You Look Like You Like It Bitter
“The warden threw a party in the county jail!” You start belting out with a teasingly wide grin as the spacious van turns around the corner to your destination.
Everyone breaks out into a collective groan of pain, already complaining about your ‘ritual’. It’s become a habit, something you do every time you’re on a mission, claiming the song just fits.
The excuse that it ‘motivates the group reminding us that we could very well be doing the jailhouse rock if we don’t succeed’ didn’t take very well. They called bullshit. And they were right; it’s just a really good song.
“Not again.” Blackout mumbles with a whisper of a sigh, folding her arms over her chest before blending in with the seat she’s slouching in. Reaching into the small box of bullets, you pick one up and flick it at her, watching it bounce off her invisible body with amusement – you’re hoping it hit her forehead.
“The prison band was there and they began to wail!” You ignore everyone’s protests as you carry on with the opening verse, triple-checking to make sure you have enough bullets in the rifle attached to your hip. Not that you’ll use it anyway.
So what? It’s your ritual and you’re a vital asset to this team so they’ll have to stop complaining at some point…if you wait them out. In fact, you’re pretty sure Bullet is already warming up to your ritual; sometimes you catch him nodding his head along or tapping his foot to the beat.
“The band was jumpin’ and the joint began to swing. You should’ve heard those knocked-out jailbirds sing, let’s rock!” You hop out of the van when Demolition slides the door open a little too aggressively, sending a deathly glare your way as you slide out past her while dancing dramatically.
After everyone trickles out behind you, they all quickly take their positions around the building on autopilot as they wait for Bullet’s signal. He’s already made his way inside the building and you tune out the screams of terrified civilians, ignoring the shivers and chills it gives you. As the group has to get used to your rituals, you have to get used to theirs.
You notice an old lady stepping towards the door unaware of what’s going on, so you hold your arm out to stop her. “Hey, how you doin’, ma’am? I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” You warn her, flashing her what you think is the kindest smile you can give.
She takes one glance at you with an unbothered expression, paying no mind to your cautionary words. However, her boredom turns into wide, crinkly eyes, a trembling dry lip and clattering teeth – that you’re pretty sure are fake anyway – when she sees your skin quickly transform into solid steel. Your toothy silver smile only has her screaming out in fear, seeing herself reflected in your shiny steel teeth.
“Enjoy your day!” You yell out after her, chuckling softly as you transform back to your human form.
People will always fear what they know nothing of, despite the smile, despite the kind words, despite the caution. Whatever you say or do, you’ll always be a villain in their eyes. So you might as well have a little fun with it; it’s all good as long as you don’t harm anyone in the process. And a little fear isn’t harmful. Right?
Scorch glances over at you with judgement in his eyes after watching your encounter with the old lady carefully. “You know we’re the bad guys, right?” He grumbles. He never really warmed up to you – pun intended – and you don’t think he will…and you don’t really want him to if you’re being honest with yourself.
Scorch is a bit of a douche with a huge ego problem. The first time he met you, he stripped his top off claiming it was ‘getting hot in here’ even though he’s sort of immune to heat because of his powers. You simply took your top off too, showing off your much more defined abs; he grumbled and pulled his top back on in annoyance at the brutal hit to his fragile ego. Needless to say, he hasn’t even tried to at least pretend to like you since then.
Bullet flashes to the front of the door from the inside with a cheeky smile, opening it for the rest of you; everyone steps inside, routinely yelling orders to the innocent civilians littered around the bank. With a tired sigh, you tug your headphones from around your neck, place them over your ears, and strut into the bank whistling along to the next song playing. Old Time Rock n’ Roll. Classic.
As you usually do, you take your position at the front of the room, making sure your body is guarding the entrance. It’ll only take a couple of minutes until the cops show up and you’re the first line of defence – or, rather, your steel body is, acting as a barrier bouncing the incoming bullets right back at them. It’s not your favourite thing to do it sn’t really your thing; you’re not here for that. You’re here because…
Well, because there’s nowhere else to go. Because you need the money. Because everyone looks at you like you’re a monster but the people here understand you. A little, maybe, but even that is enough. This small group of ‘menaces’ – or the Sinister Squad as the media decided to label you – understand you, and any dirty look you get from them is only because of your annoying singing that they secretly love.
