- CHAPTER 2: ZOLA -
- ILANA'S POV FROM THIS POINT ON UNLESS OTHERWISE STATED -
"This is a dumbass plan..." I muttered, keeping my head down but making sure to have an eye on everyone that passed by us.
Steve, Natasha, and I were walking through a busy mall on the outskirts of central D.C. We'd left my apartment in a hurry last night, only for me to find out that we'd just be taking a short trip to the nation's capital. I knew it had been a bad idea when I established my most recent hideout in Philadelphia. My rationale at the time had been to hide in plain sight, the city big enough to blend into the background and disappear if need be.
NYC had always been out of the question given its proclivity for being the epicenter for trouble. But it was especially off-limits due to the establishment of the Avengers tower. Maybe buddying up with two of the members would allow me to at least take a visit.
If we survived this suicide mission.
"They'll be able to track us as soon as we plug that thing in," Steve murmured from my left. "This is our only option."
"And what if hell breaks loose?"
"We fight some demons." His jaw set as he kept up an unnatural pace.
"Well, you need to chill out," I bit back. "Just because it's called 'on the run,' doesn't mean you actually have to run."
"Took the words right out of my mouth," Natasha said from my right. They boxed me in every time we got out of the car. "You already stick out enough, don't make it worse."
He scoffed but slowed his pace down nonetheless. I adjusted the beanie on my head that was hiding my long black hair. Steve had his own ball cap, while Natasha sported a hoodie. We didn't exactly look unsuspicious but, if I'd learned anything, it was that civilians could be quite oblivious. We hopped on an escalator that would lead us to the second level.
"Why're the details of your powers the only thing I couldn't find?" Natasha turned and whispered from a step above me.
I shrugged, leaning on the moving belt that was the railing. "I didn't use them often in public," I responded simply. "But even beyond that, I didn't know Hydra had taken such precautions to keep them completely off-radar."
"Guess you're really that valuable of an asset, huh?"
"Yep." I stared off vacantly. A boy eating ice cream crossed my vision as he made his way down on the opposite escalator. "And that's exactly why it's imperative I don't get caught." I shot her a warning glare.
"When we make it out of this," Steve drew my attention from the step below me, "you could come with us. The Avengers could use another player."
"With my past?" I raised my eyebrows at him. "I'd be locked up in a second."
"They gave me a break," Natasha said, not unkindly. "Probably can throw you a bone, too."
Before I could give a rebuttal, we were off the escalator and marching past shops on the second floor. We passed deeper into the mall, and I kept a lookout. There was no way they could realistically track our location until the drive was plugged in, but you could never underestimate Hydra.
"I'll stay out here," I said as we reached the outside of a computer store.
"Not a chance," Steve said sternly.
"If I wanted to run, it would have been back in Philadelphia." I sighed in annoyance. "I'll keep a lookout and let you know when they descend upon us."
With a wary look at Natasha, he finally nodded. Walking up to me, he snuck a comms piece into my hand and I latched it into my ear while feigning fixing an earring. Natasha did the same, while he pretended to scratch his ear as they walked away.
I moved to a railing overlooking the vast center court of the mall. People milled about, pleasantly talking as they lugged stuffed shopping bags. The normalcy of it all ignited a spark of jealousy in my gut. I'd been able to absorb some of that sense of 'regular' during my time on the run, but always with a terrified eye on what I left behind.
"Alright," I heard Natasha through my earpiece. "We've got about nine minutes starting now."
"As soon as you've got eyes on any hostiles, Ilana," Steve interjected, "call it out."
"Aye, aye," I said back playfully. He hadn't been fond of it last night, so it wasn't a phrase I planned on giving up anytime soon.
My eyes roamed the court once more, watching a plethora of people go up and down escalators. Another couple of kids had found ice cream, and my stomach grumbled at the sight of it. Maybe we could stop for some on our way out if we had the time? A foolish hope, but one that I clung to for any source of comfort. Another child walked out of a store, carrying a new bear that he'd just made. I wondered what it was like to have a normal childhood. One without constant beatings and actions meant to break you.
"You know how this goes," a man in a white lab coat said. "A flash of pain to kickstart whatever secrets you have inside you."
I was latched to a chair, my arms and legs tied down as another strap held my head back. I tried to wiggle out but to no avail. My small body was too weak to break through anything that held me down. Tears started to pour down my eyes. It was the third day in a row they had subjected me to this, and they would test me right after. If I didn't perform as well as they wanted, I would be put back in the chair again and again until I could prove something.
The scientist nodded to another man behind some sort of control panel. Before I had a chance to blink, the electricity raced through me, consuming every inch of my body. Screams ripped throughout the small room as I couldn't hold back my reaction to the torturous pain. It felt like I was being ripped apart, inch by inch. Just when I felt like I was about to die, the agony stopped.
"How are you feeling, my dear?" asked the man in the white lab coat.
My only response was a whimper.
"Sense anything?" He leaned in too close, face right in front of mine to analyze my features, seeing if anything had changed. "Any spark you'd like to show us?"
Desperately, I searched my small brain for something. I didn't know what he wanted, what he needed. All I knew was that I was terrified of what he would do if I failed. Without knowing exactly how I did it, a couple of talons matching the shiny metal of the door popped out from my fingertips. I felt my eyes bulge from the weight of the veins around them.
"Finally! There she is." He grinned with malice. "Our first peek. Would you like to see?"
He brought over a mirror to allow me a look, my cherub-esque face staring back at me. My eyes were pitch black, the veins that had appeared around them matching. I closed my eyes and looked away, scared of the monster he showed me.
"A wonderful start." He placed the mirror back down before nodding once more to the man behind the buttons.
"No! No!" my small voice screamed, but it was too late.
My body began to rip apart once more. I was only six years old, and that was just the beginning.
My eyes refocused on the boy with the bear. He didn't realize how lucky he was and I found myself hating the child for it.
A couple men behind him caught my attention. Dressed head to toe in black, they stuck out like a sore thumb. Idiots. What's the point of being a covert assassin team if they didn't even hide it?
"We have incoming," I whispered into the earpiece.
"How long we got?" Steve asked.
I moved to get a better look at the bottom of the escalators that led to our side of the second floor. Two hostiles were rapidly approaching, they'd be on us soon.
"Maybe thirty seconds," I replied. "A minute if they're polite and don't push past anyone on the escalators."
"Almost there," Natasha said. "Anything you can do?"
I eyed my surroundings. There was a trashcan I could push down, but that was too obvious... I snuck closer to the escalator, the hostiles now ascending but thankfully waiting patiently. A big red button caught my eye. Perfect. I quickly walked past the escalator, the patrons trying to get off scowling at me for getting in the way, and pressed the large button. The escalators came to a screeching stop, and I briskly removed myself from the screen.
"Might've bought you another minute." But as I turned back, I realized I was wrong. The hostiles no longer held their patience, shoving past shoppers to get to the top. "Shit, just kidding. Maybe thirty seconds... How're we looking?"
"Almost there," Natasha said, voice way too calm for the situation. I kept my eyes on the men in black, ready to resort to action if need be. "And... got it."
"I'm going to head down the west escalator," I said urgently, ignoring the odd look from a bystander. It probably appeared like I was talking to myself. "You guys head down the east, and we'll meet out front?"
