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The search for the missing invention had been paused when the office received an emergency call. Thompson, Sousa, Peggy and (Y/N) all decided to head out and see for themselves, the details said over the telephone being so unbelievable for any of them. When they arrived, the entire movie theater was surrounded with yellow tape and police cars, nobody allowed inside or outside except for the investigators.

"You're the SSR folks?" the main detective spotted them near the entrance.

Thompson placed a hand inside his suit pocket. "What the hell happened here, detective?"

"Hell if I know," the detective answered. "I got 47 dead, heads bashed in, eyes gouged out. Not a single survivor."

He guided them inside the movie theater, where police men were already photographing the disturbing crime scene in front of them. (Y/N)'s breath hitched when she saw an almost a dozen bodies lying on the carpeted floor, all covered up in sheets to prevent them from being horrified even further.

"It's like some kind of monster got in," the detective explained. "Never seen anything like it."

"All this happened inside the theater?" Sousa questioned, leaning onto his crutch for support.

"This way."

Sousa gestured for (Y/N) to come along, leaving Peggy and Thompson by themselves by the entrance. (Y/N) followed close behind the two men, glancing at the movie posters displayed on both sides of the hallway. They were brightly colored, like every other poster she'd come across by, and the sudden realization that she hadn't been to a movie theater in a long time hit her. She never thought that her first time back after a while would be in this scenario, but her life was always filled of surprises.

"Guess you G-men catch stuff like this all the time," the detective's voice pulled her attention away from the poster she'd been looking at, Notorious being the name of the film.

He opened the doors to the theater, and (Y/N)'s nostrils were filled with a putrid stench all over the place. She hadn't taken a single step inside and she could already see the stains of blood on the walls. She did not want to think how long it took for someone to come across the crime scene, and instead distracted herself by glancing at the police men walking down the aisles of seats in search of evidence.

"No," Sousa answered to the detective's previous question. "No, we sure don't."

(Y/N) and Sousa walked through the main aisle between the left and right side of the seats. They had to be careful not to trip over the forgotten, broken belongings or stepping on the popcorn all over the floor. (Y/N) peeked over the aisles of seats to check if there was anything that could be evidence, but was distracted when she heard Sousa's frantic steps. When she looked back to question his urgency, her eyes fell on what he was heading to. A stroller.

Horrified of what they might come across, she ran to Sousa's side just as he knelt down to straighten the stroller up, and both felt insanely relieved when they saw that there was no baby inside, just a pink blanket. (Y/N) helped Sousa get back on his feet, but her eyes were still focused on the ground where the stroller recently was, afraid she might spot the baby around. She found no baby — which was both a concern and a relief for her — but what she did notice was a medium sized, metallic gas canister tossed in between the seats.

"Sousa," she called his attention for him to see.

His eyes squinted to see what it was. "What is that?"

He handed her his crutch and carefully knelt back down to grab the canister. (Y/N) glanced over his shoulder to see what it was, and she felt her blood run cold when she saw the familiar Stark Industries logo on the side. She turned around for a brief moment to call out to one of the police men around for any sort of bag she could place the canister in, but Sousa's frantic coughing behind her caught her attention.

"Sousa?" she asked and knelt down to his level to check if something was wrong.

He didn't answer her and continued coughing aggressively, and even placed his hands on the ground to brace himself.

"Are you okay?" she knew it was a stupid question to ask, but it happened out of nowhere.

Sousa stared at her for a second before his hands gripped the collar of (Y/N)'s shirt and pushed her back into the carpeted floor. He screamed in anger, as if she had done something terrible to get him to react like this. She tried to wriggle herself out of Sousa's grip, but he was stronger than her.

"Sousa!" Thompson's yell rang through the theater. "Sousa!"

He ran down the aisle and ripped him off (Y/N), allowing her to greedily gasp for air to fill her lungs. Sousa's attack didn't end there, and instead lunged at Thompson as his next victim. Peggy was right behind him and tried to intervene, but Sousa pushed her back with so much strength that she collapsed against the lamp in the middle of the aisle. A police officer ran to the scene and smacked him in the back of the head to knock him unconscious.

(Y/N) hadn't gotten up from the floor and could only stare at Sousa in shock, rejecting Thompson's hand to help her up so she could get up by herself. She dusted the crumbs of popcorn off her pants and massaged the already sore area where Sousa had gripped her throat. Peggy was still in utter surprise at the abruptness of the attack, and all she could offer to (Y/N) was a look that silently asked her if she was okay, and the woman responded with a firm nod.

She finally had a clue as to what had him and the people in the theater react in such a way, and it had everything to do with that gas canister.

