heartless ; 𝐭. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 , 𝟏

10 - pillaging

august 2016

THE FIRST THING she did when she was certain the tower was empty of all possible peering eyes was take another wide glance around Tony Stark's lab, processing as much as she could in as little time as possible. She took note of the stacks of paper strewn about, the discarded pile of material that he'd thrown under his desk when she'd walked in.

It was all there for her, there for her to search, pillage, and find out exactly what made Tony Stark the so-called genius that he was.

A low chuckle dripped from her lips as she rubbed her hands together, preparing to find anything and everything of use to Hydra. For the good of the world. They were the reason the world would be saved, the reason the Avengers would go extinct, scattering their ashes in the wind. Forgotten.

And she had the honors of starting all of it. Pushing the first domino into place, so she could sit back and watch it all crumble before her.

The first thing she grasped in her strong hands was a manila folder with a yellow sticky note on the front, messy handwriting forming the word "contenders" on it. As if for the building of an army.

"What exactly are you getting yourself into, Stark?" The asset muttered under her breath.

She slid her fingers over the cover, and a small thought crept through her brain. He's touched this very folder. His large, calloused hands have run over the same folder that I'm holding right now. What would it be like, to have him run his hands over me, to have them brush over places more delicate than I care to admit? I've never had that before, even before all this. Even in France—

Asset 53 jerked her head up. The folder slipped from her fingers, unopened. Standing up, she shook her head in an attempt to clear it, but it did nothing. She didn't know what was happening.

She was going insane. That had to be it. The cryofreeze had finally frozen too much. She'd gone too far under, she was forever damaged...

Her fingers crawled down to her thigh, inching towards the one thing that was grounding to her in this new world she'd entered. When she brushed her fingertips against the hilt of her knife that was strapped tightly to her leg, though, it only brought her more unease. Hand recoiling at the feeling, she had the unsettling thought that it was a more unnecessary weight on her body than a blended part of her, like she'd believed for so long.

"Que diable se passe-t-il?" She breathed, shocked a second later as she recognized the French words. What the hell is happening? Could it be—

"I'm sorry, Ms...Kingston," a woman's voice reverberated around the room, jolting her from her thoughts. "Mr. Stark has asked me to secure this room, as it's full of confidential information that is off-limits to any and all guests."

It took the asset a few seconds to understand the English words, as she was still thinking in French for a reason that was unknown to her. "Who's there?" She asked tentatively, her hands raised as if to fight.

"That won't be necessary, Miss," the voice went on. "I am not a being that can be fought with fists and knives." After a few seconds of silence, the feminine voice continued, "I am FRIDAY. I assist Mr. Stark with anything he needs, including overseeing everything in this tower."

Asset 53 was not one to be rendered speechless. But given that this...FRIDAY lady couldn't see her(right?), she supposed it was a good a time as any to suck in a deep breath and think through it all. So this was what he'd meant when he told her that "FRIDAY would be watching."

"So...you're a security bot?"

I prefer the term 'technologically enhanced persona,' but yes. That is essentially correct." Her clipped words floated out of her mouth with a breezy Irish accent that the asset only notices then, after the initial shock of being spoken to by a voice in the walls. "Now, if you please, Ms. Kingston, it would be better for the both of us if you step out into the hallway. Can I recommend a recipe for lunch?"