"Hydra taught you well," her voice rang through my earpiece.
"Yeah, probably as well as the KGB," I replied, but neither of our tones held any malice.
"How'd you know?"
"Please, you're Russian." I hopped on the escalator, head down as I put on a pair of sunglasses that I pulled from my jacket. "And a super spy. It doesn't take a genius."
"Touché."
"We got incoming on our side," Steve said sternly. "How's it looking over there?"
My sunglasses concealed my frantically moving eyes as I scanned the bottom floor and the escalator beside me. I saw a single individual and my breath hitched in my throat. The chiselled jaw was all too recognizable to me, his dark stubble against his tan skin exactly as I remembered it. His posture was immaculate, like the devious soldier he was, as he scanned the room. Even with my disguise, he'd be able to recognize me.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"You guys didn't tell me Rumlow was a part of this," I hissed.
"You know him?" Natasha said, and I vaguely saw her look at me from the other side of the court.
"Another understatement." I tried to shift my body away as the escalator slowly compressed the distance between us. "And trust me, if you get a whole 'I don't respect women's boundaries' vibe from him, you're not wrong."
He was too close now, his eyes looking over the court as he scanned the perimeter. I was lucky he hadn't pivoted his head in my direction. But this is what I was trained for, to avoid even the most skilled of assailants.
Assessing my options once more, I watched as the man in front of me put his phone in his back pocket. Well, he was just begging for it to be taken then, right? With a swift movement, I plucked it from his jeans. His background was of some blonde celebrity I didn't recognize in a scanty dress, and I had to hold back a scoff.
Rumlow was a couple of feet away from me now, head swerving to finally turn his gaze in my direction. I whipped the phone up to my ear, my free hand covering my cheek as I dramatically wiped away the tears I forced to fall from under my sunglasses.
"I just can't believe she's gone," I sobbed out, voice loud enough to be heard but not catch too much attention. "She was too young. I'll head over to the hospital now."
From my peripheral, I saw Rumlow look away. Classic. People hated public displays of emotions. It was a trick I'd used many times before. My tears stopped immediately as he passed by me. With a peek back, I saw that he was solely focused on scanning the second floor. He reached up a hand to his earpiece and said something, looking up to a balcony on the third floor. They really weren't doing a good job at being covert, but none of the shoppers seemed to notice.
I took it as my chance to slowly walk down the rest of the way, holding the phone out to the man in front of me as I passed without stopping.
"You dropped this," I said flatly. He took it, mouth open to express his thanks but I continued downwards.
I tried to keep as casual a pace as I could as I made my way across the mall, eventually releasing a breath when I pushed through the front doors that led to the parking garage. Leaning on a concrete pillar deep into the rows of cars, I waited with my head down. Finally, Steve and Natasha emerged from around the corner.
"Told you I wouldn't run," I said smugly, crossing my arms. "What's the situation?"
"Ever been to Jersey?" Natasha asked.
"Hid out for about three months in Trenton and hated it. Why?"
"The flash drive gave us coordinates to an old S.H.I.E.L.D. bunker. Whatever information we're looking for, it's there."
"Well, let's get this show on the road then," I heaved myself up from the pillar and walked to scope out potential transit. "I assume we're not taking the same car—"
The words were barely out of my mouth before the shots began. We were surrounded by a plethora of vehicles, so it was easy to duck behind a nearby SUV. The windows above me shattered and I held up my hands to prevent the shards from scratching my face. It was quiet for half a second—the only sounds being the click of guns as they reloaded—before another round fired off.
"I assume no one brought a gun?" I groaned.
"Don't usually go shopping with one," Natasha bit back.
With silent movements, I inched around the SUV and swiftly behind a concrete pillar. Natasha and Steve were behind a minivan across the aisle, sitting in crouched positions and ready to strike.
"Steve," I breathed, voice barely audible, "where's your shield?"
"In the trunk of the car we used to get here," he said with a sigh.
"Focus on grabbing that and a way out... Natasha and I can handle this?" My voice was unsure, posing it as a question more than anything.
"Girl power," she grumbled.
I heard the footsteps moving closer, someone about to cross past the pillar I was hiding behind. My heart raced, pummeling the ribs it was hiding behind. If I did this, I'd be exposing myself. The organization I'd spent so much careful time running from would know who I was running with. It made me visible, findable. Bile tickled the back of my throat at the thought of this leading to my capture.
But there was no time to think too deeply about it. This was always a possibility, and yet I still signed up.
I saw a flash of black in my peripheral, a large man with a gross scar across his face coming into my line of sight. Without another moment of thought, I lunged, bringing my foot down on his shin as it broke with a sickening snap. He dropped with a scream immediately, and I kicked him in the face to knock him out. Grabbing his guns, I slid one to Natasha before ducking behind another car. Steve took the commotion as his opportunity to sneak away and out of sight.
Shots fired off in our direction from the movement, shattering more windows and creating holes in the concrete infrastructure. I eyed Natasha from across the way, her gaze steady as she peeked around the corner of the minivan. She held up a hand, fingers spread wide, indicating that she counted five. I nodded and checked the number of bullets in my gun. Fully loaded.
"Ilana," I heard Rumlow call out in a singsong voice that made my blood curdle, "I know you're out there. You should be ashamed... You've used that weepy trick enough times that I'd notice it blind."
"Happy to test that theory out!" I yelled before rolling behind another car as shots rang out.
They were clearing the distance, gaining on our hiding places. We had to act soon. I met Natasha's eyes. She gave out a sigh, more annoyed than anything, before giving a nod. We stood at the same time, shooting off before ducking around other cars. I only landed one while she got two, to my frustration. She sent me a smirk. Two more to go, one, unfortunately, being Rumalow. He was good from a distance—the only times I bested him in training sessions was when we faced off hand to hand.
"Natasha," I whispered, "I'm gonna go for Rumalow. Cover my back on the other?"
"Gladly."
She snuck out of my sight. Knees bent as I used my hands to track along the pavement, I moved closer to where Rumalow and his last standing cronie had positioned themselves in the center of the garage. I finally reached a pillar not four feet away from them, my breath caught in my throat as I tried to be as quiet as possible. Natasha was nowhere to be seen, but I had an opening and just had to hope that she would have my back this time. Memories of Madripoor slipped in and out of my consciousness. If she ditched me again and I made it out alive, I vowed to find her.
With one last breath, I began to count down in my head from five. On one, I turned and immediately fired off before lunging.
I reached Rumlow in no time, knocking his gun out of his hand before he had the chance to register what was happening. The other man raised his gun at me, but a bullet through the neck brought him tumbling to the concrete.
Rumlow was fishing for another gun but I sent a knee into his chest, throwing him into the nearest car before advancing on him once more. I slapped the butt of my gun across his face before positioning the barrel between his eyes. He froze with heavy breaths, gaze menacing as he stared right into my own. Natasha crept out from behind an SVU, her own gun positioned on him.
"Glad to see you've kept ahold of some tricks," he breathed out.
"Nineteen years of torture tends to make some things stick," I said through gritted teeth.
He laughed and I pushed the barrel closer. "Three years out of practice made you rusty, though."
