Maeve Fedorovna; an ungraduated assassin from the Red Room, an accomplice in attempts to kill Tony Stark, the world's most feared virus in the matrix. She was good at her job, she was even better at engineering, and many people were starting to take...
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I don't know if it was the fall or if it was the dark trench of night that made everything alive feel dead and lethargic, or if it was the fear freezing my blood and turning my body into a faltering machine. My head jumps softly as it hits the cargo container, a soft bang rippling across the curved indents of metal. I looked around periodically, my eyes half-lidded and gaze delerious, stuggling to hold my arm and endure the pain of my sensitive dislocated elbow.
I gasp sharply as my shoulder hits the metal container, a feeling like needles erupting over my arm as I lean half of my body against the cargo for support. I clenched my jaw tighter, my teeth beginning to pulse from pressure, grabbing onto my arm while pressing each digit of my hand against my skin until it was white. I knew the pain was coming yet I still felt unaware and anxious of how much it would hurt in real time. With one quick jolt, I stifled a heart-wrenching cry as disjointed elbow locked back into place. My back crashes onto the metal, exhaling broken meak sobs as my lip quivers uncontrollably, tears streaking my reddened cheeks.
There's a sudden bang that makes my head fly over my shoulder, looking around with shaking pinched eyebrows, a tear crawling along the crevice of my nose and sinking into my cracked and dry lip. My feet moved from under me even though gravity felt like it was increasing on my back. It took me seconds before I found balance, stumbling forward slightly as I take my gun from my thigh holster, cocking it back and aiming ahead.
I kept trying to imagine our sequence, back in the studio, the threat of death expected. At least then, you knew death was to come after a certain point; in the wild, death could crawl halfway up your body before you realized you were dying. I kept repeating it to myself, one foot falling close to the other as I glided forward carefully, heels shattering the shards of glass into their millionth pieces. It's just like the simulation. It's all a simulation.
Listening cautiously to the wind, I can feel my arms bobbing up and down, shaking from the tension as my elbows lock in their stretched position. I can't hear a thing, can't see anything either. Nothing farther than my gun is visible to my naked eyes and anything out of earshot will have the best chance of killing me. What if noise was in earshot and the glass had sunken into my ears during the fall, making me deaf? I shake my thoughts away, knowing I was going to go crazy thinking like that; after all, I could hear the blood rushing to my ears as my heart pumped at tremendous rates.
