The Winter Soldier winced as he pushed himself along the edge of the riverbank. He could hear the commotion of helicopters in the distance and made a beeline for the forest to hide him from the eyes above.
The terrain was horrendous, he could feel the bones of his body rapidly crumbling with every step while his mind was like rush hour at King's Cross Station. He could hardly focus on his footwork as the reality and past kept flashing across his vision.
He saved the man from the bridge – but why? He remembered him – but how? Why was he sent to assassinate a man that was ready to embrace it?
He collapsed onto a tree and gritted his teeth against the pain. He was about ready to accept the defeat and spend the afternoon right there, when he looked up and saw a rusty wooden shack half concealed by the forest.
He pushed himself off of the tree and staggered towards the shed. He unsheathed his blade, ready to attack should anyone try.
With his back against the outside wall of the shack, he peered into the only open window beside the door for any signs of life. It appeared to be dusty and abandoned. He slowly pushed open the door to reveal a two roomed shack with a few crates stacked to the side.
He staggered to the second room that was only a few feet away from the entrance and collapsed against the wall. He slid down to a stationary position seated on the floor facing the entrance.
He continued to think about the man that he had just risked his life for. He had many questions about what took place that afternoon. But before the thoughts could consume him, they all vanished into darkness as he subsided into a deep sleep.
Helicopter's roared over the terrain as Lucy was walking back to her home after caring for Mr Jones. Well, he definitely will not be getting his sleep this afternoon she thought.
It saddened her to think that she would not be looking after him for much longer. Within the next few weeks he would be moving to Carlisle Gardens – an old people's home. Until then she was doing her usual care for him as well as packing and sorting his belongings for the big move.
When she wasn't caring for Mr Jones, she was at home or in a remote area on her small property creating art. Today she felt like visiting her favourite place in the forest – the shack. Something about the shack made her create art to her full potential.
Lucy had just arrived at the doorstep to the house when she noticed heavy smoke in the air that appeared to be coming from the river a couple of miles away. This sort of sight was quite common on the outskirts of New York City. Nonetheless, she stepped inside and turned on the TV hoping for some sort of explanation on what was happening.
Live aerial footage of crushed buildings, fires, debris and scared citizens were on the TV screen. So far they are uncertain of the cause, but the public is being advised to remain calm and stay within their homes.
It reminded her of the battle of New York that occurred two years ago where the Avenger's fought to prevent an alien attack. Her heart warmed as she thought of how selfless the Avengers were – sacrificing their lives for the peace of everyone else's. She quickly turned off the TV before the media attempted to convince the public otherwise.
She dropped her backpack on the couch to assemble the necessities she would need for going to the shack. She felt particularly motivated to practice with charcoals today so she neatly packed them at the bottom of her bag beside her art journal. She then wandered around the small house gathering food, water and a blanket. It got quite cold in the shack, so she made sure that she wasn't going to make the same mistake on forgetting it again.
Lucy grabbed her now full backpack, then left the home she just returned to and began her trek towards the forest.
Only a few minutes had passed when she noticed that something about the atmosphere in the forest was different. She could only put it down to the devastation that was happening close by. At least she thought so, before she turned the corner to see the door to her shack was shut.
She was always careful with how she left things – her past had taught her to do so – and she never left the door to the shack closed. She haltered and scanned the environment for further discrepancies. The sun rays broke through the tree tops causing a substance on the ground to reflect light. Fear caught her unexpectedly when she realised that the substance was blood.
Her mind began to flood with the countless possibilities of someone or something in her shack. Although she quickly deduced that due to the evidence of blood loss, medical attention was necessary. Thankfully she kept a first aid kit inside one of the crates in the shack.
However that isn't going to offer much defence if the intruder was dangerous. She saw a thick, small stick with a pointed end lay on the ground. She hastily grabbed the stick and gripped it with two hands against her chest. She then quietly progressed towards the shack listening for any sounds of movement.
She regretted not taking the wooden boards off all the windows since she started visiting the shack. She made her way to the only open window beside the door and glanced inside. Nothing. It was untouched. Still in the condition that she had left it when she last visited. She gripped the handle and turned softly as the door opened with a slow groan.
Securing her grip on the stick, she stepped inside and mentally prepared herself for a hidden attack. The air inside the shack still had its sense of tranquillity. That was until she turned to see a bloodied man sitting against the wall.
Fear and surprise consumed her simultaneously as she took in the sight that she was seeing. It was not that it was an injured man that had sent her over the edge, but it was the fact that he had a threateningly large, silver metal left arm.
Lucy froze at the sight of the arm, she had never seen anything like it before. She studied it intently noting the red star at the top of the shoulder and the dried blood on the finger tips. It was mesmerising how each plate seamlessly connected to the others around it. The arm as a whole reminded her a shiny suit of armour.
She snapped her attention away from the arm and back to the man himself. He was dressed in a heavily fitted black suit. Beside his right thigh lay a black combat knife. From previous experience with men dressed in black, she decided to keep her distance and analyse his medical condition from afar.
His long hair appeared to be damp, some strands stuck to his face whereas the rest were leading in different directions. Dried blood was scattered across his face and on the knuckles of both arms. His real left arm rest awkwardly on his thighs which suggested that something could be wrong with it. His chest slowly rose and sunk meaning that he wasn't dead. Thank God, she thought. The last thing she'd want is a dead man in her shack.
Now Lucy faced the decision on what to do, leave the shack and pretend that she never saw the man to begin with, or stay and face the possibility that he could very well harm, or even kill her...