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JANUARY 15TH, 2017
THE AMOUNT OF robots Cynthia had destroyed in the couple of minutes she had been up here was remarkable to Tony.
"Cynthia?" He called, his mask unfolding so his face peeked out. "Cynthia, where the hell are you?" He stepped over the broken bodies of the robots, amazed by how many she had managed to kill. There were less coming out now, so Cynthia had to be towards the heart of the ship.
When Tony finally found Cynthia, she had taken down another robot, her shirt riding up. "Cynthia!" Tony called, finally catching her attention and walking over to her. "What the hell happened?"
"HYDRA," Cynthia responded, out of breath. She sheathed her sword, and put her gun in her holster that was hanging onto her leg. "It's HYDRA. They've sent the robots. Wanda sent me up here, I've been waiting for Natasha to follow me up."
"She was needed down there, so I came," Tony said, "And I need to get you out of here—"
"What a surprise," A voice drawled, satisfaction dripping in every word. Cynthia felt like all the wind was knocked out of her. "I'd like to personally thank you, Tony Stark, for bringing her back to me."
Cynthia didn't want to turn around. This voice had haunted her every move for twenty-one years; she didn't ever think she'd see him again. Yet here he was . . . In the flesh. "John, you are a dead man," Cynthia said, trembling as she turned around.
"I'd like to see you try, my dear," John mused, and Tony aimed his blaster, and said, "How the hell do you know her?"
"Well, long story. A few years ago, she was kept in our prison—"
"It was a cage, you bastard," Cynthia seethed, the only thing holding her back being Tony's suited arm. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and Tony said, "Vision, I'm going to need you to get up here."
"Having someone else fight your battles for you, Cynthia?" John mocked, "Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"
Aiming her gun at his shoulder, Cynthia pulled the trigger, and shot his shoulder. Before anyone could say anything, Cynthia launched herself at him, screaming louder than anything Tony or John had heard before. She kicked his neck, making him fall to the floor, and Cynthia practically ripped her sword out of her sheath, and brought it up, about to kill him, when Vision intervened, pulling Cynthia away from John.
She let out a gut-wrenching scream, struggling against Vision's grasp. Every time she tried to punch him, or push his arms away, she would go through him, yet he could hold her. "Get her out of here!" Tony shouted, his mask going back down, and shooting towards the floor, where John laid.
John ran towards Vision, latching himself onto Cynthia's legs, where she tried to kick him off, but his grip was iron tight. Cynthia screamed in fear, a panic attack starting to spiral inside her. Vision flew them through one of the windows, and Cynthia kicked John in the face, unsuccessfully doing anything to him. "Get off of me!" Cynthia screamed, in a panicked state. "Get off of me!"
Vision held Cynthia with one arm, and ripped John off Cynthia with the other, twisting Cynthia's ankle and dislocating her kneecap in the process, Cynthia screaming in agony. "Go ahead!" John screamed at Vision. "Kill me!"
As if it were in slow motion, the plane beside then blew up, launching the three, and Tony towards the ground. She slipped from Vision's grip, and fear flooded over her. She was going to fall, she could die, who would take care of Jamie—
Cynthia couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything as she felt two arms snake their way around her. And she knew for a damn fact they weren't Tony or Vision's arms. But before she could scream for Tony, or Vision, the world around her changed, suddenly the sunny sky turned night, and the ground beneath them didn't hold the city, but farm lands.
Cynthia felt herself die inside.
When they landed safely, John grinned when he saw her. "Oh, Cynthia, Cynthia, Cynthia," He said, tsk-ing three times, and looked her over. "I liked you better when you wore less clothes." Her heart was thundering out of her chest, and she screamed, "How dare you—!"
She was going to kill him. Pushing herself away from him, and her limp major as her leg healed, Cynthia seethed, "Where the hell have you taken me?"
"Off the coast of Ireland," John explained, Cynthia finally noticing the soft crash of waves nearby them. Cynthia felt like the wind was knocked out of her again, and John snapped, "I couldn't let that pathetic soldier have you, I couldn't. So, after so many years of planning, I had to find a way to take you myself while distracting everyone else."
"You're despicable," Cynthia spat, and John simply chuckled.
"You should save that for later, my dear." John walked towards her, roughly grabbing her arm. "For now? You're coming to my house, where I can experiment on you, how I want—when I want."
"Burn in hell!" Cynthia screamed, her limp curing itself, and she broke into a sprint. A hand wrapped around one of her ponytails, yanking her back. John wrapped both of his arms around her, and started to drag her back to the house.
They were too far away from the rest of society for anyone to hear Cynthia's screams as John dragged her towards the house nearby them.
