Disclaimer: I own nothing, everything owned by respective owners
Author's Note: Please read and review. Also Richard's name may change as I pictured him to be Galaga Guy who was demoted and turns out to be Hydra.
Chapter 1: Wesen versus Lizard
Run
The lizard brain urges her to run.
Fight
The wesen brain urges her to fight.
Run
"Find safety," it whispers. Her world is falling apart. Look for a way out. "Look, find, escape," the lizard brain pleads.
Fight
Stand up, stand your ground, make a stand, stand shoulder to shoulder… fight. "Let me out, let me fight," the wesen brain croons.
Run
All of the exits are blocked. Look for a desk to hide under. "Look, find, hide," the lizard brain pleads, "choose flight."
Fight
She stands up as the others begin to stand. Her heart starts to race as the brevity of the situation sinks down into the marrow of her bones. She can feel the biological responses kicking in: the racing pulse, the shortening breaths, the acrid sweat that fills her nostrils, and the adrenaline. In this tense situation where no one is safe, no one is trustworthy, and everyone is on edge. "Yes," the wesen brain whispers.
Fight
She's nothing more than the culmination of urges: one reptilian, one procyonid; some urges given into, some denied.
Fight
She is above all an agent even if her introduction into the job was dubious and frankly forced; joining the fight is only viable option available to her. She had been sworn to fight all offensives for the good of the world (even though she'd wonder whose world they were referring to more so now given the situation) with the little training she had been subjected to.
Captain America in his full uniform paints himself an easy target. Ever the sacrificial lamb who is anything but fragile has an adept tactician mind. Make himself the target and make the enemy known so that those on the side of the shield will know who to fight. She will make shield (Captain's shield and what it represented, never the questionable secret paramilitary group) proud, Captain America himself proud.
Fight
Hydra, it was Hydra?! She now has a target one once believed to be long gone. As she looks around she thinks "make that many targets" which causes her to feel a chill root itself in the small of her back. Sleeper agents awakening from slumber to their call to action which is more than unnerving.
Even down in the pencil-pushing, paper jockeying hell that is the administration levels do friends become enemies and targets. The mousy co-worker Rebecca who liked celebrating everyone's birthdays found three quick rounds into the core as said mousy HR personnel became hardened, determined, yelling loudly "Hail Hydra!" As Rebecca bled out on the floor and her fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's gun-carrying trembling hands, she can only of how she was going to miss those homemade birthday cakes with the killer (poor word choice her brain comments) from-scratch buttercream frosting.
Fight
Behind the buzz of electrical currents deep within in the dark recesses of her brain can she feel the wesen brain fully edge out over her lizard brain. The taste for violence is palpable. It tastes of copper, gunpowder, and sweat. She bites back a growl as the change take over. She will never hunt the enemy. She will not betray all that her family taught her. She will instead rely on her Smith and Wesson MP and her enhanced sense to warn of impending danger. She only hopes that there are no Grimm hydra. It's been too long. "Far too long," it gravelly croons in her brain, "let me fight."
...Kill
With the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., all she could think of was the fact that she had killed for the very first time in her life. Fights where an older, if only a slightly used, hat but she had never killed. Her family had grown up pacifists fiercely fighting against their procyonid and wesen nature. She could feel the bloodlust pump throughout her. Even if she had used her pistol, that smell of human blood had opened up an old, ancient need to hunt and kill. Her pound and a half pistol felt heavier as the reality was sinking down into her core. She had killed someone. S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone. Her entire life was disrupted. She no longer had any employment or health insurance and wondered if her identity was now in tatters (thanks to her first run in with S.H.I.E.L.D.). If only that were to be the least of her problems.
