The Color Blue and Other Lies

The mission had been simple.  You'd executed it flawlessly.  But then, you got greedy. Careless.  Dead. 

When you open your eyes, the room is dim with dull grey light. You’re alone in a large med bay similar to those you’ve haunted dozens of times before. From your current position, you can see brighter light, another bed or two. They’ve tucked you away in your own dark corner where carts hold syringes, tubes, and countless other accouterments sealed in sterile plastic. There’s an IV in your forearm, a tube in your nose, and a scratch in your throat. 

Holy shit. I’m…alive.

Slowly you reach up to your nose. 

Feeding tube. No oxygen.

As you pat down your chest, you feel a heart monitor on bare skin. Soft, smooth, but thin fabric. You've worn enough hospital gowns in your life to know this is just the latest in your collection. 

Where is my suit? 

From a room or two away you hear, “Doctor Cho, could you come look at this?”

Doctor Cho. Scanning your foggy memory, you run through all of the intel you’d spent weeks studying. There was no scientist at the lab with that name. You don’t know all of the personnel at the Baxter Building, but you’d never met a Doctor Cho. And if you’d been taken to Muir Island, you’d probably hear Doctor MacTaggart’s brogue as she bustled about. No one at the Bax or Muir would dare take your suit. Therefore, your chances of being among friends are dwindling. 

Slowly, you pull the feeding tube from your nose, stifling the urge to gag as it passes through your esophagus. As you sit upright, your head swims and your vision darkens, but the moment passes as you draw steady breaths. Sliding to the edge of the bed, you shake out your feet before placing them on the cold floor. Your limbs don’t buckle. Lightly, steadying yourself on the bed, you make your way to the nearest supply cart, taking gauze and tape. 

After removing the IV then bandaging the site, you take a moment to examine yourself. As expected, you're wearing a gown and bright yellow grippy socks. As your faculties thaw out, the questions begin to flood your mind.  

Where the fuck am I? How did I get here? And where the hell are my clothes? 

The most obvious answer is that you’re at the base. You missed something. Probably got captured, and now you’re in the underground maze you so carefully avoided.

But…no. That’s not what happened. I made it outside. The place was on fire. Then…what? White. It was all white.

Your limbs are pale and cold. Shaking them out, you quietly move about the space, opening cabinets looking for anything that might serve your escape. While it's not your suit, the set of blue scrubs excites you more than it should, perhaps. You slip into them quickly then don a mask. With a deep breath, you disconnect the leads of the heart monitor.

“Doctor Cho! She’s coding.” “Crash cart!” 

Alarms blare, blue lights flashing along the corridor. As you hear footsteps running toward the med bay, you pat down the bed frantically. "She's gone," you shout. "Doctor Cho, she's gone!"

Chaos ensues. Medical staff race around you, calling out to one another, while you launch into the hallway.

"I'll take this way. You! Check that hall!"

A nurse in scrubs identical to yours nods at you then sprints away. Beneath your mask, you grin. Just act like you belong and no one will give you shit. 

Though your limbs aren't happy about it, you run, keeping your eyes out for some hint of where you are, how you can get out. But your suit. You need it if you plan to survive.  

Two right turns. One left. Straight for 50 steps.

A voice echoes down every hall. “Attention! We have a patient loose in the tower. Repeat, patient is loose on level 29. Code 4 Lockdown.” 

You run.

Alternating between rights and lefts, you try to put as much distance as you can between yourself and the med bay. It’s not long, however, before you hear footsteps thumping on the floor in your direction. 

“There she is!” 

You bolt left, finding yourself in a long corridor with doors on either side, an electronic keypad on each. You try the first one, hoping someone was careless enough to leave it unlocked, but it’s no use. There’s no time to brute force a passcode, so you keep running.

“Patient is in corridor Alpha One-One-Three heading east toward the armory.” 

"FRIDAY," a voice behind you shouts. "Find Romanoff and get her here, now."

Footsteps are gaining on you from behind, so you press forward, hoping to make it to the armory or any place to hide. As you pass by, a door slides open, and a petite woman with wavy red hair steps out. She wears a white tank and a pair of grey sweat pants. Like yourself, she looks like she just woke up.

"This way!" You motion her to follow you, but she holds fast. Her eyes grow wide for a split second before she blurs toward you. 

You go low to sweep her legs, but she dodges your attacks. You adapt, moving to score hits on upper body pressure points. Just when you think one lands, she dodges. From behind, a pair of heavy hands clutch your shoulders, so you clutch right back.

Time to shine.

With a feral grin, you squeeze, shoving heat through your palms. With a grunt, your attacker releases you. You whirl around, lift your hands and fire. Two small balls of flame launch toward the redhead and a pair of men in white lab coats.

