Fallen Heroes | Marvel/CATWS {2}

Chapter 10: Algorithm

The world will not be destroyed by those who do evil, but by those who watch them without doing anything. –Albert Einstein

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Withholding information during an investigation, evading arrest, grand theft auto, treason (if you count the false accusations), trespassing, breaking and entering, theft of government property, kidnapping—I'm putting together an impressive rap sheet in a surprisingly short amount of time. Nathan's gonna throw a fit if he ever finds out.

But I'll worry about that some time other than when I'm standing on a roof a couple dozen stories off the ground.

Steve roughly shoves Sitwell through the roof-access door and onto the roof. "Tell me about Zola's algorithm," he orders.

"Never heard of it," Sitwell denies as he shakily gets to his feet and puts his glasses back on, trying to back away from Steve, Natasha, and me.

"Then what were you doing on the Lemurian Star?" I question.

"I was throwing up. I get seasick." Sitwell backs into the short wall that borders the edge of the roof, losing his balance. Steve reaches out and grabs him by the jacket, but doesn't pull him away from the edge of the roof.

Sitwell cracks a small, hesitant smile as he calls Steve's bluff. "Is this little display meant to insinuate that you're gonna throw me off the roof? Because it's really not your style, Rogers."

"You're right. It's not," Steve agrees, letting go of Sitwell's jacket and patting him on the shoulder. "It's hers."

Steve steps to the side and Natasha plants her foot in the center of Sitwell's chest, sending him over the edge of the roof. "Oh, wait," she says over his loud, undignified screams. "What about that guy from Accounting? Jace, Jude..."

"Julian," I correct, guessing who she's talking about. "The one with the lip piercing?"

"Yeah, he's cute," she suggests.

I think about it for a second before shaking my head. "Not really my type."

Sitwell's fading shrieks grow louder again. Sam, wearing what can be best described as a jetpack with wings, drags him through the air and drops him back onto the roof. Sam flies a little further across the roof as he loses altitude, coming to a graceful landing. The wings fold into the pack and he turns to face us and Sitwell.

The four of us walk forward, almost surrounding Sitwell. Sitwell holds up a hand as if trying to tell us not to come any closer. "Zola's algorithm is a program for choosing Insight's targets," he cries, obviously still terrified.

"What targets?" Steve asks.

"You!" Sitwell snaps, waving a hand. I can't tell if he's talking about Steve specifically or if he's gesturing at all of us. "A TV anchor in Cairo, the Under Secretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to HYDRA. Now or in the future."

"The future?" I repeat. "How can it tell?"

Sitwell lets out a strained laugh. "How could it not?" He rises to his feet again, elaborating as he does. "The twenty-first century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it."

He looks from one of our faces to the others and can see we don't follow. "Your bank records," he explains, "medical histories, voting patterns, emails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores! Zola's algorithm evaluates people's past to predict their future."

"And what then?" Steve presses.

Sitwell hesitates, then looks down at his shoes. "Pierce is gonna kill me," he mutters.

"I'd be more worried about what we're gonna do if you don't answer the question," I suggest. At the same time, Sam steps forward and grabs Sitwell by the back of his collar, forcing him to look up.

Sitwell lets out a shaky breath. "Then the Insight helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time."

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Another fun mini-chapter!