rang. It was Tony calling.
Lynn walked to a quieter spot on the side of the road and answered the phone. "Hello." There was a few seconds of silence on the other end, then Tony's voice came through, hoarse and tired. "You should know by now, right?"
"Hmm. JARVIS sent a message. How are you?" Tony didn't answer the question. He was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, " Lynn, what do you think if you were there...?"
" Tony," Lynn interrupted him, her tone not particularly serious, but very certain, "No one can predict when an accident will happen. I've had my share of accidents too."
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Then Tony gave a soft "hmm" and didn't press further. Lynn leaned against the lamppost and softened her voice. "Go back and take a good hot bath. Don't overthink it; no one can be perfect."
"Okay, I understand."
Tony managed to compose himself, forcibly steer the conversation away from the heavy topic for a moment, then quickly returned to the main point, "The trip isn't over yet? The situation here is terrible, I want you back as soon as possible."
"What's done is done. All we can do is try to fix it and remember to prevent it from happening again. Don't put too much pressure on yourself. I'll be back in a couple of days."
Lynn put away her phone, watched the screen go dark, and sighed softly.
Natasha had appeared beside him without him noticing. She didn't ask about the phone call, but simply glanced up at him, then took his arm and leaned gently against his shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking that we'll probably never have another chance to have such a peaceful date again. The next time we're free will probably be after we've dealt with the trouble caused by that purple sweet potato," Lynn said, her tone tinged with helplessness.
He put his phone back in his pocket, then leaned down and gently kissed Natasha's forehead. "Let's go, let's make the most of the time we have, we don't have much time to rest."
While New York was still bathed in daylight, in Lagos, several time zones away, dusk had already completely enveloped the entire neighborhood.
The daytime emergency search and rescue operation has been completely concluded, and the neighborhood has lost all its hustle and bustle, leaving only a serene silence.
Workers silently cleaned up the debris scattered everywhere, smoothing out the road surface covered with white sheets. Occasionally, a few weary sighs could be heard. Every quiet trace represented the sudden disruption of an ordinary family's daily life.
The bombed buildings stood silently in the twilight, with broken steel bars, mottled walls, and shards of glass scattered throughout the streets, bearing the marks of the daytime explosion.
The evening breeze gently swept across the empty streets, stirring up scattered objects on the ground: unremarkable hair ties, small children's toys, and worn-out handbags—all ordinary things from everyday life.
Ordinary life is always fragile; in the face of sudden changes, stability and tranquility cannot withstand even the slightest storm.