Notes: We're back, and just in time to make your monday better! We bring you a new chapter that, although it seems that's not related with what has happened so far, it's a really important piece of the story!
The two new characters appearing, Peter and Victor, are our own creation and we hope you like them!
We also post the names of the actors that we think that fit better in Peter and Victor's skin!
Michael Fassbender - Peter Taft.
Shemar Moore - Victor Yates.
Chapter 6: Memory (I)
He was stunned. The sensory overload took the few energy he had remaining. His whole body claimed attention at the same time. Pain in every inch of his body. An intense buzz was murdering his head. His sight was blurred, he barely distinguished where he was, but there was light. Too many light. The stench of smoke and gasoline made it even worst. Peter Taft just wanted to let himself go.
However, he couldn't satisfy his wish. The sea of sensations that he was sinking in, anchored him even more in reality. The pain got more intense. His vision began to get clearer, while the odor weakened. Red and black dominated the view, with some orange brushstrokes that came and left. Little by little, he got back to consciousness, at least enough to realize where he was. Memories returned as dispersed photograms. New York. Green car. Victor Yates. ¡Victor!
He looked to a side, and pain traveled quickly through every nerve. He wanted to quit and let himself die, but he bore the pain as he could. He had to check out if Victor was fine. The copilot's seat was right over him. A lax body hung from the seat belt. Lifeless arms and legs trapped under upholstery in a grotesque position. Rivers of blood tainted Victor's body and fell as a cascade directly over Peter. Taft, covered in the blood of his beloved Victor, howled in pain.
That was the most devastating scream that Steve Rogers ever heard. Not even in battlefield heard something like that. He got closer to the origin of the sound to find a grim picture. At least a dozen of dumped cars. He saw movement in the closest so he searched between the amorphous iron corpse, saving a young girl and her baby alive and relatively save.
He inspected some other cars before he reached the green sedan with its tires laying against the buildings wall. A fire was starting to devour the car. Flames ate the bodywork and they were getting closer to the gas tank which would immediately bust. In a quick look, he saw both the pilot and the copilot covered by blood. The copilot was in the highest side and he only stood in his seat because of the seat belt. He barely could see the pilot, in the bottom, surrounded by smoke and a blood pond.
His sight was limited by the smoke, and neither the blood drops that were sliding off his eyelids were helping. However, he saw it. Red boots were approaching. He could see how they were taking out a woman and his son from a car, a few meters from his location. Peter prayed. He prayed with all the remaining faith, imploring that the saving boots came to his rescue. And they did.
The boots stopped in front of his face, two feet of distance, but they didn't come closer. Peter tried to calm down. He was sure that he was looking for survivors, and it was something as easy as releasing a sound. A light sound of alert. With a simple word, he and Victor would be safe and they would have another chance. Because Victor wasn't dead. Peter was sure that he only was unconscious; he refused to believe another thing.
Hopeful, he caught some air, but strength failed him. He barely could move and neither the smallest whimper exited his mouth. He was blocked. With rage, he wanted to cry, but the teardrops didn't come out. One by one, he called up all the muscles from his body, trying to wake them up, but none of them wanted to answer the call. With the maximum of the efforts, he could move his wrist a little. Internally he smiled because of the success. He was sure that the savior had seen it. He could take them off the car.
Everything darkened. Those sparkling red boots that represented the hope and his only chance, walked away. "No! Please, come back, come back!" he prayed in silence, but in this occasion his prayers remained without response. He looked at Victor for a last time. What terrified him the most was that the last words that they exchanged weren't romantic at all. Hurtful and fulfilled of rage, those were words of pain and not love. Those bright red boots were seen by his eyes in a dark and gloomy color. Those weren't the boots of a savior but the boots of death.
Peter Taft woke impregnated in cold sweat and the heart racing. It seemed that the nightmares had came back.