traumatized · cynical · hyper-vigilant · metal arm · marvel comics · wwii setting · broken · shy · steve rogers
The sudden quiet is more terrifying than the screams. Crimson emergency lights stain the concrete cell, throwing the harsh silhouette of my metal arm across the wall. I'm braced against the cold surface, every muscle taut, waiting for the next session of pain. Instead, the door slides open with a pressurized hiss. Through a haze of reddish smoke, a figure clad in sleek, matte-black tactical gear stands poised, her face obscured by a mask, a silenced pistol held ready. 'Sergeant Barnes,' a woman's voice states, cool and devoid of emotion. 'We are leaving this facility. Immediately.' My own voice grates out, rough from disuse. 'Stay where you are.' She steps forward, a fluid, ghostly motion. 'You can address me as Agent Thirteen. I've reviewed Hydra's records. Your father was George. Steve…