The world hasn’t necessarily been harsh to you. There is no tragic backstory, no ruthless and abusive parents, no experimentation, no kidnapping, and definitely no HYDRA. It was just an accident. And your parents were there for you, until they weren’t; that was also an accident. Accidents, with no one to blame, no one at fault, no one for you to chase down for so-called ‘vengeance’.
“It’s alright, folks, stay calm! We’ll be gone in a jiffy.” You yell out with a lopsided grin as you turn to face the room of scared people, bodies stuck to the ground in fear that any slight movement will result in a bullet to their back. Hearing the screams of fear stirs something inside you that you’re not entirely comfortable with, so you turn up the volume of your music, drowning out the unwanted sounds with your loud singing. “Still like that old time rock n’ roll…”
Bullet suddenly super-speeds to your side, pulling your headphones off. “Cops are here.” He warns you as he puts the headphones on himself, his expression scrunching into a cringe before taking them off. “Are you, like, 100?” A teasing smile dances on his lips as he speeds outside, taking out a couple of cops with ease. You can’t help but let out soft chuckles as he tangles some shoelaces together, making them trip forward and fall flat on their faces.
“Oh, so you like Elvis but not Bob Seger?” You scoff when he speeds back to you, handing you a bag filled with the weapons he just collected. You place your own rifle in there, realising you won’t be using it anyway.
“I don’t even know who that is.” He grins with a quick wink before rushing back outside. His bright red locks bounce as he speeds around, stopping every couple of seconds to laugh as he messes with the cops that are growing increasingly frustrated with his antics.
As the bullets fly towards you at what feels like the speed of light, your body automatically turns to steel; they bounce off your impenetrable skin with piercingly loud clinks. Crossing your arms over your chest, you let out a fake yawn, grinning at the annoyance on some corrupt cops’ faces. They have nothing but venom and poison in the looks they give you. It’s deeper than the fact that you’re robbing a bank. Okay, maybe that’s a big reason for it, but you know ‘the look’. You’ve seen ‘the look’.
As you take a step back with the crossbody bag of guns firmly wrapped around you, some cops take a few steps forward to follow you in but you know they’re less willing to shoot the deeper you get into the building. There are way too many civilians around; all it takes is one bullet bouncing off your body to kill an innocent person.
Ignoring the yelling and demands to ‘stand down’ is easy until your eyes catch a shaking gun held tight in sweaty, nervous hands. Observing the terrified cop carefully, you take a cautionary step forward, tilting your head and daring him to shoot. And to your surprise, he does. But you stretch your arm out quickly, noticing his aim is all over the place. The bullet bounces off your hand, protecting the crying kid to your left that the bullet was locked on.
You snap your head to him, glaring darkly as you solidify to steel. “Hey, dickhead! You almost shot the kid! Protect and serve, right?” Marching over to his shaking body with your steps heavy on the ground, you don’t hesitate to wrap a steel hand around his neck, ignoring the piercing clinking sounds of the influx of bullets hitting your body. He shoots until his empty gun clatters to the ground. His shaky hands wrap around your cold, steel wrist, gasping in fear or pain – you’re not really sure and you don’t really care. “People like you shouldn’t wear the badge.” You growl, tightening your hand until he passes out from his lack of oxygen. His body drops to the ground with a loud thud. Sighing, you turn to glance around the room. He’ll be fine – unfortunately.
Bullet has already dropped every other cop, skimming his hands together as he cleans off invisible dust with a cocky smirk on his face. Turning around, your eyes catch the kid with his mother, still shaking, still terrified. You turn back to your human form as you walk over with a gentle smile, kneeling down and ruffling his hair.
“You doin’ okay, kiddo?” You ask softly. Bullet runs by you before the kid can reply, pushing his hips against yours.