The fight was a long and arduous one. Hydra agents were ever the aggressive cult brimming with agents who would fight to the death. If said agents had lost the fight they would bring about their own death in the form of suicide pills. Their last moments writhing in pain foam filling their mouth. She had lost several co-workers some she had liked, some she did not, some she knew well and others not so much. The only remorse she was feeling was the fact that these Hydra agents had given up their life to what was a horribly corrupt organization and had Nazi roots and beliefs. "How could they even side with Hydra? And for what end?" she wondered though she was quickly wondering the same of her fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. co-workers who were killed by Hydra agents.
She moved around the administration levels as carefully and quietly as she could with her purse and satchel held in place on her back. She opted to use a pair of knives to stealthily incapacitate "the enemy" (much easier that way than seeing "the enemy" as Sam from accounting with the fiancé and the kid on the way). She did not want to call attention to herself if she could help it. Especially with the fact she didn't know how many agents on the side of Captain America had survived. Even with her being a waschsbar, which did give her a slight edge, these were hardened agents she was facing.
She was a mid-level administrative assistant and full time student at George Washington University getting a masters in Political Management while taking some low level classes in International Affairs at the Elliot School of International Affairs. It was a small blessing that she had already turned in her dissertation, and that the university was about to go into spring break. Also a boon in her favor was that everything had been paid for before shit hit the fan.
She hid behind a cubicle wall. The blood loudly pumping in her veins making it difficult to hear. She focused on calming herself trying to force her heart rate to slow down, to quiet her panting, to bite back the tears threatening to fall. She was not going to panic even if it would be a normal given the circumstance. She rescued puppies the last time she was in a crisis! She was then going to sure as hell rescue herself and try to get others to safety.
When this was finally over, and she was left standing (or sitting currently) she was going to pack up her belongings. She had already put her good hacking (she did hack into the DMV after all-admittedly of a small town-but still) hacking skills would mean she could erase her connection to S.H.I.E.L.D. It was one of the first things she did. She kept all the important documentation she needed to work there but instead chose the name of Jaclyn Wintour complete with all the papers needed. She had used photoshop to make a mish mash of female faces into the system. Surprisingly, the agency never brought it into question. That should have told her the dire straits the agency was in. As long as she kept her head down, didn't make a fuss, never got there too early, too late and stuck to the schedule that worked out for her, and worked at an above average pace no one noticed her. She was always a little better than the median.
Given the nature of the business she was in, administrative support was needed twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. She had hacked into their system that housed the human resource files and adjusted her schedule. They were on a lesser secure server supposing that any hacktivists and the like would be far more concerned with mission reports, budget reports and the like. No one paid much mind in her changing schedules so long as she did her work. At least her boss had been one of those who worked in the background either always in meetings, on business trips, or holed up in their office. All of the work was dropped off at the secretary's desk and picked up hourly by their boss. There were no real camaraderie at work aside from Rebecca's cakes (she was going to really miss them). Every month there was a generic "Happy Birthday" cake from the nearest superstore from human resources. No names were mentioned nor were there any birthday cards or for any special occasion for that matter. The agency must have seen that as a liability. Their paranoia in many ways helped her blend in.
She would get to her stash of cash, passports and other valuables she had acquired for a torrential downpour (and this was a level 5 hurricane) and get the hell out of Dodge. Maybe use her rather good hacking skills to create a file stating that she was K.I.A. She'd have to rely on hope that the security footage during her employment was destroyed, or long since forgotten. Though that would be a last resort being fond of the astrophysicist who she hoped was safe away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra. Though if she could do all that, she was going to consider trying to find a job at Stark Industries or possibly the Avengers, and maybe take some courses at Columbia. (It never hurt to continue learning new things that would give her more leverage if the economy exploded).
Her best bet was to get out and head south on the trails on the perimeter of the island to route 66, and then figure out a way of crossing the bridge up to Foggy Bottom. Then she'd head home to her apartment at Columbia Plaza. It was a dated apartment with the flower wallpaper but right now she could do with a hot meal, hot shower, a change of clothes and watching the fall out on CNBC.
