#bear|trap

That night was hard.

Rogon could barely feel her legs as she dropped herself onto the floor of her cabin, hidden from the rest of the world.

Her spines shivered as she crawled, closer and closer to the couch in the middle of the room. The blood leaking from her side smeared on the wood floors, staining the carpet.

She finally clawed her way to the sofa. With a grunt, she pulled herself up to it.

Pain flared in her side. How stupid. How stupid was she to be caught in a storm, of all things?

Derecho had her laid out on a butchers block.

The pain nearly faded away the longer she sat still. Her tail was stiff from the fight, burning from the jerk on her spine.

How did she get into this? This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t on the field, she wasn’t even in enemy territory.

She was just trying to relax for a while, while her body heals from her prior...episode.

And yet, they followed her here. To the middle of nowhere Eastern Europe, in the middle of winter.

A tear slipped past her eye.

Her aching back made her grind her teeth, and for two hours, she sat on the couch, without moving.

She hasn’t responded to any reports. Hasnt responded to any messages, hasnt responded to any notes or letters or questions.

Where are you?

Rogon, where did you go?

Are you okay? Are you safe?

Please tell me you’re safe.

Ro, come home, please.

It killed her not to answer. It killed her to take a breath and look away from the screens.

But now, at this moment, she couldn’t risk her cover being blown. Her location leaking out to the rest of the Brood.

She rolled onto her side, tail flexing in pain. “Ow...” she groaned. Did she really have to be thrown into a tree? Hm? Was that necessary?

Tink.

Her ears shot up. Immediately, every scale, spine and hair stood on end. Something moved.

She shoved herself up and looked behind her. The back door was open, just slightly.

She always locked her doors, always kept every window sealed shut, but she did leave one door unlocked in case she needed to get away.

There were some tracks leading away from the door. They seemed human enough, thank Hell, but still. Any kind of compromise could spoil her location.

So, she rolled off the couch and landed on the ground without making any noise.

She sniffed the air. The smell of metal and smoke wafted through the air, so faint, yet still recent enough. She frowned and followed the prints to the stairs.

Was someone trying to escape the cold? If so, this was the worst place to be. She had no heaters, only surviving off of her own warmth, her millions of sweaters and blankets, and the fire that blazed in her throat. Everything smoldered to an ash the moment she left the house.

Her steps barely made a creak on the wood. Her tail slowly retreated and melted away, spines digging under her skin.

If it was a human, she’d hate to be caught.

Or, she could have a fresh meal. Grilled lumberjack sounded good, just about now.

Rogon made it up the stairs and slowly creeped down the hall.

There was a door open.

A door she didn’t remember opening earlier.

Her hand pressed against the door. “Alright,” her voice snarled out in a choked static, “alright...if you’re in here to kill me, clap your hands!”

Clap clap

“Oh bullshit,” her feet left the floor and she nearly jumped the entire staircase.

“Wait wait! I was joking!” She stopped, glancing at the door. It was a masculine voice. Rich, but glitchy.

Rogon took a few steps back to the door, and lightly pushed it open. The creak did nothing to calm her nerves, and neither did the bright red eyes staring at her.

Her face fell, “Holy shit.”

In the darkness, she could see a broken yet complicated frame. Sparks flew off of its side, metal plating its body.

A machine.

No, she thought, a robot.

“I’m sorry for the lack of lights,” it waved a servo around. Its voice was fuzzy, like it was being projected from a speaker. “But this house is horribly equipped.”

She sneered, “What are you doing in my house?” Her hands clawed in her gloves.

It must have noticed her reaching for the pistol on her belt, because it quickly raised its hands. “Please please! I promise, I don’t mean any harm!”

She scoffed and looked it in its blank red eyes. It looked very much like one of the Stark’s drones, but with some artistic liberties added to it. Its face was one single plate, with the same basic concept of Stark’s helmet, but an open jaw, and more narrowed optics.

“And what’s one of Stark’s drones doing with an AI attached to it?” She lifted her head up, looking down at the drone with enough malice to tackle an elephant.

It stood up quickly. “I am not one of Stark’s drones!” It snapped.

“No, but you are controlling one,” she snapped right back.

“...fair enough,” it relaxed, and she could get a better look at it as it was standing before her.

One leg was nearly completely locked up, with all that’s left of its right arm being a bunch of dangling wires. The side of its body was blown up and burnt, its shoulder plate torn off.

“Woah,” she snorted, “what kind of hell did you crawl out of?” She entered the room entirely, looking the machine up and down.

It shifted its weight, the floor creaking as it did so. “I didn’t know any one lived here.”

“Well, someone does,” she raised a brow. Her sides tightened as she crossed her arms.

“I just need a place to stay, to regroup,” it said. “I will not cause any damage—“

“You broke into my house.”

“It wasn’t that hard. The door knobs are broken.”

Rogon narrowed her eyes and cursed just as the chill of ice cold wind broke through the window. “You opened a window?!” She yelped and rushed over. The slam shut rattled the entire house. “Are you mad?! It’s cold as hell out there!”

“It was open when I came in,” it snarked. “The wind must have blown it open.”

Rogon breathed out. This was going to get her killed, wasn’t it? Oh well. Curse her pitying heart.

She looked over her shoulder. “Do you...have a name?”

She heard the sound of whirring machinery as it shifted again, “...Ultron.”

“Ultron? That’s a typical robot name.”

“Wait, do you not recognize it?” It sounded incredulous, like she had to have heard it before. “Do you not watch the news?”

“Do you see a tv anywhere?” She asked, gesturing around.

“No phone? No computer?”

“No. I use radio services,” she pulled out a walkie talkie from her waist clip.

The robot looked at her in what she deemed to be surprise.

She never heard of it before. “Okay, Ultron,” she turned around and sighed, putting her hands together. “I’ll let you stay here. But you have to promise me you aren’t some kind of, oh, I don’t know, spy software or some shit.”

It tilted its head at her, “Are you one of those government conspiracy fanatics?”

She scoffed, “No. I’m from Russia.”

He made a sound like he was clicking his tongue, “Ah.” Yes, that always makes total sense. “No, I am not any government intelligence software. I promise you that.”

Rogon nodded with a hum and started to walk out the door. “I hope you don’t need to eat,” she said with a laugh, “because I do not hunt for others.”

It chuckled lightly. “Oh no, I prefer my rabbit without fur. Or meat. Or bones. Really, I don’t want anything on my rabbit.”

She almost laughed at that. As she went down the stairs with a very visible limp, she heard it walk out of the room. The heavy clunks would have to take getting used to. But she wouldn’t be staying for long. “Are you hurt?” It asked.

“No, I walk like this for fun,” she grunted. With her entire weight on one side of her body, she was stretching her limits out thin. Usually, she’d be walking on her wings.

But she couldn’t risk that kind of exposure.

“Are your legs always like that?” She heard it begin walking down the stairs.

“I was thrown into a tree,” she quipped, walking to the couch. “Now, if it please you, Ultron, Imma fall asleep.”

The walking stopped. “Now, how rude would it be if a host didn’t give her guest her name?”

She stopped and looked at it. Did she give him her real name? She supposed it wouldn’t hurt. She technically didn’t exist to humans, anyways.