Before I could blink, he had a knife in my bicep, the blood flowing instantly. With the other hand, he twisted my wrist, making me drop my gun. Natasha tried to fire off a shot but a previously incapacitated hostile had recovered, pushing and causing her to miss the mark. While they engaged in their own scuffle, I dealt with Rumalow. Or tried to.
He went for the gun, but I kicked it out of the way, using the momentum to step down hard on his foot. I was able to place an elbow to his abdomen, but he grabbed onto my injured arm and twisted until my back was against his chest. A muscled arm wrapped around my neck as he leaned in to whisper.
"It'll be good to have you back." His breath was hot on my ear, and I had to hold back a gag.
With as much strength as I could, I buckled over and heaved him onto the pavement in front of me.
"In your dreams," I bit out with a kick to his ribs.
He rolled out of the way of my kick aimed for his neck and moved back onto his feet. His malicious smile never faltered as he raised his fists. We paced in front of one another for a moment, eyes never breaking contact. I so desperately wanted to take a peek at Natasha but knew that if I broke contact with him for a second, he'd be all over me and it'd be over.
"You know," he taunted, "you could end this so easily. Tear me down in a half a second."
He's right, a voice in my head whispered, my blood tingling with the magic that lay dormant within it.
"C'mon," he huffed, opening his arms in an invitation. "Let's see what's still lurking underneath that pretty skin."
He was baiting me, but I hated that it was working. My veins began to bulge ever so slightly but I pushed them back. That wasn't me anymore. I wasn't going to let him trick me into using powers so volatile. So, I settled for diving.
He was expecting me, grabbing my ankle as I kicked out and rotating me in the hopes to bring me down. But I moved with him, flipping and barely landing in a standing position. I wobbled for only half a second before I palmed him under the chin and sent him backwards. His lip busted on his teeth, blood pouring out of his mouth. He wiped the blood quickly before launching into a sprint. His fist reached out to land a punch on my jaw but he was clipped by a flash of metal.
Steve's shield bounced off Rumlow's chest with such power that I was sure he would suffer from some broken ribs. I turned my head quickly. Steve was standing in front of the open passenger door to a navy truck, Natasha in the driver's seat.
"Let's go!" He beckoned, the shield snapping into place on his arm.
I didn't hesitate, sprinting for the truck and launching myself in the backseat. Steve hadn't even closed his door before Natasha pounded on the gas, the tires squealing as she pulled a quick turn to get out of the garage. I laid down on the backseat, breath heaving in rhythm with both of theirs.
Just before we left the garage completely, I leaned up and looked out the back window. Rumlow was on his feet, but he didn't make an advance. My body collapsed onto the cushions once more, the pain finally registering as the knife wound in my arm throbbed. I pulled off my beanie and ripped it, creating a long piece of fabric to tie around it and staunch the blood. It wouldn't take long to heal so long as I kept from bleeding out.
My head flopped back onto the seat with a huff. Rumlow's gaze haunted the back of my eyes with every blink. We'd made it out, but I knew it was only the beginning.
I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep until Steve gave me a pat on the leg. I sat up abruptly, the nightmare I'd been having flashing across my consciousness in bits and pieces.
He gave me a worried look. "You okay? Started flopping around back there just a few minutes ago."
"I'm fine." I swallowed hard, the saliva thick in the back of my throat.
Looking around, I saw we were at rundown a gas station. There was nothing but trees for as far as the eyes could see.
"Why've we stopped?" I asked, rubbing my stabbed arm as it ached.
"Gotta switch cars," he said. "They saw what we left in."
I just nodded. Made sense.
Natasha went inside the store—no doubt to distract whoever was in there—while Steve and I poked around. We didn't have many options. Another truck, a minivan, and a station wagon. The last looked like it had been there for a while so we settled for it, not thinking it would be missed too dearly. I kept a lookout as Steve pulled the door open with ease before ripping a few wires out from near the steering wheel. Looks like Captain America had a wild side to him, after all.
Natasha emerged just as the car started, everything seeming to work fine despite how worn it was. She easily slipped into the passenger seat while I jumped in the back. Steve drove us off without incident.
We were quiet for the most part, the lackluster New Jersey landscape passing us by. Practically the only ones on the road, we only passed by the odd semi-truck every now and then.
"So," Steve looked back at me in the review mirror casually, "you going to ever show us those abilities of yours?"
"Only if you're unlucky," I said, eyes squinting against the sun as I looked away. My legs were propped up on the seat as I leaned back against the door.
"Rumlow seemed to make a pretty big deal about them," Natasha said, turning to look back at me.
"How were you close enough to hear that but not close to help out?"
"I had my own problems to deal with." She smirked. "Like covering your ass."
I huffed as I crossed my arms. "So where exactly are we going?" I pivoted the conversation away from me.
"You'll find out soon enough," Steve grumbled. "We're almost there."
"How did you know that?" Natasha looked at a phone she had in her lap.
Steve remained quiet and, not long after, he made a turn down a forest-covered road. It led up to a fence where we all hopped out. 'Camp Leigh' said a sign bolted to the closed fence—an old military base. Beyond it loomed a collection of aged and long-deserted buildings. The setting sun silhouetted them, giving them an ominous glow.
"This is it." Natasha pocketed the phone. "The file came from these coordinates."
"So did I," Steve said, looking at the sign fondly. So, this is where he trained before he became Captain America. I couldn't imagine how odd it must have felt to return.
We walked towards one of the buildings, Natasha guiding us by her phone as she held it up. Every now and then I would notice Steve halt and look off into the distance. Fond memories flashed across his eyes, clearly remembering his time as an army recruit. He clutched his shield closer every time his gaze came back into focus.
As we travelled further into one of the buildings, Natasha's phone being our only light, my mind began to swirl. The dark, the confinement, the metal. It felt all too familiar, and very much not in a pleasant way. I stopped walking when we rounded the corner to a narrow hallway made of only metal walls.
"Hey," Steve called calmly, his eyes looking worried even through the dark, "you good?"
I took a few breaths, and then a few more just to be sure. They waited patiently, Natasha focusing on the phone while Steve looked at some pictures on the wall. They were giving me space, time to work through it, and I found myself oddly grateful. I realized that maybe I wasn't giving them enough credit. Finally, my heartbeat settled and I gave out a nod.
Without another word, we continued on.
We were led into the bowels of the building via a hidden elevator, old computers flooding nearly every square inch of a large basement room. We took no more than three steps in before light flooded over us, momentarily blinding me as every cog started to whir. Screens lit up with ominous glowing, while buttons seemed to tap themselves. We glanced at each other, cautiously making our way towards the main computer in the center of the room.
The lights cascaded over the decrepit monitors, all of us turning in circles to figure out what was going on.
"This can't be right," Natasha said. "Everything in here is ancient."
My stomach began to bubble with nervousness, feeling that something wasn't right here. Steve must've felt it too, holding his shield closer as he wandered around the room. My fingers traced across one of the monitors to the right but came out clean. No dust. Someone had been here recently.
"Wait..." Natasha began, walking towards the other side of the desk.
In front of her was a very modern flash drive port. Without hesitation, she plopped the flash drive into an open slot. Nothing happened for half a breath, all of us waiting on edge.
