The person who held this card was a true VIP at Citibank.
Whether he aid for the stars or dived deep to catch a whale, if it was within human reach, Citibank would go all out to fulfill his request.
Its presence alone was enough to open most doors in the United States.
From political favors to everyday conveniences like shopping and school admissions, almost every issue could be resolved with ease.
And yet, it was this very black card—representing elite status—that the chestnut-haired girl threw squarely at Malrick's face without hesitation.
Of course, Malrick didn't let it hit him. He caught the card neatly between his fingers.
The young man standing beside her visibly flinched, his lips twitching as if holding back a frustrated groan. The pain in his expression was hard to miss.
But the girl's eyes were sharp, unyielding, her attention shifting from Tony to Malrick with a glare full of defiance.
For a mont, Malrick thought she was faking her courage. But her voice didn't tremble.
"The money is yours again," she declared.
"We'll find out the truth about what happened that year ourselves. Don't think blaming a dead man will fool us into swallowing your version of events."
"Even if you were Superman himself, we wouldn't back down. And we don't want Stark's blood money."
That was when it clicked for Malrick. They weren't here for vengeance. They ca to return the money.
He looked at the card in his hand, its gold-accented surface gleaming under the sun.
He hadn't expected Natasha's preparations to be this thorough. Along with the compensation, she'd arranged for the siblings to receive a Citibank black card.
Yet, sothing about the mont felt oddly familiar—like that scene from an old show where Wanda said, "My na's not 'hey,' it's Scarlet Witch."
The girl turned to Tony now, her voice laced with conviction. "Even if it was Obadiah who sold the weapons, you're not innocent. You built them. That makes you just as much the executioner."
Her brother seed to finally break out of his stunned silence, nodding slowly, his eyes narrowing at Tony. "This isn't over."
And with that, the two began stepping away, inch by inch, as if their retreat itself were a declaration of unshakable resolve.
"Wait," Tony said suddenly.
The siblings paused, glancing over warily as Tony took a breath.
"I'm sorry—for what you've experienced. I regret the choices I made in the past."
"I've been doing everything I can to make ands. I know you may not want compensation, but this is sothing I can give you now."
Tony held out the black card Malrick had caught, offering it back to them. "Take it. You need it."
But they didn't move. Their expressions only hardened.
"You think money makes up for everything?" Pietro said, voice rising.
"Do you know what happened nine years ago? We were watching The Dick Van Dyke Show with our parents. It was supposed to be a quiet, happy night."
"Then, out of nowhere, the bombs fell. The whole building collapsed. I dragged Wanda under the bed—our parents were already dead by then. And then ca the second bomb."
"It landed three feet from us."
Pietro's voice broke slightly. "It didn't go off. We stared at it for hours. You know what was written on it?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
"Stark."
Wanda's voice joined his, softer but trembling with emotion. "That bomb hung over our heads for two whole days. We thought every second would be our last."
"People ca to dig through the rubble. Every brick they moved, I thought—this is it, it's going to explode."
Pietro reached into his jacket and pulled out a worn photo—a family of four. Two kids, smiling. Their parents behind them.
"This is all we have left."
"I don't care about philosophy. I only know what I lost."
Wanda looked at Tony, her voice cold. "We will never forgive you. But Superman saved Sokovia. So we'll find the truth. Ourselves."
They turned to leave.
Tony said nothing. He had assud they blad him entirely, that they couldn't understand the distinction between the ones who used the weapons and the ones who built them.
But that wasn't it.
They'd spent two days beneath rubble, trapped with a bomb that bore his na.
No one could erge from that unchanged.
And no apology, no matter how genuine, could erase that kind of trauma.
"Wait a second," Malrick called out.
They stopped, visibly annoyed—until they turned and saw him.
Their frustration faded instantly.
"…What is it?" Wanda asked cautiously.
Since arriving, they'd tried hard to avoid looking at Malrick.
He was a Stark—technically, one of their enemies.
But he was also Superman.
Two months ago, when Sokovia was nearly lost, it was Malrick who held up the aircraft carrier and saved the city.
At the ti, Wanda and Pietro had been trapped in a nearby HYDRA base.
They'd joined HYDRA for revenge—only to learn HYDRA didn't care about them at all.
The organization had planned to detonate a nuclear bomb in Sokovia, sacrificing everything and everyone—including them.
In their darkest mont, it was Superman who shielded the bomb, then lifted the aircraft carrier.
He had saved them.
Back then, Pietro had carried only two photos: one of their family, and another blurry image of Superman. He wasn't carrying that second one today—Malrick had X-ray vision, after all.
Their feelings toward him were complicated.
Gratitude and resentnt, all tangled together.
And now, he was speaking.
"I understand you, Wanda. Pietro."
They froze. "You know our nas?"
"Of course. Good nas are hard to forget."
Pietro blinked, a strange sense of pride flickering inside him. Superman said my na was good?
Malrick continued, "I get it. I wanted revenge too."
"When I was one, HYDRA's Winter Soldier murdered my adoptive parents. Almost killed , too."
"So I hunted HYDRA down. Killed every last one of them. And when I found the Winter Soldier—I blew his head off."
He looked them both in the eyes. "There are no HYDRA agents left on this planet."
They stared at him in stunned silence.
"…What are you trying to say?" Pietro asked, hesitant.
"I'm saying, if you want revenge—go for it. Just be prepared. If you fail, it might be the end of you."
Malrick's voice hardened. "Because if I get involved, I don't hold back."
His eyes began to glow faintly red.
A wave of dread washed over them.
Pietro's breath caught in his throat. "Wait—hold on! We haven't done anything!"
Wanda's skin went cold. "We… we just wanted to talk. Investigate. That's all."
She imdiately regretted showing up today.
They had only ant to return the card. But when they saw Tony, emotions got the better of them.
They shouldn't have provoked Malrick—Superman was no comic book hero. He wouldn't let anyone threaten his brother.
Wanda tried to shield Pietro instinctively, but Malrick's eyes locked onto her, paralyzing her with fear.
"I—we…"
Her voice trembled, almost breaking.
But before she could speak again, Malrick vanished.
Then she felt it—his hands, one on each of their shoulders.
She nearly scread.
"Why so nervous?" his voice said behind her, calm and close.
"What I ant to say is… Obadiah really was behind all of it. Tony and I had nothing to do with it. That's why I don't mind you investigating."
Wanda spun to face him.
He was smiling.
"The money wasn't hush money. It was an apology."
"But if you're serious about finding the truth, the easiest way… is from the inside."
He tilted his head. "How about joining Stark Industries? Work with and Tony. Stay close. Get the answers firsthand."
Wanda and Pietro stared at him.
His face, lit by sunlight, was warm and open.
No anger. No threat.
Just a confident, kind smile.
It was almost as if he was asking if they wanted to go out fishing together.
"…Huh?" Pietro muttered.
Both siblings stood frozen, their thoughts short-circuiting.
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Vote w Power stones.
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