Rosalie Kasten is out of luck and out of time. For the last two years, she's been living on borrowed time. After her involvement with the death of Edwin Pierce - Alexander Pierce's son - it's only a matter of time before Hydra comes for her.
James...
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« 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒚: 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒔𝒕 »
𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 been hard for humans. Strange. Ceasing to be on the same plane, ceasing to exist, is a hard reality for most to face. I knew humans had trouble with those things. In a way, you might think those who never realise what is happening are lucky. Lucky to not feel themselves slowly fade. Of course, they are never gone to me. I want you to remember, I carry them all the same. Good and bad do not exist to me. I merely observe.
It is what I did as Rosalie Kasten, my gunslinger, was pulled through the hallways of Hydra's headquarters in the centre of New York. I noticed on the floor, for the first time, Victor Creed left a physical blood trail as he went. Her shoulder was pumping out blood in time with her heart. A thick, crimson liquid timed with her ragged breaths.
Some would have considered it cruel.
Few people are courageous or brave in those moments. It would sound better if that was the way it happened, but Rosalie was not that kind of brave. She never had been. Pleas and begs left her lips. Cries and sobs from the pain. Creed had no care for such things. That was one thing I could remember about him. In those weeks or months – however long it might have been – I had seen him often. Always on the same mission. Predator stalking prey. He had bid his time, been ready to strike at the right moment. He had gotten his reward.
Rosalie slips from his grip, claws ripping through her flesh, and she falls to the ground with a heavy thump. Creed growls and turns around, snarling down at her. Tears have created long streaks down her dirty face.
"Get the fuck away from me!" She shrieks with a quavering voice, trying to back up while clutching her shoulder.
"Or what?" Creed barks, "gonna hurt me with that little toothpick!?"
His voice echoes in the hallway and Rosalie flinches. Her face is pale, but she grabs the knife and points straight in front of herself. An attempt at self-preservation.
At that, I had to tilt my head curiously.
"Go ahead and try! I love when they put up a fight," Creed snarls and crouches down in front of her. If she tried, maybe she could reach him. Rosalie pulls back the knife, an attempt at striking. He easily twists her wrist and the metal clatters to the ground. "How lovely."
His knuckles turn white the tighter his grip becomes. Soon, claws dig into her skin, scratching down and peeling flesh away. She screams, another echoing sound added to the maze of hallways.
"Pierce had a plan for you. And I'm not known for forgettin'," he grins and hauls her onto her feet. "You're only a piece, you know. Never cared enough to do anything 'bout it. This is all for the Soldier."
Her eyes widen. At first, for his words but Creed picks up the knife and slowly, calmly, slices across her stomach while staring into her eyes. Perhaps, he's hoping for his words to fully sink in before the pain overcomes her.