Then the room expanded, light revealing just how massive of a space it was, and just how many devices it contained. There were thousands of hardrives, their wheels spinning as they came to life. We all stepped back in surprise, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic again. The bubble in my stomach expanded when the giant monitor flickered to life in green static, the camera above it moving slowly as if analyzing us. What looked like a morphed face with glasses appeared on the screen, and my breath hitched.
"Rogers, Steven, born 1918," an electronic voice called out as the camera focused its lens on the man beside me. It turned to the redhead. "Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna, born 1984."
"Natalia?" I asked her suspiciously. Her eyebrow twitched. "So much for an even trade, huh?"
Finally, the camera settled on me. "Dimitrov, Ilana, born 1987." The static face twitched as if it was tilting its head in consideration. "It would have been nice to meet you. Such possibility."
"What the hell is this?" Steve asked, eyes not leaving the screen.
"Probably some bogus recording to scare us," I said, but my voice gave away how unnerved I was as it quivered.
"I am not a recording," it bit back. "I might not be the man I was when I was imprisoned in 1945 but... I still am."
A picture of a pudgy man in glasses lit up a screen to the right of the giant monitor, looming right in front of me. Steve immediate took up defense, shield raising as he eyed the photo.
"You know this guy?" Natasha asked.
"Arnim Zola. He worked for the Red Skull." He began to walk the perimeter of the computer as he spoke.
"That potato is Zola?" I pointed at the picture with my thumb.
"You know this guy, too?" The redhead turned to me.
"Only by word of mouth as a kid. He's been dead for years."
"Look around you," the computer almost sounded annoyed, as if it were actually a person, "I assure you I am quite alive."
Steve reached the front of the monitor again. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Language, please," Zola chided. "This is a place of science." We all just stared, waiting as the room whirred around us. "When science could not save my body, I knew I had to find a way to preserve my mind. I did so in the 200,000 feet of databanks that surround you now. This is my brain."
"Morbid," I mumbled, a shiver running up my spine. "Where'd you come from?"
"S.H.I.E.L.D recruited German scientists after World War II," Natasha started. "They thought they'd hold some strategic value."
"And while I helped their cause," Zola went on, "I was helping my own. Hydra did not die with the Red Skull." Images of war and destruction flashed across all the screens around us. Terrible depictions of bombs dropping, bullets flying, and buildings crumbling. "When the war ended and S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded, I was recruited. As a parasite, I planted the seeds of Hydra deep in the roots of the organization. And for seventy years, we've been waging war and promoting chaos all in an effort to make humanity realize."
"Realize what?" I could tell Steve was on his last nerve as hit bit the words out.
"That they cannot be trusted with their own freedom." Zola's voice turned the room cold. A flash of silver, coated by a red star caught my attention when it blew past the monitor in an image. "When history did not comply with our efforts, it was rewritten."
"Did you know about any of this?" Steve glared down at me.
"No," I whispered, my shoulders sagging, "I never—"
"Ah, such sweet naivety," the computer cooed. "What did you think that you were trying to accomplish on all those missions?"
My heart dropped into my abdomen. Natasha glanced at me warily, but not unkindly. Steve just set his jaw and looked away. Neither of them knew what they had brought with them on their mission to save the world. But, then again, I hadn't known either. And it wouldn't have mattered if I had—I had no power over what they made me do all those years.
Nevertheless, I felt so unbelievably stupid. All this time, I thought Hydra was just doing horrible things for the sake of some sort of eventual gain. I had no clue it spanned decades and countries to support such a magnanimous effort.
"So what's next?" Steve bit out.
"Hydra has created a world so chaotic that it is finally time." Zola let out what I would consider a sigh of relief. "It is time to start the purification process and, after that, a new world order will arise."
The final images were of warships, guns loaded and moving, floating into the sky.
"We won, Captain."
Steve punched the computer, shards splintering off of it and flying across the desk. But Zola wasn't done. The face came into view right next to me on another monitor, and I jumped at its sudden reappearance.
"What's on the drive?" Steve was seething at his futile attempt.
"Project Insight requires insight. So, I created an algorithm."
"What's Project Insight?" I asked, feeling nauseous.
"An algorithm that does what?" Natasha ignored me and leaned forward, inches away from the screen as she stared into Zola's computer eyes.
"You'll be too dead to know." The computer sighed. Its green eyes looked toward me. "It really is a pity. Your particular talents will be wasted with the spilling of your blood."
My mouth went dry. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Natasha's phone beeped. She held it up, a look of horror crossing her face. The door behind us closed, Steve's shield not fast enough to keep it open.
"Bogey, thirty seconds out," she said.
"From who?" I asked, looking over her shoulder at the radar that was beeping rapidly.
"S.H.I.E.L.D."
"It would seem," Zola said, "that we are all out of time."
Rage and fear bubbled over, and I couldn't stop myself from ripping the computer screen with the metallic talons that protruded from my fingers. They didn't go away as we frantically looked for a way out. Steve ripped open a crate on the floor, revealing a shallow pit. We felt the bogey hit the building, debris spilling everywhere as we all jumped into the hole in the floor. Despite Steve's shield, we were still getting pummeled with falling concrete and brick.
I felt the automatic urge to act, my body reacting naturally as the magic seeped through my every pore. The metal scales continued all the way up my arms until they met at my collarbones. The veins around my eyes bulged as my vision clouded over for half a second before becoming perfectly clear. My hands moved upwards as a dull light cascaded over us. Debris continued to fall but it no longer landed on us. We were wrapped in our own little cocoon, and I didn't allow my concentration to falter at my companion's shocked looks.
The debris pushed hard, my hands jostling slightly as some of the larger chunks collided. Rumlow had been right. I was too out of practice, my skills no longer as sharp as they used to be. And then, mercifully, it stopped. The remnants of the building floated just above our heads as the chaos transformed into an eerie silence, only broken by the sounds of igniting fires.
With a massive heave, I pushed outward and the debris flew. We weren't too many layers deep, so it made a clear path for us to climb to the surface. A little bruised, we all scrambled from our hiding place. All the buildings were decimated, fires raging in every direction.
"What the—" Natasha looked at me with scrunched eyebrows but I held up a hand.
"Not now," I said sternly, indicating to lights from flashlights that were making their way through the rubble on the other side of the base. "We've got to move."
We rushed off towards the woods, dodging lights as we snuck around fallen concrete. We made it into the dark of night but not before I heard Rumlow call out to his team.
"Call in the asset."
"John?" I asked as we walked down the metal hallway. The fluorescent lights blinded me, my eyes readjusting to the brightness. I'd just come from my 'bedroom' that was really just a windowless cell with a bed and a desk.
"Hmm," the metal-armed soldier hummed in consideration. Finally, he continued on quietly, "doesn't exactly sound right."
I picked at my fingers as I walked, trying to remember the other names I came across in the books I read. My time not spent in combat training was learning about the 'wonderful history' of Hydra, as well as a plethora of other knowledge to prepare me for missions. Books were laid out for me in the library, and I was forced to spend at least two hours there a day. During that time, I would pour over page after page of information, soaking up as much as I could. There were never any pictures, only words and the occasional diagram.
It was boring, but it had its perks. For every extra hour I spent in the library, I was granted twenty minutes of watching TV. Sometimes, I stayed up until 3 a.m. just so I could watch a couple of episodes of Friends.
"Joseph?"
