Bender [s.r.]

0.2

I exited the black BMW that S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent with me. I closed the back door of the car, even though it seemed to be more like a slam. I mentally apologized to the driver. I let out an exhale as I walked towards the run down looking boxing arena.

I looked around noticing that it wasn't too easy on the eyes. Bricks were out of place which gave a home to different critters that just thinking about made me shiver. Some windows were not in the best condition, fogged, cracked, stained. Basically, it was just all around a mess.

I walked through the doors as the bell above made a light chiming sound. It appeared to be that no one would hear except the person pounding away at what I was guessing was a punching bag. I walked through the halls, the picture frames that hung on the walls of the owner and workers from the past. 

Some trophies were held in cases, with a layer of grey and brown dust. The trophies weren't the only thing dust clung to. I walked over to a bookcase and swiped a finger along the surface. A shiver went down my spine as I noticed it was actually black, and not a grey color. My ponytail swung back and forward with every step I took - leaving me annoyed. 

I hated having my hair up with a burning passion. But I guess that comes with having a job. I mean, back at the lab they would make me have my hair up because it was a safety hazard. But rules were meant to be broken, right?

There were light wooden floors that weren't kept up and needed to be swept, rusted bars on the walls which hung various pieces of equipment. The only sounds filling the buildings were the distant hits of a person beating up a boxing bag, and the tapping of my black and white converse as I walked through the halls of the gym. 

And boy was I stubborn not to wear heels or uncomfortable shoes. I didn't really want this job, so I was going to dress as I pleased. Sorry, Fury.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" I asked as I walked into an opening where the soldier himself was. I walked forward into the run-down boxing ring, setting my bag down on a light, wooden bench. His face was coated with a thin layer of sweat, matting down his golden locks. His white short-sleeved top clung to his chest and abdomen muscles as his pants hung from his small waist.

"I slept for 70 years, kid. I think I've had my fill." He pointed out as he continued to throw punches, then steadying the bag every little while, not bothering to look up at me. Ouch, okay then. One strike in the book. Burned on the first day.

"Then shouldn't you be out sightseeing?" I wondered as I watched him, crossing my arms as I ignored his comment. "A lot has changed. It's a whole other world." He then looked over to me, looking me up and down.

"When I went under, the world was at war." He walked over to his gym bag, me turning to face him as he unwrapped his knuckles. "I wake up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost." I pulled out a folder from my bag, a red 'Classified' stamp read across the beige cover.

"Since when did S.H.I.E.L.D. start hiring teenagers?" He commented as I faced him, eyeing me up and down once more. Okay, sorry Fury but I'm speaking up.

"With all due respect, Captain, I'm 22." I pointed out, not having any of it.

"Oh, I'm sorry Ma'am." He spoke up, apologetically. I let out a small chuckle at his old-fashioned mannerisms. "Steve Rogers." He reached out a hand, which I shook with mine.
"Addison Langdon." I shed a small, polite smile across my pink lips. "But call me Andie," I added on, hating my first name.

"Andie it is." He copied my smile before letting go of my hand. "Anyways, are you here with the mission?" He asked me, his eyes looking down at the file in my hands.