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Thompson led the debriefing back in the bullpen, taking the position as chief after Chief Dooley's death. Every field agent was sat around to hear what he had to say, excluding Peggy and Sousa. She decided to stay besides the latter's side until he woke up in the infirmary, hoping to get more information on the canister. (Y/N) had provided her own side of the story, and was even prided by her coworkers to get checked out at the infirmary herself, but she declined.

"Best the scientists can figure, it's a chemical that induces psychosis upon exposure, which I can personally attest to after Sousa tried to bite my nose off."

(Y/N) heard footsteps behind her and turned around to see Peggy and Sousa approaching the scene, one looking slightly more disturbed than the other. They didn't know the state in which Sousa would wake up in, so they decided to tie him to the bed as a safety precaution.

"Hey, killer," Thompson grinned at the sight of him.

Peggy's eyes flickered from him to the group. "I'm surprised Howard would consent to manufacturing something like that."

"The amount that got me was tiny," Sousa spoke up with a hoarse voice. "How much of this stuff does Ivchenko have?"

"The lab counted 10 canisters," Thompson informed them. "Meaning Ivchenko has enough to send half the city into a homicidal rage."

"But why go through all that trouble?" (Y/N) wondered out loud, something not clicking.

"Because he's a Russian jerk with a chip on his shoulder," Thompson answered. "Why else?"

"It's got to be something more than that. Ivchenko has a plan," Peggy agreed to her doubts. "He brought us into Russia. He tricked us into bringing him into this country. There's something specific that he is targeting. We just have to find out what it is."

"The target is me."

Everybody turned their heads to the additional voice, and (Y/N) could not believe her eyes. Howard stood in the middle of the bullpen, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants with a panicked Mr. Jarvis beside him, completely unbothered despite being the country's public enemy. Every single agent in the room got up their seats and pointed their guns at him, which did not seem to faze him at all.

"Get your hands up," Thompson ordered and walked over to them. "Get your hands up!"

Mr. Jarvis followed his command without hesitation, raising his arms high in the air. He glanced back at Howard. "Told you."

"What kind of welcome is this?"

"How the hell did you get in here?" Sousa asked, his gun aiming lower than the others.

"You know who designed the SSR security system?"

"Yeah, the same outfit that secures the White House."

"Exactly," he answered smugly. "They stink. You should have hired me."

(Y/N) did not think she'd ever see him again, especially after everything that has happened. Part of her was relieved to know that he was fine, but his presence just added another pile of problems to the case.

"I know," he found her eyes. "You missed me."

Howard was brought in for questioning almost immediately. (Y/N) and Peggy weren't allowed in that room for five minutes, but they could see that Sousa and Thompson's constant drilling wasn't doing any favors. (Y/N) took the lead and knocked on the door before entering, but Thompson was too distracted to notice they had walked in. Howard looked completely uninterested in their harsh words, leaning back against the chair as Thompson and Sousa stood on either sides of the table questioning him.

" — looking guilty."

"How about looking wrong?"

"As of this moment, you're under arrest, Stark."

He paid no attention to Thompson, but his eyes fell on Sousa and the crutch held close to him.

"You know, I could help you with that."

Thompson smacked his hand against the table, the sound bouncing off the walls of the conference room. He leaned forward to intimidate Howard, but it did the opposite effect.

"Roger Dooley is dead. Ray Krzeminski is dead."

"Along with a theater full of innocent people," Sousa added in. "Stark Industries. That's all on you. You got something funny to say about that?"

"I know," Howard's voice was filled with irritation at the mention of those events. "That's why I came back. That's everything there is to know about the Battle of Finow."

He gestured toward the storage box set in the center of the table.

"I really don't care about some old war story."

"Well, you should," Howard glanced back at Thompson. His snarky behavior then dimmed for a second. "Because all those deaths are on me, too."

Silence followed his sentence, and before anyone could intervene, he stood up from his chair.

"The gas is called Midnight Oil."

"You designed a poison gas, Howard?" Peggy's glaring eyes never left his figure.

"No!" He automatically defended. "Well, not intentionally."

He pulled the box to him and removed the lid off, in search of the documents he was looking for. "The army wanted something that would help soldiers awake for days at a time, but it failed."

He passed the photographs of the battle amongst the group with a serious look on his face, trying to detach himself from any emotion. (Y/N) saw hundreds of men all lined up with brutal attacks all over their bodies, similar to the scene back at the movie theater. Howard grabbed the files from the box and handed them as well. When the files landed on (Y/N)'s hands and she immediately searched through them, she saw a couple of familiar faces amongst the list of lost men.

"It caused symptoms similar to sleep deprivation. Anger, hallucinations, psychosis."

"If you knew all that, why use it in Finow?"

"I didn't. My lab was raided. They took my samples, my research, all on the orders of General McGinnis." The group perked up at the mention of the name. Howard didn't notice this and continued. "The next day, they dropped it on the Russians to help them take Finow. I flew there afterward to see with my own eyes. What those men did to each other, you can't imagine."

