𝐈𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐭.
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The infamous Winter Soldier and Morana are assigned on a mission once more, but things don't go as planned for them this time. To survive, they confront emoti...
Sat on the couch in an apartment of an unknown location, is me, Steve, and Steve's friend, Sam. We've been here for a while - since they got me out of the abandoned building that my metal arm was locked in. Although, I'm still somewhat locked up here. They won't let me leave the apartment. They watch my every move with a curious eye. And, I'm currently restrained by a pair of tight handcuffs, wrapped around my wrists. They are made of metal, easily breakable for me, but that doesn't matter. I won't break them - I understand why they've put them on. I don't blame them.
We all haven't said a word since they put them on, and I'm liking that. Every now and then, I catch Sam holding his gaze on me, nervously. He looks on edge, ready to defend himself. My observations are broken by the sound of a phone ringing, muffled by the material of Steve's pants pocket. He stands from his spot on the couch, pulls out his phone from his pocket and looks at the screen, frowning down at it.
"I'll be back in a minute." He answers the phone, placing it over his ear as he leaves the room.
The room quickly falls silent again, swarmed with thick, awkward tension. Sam picks at his fingernails, not daring to make eye contact with me. But, the more I shuffle in my seat, the tighter the metal gets around my wrists, slowly raising deep bruises to the skin.
"Could you take these off? They're too tight." I raise my wrists.
"Uh - " He stutters.
"Or at least untighten them? Please."
"I can't, I'm sorry."
I lean back in my seat, unsatisfied. I understand why he denied it. He's following orders from Steve. And I get why Steve gave him the orders. He doesn't fully trust me not to snap and turn back into the Soldier again. I don't fully trust myself. I don't blame Steve, and I don't blame Sam.
"So, uh - when did you meet Steve?" Sam asks, breaking the silence.
"1930's."
"Cool. Was he really as small as they said he was?"
"Smaller than you can imagine."
"Smaller than Beverly?" He questions.
My body stiffens, sitting up straight. At the mention of her name, guilt washes over me. The lonely feeling swarms my cells, suffocating me. Sensing the change in my stance, Sam looks at me pitifully.