She ran down the trail. She could see the bridge in sight. She was close. She turned around when she had heard his voice. Her boyfriend had caught up with her. No, he wasn't a boyfriend. He was someone who she slept with from time to time and always at a hotel. She always did a sweep of her devices to make sure he didn't bug her. She was as paranoid as much as the agency was.
There was something to Richard that raised her hackles. She had always assumed that what had her instinct been telling her was that of his being a spy. Yet now it was something different, more dangerous, much more sinister. Could he have been Hydra? She had been a fuck buddy with a Hydra operative?
How could she not have known?
How was it even possible?
What would this even mean (to her, to what was happening)?
Would she be seen as treasonous?
"Richard," her voice growled out, "how could you?"
Richard smirked before saying two words she'd come to loathe with every cell of her body, "Hail Hydra."
He attacked her with a ferocity that he had reserved for the enemy. She was now the enemy. An enemy whose gun had been kicked away when she drew it on Richard. She blocked his attacks with his doing the same. Neither was leaving any opening, and both defending. She knew she was going to have to use Richard's strength against him. As Richard rushed her she dodged as she did three stabbings into his side in quick succession. The third stabbing slipped through Richard's rib penetrating his lung. He grunted with pain, and spewing a litany of curses. His clothing was spreading with blood.
"You don't bring a knife to a gunfight," her brain commented knowing that was Richard's aim, to try and gain distance so that he could draw his gun on her. Richard swung back managing to get a hold of her wrist breaking it. Her dominant hand was now out of commission she would have to rely on her other hand. "Going to have to train the other hand," her brain supplied on an ongoing checklist. She was going to have to fight smart. She started to focus her attacks on the stab wounds.
Richard pushed her back enough for him to gain the upper hand by pulling out his gun. She saw him cock his gun. As if time was moving like molasses, she heard the click, saw his trigger finger flinch readying to fire. She rushed Richard causing him to fire in reaction. Using the element of surprise she twisted herself so that she could control where the bullet would end up.
The bullet tore through her like liquid fire. The pain was nearly unbearable but at least it had been superficial. Following the variable smoking gun lead to a pain that was far worse than the one in her upper arm though not by much. She groaned in pain as she landed on her broken wrist. Richard paused briefly which allowed her to gather up all the strength she could and lunge at him with a hidden stiletto in her business coat.
The stiletto pierced Richard's throat and if luck was on her side then it would have struck any major artery in his neck. She didn't want to wait. The last two words she heard Richard speak was going to haunt her for a very long time.
"Sorry honey," Richard said. It had been the one term of endearment she allowed when they were together alone in the room. She never allowed any more intimacy than that.
The entire left side felt on fire. Her wrist would need to be set. She was going to have to find a black market doctor to stitch her up. There was no way she was going to go to any clinic or hospital. She climbed up the pedestrian stairs at the side facing her apartment complex. She had decided to go through Rock Creek Park Trails to end up on Ohio Drive, followed by 23rd then Virginia Ave the street she lived on. It would provide the straightest shot to her apartment while also allowing her some privacy.
In all of the chaos she had managed to retain her purse and satchel even during her fight with Richard. Inside she found a scarf that she used as a bandage. She put back on her thankfully black business coat.
Her apartment was less than a mile away. While walking there she could hear the wails of sirens as every EMT in the city, and neighboring boroughs were rushing to the scene. While she looked like a frightful mess everyone was far more concerned about current goings on at the Triskelion. She repeated the streets she was going to take, the things she had to do in over and over to keep her focus on moving forward to her apartment and not on her injuries.
The large crash could be heard loudly. She winced and groaned as she looked towards her former place of employment. The three helicarriers were now firing on each other. One had struck the side of the building that held the employee parking. "Damn it," she thought, "my POS car." She didn't want to wait any longer. She had a plan. She had priorities.
Jacyln Wintour was killed in action. Darcy Lewis on the other hand very much alive and very much getting the hell out of D.C.