The silence that stretched, then changed. I strained my ears, willing them to listen farther than they ever could. Willing them to hear what was going on upstairs
Suddenly, I could now hear the muffled words that were being exchanged in my old room.
What were they all doing up there? Just what exactly were they doing up there? Having a tea party?
"I'll give you one last chance, Cold One. Leave and don't come back. Warn others to stay away from here, as well." Umbrella dude said.
"You can't do anything to me." He replies amused.
The sudden sound of quick movements surprised me, as I anxiously wait for someone to come back down the stairs. 'Oh God, please let them be okay. Don't let anyone get hurt.' I silently plead, trying to listen again.
Then the sudden appearance of my brother has my anxiety spiking up another level.
"Eyas? I need to get you out of here." He says, pulling me to my feet gently before leading me out of the room.
"Oh ok. Ummm...my truck doesn't go that fast but I don't think it'll be a problem." I say, trying to figure out how we are all going to get out of this town without the proper transportation.
"No, leave the truck here. I already have someone who is waiting for us outside." He states, picking up my bags.
He then inclines his head to the side, silently telling me to follow him out the front door.
I do just that, as I slowly hear all the rest of his crew begin to walk down the stairs one by one.
"Bella, I want you to be careful. I'll be calling you sometime this week. Be careful, alright, sweetheart?" My dad says hugging me.
I nod in response, before following Clint out the door.
I gasp, as my eyes see a large glossy black carrier van, with tinted windows sitting there next to the curb.
Clint and his friends surround me before leading me towards the carrier van.
Once I was inside, everyone follows me in, sitting around me. As I see another pair of unfamiliar faces were in the driver's seat and passenger's seat.
"Clint?" I whisper, only to be ignored. I try again, using his full name. "Clinton? Clinton, what about our dad?" I asked as I smacked him to gain his attention when he ignores me again.
"Hey, easy." He says, rubbing the spot on his upper arm. "Two friends of mine will be staying here. Johnny, and Vell. He'll be fine." He replied and continues to talk to Nat in a low hushed tone.
So, my suspicions were confirmed. Those two were, or are a part of an intimate relationship. I just hoped they're happy. They seem to be perfect for one another.
"So, Bella, how old are you exactly?" Steve asks me, curiously.
"I just turned eighteen on September 13," I mutter, leaning my head back into the side of the van, and closing my eyes in a poor attempt to clear my mind.
"...how old are you?" I ask, opening one of my eyes.
"I'm twenty-five." He replies.
Interesting. I thought he'd be older since he seems rather mature. Something tells me he's anything but normal.
Judging by how bulging his muscles are, then I can only guess that there is something more to this Steve Rogers guy.
"Good to know," I reply, looking over to the umbrella guy.
The vibe this guy is giving me is weird. Maybe it's the superiority complex he's got. Or the way he speaks as if he was from somewhere unfamiliar.
"You're not from here. Are you?" I note.
"No, I am not." He confirmed, nodding once, as he attempted to hide his small smile.
Clint (Hawkeye)'s POV:
We had just gotten back from a mission Fury sent us on, when I received a call from my baby sister.
I knew something was wrong, immediately. It's like I had a sixth sense when it came to her. It's been like that since she was a baby.
She has always been and will always be my top priority.
Usually, I get a call from her telling me how she's been or asking how I am or where I currently am.
If I'm not busy I usually describe to her where I am so she can guess. It's a game we used to play when she was younger and my mom would drag her to a new town and state, trying to find herself.
It amuses us to no end how people judge her due to her clumsiness. She may be clumsy when walking around but when wielding a knife, a bow, and an arrow, or any type of weapon? She's one hundred percent accurate.
She is far more accurate than me or Nat.
How? I have no idea. Lately, my dad and I advised her to start taking a combination of jiu-jitsu, kickboxing, boxing, and karate, for her own protection. She started practicing when she turned fifteen with karate, then she went from there.
Though her balance and clumsiness have improved some, she still needed something else.
"Barton?" I hear Nat call me.
"Yes?" I reply, distractedly.
"How certain are you that your father will be left alone?" She asks.
"I'm not," I respond, truthfully.
Listening to Rogers as he initiates small talk with Eyas. I feel the sudden need to cut him off, but stop myself, knowing she'll just want to kick my ass if I do.
"Thor, how much do you know about these 'Cold Ones'?" Nat asks him.
"Quite a bit, actually. They've been here for a long time. They originate from somewhere in Europe. Originally it was a small group of them. They were unable to come out during sunlight but were safe to come out at night. I'm not entirely sure what happened or how but they developed a shimmer to them." He says, trailing off.
"Wait, they shine in the sunlight?" Stark asks, attempting to hide his amusement and curiousity.
"They do. If they walk in the sun it'll be like watching a large facet ball walking around." He says.
"So, a disco ball?" Stark states.
"Exactly." Thor answers.
"Bella, what can you tell us about these so-called Cold Ones?" Stark asks her.
Her nose twitches, as she searches her mind, biting her lower lip. It's a tick she's had since she was five, usually only appearing when she is thinking too hard or anxious about something.
"They're all inhumanely attractive. It's meant to attract their prey. Once they smell blood they go into a frenzy, much like a shark. Their skin is hard like marble, practically impregnable. They're quick and strong beyond any human abilities. They can live any length of time, they're immortal. They can only be killed by being torn into pieces and burning them. Oh, and some of them have extra gifts." She lists.
Interesting.
"Hmm. Interesting." Stark responds, smirking, intrigued.
"What's your smile for?" Rogers asks.
"I've been developing a prototype. It's a bullet that can get through anything. It's hard enough to pierce through—stone or concrete walls." He smirked.
Fascinating.
"Can it be tweaked?" I ask, smirking back.
"I think I can make the arrangements." He says, pulling out his phone.
Bella's POV:
The knowing smirk on their faces immediately informed me that something was just set.
"Bella, how good of a shot are you?" Mr. Stark asks, turning to look at me.
"She's the best there is." My brother responds for me, receiving a smack upside the head from Nat.
"I'm not the best. I'm just accurate." I clarify.
"So let's say, you had a target before you. It's moving. Would you be able to get it?" He asks, getting excited.
"If I have the correct data, know who the target is and how far said target is, and have the correct weapon. I'd say it's possible." I answer honestly.
"Do you now?" I hear someone say next to me, in an intrigued tone.
Causing us to turn.