"Definitely not that one." He stared straight ahead, eyes not giving any of his emotions away.
A small groan escaped my mouth, and I bit my lip in concentration.
We'd just come back from a mission two days ago, and post-exploit was always when the Winter Soldier was his most... lucid. It was like the adrenaline from a mission ignited something in that wiped brain of his, and he'd come from his room the next day acting a smidge more like a normal person. The more missions we went on, the more time we spent together. Sometimes, I was even able to crack through him a day or two into the assignment as we staked out our target.
From my commander, I'd learned early on that the Winter Soldier was a lot older than he looked. Doing some quick calculations based on Hydra history, I gathered he was probably taken sometime during World War II. So that possibly meant he was born in the early 1900s but I could never be sure. He never knew the answer when I asked him.
However, he'd been able to remember that his name began with a 'J' on our latest mission while we were holed up in a hut in Cairo. We were sent out to assassinate a weapons smuggler, while also commandeering his ship to reroute the firearms to a nearby Hydra outpost.
I'd spent our first night back pouring over wartime history, memorizing every 'J' name I could find. I didn't dare write them down, the threat of any of our commanders finding out was too dangerous.
"Maybe... James?" I raised an eyebrow, not feeling hopeful.
He stopped completely, standing still in the empty hallway. I didn't register it at first, halting a few feet in front of him and looking back. His eyes were contorted in confusion, his gaze almost tortured. His fists clenched and he let out a shaky breath.
"Hey." I went back over, unconsciously reaching out to touch his metal arm. It was frigid against my palm. "You okay?"
I tried to look him in the eyes but he turned his head away, setting his jaw. Finally, he brushed past me without a word. He walked so fast that I had to set off in a light jog to catch up.
"You recognize that name, don't you?" I grabbed onto his arm and made him stop. He avoided my gaze again. I lowered my voice as much as I could, careful of any lurking ears. "Do you think—"
"Why do you care?" he seethed, landing glacial eyes on mine. "What's the point?"
I paused, thrown by the question. It was a valid one. I looked back at him intently.
He'd been a fixed point in my life since I was fifteen, meeting day after day to train or go on missions. He was also the only other one that could really relate to me. Those super-soldier assholes had signed up for this—we hadn't.
And now, as we spent more and more time together, I admitted I wanted to learn more about him. At the very least, it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if our conversations were limited to me speaking and him replying with few words.
There were times where he wasn't him of course, getting whisked away to have his brain wiped at seemingly random. But those had become less frequent as Hydra recognized our strong and ruthless partnership in the field. He was able to think more freely, albeit through a brain fog that blocked almost everything he knew about himself before he'd become a member of Hydra.
It was comforting, almost like having a—somewhat defective—ally.
But I couldn't tell him all that. It was too vulnerable, too much personal information. One of the first rules I'd learned was to never trust anyone with emotional baggage that they could use against you.
Removing my hand abruptly, I shrugged. "I get to know my real name. Why shouldn't you?" Hurt crossed his eyes for half a second before I turned on my heel and continued on. "We should go or we're going to be late."
He matched my stride in one step, and we continued on in silence until we reached one of the sparring rooms. I began to stretch out my arms, holding one across my chest as the other linked with it to wake up the muscles. The Winter Soldier just stood, always ready to go. I was working on the other arm as the commander approached.
"Mission report?" he asked, sounding bored and not looking up from a clipboard in his hands.
"He's six feet underground," I replied, lifting one of my legs behind me. "Buried in a random bank somewhere along the Suez Canal."
"Well done," he looked up, eyeing each of us in turn. His eyes narrowed as his gaze landed on me. "Who pulled the trigger?"
My foot dropped harshly, hitting the concrete floor with a solid thud. My throat became dry as I tilted my head down.
The Winter Soldier always pulled the trigger, but our commanders were getting restless with my lack of action in this regard. I was able to shoot at, stab, and beat hostiles with no problem, knocking them out and removing them as a threat. But no matter how perfectly I aligned the shot, my index finger wouldn't budge when it came to landing a killing blow. My fists froze just before I knocked out their last breath, and my knife always barely missed an important artery.
But I was a year into consistent missions, so they expected me to end lives without blinking.
I'd learned quickly that practicing in a cage was nothing compared to actually acting in the field. No one was killed during training, at least not by my hands.
I opened my mouth to respond, surely walking into some sort of punishment. But I didn't get the chance to speak.
"She did," the soldier beside me said flatly.
Our commander looked him up and down, and I watched him in my peripheral. It was easy to keep my face from contorting in confusion, but my mind was reeling. Why had he lied? I thought the commander would see through it, but after a moment of pondering, he just nodded.
"On with it then." He tilted his head to the cage. "And try not to break her wrist this time. She can't exactly land a shot if her hand is fucked up."
We were heading out on another mission tomorrow, but that didn't hold us back from training. The day I got a break would be the best day of my life. So, we marched into the cage, the metal door closing with a deafening clang behind us. Rolling my shoulders, we began to pace in front of one another as we stood on opposite ends of the sparring ring. The soldier across from me rolled his neck, preparing for a tough fight.
We were pretty evenly matched in skill at that point, but he still bested me most days. Especially in hand-to-hand, considering I had to spare a couple of hours a day nurturing my more unique abilities. And him with a gun? Nearly unstoppable. I was grateful to never be on the other side of one when he was holding it.
"Begin."
At the commander's word, I launched into action. It was always best to grab for him first. Otherwise, he would no doubt take the advantage early. I shoved a foot to his thigh, causing him to semi-buckle for half a second and allowing me to land a punch on his cheek. My other raised, his metal arm coming into view to no doubt grab for it. I was too late to dodge. Thinking of how I would get out of his grasp, I barely noticed his arm as it swayed down slightly. It allowed me to land another firm hit to the face.
Kicking him in the stomach, I put some space between us and narrowed my eyes at him. He could have easily grabbed my arm on the second punch and twisted it to incapacitate me.
But he hadn't.
This time, he lunged first, landing a fist to my stomach with his nonmetal arm. He aimed the other upwards, my face moving but not fast enough to escape without any damage. Instead of him clipping my jaw as he should have, I just felt the cool surface of his metal hand swipe my ear. It was easy to grab hold of it and twist him around, his shoulder at an awkward angle as I held his arm against his back. I could easily dislocate it, was expected to, but I just leaned forward until my mouth hovered by his ear.
"What are you doing?" I hissed under my breath, my lips barely moving.
Instead of an answer, his head whipped back to collide with my nose. I felt the blood in my mouth from a busted lip, but thankfully my nose seemed fine. He whipped around, kicking me in the stomach. I launched back from the force of it, landing harshly on my back. He was over me in a second, metal arm raised as the other held my neck. I scratched at him and writhed, but he kept my legs steady as he pinned them between his thighs. His metal fist dropped at a rapid pace, surely going to break my nose or even my jaw with its force.
But I felt the hand on my neck move, shuffling my head ever so slightly out of the way before metal met concrete in a sickening crunch. My eyes bulged to disks.
He had deliberately moved my head to avoid impact.
"Stop."
The cool word was quiet but rang throughout the room like the bullet of a gun. We both froze, minus our heaving breaths. Finally, the Winter Soldier stood, offering me a hand up. I took it with a look that begged for answers.
