Twisted Nerve ⇨ Pietro Maximoff

1.5 ; the good clearly don't die young they become zombies

1.5 ; the good clearly don't die young they become zombies

Nora stood at the end of the metal bench, the ends of her fingers curving into the metal, clasping it tightly between her dainty hands as she squeezed it with all her might. Occasionally, her grip would loosen on the bitterly cold metal, the muscles relaxing momentarily as she made sure that the surface would not snap beneath her grasp; even if she knew it would not.

There was a clench in her usually gentle jawline and the alarm in her posture had at last transmitted into her swirling eyes which truly were the window to her soul. Her usually rosy cheeks were pale with mortification as she stood amongst that semi-repaired laboratory. Glass no longer littered the polished concrete flaws nor were the glass walls, which held the inner workings of what was now Nora's space together, shattered. However, the desks were still mackled, objects strewn carelessly across the tabletops that filled the room, appendages and mechanical creations broken and busted.

It was a start though, she no longer heard the crunch beneath her steps that were so akin to the sounds of bones snapping under the weight of a metal fist. Which for three days had been followed by the anguished cries of the dead and dying, the blood of innocents staining Nora's own skin a deep, enchanting red that reminded her that all that had been and all she could not allow herself to be. At least the replacement of the glass walls and the cleaning of the smooth floors had been completed, it made things seem a little clearer in her mind, although not much.

Everything still seemed chaotic, events and memories still blurred together by a shock that was yet to leave her.

Her body trembled as she stood, the caffeine still pumping through her petite body as she prolonged the event of sleep. It had been three days. The capacity for avoiding sleep was eleven before death befell humans, which meant that she still had another eight remaining until she had to face what she dreaded. Sleeping was still a struggle as it was, her insomnia was a pain, true, but what occurred after she finally conquered that was much worse. And Nora knew that after what she had seen, after fighting off those metal hands that had tried to tear the innards of her self out, she knew that it was not going to improve anytime soon.

Ever since Ultron had been conceived as a result of the hubris of not only Tony Stark but also Bruce Banner, Nora and her associates had been in a state of panic. S.H.I.E.L.D had called upon her to help the Avengers save the world when the genocidal A.I tried to obliterate the entire human race, eradicating every trace of them from existence to cleanse the planet of their taint. Thankfully, as a result of a hastened battle of man versus machine, the human race had prevailed once more, thus proving Nora's own opinions regarding the tenacity of her species to be correct. However, the victory had come at a cost.

Hundreds had died in the onslaught, innocents perished because of the desperation of two tired heroes, one of whom was now missing in action, alone on an untraceable jet that Nora had been working tirelessly with Stark to locate. But to no avail.

Things had changed since those faithful few days that seemed now so distant yet so current, as if it were still happening, but she was no longer within the chaos, watching on at the horror that faced her young life as she struggled to persevere. Because unlike so many, she had lived to tell the tale of the battle of Sokovia, the battle against the hubris of man himself.

It was a victory, of course, in the two days following the event itself, Tony Stark had reminded her of this an innumerable number of times. Yet, she still couldn't believe it, certainly not now, not as she stood underneath the dulled lighting within what had once been Stark Tower, and now, probably wasn't even the Avengers Tower anymore.

The sound of the laboratory door swinging closed with such a grand finality brought Nora from her obsessive thoughts, her head swinging around to glance away from the black bag mere millimetres beyond the tips of her fingers, fleetingly looking toward Tony Stark's retreating form as he headed through the doorway and toward his quarters.