"We don't need to imagine," Sousa answered in a condescending tone. "We saw it in that theater. I experienced it myself."

"And you survived?" Howard frowned in surprise. "It's been known to cause asphyxiation."

"Guess that explains my sore throat."

"It also explains our voiceless friends," Peggy pointed out what (Y/N) had noticed too. The pictures of Leet Brannis and Sasha Demidov staring back at them almost tauntingly. "Someone performed laryngotomy procedures on these men. I expect it was Dr. Ivchenko, or as he's also known, Johann Fennhoff."

She lifted the file and the picture for everyone to see. In (Y/N)'s eyes, Fennhoff looked the same as he did in that photograph, the feeling of his expressive eyes staring down at her through the picture running down her spine.

"Who?" Howard got a closer look at the picture.

"A psychiatrist with a specialty in hypnosis."

"Must be how they got to Dooley," Thompson clenched his jaw at Peggy's words.

(Y/N) closed the files and placed them back on the storage box. "Which means that if he can control the chief, we're all at risk."

"No. This time, I'm taking the risk," Howard firmly argued. His eyes moved from the group to her for a brief moment, silently telling her that he meant it. "This Fennhoff obviously wants to punish me, so let's give him what he wants."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll be the bait," he decided, his typical smug behavior returning to his expression. l The SSR just needs to set the trap."

"Yeah," Thompson agreed with him. "Something public. Really showy."

"Well that's the only way I do it."

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The plan went on motion almost immediately. Thompson and Sousa had left Howard by himself in the conference room, which meant that Mr. Jarvis had found his way inside and was now assisting him with everything necessary for the sudden press conference. (Y/N) had gone to the lab and grabbed one of their body armors, usually worn during combat, but this situation called for one.

"Hey, (Y/N), you got any powder?" Howard turned around at the sound of her walking inside. "I want to cut down the shine."

"Howard, I don't think you should do this," (Y/N) spoke up her thoughts. "It's too dangerous."

"Don't waste your breath, Miss Dewitt," Mr. Jarvis advised from behind Howard. "I've already wasted mine on the subject."

(Y/N) set the body armor on the table for him to see and when Howard's eyes fell on it, he was utterly disgusted by the sight.

"What is that?"

"It's body armor for your protection."

"It's junk," he used a hand to lift it up and check the other side. "Where's my stuff?"

It took time for (Y/N) to budge, but Howard's constant nagging got so irritating that she had no other choice. She guided him into the lab, hoping that nobody might see them head in that direction. When she noticed that nobody was following after them, she closed the door of the lab behind them for a sense of privacy.

"What are you people doing?" Howard's eyes fell on his inventions all over the tables. "These are highly volatile materials."

"This. . ." He grabbed a pistol shaped artifact in his hands and showed it to her. "This is photosensitive. This should be kept in the dark."

(Y/N) wanted to bite back her laugh at the offended tone in his voice. Howard searched throughout the lab until his eyes fell on another one of his inventions, this one being a wooden box displayed on a shelf.

"This should be kept cool."

"And this," he turned the artifact upside down and backed away. "This is fine now."

"Howard, what do you wish to accomplish with this absurd press conference?" she asked as she watched him search for something in particular. She placed her hands on her hips. "There are other ways to force Fennhoff out of hiding."

"Name one," he immediately noticed his mistake. "No, name three."

He turned around and his gaze landed on something hidden underneath a table. He pulled it out for her to see, and she noticed the similarity between that and the body armor she'd offered him beforehand — only that this one was completely black.

"There it is," he held it close to his chest. "Stops a 50-cal round from 100 feet."

"Unless you plan on wearing it on your head, it won't work."

"I trust you to keep me safe."

(Y/N) pressed her lips on a thin line at that sentence. Her mind immediately thought back of Steve and Bucky. She couldn't even keep her two best friends safe, what reassured Howard that her bad luck would change with him?

"You're punishing yourself."

"I'm redeeming myself."

"I have enough blood on my hands." Everyone else would've already given up on arguing with a man stubborn like him, but not (Y/N). Not when his life was at risk. "I don't need yours too."

"I've had to go through my life not caring what people think of me, but I do care what you think."

"Why?"

"After everything you said to me last time — "

"Howard, I was rightfully angry," (Y/N) felt a pang of guilt at the look on his eyes, but did not regret her anger on his secret. "That still doesn't mean I want you to die."

"Well, that makes two of us," he tried to humor her, despite it not working. "But you know and I know that this is my fault."

(Y/N) knew that must've been hard for him to admit, but this time he was wrong. "General McGinnis stole Midnight Oil and used it recklessly. He is responsible for that. Not you."

"I need to fix this," Howard defended. "Otherwise, I won't be able to live with myself."

"You're insane."

He flashed her a smile. "You love that about me."