But more than him, I was confused as to why we were told to stop. The commander never let us do so until one of us had either dislocated something or passed out.
We faced him from where he watched us on the other side of the cage. I put my arms on my head in an attempt to let oxygen more easily enter my body. The soldier beside me just stood silently, motionless except for the slight lift of his shoulders as he breathed deeper than usual.
The commander eyed us, looking both of us up and down. Finally, he settled his sights on the soldier beside me.
"Guards!" he called out. "Grab him."
The cage was flooded with six heavily armed men in less than ten seconds. Two grabbed the soldier's arms roughly, while the rest trained handguns on his body. They were ready for anything, but he didn't fight their grasp. His cool eyes just stared straight ahead.
"Take him to get wiped."
"What?" I exclaimed. The guards were already hustling him out of the cage with harsh movements, and he allowed them to lead him on without conflict. I walked up to the commander, his face cut in squares from where I gazed at him through the fencing. "Why?"
"Why was he holding his punches?" he asked, chin held high as he eyed me suspiciously.
"H-he wasn't." My voice didn't sound as confident as I wanted it to. Of course, he had noticed.
He looked at me with a malicious smile. "We'll see if that's true."
And then he left, leaving me alone in the cage with no one but the silent guards along the wall to keep me company. There was no clock to let me know how much time had passed. My mind was racing as I paced to and fro along the edges of the cage. Finally, the heavy metal door to the room opened and the commander reclaimed his original place. He looked too haughty for my liking, making me nervous.
The Winter Soldier was forced into the cage once more, eyes distant. When we began fighting again, he didn't relent in the slightest. Eventually, I had to be carried out on a stretcher, barely clinging onto life as I cried over my broken shoulder.
"Your eyes were black," Natasha said from my right.
We were walking down a residential street on the outskirts of D.C., our dirty and bruised bodies sticking out amongst the perfectly manicured lawns. Some kids giggled as they threw a baseball around in a yard across the street.
"Hmm?" I replied, not registering her question as the memories faded away.
"They were black," she repeated, "circled in dark veins. It was pretty weird."
I kicked a rock so hard, it created a dent in a nearby Caddilac. Whoops. "That is such an odd way to say 'thank you for saving my life'."
"And what was with the metal?" she pressed, ignoring me. I didn't respond, keeping my eyes straight. "Fine, keep your secrets." She sent me a sideways glare. "But know that this would go a hell of a lot easier if you busted out that power of yours more often."
"She's right, you know," Steve said from my other side. Boxed in again. "We need that strength if we're going to win this."
"No, we don't," I said through grit teeth. "I'm not only my magic."
"Magic?" He eyed me warily.
"That's what they called it." I shrugged angrily. "Apparently, my parents were big into the occult, so they mocked me by calling it 'magic'." My mouth melted into a frown. "By calling me a 'witch'."
"Well, whatever it is, we need it."
I rolled my eyes. They couldn't understand. "I can't."
"Why?" He stopped walking, forcing me and Natasha to halt with him. His gaze was intense. "Why not use something like that to our advantage?"
My jaw clenched. This was getting too personal, too quick. They had no idea what they were asking for, and I was not about to divulge them with the ghost stories of my past.
"That," I mocked, tone indicating that I was talking about what happened at the base, "was defense. I just did what I had to do to keep us alive."
"If that was just defense," Natasha crossed her arms, eyeing me just as intently, "then we absolutely need the offense."
"I said I can't," I seethed, and I could feel the veins around my eyes begin to bloat. They both stopped and took a step back, faces contorting in slight panic. With a few breaths, my face soothed. "My offense is not as reliable. Trust me."
Before they could say another word, I was storming ahead. They didn't follow, their wary eyes turned to one another in silent conversation when I glanced back. When I reached the end of the block, they still hadn't moved. With an angry huff, I swivelled back towards them, their eyes on me.
"I have no idea where I'm going," I hollered. "So, I'd appreciate it if you'd move your asses."
Minutes later, we were knocking on the backdoor of a small house on a side street. A buff man with dark skin and a stern, sharp face answered the door.
"I'm sorry about this," Steve said sincerely, "but we've got nowhere else to go."
"Everyone we know is trying to kill us," Natasha backed him.
He nodded with little hesitation. Opening the door wide, he let us step in.
"And you are?" the man asked as I walked by.
"Wanted by the people trying to kill them," I said with a sardonic smile. I reached a hand out. "Ilana."
"Sam," he said suspiciously, but still taking my hand to shake.
The house was small but comfy, with a couple of stories and squeaky floors that indicated its age. While we all washed up, Sam gratefully set out to grab us some clothes. The shower was glorious after being on the run for a couple of days, allowing me to thoroughly wash the grime from my body. I spent an extra few minutes just standing in there, soaking up as much warm water as I could. Who knew the next time I'd be able to do this, given the shitstorm we were about to walk into.
But finally, I shut the water off, drying and braiding my long black hair to hang down my back. I finished getting ready by changing into the black shirt, matching pants, and leather jacket ensemble that had been picked up for me.
"Impressive that you were able to get our styles just right." I walked into the kitchen, throwing on my jacket.
"Well, I kind of know the other two," Sam said, serving up some breakfast as I entered the kitchen, "and you just have this spooky vibe, so I went with my gut."
"Well, your gut guided you well."
"Didn't you get stabbed?" Natasha asked, grabbing onto my arm before I slid it into my jacket sleeve. She analyzed the shallow scab.
"Quick healer," I replied, not wanting to get too much into it. "Plus, he didn't get that deep in the first place anyway... He wasn't trying to kill me, he was trying to incapacitate me."
Steve approached, eying me up and down. "Did you take the serum?"
"Me?" I scoffed. "No. Born this way."
Before we could continue the conversation, I sat down at the dining table. Steve sat beside me, keeping a suspicious face, while Natasha and Sam took their places across from us.
"This looks wonderful," I breathed at the array on the table.
Sam had made sausage links, eggs, pancakes... The works for a perfect breakfast meal. At least based on what I'd come to learn over the past three years. Hydra wasn't exactly the type to hold brunch, and I hadn't perfected my own cooking to match this level. Once, I almost went to a restaurant to eat breakfast but chickened out when I saw that everyone else was with someone.
We all dug in, the three of us stowaways eating like it was the first meal we'd had in years. It really kind of felt like it. Not a word passed between us as the weight of everything we'd been through—everything we'd learned—settled over the table.
"This isn't good," Natasha finally said.
"Yeah." Steve rubbed the back of his neck, eyes downtrodden.
"What's going on?" Our host asked. "I'm all for being a safe house, but I'd like to know what could come knocking on my door."
"S.H.I.E.L.D... Just got missile sent in our direction by them."
"Who'd even be able to do that?" Natasha pondered, picking at the remainder of her eggs with her fork.
"Pierce," Steve said without hesitating. His eyes glossed over as he shook his head. "Right under our noses this entire time... I was so sure Hydra had ended with the Red Skull." He scoffed, looking defeated.
"Hanging out under noses is what they do." I shrugged, lifting my knee up to hug it as I sat. "I wouldn't take it so hard."
"Though, unfortunately, this does mean you died for nothing." Natasha tried to sound playful, but sadness laced her voice.