Oh, my favorite. 

You unleash two long gouts of fire, sweeping them in a shallow arc in front of you. Fresh screams echo in the hallway, some with pain.

“Enhanced! She’s enhanced!” 

With a quick glance toward the ceiling, you see sprinklers. Releasing a pulse toward them, the sprinklers do their job and you run away, listening to them slip behind you. With each turn through the maze, you repeat the process. At a junction, you conjure four flames, one for each corridor. They blaze down the hallways, skirting and triggering the sprinklers. Choosing one of the paths at random, you bolt. 

Grippy socks don’t fail me now.

Another right. Another drenched corridor. As you near a T-junction, a door to your left opens, and a tall dark figure steps out. In another universe, you might have stopped to admire the contours of his bare, sculpted chest. But when your eyes land on his metal arm, you slip and fall. You’re able to twist into a baseball slide, then hydroplane under that outstretched arm. Terror grips you, your breath catching in your lungs. An involuntary scream stops in your throat–you can’t scream. You can only watch as the figure approaches, his metal hand reaching for you. Sliding further down the hall, you spin your body so that you’re on your knees and sailing backward. Two more blasts ignite on either side of him. Behind him, you see another man approaching, this one with dark skin and close-cropped hair. 

Shit. I just need a minute to disappear.

You place your palms against the cold, wet floor and within a second, a cloud of steam fills the corridor. Adrenaline careens through your blood as your feet pound the floor. Another rhythm, closing fast. You whirl around just in time to catch the black man’s wrists. He sweeps at your ankles. You pivot, using the wet floor to your advantage. As you fall, you take him down with you, and land atop him. 

Breath coming in quick gulps, you ask, “Where’s my suit?” Your voice is hoarse and gravelly. 

Ahead of you, two guards appear from another hallway. Without sparing them a glance, you loose two more gouts of flame. A pair of voices call out over wet slaps. The shriek of a skidding shoe precedes the sound of bodies dropping to the floor.

Focusing on the threat beneath you, you croak, "I don’t want to hurt you, so I'll ask again. Where is my suit?”

“What suit?”

Your eyes search his. He’s too calm. His stare flashes over your shoulder. Everything in your body clenches as you conjure a protective dome made of citrine light and glowing embers. You clench, waiting, hoping that it's not too--a supersoldier slams against your shield with a force that rocks you forward. The hiss of flame on flesh. A grunt. But it's not enough. He punches at the dome, consequences be damned. As your concentration wavers, your mask slowly burns away. The man beneath you goes rigid, eyes widening with fear as he watches the fabric turn to cinders and fall from your face. 

You grit your teeth. You're so cold. So tired. "Where. Is. It?” 

Another concussive blow strikes your shield. You imagine that metal arm shattering your energy like brittle glass. A hand plunging through the fire to grasp you by the throat.  Wouldn't it just be poetic?

You're holding on to too much. The dome. Your own body. The physical strain of pinning the man to the floor. It's so little and yet it threatens to crumble. Something has to give.

“Don’t make me do this,” you plead. 

You’re not sure what you’re asking of him. Don’t make me hurt you? Or don’t make me face the big bad wolf. Because that is the choice before you. Hands tightening around his wrists, you grit your teeth. The shield behind you begins to weaken as flames creep up your short sleeves.

“Buck, it’s getting warm down here!”

Shredding your throat with a primal yell, you launch from your crouch and spin to face the threat. You know you have little chance of surviving him, but you lash out with your flaming fists. With your shield down, you are able to snuff the fire burning your shirt. But your concentration still wavers under the strain on your body, on keeping the fire contained. Despite your exhaustion, you manage to dodge or block the first few swings from the metal-armed soldier. However, once that metal hand clasps around your wrist, you know it’s almost over. He twists your arm, spinning you so that your hand is wedged between your back and his brick wall of a chest. Clenching your fist, you create a delicate glove made of fire. Your shirt burns, but so does his skin. 

You hear him hiss in pain. “Sam, come on!”

The black man is off the ground and barreling toward you. 

A glint of silver. 

No. No, please!

The sight of the needle is enough to give you one last burst of energy. The fire coils deep inside your belly, roiling, growing. 

“Get her other hand!”

The soldier obeys, pinning your other wrist with the first. 

You let go and welcome the fire. As flames ignite your clothes, you let out one last scream of defiant rage. A scream cut short as you feel a sharp, piercing pain erupt in your thigh. You recognize the man in front of you now. He meets your eyes, watching. Waiting. There's something akin to pity there. As your vision blurs, dizziness overcomes you. Your limbs stop responding. 

 “You fuckaauuuh.”

You collapse limply into the Winter Soldier’s arms. 

Again.