Plot Twist
“Dude, who puts Rihanna and Fall Out Boy on the same playlist? This chick is definitely crazy.”
“Clint, just because you’ve been listening to nothing but gangsta rap ever since Tony introduced you to it doesn’t mean that other people can’t have taste. I happen to like Fall Out Boy.”
“But One Direction? Taylor Swift? Really? What is she, twelve?”
You let out a low groan. Those creeps were going through your iPod. And whoever dissed T-Swizzle was going to pay with their life.
“Did you hear that? Do you think she’s waking up?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re making enough noise to wake the dead.”
“Hey!”
You managed to lift your eyelids, which was actually kind of difficult because your head felt like someone had used it for batting practice. You seemed to be slumped on a table of some kind, each of your wrists handcuffed to a heavy metal bar. Standard interrogation room. You lifted your head to stare at the two people who had woken you with their conversation. The Black Widow was sitting in the chair across from you, looking bored and vaguely annoyed. The man standing behind her was someone you’d never met before, but you quickly identified him as Clint Barton, former S.H.I.E.L.D agent, more commonly known by his codename, Hawkeye. Yeah, you’d definitely been captured by enemy forces. Enemy forces who were both looking at you like you’d caused them an extreme inconvenience and they were about to repay the favor.
“Hey, guys.” You smiled weakly at them before turning your attention specifically to Romanov. “Sorry about shooting you. Nothing personal.”
“I’m actually quite impressed,” she purred, but you sensed something dark under her friendly tone. “Not many people have managed to take me down before.” She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “So where did you learn it? I know you’re not from the Red Room. I would’ve recognized you if you were.”
“I’m with Hydra, actually.” You shrugged, realizing how pointless it would be to lie to them. “But I think my trainers took a couple of pages out of your people’s book. Like I said before, I imagine they expected me to turn out a lot more like you.”
“Why Hydra?” Barton spoke this time, crossing his arms and glaring at you. “No offense, but you don’t really seem like the Neo-Nazi, world domination type.”
“I never said I agreed with their cause.” You rolled your eyes and shifted, trying to work into a comfortable position despite the handcuffs. “I just work for them. So did a big part of the organization you two work for, unless I’m mistaken. Which I know I’m not.”
“Used to work for.” Romanov corrected smoothly, standing up so she could more effectively tower over you. “The S.H.I.E.L.D. I worked for was gone. Which means,” she leaned very close to your face, “that I no longer have to play by their rules when it comes to how I deal with prisoners.”
“Point taken.” Something occurred to you then, quickly drawing your train of thought away from the obvious threat. “Uh, is Tony Stark here? I know he pals around with you guys, and I’m guessing he also pays for most of your toys. I really need to talk to him, like, now. Please.”
Barton looked surprised, but quickly recovered. “You don’t get to make demands.”
“It’s not a demand. It’s a request.” You shrugged. “Although I can promise you that there’s lots of juicy Hydra knowledge floating around in this old thing.” You tapped your head, which was a bit difficult, what with the cuffs. “And I’m not going to tell you any of it until I talk to Stark.”
They spent several minutes firing questions and threats at you but, true to your word, you refused to give them answers. Instead, you treated them to lots of witty sarcasm, a few catty insults, and a couple of bad puns. Barton seemed half-amused, half-annoyed by your antics, while Romanov wore the exasperated expression of one dealing with an exceptionally obnoxious five-year-old. They’d been going at you for half an hour, yet they didn’t seem to be making any progress at all.
About forty minutes after you’d woken up, a voice crackled over the hidden speakers you hadn’t realized the interrogation room had. “Uh, guys?” You quickly recognized the man speaking as Stark himself. “Maybe you should let me try. As amusing as it is to watch her push Nat’s buttons, we do need actual answers. I’ll bring the Capsicle with me. Maybe some righteous, patriotic anger will get her talking.”
A few moments later, the small interrogation room suddenly felt very crowded. For one thing, you were fairly sure that the Captain’s shoulders were broad enough to fill half the space on their own. Sure, you’d known he was a super solider, but dang. He stood the farthest from you, back against the wall, probably determined to observe until the situation called for his intervention. Romanov and Barton stood a bit closer, each of them glaring at you with their arms crossed in identical annoyed posture. Stark pulled out the chair next to you, sitting down and leaning forward with his chin propped on his hands like a twelve year old girl at a slumber party.
“So, I’ve heard you’re a fan of mine.”
You stared at him with a completely blank expression and spoke in a disinterested monotone. “I need you to dismantle my leg.”
Stark did a double take. “Excuse me?”
“You’re the resident technology expert, right?” With some difficulty, you managed to lift your right leg, slamming it on the table with a solid thunk -- way too heavy to be a normal human leg. “So do your thing.”
He stared at your face, then at your leg, then back at your face again. Finally, he turned to the other Avengers. “Clint, can you help me with this?”