"But at least I know who we're up against." The blonde's jaw set in determination. "And he's not working alone. Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star. And I thought the STRIKE team was acting odd when we moved in."
"Zola's what on where?" Sam scrunched his eyebrows as he looked at us in turn. I contorted my face in confusion, just as lost as he was for the most part.
"We and the STRIKE team were called on a mission to help out some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents aboard the Star. We thought it was just your standard pirates holding hostages situation, but..." He sent a look towards the redhead. "Turns out Nat was on her own orders."
"I didn't know what it was, I was just told to siphon the data," she raised her hands in defense as she spoke. "Turns out it was related to Project Insight, an initiative set on eliminating threats via Helicarriers set to launch any day now."
"Zola's algorithm is going to back Project Insight. We just don't know how."
The room was quiet, and my fingers went up to rub the bridge of my nose. I felt a headache grow on my temples, the back of my neck stinging with phantom electricity.
"And you really don't know anything about this?" Steve caught my attention.
My brain bounced memories around, anything that had to do with Zola coming to the forefront so I could parse out the information. With each internal dead end, my frustration grew. I couldn't believe something like this was developed by the same organization I killed for. Well, actually I could, I just couldn't believe it had happened without me knowing anything. It pissed me off that something this important wouldn't have even crossed my radar.
With a frown, I shook my head. "I guess it was above my pay grade." Steve's head slumped as he gave out a sigh. "You don't believe me, do you?" The idea shouldn't have bugged me as much as it did.
"If you had asked me that twelve hours ago, I would have said that no, I don't." His muscled arms crossed as he stared at me intensely. "But now, my mind is swaying in the opposite direction."
"Why's that?"
"You could have saved yourself and run, but you didn't. You want to stop them as much as we do, don't you?"
I shrugged, taking a glance at Nat. "I'm just here to get a second flash drive. Can't get it if you all are dead."
The words were sour in my mouth. My primary motivator had been to erase myself from the world, to be free. But the more I learned about what was happening, the more I knew that I could not let it stand. Steve had been right. I wouldn't be able to outrun them if they took over everything.
But more so, Hydra could not continue to exist. And I would be glad to help bring them down for free. Though, they didn't need to know that.
"Beyond this Pierce guy," I switched the subject, leaning my head back to stare at the ceiling, "is there any other viable lead that would know exactly what is on that drive?" The room was silent and my mind tinkered with the knowledge they shared. "Was there anyone on that ship that's now back in D.C.?"
Nat's eyes lit up. "Jasper Sitwell."
"Sounds like we've got someone to talk to, then." I slapped my hands on my thick thighs as I stood. "And, like, now.
"I highly doubt Hydra put your picture out there, but how are we," she beckoned between her and Steve, "as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most wanted supposed to kidnap one of the highest-ranking officers in broad daylight?"
"I'll handle it," I said sternly.
"It's too risky to send you out on your own without backup."
"She won't have to go alone." Sam stood up and placed a folder on the table.
Steve picked up. "What's this?"
"Let's just call it a resume."
He picked it up, Nat and I hovering over his shoulder. It was an image of Sam and another man in what looked like a desert. They were dressed in standard military uniforms, clearly deployed somewhere. There didn't seem to be anything odd about the picture, but then I noticed the wingpack holsters strapped onto their backs.
"No way..." I mumbled, grabbing the picture to take a closer look. "Pararescue? We hated whenever you guys dropped in."
"I'm sorry, who is she again?" Sam scrunched his eyes. I'd forgotten we hadn't really divulged my stakes in this.
Nat waved him off. "So the Khandil mission was you?" The glint in Sam's eyes said it all. "I always wondered what you guys used... Stealth chutes?"
"You guys don't know?" I asked, placing the picture down. "They're legends." Sam smiled widely, and I narrowed my eyes. "Alright, don't let it get to your head. It's cool, but clunky at best. Not to mention a pain in the ass from where I was standing," I mumbled the last part.
With a grin still brightening his face, he handed Steve another folder. After a look over, he sent Sam an incredulous look.
"I thought you said you were a pilot?" Steve asked, handing the folder to Nat.
"Never used that word," Sam replied. His grin faded when he saw Steve's face drop, his head shaking. "I know what you're going to say, but Captain America is in my kitchen and needs help. I'm not just going to sit on the benches."
"The more bodies, the better," I argued. "Plus, he made us a really good breakfast."
"Okay, I don't need to know who she is to know I like her."
"Well, don't get ahead of yourself," I said impishly.
With one last wary look at the file, Steve nodded. "Where can we get a pair?"
"The last is at Fort Meade," Sam hesitated, looking slightly defeated, "locked up behind gates and a twelve-inch steel wall."
Steve looked at me and Nat in turn, and I almost chuckled at the unbothered look the latter sent my way.
"Not going to be a problem," I said as I clapped my hand on Sam's shoulder, heading upstairs to ready up. "Call me when it's time to move out!"
Sitwell exited the doors of a fancy hotel restaurant in downtown D.C. I watched from my hiding spot just out of his sight, sitting on a bench as I pretended to read a book and sip on an iced coffee. The stuff was addicting, one of the first things I'd discovered after escaping that I knew I could never live without again.
I'd added a baseball cap to my ensemble to cover most of my face, but I could still see him clearly. As he walked, Sitwell talked with some toad-faced senator that I couldn't remember the name of. They smiled happily, not a care in the world even though they'd be launching weapons of mass destruction soon. They eventually parted ways, the senator hobbling down the stairs as he grabbed his knee. Gross.
I peeked at Sam where he sat at a nearby bistro, the glass of Coke in front of him untouched. He gave me a nod, picking up his phone. With casual movements, I stood and threw away both the iced coffee and my book. It was Romeo and Juliet, so the trash was really where it belonged.
I slowly ascended the stairs, keeping as much distance between me, Sitwell, and his bodyguards. Making a round arch around them, I watched as he picked his phone out from his jacket pocket. He looked back to his guards, tilting his head in an indication that they should leave. Then, he answered his phone. I smiled, slowly approaching his turned back.
"Who is this?" he asked as I came into earshot. He pivoted, spotting Sam who gave him a wave. "What do you want?" A pause. I was just a foot behind him now. "And why would I do that?"
"Because that suit looks really nice," I finally spoke. He turned so fast that I thought he might get whiplash. I reached a hand up to adjust his tie. "Especially this. Would hate to mess it up."
He gaped at me. "I-I know you. I've seen pictures." He gulped, his phone falling to his side as he forgot the call completely. "I know what you can do."
"Good." I inched up his tie, allowing the metal talons on my fingers to protrude ever so slightly. He noticed, his face contorting in fear. "Then you know I could slit your throat and be gone before anyone sees you hit the ground." I squeezed the tie knot at his neck for emphasis. "So how about that ride?"
After escorting him to a nearby highrise, Steve got straight to work in beating our informant into submission. Sitwell rolled on the roof, getting dangerously close to the edge. Nat and I followed shortly after, watching on in amusement.
"What's Zola's algorithm?" Steve cut right to the chase, kicking Sitwell in the stomach.
"Don't know what you're talking about," the dorky-looking Hydra pawn said quickly. It earned him another push and he was forced right against the ledge of the building. Steve grabbed the front of his suit, hoisting him up. Sitwell tried to pass his face off as fearless, but his shaking voice gave him away. "Is all this supposed to make me think you're going to throw me over? We all know that's not your style."
