OOC: Co written with Foxx and Ninzi.
The air was crisp as Christian jogged through downtown Manhattan. He’d gotten to the city after catching a short flight from his home in Gotham City. There was a high level meeting amongst members of S.H.I.E.L.D. that he had to attend, so he had figured on getting into town early, instead of letting Murphy’s law take over his travel arrangements. It was days like these that Christian missed the War Machine armor. Before Sam Freeman had been the possessor of the War Machine suit, it had been Christian who had piloted the behemoth of a battle suit. If he had still had the suit, he would have been able to get to Manhattan without a single issue.
Then again, odds would have set him up for a field mission and he would have been traveling many more miles in order to make the meeting. There were reasons why he was happy that he didn’t have the suit anymore. Let Sam Freeman deal with the headache.
His legs were starting to loosen up. Christian hated flying, a peculiar thing for a man who had worn and operated an aerially mobile suit. The problem with flying on a jet was that his legs got way too tired and he needed to get the blood flowing again. So here he was, cutting through the streets of Manhattan as he headed back towards his apartment in Greenwich Village. Mary had owned the apartment before him. His deceased sister.
Though she wasn’t deceased, if Derek Sheppard was to be believed.
He could still remember the words that Derek had said to him in that hospital room, when his variant of the Super Soldier Serum had gone into a state of flux on him.
”Mary’s not dead.”
Derek had been far from lucid during that period of time, and that was putting it lightly. Since that time, his best friend, a man that he had considered his brother, had departed earth, and had come back some time later, with vengeance on his mind. He had destroyed large parts of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base off the coast of Long Island; he had attacked and effectively decommissioned S.H.I.E.L.D. One; he had destroyed the Avengers; and had taken down arguably the world’s strongest super powered being, Superman. Not to mention he had killed the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Francis Kyle. They were still reeling from the loss, and Fury had yet to appoint a new Deputy Director.
So much had changed from that day that he had met Derek, during the Chrell Invasion. Before he had been changed and injected with the Super Soldier Serum. Christian came around the corner, and was on the block of his apartment building. He started to slow down, and he could feel his age catching up with him. He wasn’t a young man anymore, he couldn’t go in the field the way that the newer, younger agents could.
Stepping into his building, he walked up to the bank of elevators and pressed the button, waiting for the next one to come down to the lobby. A short while later, he was opening the doors to his apartment. Stripping off his shirt, Christian walked over to his fridge, to grab a bottle of water. With the bottle in hand, he walked through the living room and into the bedroom, but then he stopped.
Taking a few steps backward, he looked at the corner of the living room that was dominated by a desk and a computer. But in the semi darkness semi light of the entryway light bulb, he could see that the area was dominated by something else. A person sat at the desk, staring at him.
His first thought was to remember where his backup pistol was. It was too far away, in his bedroom.
Which meant that he was unarmed and at a severe disadvantage.
“Hello there.” He said, drinking from the bottle. “Mind telling me what’s going on?” He asked.
“Good evening, Mr. Sommers.” The person said and from the pitch of the voice, he identified it as belonging to a woman. “We were wondering if you got our message and if you’ve made your decision regarding the matter.” She said.
“Your message. Your message…” Christian replied and trailed off. “I don’t really remember your message honestly. Who are you again?” He asked.
She smiled, and reached onto the table, where there was a small box. She tossed it over to him, and he caught it. Looking over the box, he saw that it was a wooden box, no larger than the palm of his hand. A metal clasp unlocked the box. Outside of the clasp itself, the box was unadorned, and could have been a vintage jewelry box that one could find in a flea market. Christian felt a slight breeze and looked up. The woman was in front of him, moving without making a sound or without him being able to tell.
Uncanny considering he was a well-trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.
She cooed over the box, her head perched near it. He could see her features better in the light. It appeared as if she was wearing some kind of skin-tight suit over her entire body. Black and white, it had designs built into it and it moved with her facial features as she spoke. Her eyes were wide, looking like some funny animal. What was the name? A slow loris? The name escaped him at the moment, justifiable under the circumstances.
