Steve didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He didn't even use the bathroom.

He didn't know what to do.

Whenever he was sent to hold someone hostage, it was never really him doing it. He just caught the guy and went on his merry way home. The thought of Steve having to do any of that stuff—interrogation, blackmail, threats…it made him a little sick. He couldn't stomach doing that to anyone because he was afraid a little piece of his heart would find sympathy for the perpetrator and then at that point he just wouldn't be able to be cruel. Steve liked to use his fists, not his intellect. He left the others to do the thinking and, despite himself, he still hated it.

He'd been sitting outside the cabin for a whole twelve hours now, and no matter what he did, Two Eighty-Three just didn't budge. She wouldn't leak even a single piece of information about DAGGER, yet she knew Steve knew she worked for them. Steve racked his brain for reasons why they'd never encountered the organization before and he could come up with no logical explanation. It wasn't possible this was their first attack—their soldiers were too well-equipped for that, and their tech was too advanced. After they left the warehouse, the building was scavenged and they found some dropped equipment that was taken into investigation.

Steve theorized that it could have been a pseudonym, a fake organization planted to purpose to lead them away from the real one. Steve considered whether they were on some random goose chase, if they were running around in circles searching for something that didn't exist. He played around with the idea a little bit, but if that were true, why did Two Eighty-Three react the way she did when he mentioned it? Why did her jaw clench, her mouth twitch the way it did if it were fake? Shouldn't she have been confident in her position if Steve had no clue of the real one?

For a moment Steve thought that DAGGER might have been a subsection of HYDRA, but there was no proof to back that up. HYDRA's goal is world domination, but no one had a clue of DAGGER's. They were caught trying to steal nukes, so that was clearly a bad indication of DAGGER's motives and capabilities, but there was really no reason for HYDRA to go through all the trouble of creating a whole new sect.

Steve still didn't really know how S.H.I.E.L.D. knew there would be an attack. He had asked Natasha, and all she said was, "I'm a spy, Steve," with a strange twist in her mouth. Steve knew that was code for "I'm literally not allowed to say or else I'll lose my job," so he didn't push it. It just didn't make sense to him how they managed to predict the attack without having any previous knowledge about DAGGER.

Steve heard a loud crash from inside the cabin. Right. Intellect for later.

When Steve entered the cabin, he immediately saw a crate flying directly towards his face and ducked. Vexed, he crossed his arms. "Are you going to quit acting like a child?"

Two Eighty-Three's eyes blazed, and Steve had to wonder what happened for such hatred to be in her heart. She growled, face red, mouth practically foaming. "Are you going to let me out?" she seethed.

"No."

"Then never." A sharp piece of wood somehow appeared in her hand, and she threw. It was so fast and sudden Steve didn't manage to duck fast enough, and the wood sliced his shoulder as he dropped downward. He grunted at the sharp sting, but it didn't hurt much. The wood had cut through his shirt and there was a two-inch long cut right along his shoulder, and blood started to trickle ever so slowly.

He sighed, irritated. If she was already so dangerous in this state, how would he keep her confined when she was at her best?

Katrina lied back, satisfied with the results. She didn't hurt him much, but even the smallest amount of pain from him gave her joy. She stared at the blood running down his arm, and her mind went elsewhere, all her senses drowning out. She watched the liquid—deep, red, rich, and her mind was filled with searing warmth that made her tingle all over. The red overtook her, overcame her, rendered her helpless until she was up in the air and in a whirlpool of thoughts and feelings and emotions and all she wanted to do was hurt—hurt—

She imagined her dagger slicing his throat, that bright red running down her fingers.

Blood.

Hurt.

Red.

Dagger.

She was yanked back into reality when she was literally yanked up by her shirt quite harshly, finding herself staring into the Captain's face. She spit.

"I don't think you quite understand the situation you're in." The Captain gave her another yank and if it weren't for her aching arms, she would decked him in the face. "I am not your friend, I am not here to help you, and I am not here to play games, do you understand?" Katrina rolled her eyes, a rather bad move on her part. His voice was low and chilling. "You have done a very, very bad thing, and I promise, if you escape, if you want to play mind games, if you want to play chase," he yanked her once more until he was in her face, his eyes colder than steel, his mouth a twisted snarl, until he was whispering, his voice grating and raspy. "If you need time, girl, I will make time."

For the first time, Katrina genuinely considered that he might actually kill her.

That didn't mean she was scared. Honestly, it was the concept of death that never really scared her. Sometimes, in the deepest, darkest part of her heart, she welcomed it.

Despite her wanting to be as far away from him as possible, she leaned in, her face hardening, baring her teeth. "If you think you can catch me in a game of chase," she spit, her words hot. "You'll be playing with yourself. If you think you can outsmart me, then you should know that this is my arena, not yours." Slowly, despite every fiber of her body burning and screaming out in pain, she stood up, dark, matted hair sweeping across her eyes. She stared him in the eye, a challenge. "You think you're better than me?" She laughed, a low rumble erupting from her twisted mouth. "I am better, I am faster, I am smarter, and if you think you can order me by using intimidation, let me tell you that your fake, disgusting serum can't even come close to doing what I have done." She made chilling eye contact with him, and whispered, "Captain, you can fool yourself and believe that you have the reins, but this game you think I'm playing?" She smiled. "I'm not playing a game, Captain. The world is my game, and you're just living in it."

Steve didn't enter the cabin yet. He was still pretty shaken up from that previous encounter. He didn't even notice his unmanaged cut, which, at this point, had dried up.

The world is my game, and you're just living in it.

It wasn't the statement itself that was scary, it was the fact that she genuinely believed it to be true. Steve wanted to know her, figure out what she'd done to people, explore every detail of her past. Something about her intrigued Steve so bad to the point where he wanted to stuff her in a lab and dissect her brain.

Steve knew there were evil people in the world. He'd experienced a war against them first-hand. He swallowed nervously, his stomach flipping, his hands twitching, not wanting to relive the memories of Nazi-Germany once again. The nightmares were already enough.

So Steve wanted to believe she was evil. He wanted to believe that the nasty sentences she construed and the chilling edge to her voice and the cutting coldness in her eyes were rooted from that evil force in the world that certain people were just born with. He wanted to believe it. It would make his job so much easier.

But he couldn't.

Because something just wasn't right.

There was something off about the whole situation. Her words had menace but at the same time were dull sounding…like they were scripted. Her voice, at times, sounded bored, forced. Her cold eyes seemed blank. Steve didn't understand. To any person she would seem scary, threatening, menacing, but looking back, Steve realized that something about the way she presented herself didn't seem normal. Maybe he picked up on it because he'd actually met genuinely evil people, and they did not act the way she did. He did not get the feeling around her that he did with them.

The feeling of…what was it? What was that feeling one gets when they were around someone with a complete lack of empathy and morals—a lack of a soul? Because that wasn't the feeling Steve got from her.

Steve wanted to know what it was.

He was determined to find out.