I'm Sleepin' Here!
Orange sparks grew into a large circle as Strange moved his hands in a mystical way and caused a still sleeping man to fall on the cold, hard-wood floor of the lounge room with a thud. As the man slowly stirred awake, Steve started to question the area of where they decided for this to take place.
“Ugh… I thought we were sleeping in today, Ste….” The man, Marc Spector, looked fearfully at the heroes as he started to comprehend that he was no longer in his apartment. “...Shit.”
~~~
The clear, but indestructible doors of the cell shut with a loud CLANG. Bruce, Sam, Natasha, and Strange had already left since they didn’t feel like dealing with this shit at the moment. Luckily, since Marc was still half-asleep, it was fairly easy to just toss him into a cell and immobilize him. Now that everyone around him was safe, they could begin questioning him and his motives.
“Heya there, moony.” Tony gave a cocky grin as he pressed the speaker button for Marc’s cell. Marc glared at him in response. “Maybe we could skip the whole good cop, bad cop, interrogation, torture, or whatever the hell else SHIELD does to quiet people and you can just tell me who you really are and what your doing in New York.” Stark waited a good few minutes before his smile fell and let go of the speaker button. He sighed, knowing it would take a long while to get the man to talk. Fortunately, he has assassins.
“Alright, he’s not doing the easy way, who wants dibs?” Clint rolled his eyes at Tony’s child-like attitude and walked over to the cell, pressing the speaker button and giving back the man’s cold glare.
“Listen, buddy. I’m tired, you’re clearly tired, and I’m willing to bet you’re also sick of hearing Stark’s voice.”
“Hey-”
“So, my advice? Go the easy way before I have to go in there and do the hard way.” He stared at him with the same expression he’s been wearing since he got here, then smirked.
“Unless ya gonna kill me, I’ve had worse than whatever yer gonna do.” He paused for a moment, his closed mouth moving oddly before leaning forward and spitting on the window in one, swift motion. “So try ya worst.”
Clint had already backed away from the window by reflex and removed his finger from the speaker button. He turned around and stared at Cap with tired eyes. “Should I go in there?”
“No, let’s just give him a minute,” Steve sighed and rubbed at his eyes with one hand, the other on his hip. The heroes left one at a time and left Marc alone in the empty room. As soon as the door shut, Stark had pulled up security footage of the cell.
Marc(?) was staring at the door for a minute before the cocky expression on his face slowly shifted to one of anger.
“I can’t believe you spat on the damn window.” He huffed, all of the heroes confused by this. Who was he talking to? “...Oh, sure, let’s just break out of this highly secured building and hope that the Avengers don’t try to drag us back here again. What kind of plan even is that!? …N-No, Steven, now is the worst time for you to front. What if those asshats come back in here and start questioning us again? …I highly doubt they’ll give us a phone call.” They continued to listen to the man talk to himself, sometimes in different accents, and soon decided to simply turn off the footage.
The three awake Avengers sat in the lounge area and discussed what to do.
“Maybe we could get SHEILD involved,” Clint suggested. “He might talk then.”
“Or they might just throw him in a cell without questioning him at all.” Steve contradicted, patriodically, of course. Tony spoke up.
“Hate to agree with Capsicle here, but he’s right.” Tony had long since finished his malt scotch and realized that his hand felt empty without something to drink. Unfortunately, he kind of had to be sober to contribute to these kind of discussions. “With the way Moon pie is talking to himself, they’ll probably just toss him in a padded room with a straight jacket.”
“Alright, then we could fight crazy with crazy-”
“I’m not dealing with another nut-loose crimefighter.” Tony interrupted before Clint could finish.
“That’s not what I’m getting at…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking between his two teammates. “I’m saying, we get someone who’s used to crazy people to get him to talk, maybe figure out what’s going with him.”
“Well… That could work…” Steve seemed thoughtful before continuing. “But how could we guarantee their safety?”
“Good old-fashioned handcuffs on a table?”
“Yeah, that’d work.”
~~~
Somehow, the system was able to sleep on the plain white mattress that was in the far corner of their cell.
I still don’t get how they made a prison fancy. Jake grumbled, waking up quickly after Steven.
“Maybe they wanted the prisoner to feel comfortable during questioning?” Steven suggested, fiddling with his pajamas as he sat on his already made bed. Even if he was a prisoner, it felt rude to not make the bed.
I feel like that would ruin the point of tryin’ ta be intimidating during interrogations. Jake sighed. If Marc was awake, he would say it was too early for this shit, and Jake would agree with him. Suddenly, the door opened and Captain America walked in. He gave a small smile to Steven, who gave an incredibly nervous one back. Then, the patriotic superhero pulled out a pair of Stark Industry hand cuffs. Steven's smile fell and now he just looked nervous and scared.
“I’m going to need you to face the wall.” Steve’s voice was almost monotone, but his patriotic pride was still ever so present. Still, Steven did as told and faced the wall, his hands planted above him.
Kinky.
“Hush,” Steven muttered, barely above a whisper. The door to his cell clanked open and his arms were already being pulled back and cuffed behind him. Then, him and Captain America ( That was still so crazy to believe ) walked down a long hallway and towards a dark grey door with a printed sign on it stating “INTERROGATION ROOM”. Ah, so the cell was actually just a locked up spare room. Great. The door opened and there he saw a ginger-haired woman with round glasses on her pale, freckled face. She held her clipboard close to her closed, white coat. It was then, as Steven’s handcuffs were locked up on a small ring on the table, that he realized he was now in session for his very first psychiatric appointment.