Chapter 208: Death
T'Chaka's life had become the most immediate problem in the room.
His importance to Lynn was difficult to quantify.
Wakanda itself was valuable.
Its vibranium reserves were extraordinarily valuable.
Its scientific knowledge, the Heart-Shaped Herb, and its royal lineage were even more interesting.
But T'Chaka himself possessed no ability that Lynn particularly needed.
His son was different.
T'Challa was the next Black Panther.
The Heart-Shaped Herb, Wakandan ritual, vibranium technology, and the mantle of Bast's chosen protector would eventually transform him into one of Wakanda's most formidable champions.
There was potentially far greater value there.
Yet none of that changed the fact that T'Chaka was currently dying.
Lynn moved.
Two fingers pressed precisely against the most critical point of the wound.
The portable surgical instrument in his other hand cut through the damaged tissue with microscopic precision.
The Wakandan guards saw little more than a series of rapid movements.
Lynn widened the wound sufficiently to reach the thoracic cavity.
Blood had accumulated around the heart.
A portable thoracic drainage tube was inserted between the ribs.
Dark blood immediately began flowing through the transparent tube into the collection reservoir.
Lynn's All-Seeing Eye tracked every milliliter.
At the same time, he placed a compact cardiac-stimulation patch against the exposed surface of T'Chaka's heart.
A controlled electrical pulse passed through the tissue.
The monitor responded.
Beep.
A pause.
Beep.
The rhythm remained dangerously weak.
Next was the brain.
The explosion had produced severe acceleration trauma.
Intracranial pressure was climbing rapidly.
Lynn retrieved a thin decompression needle.
He located the optimal entry point.
Then inserted it.
Pressure began escaping.
The entire procedure took less than two minutes.
While the drainage continued, Lynn quietly separated a microscopic biological sample from the blood entering the collection reservoir.
He sealed it inside a sterile capsule.
A nearby Dora Milaje warrior noticed.
Her weapon immediately rose.
"What is that?"
Lynn didn't look at her.
"Blood analysis."
"I need to determine whether there are contaminants or toxins."
The warrior's expression remained suspicious.
Lynn finally looked toward her.
"Do you want an explanation..."
"Or do you want your king alive?"
The spear lowered.
T'Challa remained beside his father throughout the procedure.
He was covered in dust and blood.
His eyes never left T'Chaka.
Lynn continued.
The monitor briefly improved.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Then...
The rhythm deteriorated.
Thirty beats per minute.
Twenty-two.
Fifteen.
The blood-pressure monitor stopped displaying a reliable reading.
Lynn immediately administered a controlled dose of epinephrine.
No meaningful response.
He activated the portable extracorporeal circulation unit.
For several seconds, the machine maintained circulation.
But the damage was too extensive.
The left ventricle had suffered catastrophic structural disruption.
The aortic root was torn.
The brainstem had sustained severe secondary trauma.
Another electrical pulse passed through the heart.
The monitor jumped.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
A continuous tone.
T'Chaka's final heartbeat disappeared.
Lynn's hand remained against his chest for another second.
Nothing.
The alarms continued.
Outside the conference hall, people were screaming.
Inside...
There was only silence.
Lynn slowly withdrew his hand.
He removed his blood-covered gloves.
One.
Then the other.
He folded them together and placed them on the edge of the treatment table.
"Time of death."
He looked at the monitor.
"10:47 a.m."
T'Challa did not move.
For several seconds, he remained standing beside his father's body.
Then his legs gave way.
He dropped to his knees.
His forehead touched T'Chaka's hand.
His breathing became so controlled that it was almost imperceptible.
The Dora Milaje lowered their heads.
No one spoke.
Lynn stepped backward.
Natasha Romanoff appeared beside him.
She looked at T'Challa.
Then at T'Chaka.
After a long silence, she asked quietly,
"You did everything you could?"
Lynn looked at her.
"Within the limits of natural death."
Natasha understood the implication.
She didn't ask the obvious follow-up.
Bruce Wayne stood farther away.
He had understood perfectly.
Lynn could have altered the outcome.
He simply hadn't.
Bruce's eyes remained on him.
Why?
That question was written plainly across his face.
Lynn didn't answer.
