In Avengers Tower, Steve Rogers and Maria Hill went over reports of Ultron sightings, trying to figure out a pattern. “He’s all over the globe,” Hill said. “Robotics labs, weapons facilities, -jet-​-propulsion labs. Reports of a metal man, or men, coming in and emptying the place.”

“Fatalities?”

“Only when engaged. Mostly guys left in a fugue state, going on about old memories, worst -fears—​-and something too fast to see.”

Right , Steve thought. He’d wondered when the twins would show up again. “The Maximoffs. Makes sense Ultron would go to them. They have someone in common.”

“Not anymore,” Hill said. She handed him the tablet she was using to scan reports. On it Steve saw a still image from a security camera. Baron Strucker lay in his NATO cell, a blurry Ultron shape leaving the frame. “Peace” was scrawled above Strucker’s head. This was a new wrinkle, Steve thought. Tony should know about it.

On his way to the lab, Steve caught Clint on the phone in the corner of the next room. “I answer to you,” he was saying. “Yes, ma’am.” He noticed Steve and said, “Gotta go.” After hanging up, he shrugged at Steve. “Girlfriend.”

Steve felt something off in Clint’s demeanor, but he let it go. There were more important things to worry about right then.

In the lab, he showed the rest of the team the still image on Maria Hill’s tablet. “A message,” he said. “Ultron killed Strucker.”

“And he did a Banksy at the crime scene,” Tony said, meaning Ultron had let it be known he had done it. He could just as easily have erased the image or disabled the camera.

“This is a smoke screen,” Natasha said. “Why send a message when you just made a speech?”

Steve had a guess. “Strucker knew something. Something specific that Ultron wants us to miss.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said. She searched through the Avengers’ files on Strucker and shook her head when the screen displayed record not found. “Everything we had on Strucker’s been wiped.”

“Not everything,” Steve said.

Later, surrounded by boxes of paper files, they continued the search. Maybe Steve was -old-​-fashioned—​-he knew he was -old-​-fashioned—​-but right then he was glad they’d kept paper records as well as electronic files. “Search for known associates,” he said. “Strucker had a lot of friends.”

“These people are all horrible,” Bruce said.

Tony saw a name he recognized on one of the files: Ulysses Klaue. “I know that guy. From back in the day. Operates off the African coast. Black market arms.” He saw them looking at him, judging him. “There are conventions! You meet people. I didn’t sell him anything. But he talked about finding something new, a -game-​-changer...​it was all very Ahab.”

They scanned file photographs of Klaue, and Thor noticed something on Klaue’s neck. “That.”

“It’s a tattoo,” Tony said. Klaue had lots of them. “I don’t think he had it -when—”

Thor pointed at other parts of the image. “Those are tattoos.” Then back to Klaue’s neck. “That’s a brand.”

Tony took a picture of the brand with his handheld and did an image search, transferring it to a bigger screen. “It’s a word,” Bruce said. “Some African language. Means ‘thief.’ But in a meaner way.”

“Which language?” Steve asked.

Bruce was scrolling through search results. “It’s from Wakanda.”

Tony and Steve exchanged a look. “If this guy got out of Wakanda with some of their trade goods,” Tony began.

“I thought your dad said he got the last of it,” Steve said.

Tony shrugged. “Probably why they didn’t brand him.”

“I don’t follow,” Bruce said. “What do they make in Wakanda?”

Steve held up his shield, made of a Vibranium alloy. “The most powerful metal on Earth,” Tony said.

Steve returned his attention to Klaue’s file. “Where is this guy now?” /UMWDxdt5LprmMqOkpC5VsSjd5g+4NB3p8PR3g0vh57QHHVlpbCb13xnRnsF0Ei5