Steve smiled. "You're right." He released him and pretended to straighten out his suit. "It's theirs."
"Normally, I would beg to do this," Nat said before looking over to me, "but it feels only right that you should do the honors."
"I won't argue with it," I replied.
Not a breath later, Sitwell was tumbling off the roof from a hard kick to the gut. I leaned casually on the ledge as I watched his body fly towards the ground.
"What about the girl from accounting?" Nat said suddenly, and I turned to peer at her with confusion. "Laura, right?" She was talking to Steve.
"Lillian," he corrected. "With the lip piercing... I don't know if I'm ready for that."
"Sounds pretty cute to me," I interjected. "I don't know why we're matchmaking in the middle of all this, but I'm casting my vote for you to go for it."
"If we make it out of this, I'm determined to find him a date," Nat said with a sly smile. "Did you know that he hasn't kissed someone since 1942?"
Before I could say anything, a shadow was over us, accompanied by the sound of moving metal. Sam, wings at full width, flew overhead before dropping Sitwell harshly on the concrete behind us. He hit the ground hard, his screaming cut off abruptly by the impact.
"Happy to let you have this turn," I said to Nat as we walked towards him.
But she, unfortunately, wouldn't get the chance. Sitwell raised his arms in surrender as soon as we loomed above him.
"Zola's algorithm," he began, voice hoarse from all the screaming, "is a program that chooses Insight's targets."
My gut dropped to my feet. An algorithm created by Hydra that designated who should be eliminated? Not great.
"What targets?" I bit through my teeth, shoving him with my foot so he was face up.
"Him!" He pointed at Steve, then moved his arm to point at Nat. "Her! The Undersecretary of Defense, Tony Stark, Stephen Strange... Anyone who's a threat to Hydra. Now or in the future."
In a rage, my foot slammed down on his hand. I heard his fingers snap as he screamed once more. Steve approached as I took a step back, my breathing coming out in shallow huffs of air. This was terrifying. World ending. I was horrified at the thought that I could be a target.
More than that, I was terrified that I wasn't. If this algorithm didn't end me, Hydra would. Slowly, painfully, and very much to their benefit.
"The future? How could it know?" Steve seethed.
Sitwell actually laughed, hunching over as he clutched onto his arm. I wanted nothing more than to break his other hand. Perhaps a whole arm.
"I forget you're so old." He composed himself as he hobbled up into a standing position. "The 21st century is a digital book, and Zola taught us how to read it. Your records, histories, phone calls, all of it! Stored as data that the algorithm evaluates. It judges people's past to predict their future."
"What happens then?" I stepped forward once more, having a feeling I already knew. I glared with loathing, and he flinched and held his broken hand close.
"Pierce is going to kill me..." he realized in shock. Sam made him focus with a jab to the back of the head.
"What. Then." I got right in his face. My blood was beginning to boil, threatening to burst my veins from the ferocity of my anger.
"The Insight Helicarriers start scratching people off the list. Millions at a time."
Everything seemed to freeze. We all looked around at one another, as if hoping someone would say this wasn't real. No one did.
My heart rate quickened to unnatural speeds, my rage overpowering reason. And then, I felt myself ever so slightly slip back into the monster I was made to be.
Without thinking, I was on Sitwell, buckling him with a kick to the shins before I landed a fist in his stomach. I flipped him onto his back in a swift motion, landing on top of him and bringing my fist to his face. His glasses cracked like eggs, while blood instantly pooled from his mouth. I faintly felt the pull of someone at my shoulders, as well as distant shouting. But it was all drowned out. The veins around my eyes blossomed as metallic scales crept up my hands.
They glinted in the sunlight, and I came to an abrupt halt just before a taloned finger ripped at his face.
Looking around, I saw the shocked stares of my companions. Steve's hands were on my arms, gently pulling on them now as he guided me to stand. I felt the scale-like armor melt away as I stepped back, tilting my head down to look at the floor.
I watched my normal hands as they shook. I should have known... No matter how hard I tried to force it down, I couldn't erase how dangerous I was.
"I can't believe they whitelisted you..." Sitwell muttered through a swollen lip. "There really isn't a stronger threat to us than whatever it is you are." He chuckled. "Though, I hear they plan to serve you the same fate as your pal from Siberia."
I made to advance again but Steve held me back with an intense gaze. "We don't have time." He turned to Sam. "Let's round him up."
They grabbed onto him harshly and without care for his injuries, leading him to the stairwell. My fists clenched as I took a couple of deep breaths. I noticed Nat watching me thoughtfully.
"You good?" she asked genuinely.
I didn't even take a second to ponder how layered that question was. Instead, I settled for a nod and quickly followed them down the stairs.
"Hydra doesn't like leaks," Sitwell kept muttering from beside me.
The car had been cozy for three, but with all five of us, it was borderline suffocating. I sat in the middle in the back, while Sitwell and Nat sat beside me. We were racing down a highway, off to find somewhere to hide out and formulate our next moves in the very little time we had left.
"Yeah, then maybe you should shut the hell up," Sam bit back at him from the driver's seat.
"I think I just lost a tooth." He whimpered as he reached a hand into his mouth and, sure enough, pulled one out.
"I can punch the rest of them out, if you'd like," I said, voice deadpan. "And move over. You're going to drop nose blood onto my new jacket."
"We have sixteen hours until Insight launches," Natasha reminded us all grimly. "Time is not in our favor."
"I have a plan," Steve said from the passenger's seat, glancing back at us. "We'll use Sitwell to bypass the DNA scans. Access the Helicarriers directly and shut it all down before they even have time to go airborne."
"What?!" The beaten Hydra pawn screeched. It pierced my left ear, and I winced. "That is the worst plan. You're absolutely insane—"
Before he could get another word in, there was a loud thumping on the roof of the car. I didn't have the time to register what was happening before the window next to him shattered. My arm barely moved in time to cover my face against the worst of it, my forehead littered with small scrapes from the glass shards. With the flash of metal, Sitwell was pulled out of the car and thrown into ongoing traffic in half a second.
My throat constricted as I gagged in fear. He had been grabbed by a metal arm I knew all too well.
The thumps resumed above us before shots rang out, forming small holes in the roof of the car. I pushed Natasha onto Steve's lap, allowing myself the freedom to move about in the backseat to avoid the onslaught. From all my time spent with him, I knew exactly how he aimed. So, I followed the sounds of his foot patterns, avoiding all the shots with the exception of one that nicked me on the forearm.
Sam tried to swerve in an attempt to throw our assailant off, but to no avail. Steve pulled the gear stick into park, bringing us to an abrupt and brutal halt. The figure on the roof flew out in front of us, landing on the highway gracefully as he rolled once and used his metal hand to slow his movements. Sparks sprouted from where his fingers met concrete as he did so. Traffic swerved to avoid him as if it were natural for him to be in the middle of the road.
And then, ever so slowly, he stood. Even from a significant distance, he seemed to tower over us. Dressed in his usual black military gear, his long hair hung handsomely over his masked face. He hadn't changed a bit in the past three years.
"Is that..." Steve's question died on his lips.
"Yeah," I breathed. "That's the Winter Soldier."