Moral of the Story

Chapter 6

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A bright blue light accompanied by the sound of the Iron Man suit's beam powering up came as a shock, seemingly out of nowhere.

She brought her arms back up and turned around, shocked, obviously not expecting his appearance.

"You know, if you're going to kill someone, then at least don't call their boss to let them know their assistant's awake. Amateur move, honestly. Although, I guess this would be your first time intentionally killing someone." He moved his other hand languidly, illustrating his point.

Her hand moved down again, the needle almost grazing my skin, "You don't understand. I don't have a choice." Unspilled tears broke her voice.

"Everyone has a choice, though the other option may not be so appealing."

She started shaking her head from side to side and let the syringe drop against my skin, "You don't know what it's like to be so poor that you are used to the feeling of borderline starvation. To work two or more jobs so you don't end up on the streets." She couldn't help but let the tears flow. That much was evident despite her face being turned away from me.

"So, your loyalty lies with money? How much did they pay you?"

"About forty thousand euros, enough to afford my son's treatment."

"What? Isn't healthcare free in Europe?" he shifted his weight onto his other leg.

My heart was pounding in my chest so hard it felt like I couldn't breathe. Despite that, I was breathing too much too fast. I did everything I could to stay focused and present as they spoke. I was trying to prevent myself from hyperventilating.

"... It is. He is very sick. The specialists are in America. They are his best chance."

His features softened, still firm, yet now more sympathetic, "I can't say I know what it's like, financially I mean, but my mother died when I was seventeen. If I were alone in a foreign country when I discovered she wasn't coming back. I don't know what I would've done. Put the syringe away, and I'll put double in your account. Does that sound okay?"

I couldn't understand why Mr. Star-Tony, was doing this. Eighty-thousand euros? That's what- fifty-six, fifty-seven thousand dollars? What could he gain from this? Is he doing this as an act of charity?

She looked at me, tears streaming down her face, staining her shirt, "They know where he is, or at least where to look. I can't put him in danger." She turned back to Tony, "I'm sorry."

The needle plunged through my skin unnoticeably initially, the sharpness of the needle to blame - then, not even a second after its insertion the entire area stung with a pinch.

If I wasn't shaking before I was shaking now. My whole body shook as the threat of my death was coming closer to fruition. Whoever ordered my death had succeeded.

The high-pitched hum that had previously filled the room dissipated with a high shriek and a beam of bright blue light. Her arm was blown off along with the plunger of the syringe. Her arm, the muscle structure, tendons, nerves, everything that had been attached to her not even a second ago was now incinerated, leaving nothing but the blood that was spurting across the bed.

She cried animalistically at the burnt-off nerve endings screamed out in pain, her blood spat out drenching the fabric of my hospital sheets and the floor beneath us.

The syringe was still in my arm. I expected the morphine to flow out of the needle; instead, my bloodshot up through the needle, mixing with the pain meds. I couldn't move. Tony dashed over to me, ignoring the woman writing on the ground, and pulled what remained of the syringe before an air bubble found its way into my bloodstream.

A little blood came out of the insertion point but Tony pressed his armored hand around, stopping the overall, minor blood flow.

Finally, another nurse ran into the doorway looking into the room, he gasped slightly, face turning white, at the sight of his coworker on the ground, her blood surrounding her.

He ran over to her, grabbing gloves and a tourniquet along the way, "What happened here?"

"Your colleague tried to kill my assistant."

His head jolted up, "What? Maria attacked you? I-I'm sorry. You must know she hasn't been in a great mental state recently. She isn't normally like this."

"I'll be requesting a transfer to a different hospital in the area, I'd also like to recommend telling your manager that I'll be suing until they are transferred though I will not be leaving their room which I hope will be changed. Okay?"

After the nurse, whose name was Maria apparently, was taken out of the room to fix the end of what remained of her arm I was taken to a new room where I took a shower and returned to a new bed. The only people in the room were myself and Tony. Now felt like the best time to pop the question that had beset in my mind.

"Why did you do that?" He looked up from his phone, swiveling his head to the door I was standing beside.

"Do what? You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"I don't know. Maybe shooting a person's arm off?" He raised a brow, my sarcasm not lost on him.

"You're the first person who hasn't tried to jump my bones, who's been offended at the notion of it, in a few years. If you died, Pep would kill me. Simple as that." He shrugged his shoulders before leaning on one of the arms of the chair, "How did you transfer the gunshot wound from my body to yours? And why would someone pay to have you killed, or at least subdued? And are those questions related?"

I looked down at my feet, "I don't know why someone would try to kill me. And I don't know if it's related, but I would assume yes."

"Hm..." That was all the response I got.

It's been about a year since I started working for Mr. Stark. Thankfully, the topic of how I healed him hasn't come up again. His security team got buffed after the incident and I got a bonus plus the sign-on bonus plus my first month's salary - the total of which, after taxes, was more than my yearly pay from Xaviers. Things were calm.

When I came into work today the main door to Mr. Starks office was locked. It wasn't unusual. He rarely came into work, so when he did it was typically earlier than I came in. I went to my office to finish up what I could for this week's paperwork.

A quiet ring came from the in-office phone, Mr. Stark's line. I picked up the clunky handset- which probably hadn't been replaced since the nineties- "Hello, Mr. Stark-"

"For the last time, it's Tony. Stop it with the, 'Mr. Stark' nonsense."

"Apologies, Tony. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah, do you mind coming into my office? There's someone for you."

"Of course, give me just a moment."

I stood up and flattened the creases in my clothes before walking through the door that joined our offices. A man was wearing all black with an eyepatch standing in front of Tony's desk.

"Hello, Mx... Eirsson?"

"Yeah, a bit of an odd last name, I know. Pardon but, what is this about?"

"My name is Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D."