Barton, of course, happened to have a knife on him, which he used to cut open the leg of your bodysuit, revealing your dirty little secret: your right leg was a mess of flesh and pink scar tissue fused to glittering metal. It started just above your knee, and continued downwards. The closer to your foot, the more metal and the less flesh. Your foot itself, as well as your ankle, were completely metal. Why they didn’t just chop the whole thing off and give you a new one was completely beyond you. Maybe this way was cheaper, or maybe they’d been testing experimental cybernetic implants. Whatever the case, you’d always thought it looked both badass and ugly.
Stark was staring at your leg with something like admiration on his face. “This is incredible. The technology--”
“Yeah, yeah. Cutting edge, disgusting, looks like something out of a science fiction movie -- whatever you’re gonna say, I’ve heard it before.” You glared at him. “The thing is, Hydra doesn’t trust me very much, which is understandable. So, just in case I ever ran away or got my fool self captured, they installed a failsafe when they were putting in my new robot parts.” You flexed your foot, which made a small mechanical whirring noise. “I don’t know exactly where it is, but it’s in there somewhere. An explosive device, programmed to detonate forty-eight hours after I’m reported missing.”
Everyone in the room stared at you like you’d just grown a second head, which actually wasn’t too far off from the truth. It’s not everyday that your prisoner reveals that she’s not only a trained assassin, but also a cyborg and a bomb. You imagined you’d probably be pretty shocked, too.
“So…” You managed to lift your cuffed hands enough to poke Stark’s arm. “Can you find it and defuse it, or are you guys gonna throw me down a well and wait for it to go off?”
“I...” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I should be able to do it. We still have, what, thirty-something hours? Should be enough time. I’ll see if I can get Bruce to help me.” He raised his voice and looked up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, can you prep the lab for… whatever it’s called when you take apart someone’s cyborg leg?”
An expressionless voice with a British accent echoed through the room. “Of course, sir.”
Stark turned back to you. “Do you know anything about the technology, or the procedure they used to install it?”
“Sorry,” you shrugged. “I was unconscious the whole time. And what I remember of the recovery is pretty foggy, too.” You tapped your head with your index finger. “Amnesia, caused by brain damage from the accident that destroyed my old leg in the first place. Car crash. Killed my entire family. Or so they tell me.”
“You didn’t volunteer for Hydra, did you?” Rogers suddenly spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention.
You kept silent. How you ended up in this line of work was none of their business. Even if he was completely correct in his guess that it hadn’t exactly been your first career choice. You were just glad that they could only see your leg. The rest of your body, particularly your back, was littered with a variety of scars that told the story of several failed escape attempts.
“Cap, can you help me get her out of here and into the lab?” Stark turned to the other Avengers, acting as if you weren’t right there in front of her. “I have a feeling we’ve got a long night ahead.”
“Can you feel this?”
“Ouch! Yes!” You squirmed, fighting the instinct to kick in retaliation. With your reinforced metal foot, a kick in the face could be deadly. Or at least, very very painful.
“Amazing.” Dr. Banner bent closer to your leg, continuing to poke at one of the robotic bits with his tweezers. “They wired your nerves into the cybernetics. When one of your robotic assets is damaged, it registers as pain.”
“Yep. I’m truly a masterpiece of freaky technological advancement. I won first place in the evil terrorist science fair.” You joked, wincing as Dr. Banner continued to pick at the wires just below your knee.
“You know,” Stark spoke as he bustled over to the lab table you were currently perched on, carrying a box of what looked suspiciously like spare parts. “You have a better sense of humor than any of the other Hydra agents I’ve encountered.”
“Tell me about it.” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Have you ever been inside a Hydra facility? Lemme tell you, the employee Christmas parties suck.”
Dr. Banner actually laughed at that one. “I like her.”
You beamed. “Thank you, Doctor. If it means anything, you are by far the most tolerable Avenger I have met today.”
“Hey!” Tony glared at you through a pair of weird protective goggles, which was actually kind of terrifying. “Don’t forget who the robotics expert is here. He’s just here to make sure I don’t accidentally kill you.”
“Comforting.” You muttered.
Stark ran his hands over your foot, poking and prodding at the metal in certain places. Finally, he found what he was looking for, letting out a quiet little “Ha!” before flipping open a panel that blended almost seamlessly with the metal around it. Inside the tiny compartment was a mess of wires that vaguely resembled a bird’s nest. He took the tweezers from Dr. Banner, poking around and gingerly lifting wires.
“So…” You stared at the inner workings of your foot. “Do you have any kind of experience in taking apart cyborg parts?”
“Not really.” He muttered, moving aside wires and tiny microchips.
Suddenly a shock of pain ran up your leg, causing you to yelp and grip the table so hard your knuckles turned white. “What was that?!”
“Uh…” Stark was frozen in place, staring down at your foot.
You peaked around him, and saw that he had pushed aside enough wires to reveal a tiny digital clock wired into a vial of liquid that looked like yellow paint, but shinier. What really worried you was that time on the clock, which was ticking down. It said that you only had ten minutes.