“Allow me, Mr. Sommers.” She said, holding on. The box was in his hands, both of them themselves trapped by her grip, which was iron like. Fingers that moved like the legs of a spider trickled down and slowly unclasped the box. The lid moved upwards, with a creaking sound that seemingly went on forever.
Christian looked into the box and grimaced slightly. “This message.” He said.
“So you do remember it.” She said, and when he nodded she smiled. “This is an identical copy to the message that we sent to you three weeks ago, to your home in Gotham City. You received the message and you reviewed it. I watched you do it, and I was the one who placed the message in your apartment.” She said.
“You couldn’t have watered the plants while you were there?” He asked.
“I’m an agent of death. Plants aren’t really that high on the list of things I care about.” She said. “Now, Christian, you’ve had some time to consider the message, and the request that comes with it. Your answer?” She asked, as he continued to look inside of the box.
“You know I can’t do this.” He said, trying to free his hands from her grip.
“And why not?” She asked, her face contorting to one of surprise and inquiry. “Why could you not do this?” She asked. “It’s but a little thing, a simple thing. An easy thing.” She said.
“Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did this.” Christian said, shaking his head, finally wrenching his hands away from her grasp.
She took a few steps back, placing a hand on her chest as she regarded him with a look. “If you try to hit your apartment’s silent alarm, it won’t work. It’s been disabled.” She said. “Your personal silent alarm has been disabled as well.”
“If I say no, you’re going to kill me. You’re an agent of death, you said.” Christian said. “If I say yes, I throw in the garbage the very values that I say I stand for, and I wouldn’t be able to live with that.” He said. Anger took shape through his features, his brow furrowing. “Who the hell do you think you are? Do you know what I’ve sacrificed for this country? For this planet? I was one of the members of Task Force 141. We saved this planet from the Chrell. You want to come into my home and threaten me?” He asked.
“From where I stand, you’re rather easy to threaten.” She said, her voice dropping the sweet façade that she had been speaking with. “Your answer, Mr. Sommers.”
“I won’t do it.” He said.
She twitched her head to the side, a forlorn look on her face. “That’s a shame. I was enjoying your reminiscence of the past.”
Christian was grabbed, from behind and he looked over his shoulder to see who would have seized him. His eyes widened, as he stared into a visage that mirrored his own, down to the small scar on the right side of his right eye thanks to shrapnel from the war.
“What the-“ He said, but then his attention was directed elsewhere.
His eyes looked down, and he saw a small kabutowari sticking out of his abdomen. Warmth blossomed from the epicenter of the wound and he watched as blood started to leak from the wound, sliding down like river rapids before falling, in a drip to the floor. The woman had driven the blade into him and now she turned it, causing the flow to increase.
“You stuck him well.” The man who had grabbed him said, and Christian heard his own voice, despite how unbelievable it was. “Bullseye indeed.” The man said.
“Bullseye indeed.” She repeated.
Christian dropped the box, and it clattered on the floor, dislodging the item inside of it.
A photograph much like the one that people kept in their wallets of loved ones. A photograph of a man’s face, it was nondescript except for one embellishment. A small hole was in the man’s forehead, as if he had been shot in the head. Christian stared down at the face in the portrait.
It was Nick Fury.
Scrawled underneath was a simple message.
Give us Fury.
His body slumped next to it.
“Good work.” The man said. “A pity he wouldn’t say yes.” He said.
“Are you worried that Mitchell will be upset with you, if you don’t accomplish the task?” The woman asked.
“My dear Lady Bullseye….” The man with Christian Sommers’ face and voice said, “…You will find that I am an excellent Actor. I won’t let the Spymaster down.”
“Hail Hydra.” She said, turning and heading towards the living room window, wiping the blood from her blade on a cloth she had. “Clean up the mess.” She said.
“Hail Hydra.” He replied, before setting about to complete that very task.
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