heartless ; 𝐭. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 , 𝟏

07 - gathered

june 2016

The usual dotted city lights became strings of lights that blurred together as the car rushed down the busy street, Asset 53 calmly staring out the window despite the fact that she was still pretending to be passed out drunk. She was well aware of the fact that her driver—Happy—consistently peered back at her, paranoia clearly etched in his features.

It was like he thought she would bite him like an animal.

If she were truthful, that depended on the day she was having. Fortunately for the pudgy man, she had no desire to rip him to shreds with her teeth.

Her back had started to cramp in the uncomfortable position she was laying in, splayed along the back seat of the car. She'd tried to adjust herself, but every time she moved it was cause for an extra few glances in the rearview mirror, accompanied by a fresh string of curses that blew from his mouth like an exhale in the winter.

So, for the past fifteen minutes, the asset had sat in traffic and tried not to think of how much it would hurt when she eventually had to sit up.

Now or never, she told herself. Letting a slightly fatigued groan fall from her lips, reaching up to brush her hair from her face. Sitting up, she grimaced as her muscles contracted and spasmed, blood rushing to her back. "W-where am I?" She mumbled, playing the part of a hungover woman as she clutched her head and groaned again, louder this time.

Happy jerked upright in his seat, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling of the car. "Jesus!" He exclaimed, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles faded into white. "You don't think you could be a little more subtle when you decided to wake up?"

The asset scoffed, running a hand through her tangled hair. "I think we have slightly different definitions of subtlety." She looked out the window as though it was the first time, and shuddered. "Who are you? How did I..." she trailed off and looked down.

"You got shit-faced," he huffed, still unsettled by her waking up. "Pardon my French. And then the boss told me to take you back to his place." He met her eyes in the rearview mirror again. "Clearly you can't hold your alcohol."

The asset rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "I can too!" She protested in vain, enjoying the playfulness of the whole situation. It was now a great struggle to keep a wide grin off her face.

But the driver just shook his head. "Yeah, he said you'd say that." Focusing on the road again, he added, "You mind not talking until we get there?" Without waiting for an answer, he grunted a, "Thanks," and promptly pressed a button that revealed a black screen that slid up between the front and back of the car, completely isolating the two people in it.

He hadn't told her who "he" was, or where they were going, but she suspected that it was all part of the plan. See if she wanted to get out on a random street rather than run the risk of getting slaughtered at a stranger's house. How wrong this poor man would be proven to be.

The sky was still pitch dark, the streets nearly empty except for the few cars that littered the streets and the small packs of drunk bar patrons struggling to find their way home. The asset smirked at the sight of them, amused pity swimming in her eyes. How primitive it was, the desire to be so intoxicated that it altered the mind, the body, the soul. How utterly disgusting.

It was truly miraculous, the way Hydra was able to concoct a serum that would take away all of that. The mistakes any asset made could never be blamed on the incapacity to think properly, or the inability to control one's movements. The perfection of the serum made sure that each asset was responsible for their own actions.