Instead, he calmly sealed the biological sample in a protected compartment within his medical kit.
A system notification appeared in his consciousness.
[Treatment Result: Failed.]
[Target expired.]
[Divine Hand Copying: Not activated.]
T'Challa finally raised his head.
His face was wet.
Not from the rain.
His eyes met Natasha's.
"Who killed him?"
Natasha hesitated.
She retrieved a portable intelligence terminal.
The screen displayed security footage recovered from the damaged facility.
A man.
A metal arm.
A familiar silhouette.
A face matching the records of the Winter Soldier.
James Buchanan Barnes.
T'Challa stared at the image.
His expression changed.
Grief hardened into anger.
Three seconds passed.
"He will die by my hand."
...
Twelve hours after the Vienna bombing.
The international intelligence community had been thrown into overdrive.
The FBI.
CIA.
MI6.
Mossad.
Wakanda's intelligence service.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surviving intelligence network.
Every organization with access to international intelligence was searching for the same man.
James Buchanan Barnes.
The Winter Soldier.
The media repeated the same footage continuously.
A shadow.
A metal arm.
A familiar face.
Governments around the world issued emergency warrants.
Headlines appeared everywhere.
WINTER SOLDIER SUSPECTED IN VIENNA ATTACK
WAKANDAN KING AMONG THE DEAD
HYDRA ASSASSIN LINKED TO TERRORIST BOMBING
INTERNATIONAL MANHUNT FOR BUCKY BARNES
The evidence appeared overwhelming.
Which was precisely why Tony Stark didn't trust it.
...
Temporary Command Center.
Several floors beneath the damaged Vienna facility had been converted into an emergency intelligence center.
Officers moved continuously through the corridors.
Encrypted communications remained open across multiple agencies.
Tony sat at a conference table.
Printed reports covered the surface.
Explosion analysis.
Security footage.
Biometric identification.
Barnes's historical records.
HYDRA intelligence.
Tony read each document.
Then placed the final report on the table.
"Too clean."
Bruce sat across from him.
His expression remained impassive.
"What?"
"Everything."
Tony spread the reports across the table.
"Travel history."
"Surveillance."
"Biological traces."
"Facial identification."
"Every piece of evidence points toward Barnes."
He tapped the image.
"There's no contradiction anywhere."
Bruce nodded.
"I noticed."
Tony leaned back.
"You know what that looks like?"
Bruce studied him.
"An intentional frame."
"Exactly."
Bruce picked up another report.
"The Barnes identification appeared on the internal investigation system approximately two minutes after the security network recovered."
Tony's eyes narrowed.
"Two minutes?"
"A normal biometric comparison against an international database would require substantially longer."
"Especially after a blast destroyed multiple systems."
Bruce placed the report back down.
"Someone had already prepared the match."
Tony stared at the screen.
"Meaning the identification wasn't discovered."
"It was inserted."
Bruce nodded.
"Before the bombing."
A silence settled over the room.
Tony finally spoke.
"Bucky Barnes is the Winter Soldier."
"He's been trained for decades."
"If he were actually conducting an assassination operation, he wouldn't allow a recognizable image of himself to survive on-site."
Bruce's expression hardened.
"Unless the image was deliberately planted."
Tony looked toward the door.
"Why?"
The door opened.
Natasha Romanoff entered.
She folded her arms.
"What are you two talking about?"
"The evidence is compromised," Tony answered.
"I know."
Natasha walked to the table.
She picked up Barnes's photograph.
"The problem is that the rest of the world doesn't care."
Tony looked at her.
"What?"
"Everyone wants someone to blame."
She dropped the photograph onto the table.
"Wakanda wants the person responsible for T'Chaka's death."
"The United Nations wants the bomber."
"Governments want a name they can put on an arrest warrant."
"The public wants a face."
She tapped Barnes's photograph.
"And Barnes provides all of them."
Tony shook his head.
"Steve won't believe it."
"Of course he won't."
Natasha's expression became complicated.
"Steve hears the name Bucky Barnes, and everything else becomes secondary."
"The evidence could be perfect."
"The evidence could be impossible."
"It won't matter."
"Because Steve doesn't see the Winter Soldier when he looks at Bucky."
"He sees his friend."
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