"And no one wants a distraction?" It's hard to look at this world and not see previous patterns, hard to stifle the gut reaction of wondering who has something to gain by turning the natives - from both cities - and the refugees against each other. Wanda supposes she'll find out eventually. They are men, not machines, and they can't hide their true selves from her. "It sounds like something must have happened." Or someone made something happen.

Just like Sokovia. Strange, to have come all this way and still find herself confronting a variation on the same basic problem.

"I found my brother," she says as she starts trying to work the knots out of her hair. "And some other people from my world." Thank goodness she'd been able to get most of the mud off her clothes earlier. If she can get her hair looking a little more presentable, Wanda might just be able to pass as a traveler who had nothing whatsoever to do with the ships they shot down.

There's just the not-so-small problem of red and black being Wyver's colors, but it's too late to do anything about that now. "I hope this works. I can think of other ways to get in, but this is best. Less trouble."