“Your British politeness is annoying.” The redhead teases your heritage like he always does, gathering the weapons from the passed-out bodies on the ground.
“The kid’s traumatised. Chill out, will you?” You roll your eyes, turning to face the trembling kid again. “Don’t mind him. He missed his morning coffee.”
Trying to give him your best smile doesn’t really work, especially when his mother pulls him closer to her, protecting him with her arms. She shoots you a frosty glare but the fear is clear in her eyes and you sigh in response, hanging your head down, prepared to give up. But you frown when you notice him twitching every couple of seconds, mainly when Demolition breaks something particularly loud in the background.
“It’s loud, huh?” You mumble as he holds his hands over his ears with a nod, tears streaming down his face. With a defeated sigh, you take your headphones off along with your iPod, fitting them gently over his head. He’s quick to adjust them, the frown on his face slowly disappearing as he listens to your music. A soft smile naturally finds its way to your face, growing wider when you notice the still somewhat cautionary look of thanks his mother gives you. With a curt nod, you stand back up, ruffling his hair one last time and sighing, stretching your back with a loud crack.
Well. Those were expensive.
“You guys done yet?” You call out, your voice echoing through the mostly silent building.
Scorch calls back out. “Come help fill the bags.”
You obey with a sigh, footsteps heavy as you rush to the back. The voices get louder when you step into the destroyed vault, melted metal sizzling on the ground from Scorch’s heat.
Seeing the source of the loud voices, you sigh with a shake of your head at Blackout and Demolition arguing yet again. Your hands on Blackout’s shoulders instantly calm her down and Demolition thankfully backs off with a grumble when you glare at her. The two of you did fight once and it resulted in having to find a new warehouse to hide in, one with working doors…and walls…and a ceiling.
Scorch scolds through gritted teeth. “We don’t have time for this. The Avengers will show up any minute now.” Comically just in time, Bullet speeds into the vault, chest heaving and hands on his knees.
“They’re here.” He breathes out, rushing back out of the room to fight off the agents that usually accompany the infamous Avengers.
“Blackout, Steel, take the bags upstairs and get out of here.” Scorch orders, rushing out of the room oozing with confidence as he lights his body on fire. God, he’s such a douche.
Helping Blackout with the bags of money and weapons, you rush up the stairs and drop the bags by the window in the small meeting room you memorised from the blueprints. After another trip there and back, you finally collect all the bags and glance around to make sure nothing is left behind.
Watching Blackout create a blue energy bubble around her and the bags, you annoyedly complain, “Hey, what? Couldn't you give me a lift?” She carries herself with the bags out the window until she lands on the ground next to the van parked in the alleyway. She smirks up at you with an arched brow, blonde curls breaking free from behind her ear, shaping her soft face.
“You’ll survive.” She teases and your jaw tightens in response. Forget theft; this is evil. But whatever. You can still get out of here. Villains will be villains, right?
With a crack of your knuckles, you take a step back, preparing yourself to run towards the window and jump. But you pause in your tracks at the familiar footsteps you hear behind you. It’s not creepy that you know exactly who it is just from meeting her just two times prior. Totally not weird that you can tell from the weight of her steps, how her weight evens out when she jogs across the floor and slows down to a walk when she hears the sound of your knuckles cracking. She’s spotted you and maybe you wanted her to. You can make the jump now. She wouldn’t catch you. But you stay, and you’re not entirely sure why.
“Hands up.” Her voice comes out raspy and a little shaky from trying to catch her breath. There are no nerves in her until you spin on your heels quickly, hands up in the air with a wide smile on your face and widened eyes.
Something flashes in her eyes – recognition, probably, but it’s deeper than that. Excitement? No. Snap out of it. You don’t want to give yourself hope when she’s the hero here sent to take you down – she’s failed twice already and you have a feeling she’ll fail a third time too.
“I love you.” You burst out dramatically, muscled arms stretched out wide, exaggerating your confessional tone. She rolls her eyes at your antics, crossing her arms over her chest. Oh, her chest.
“Liar.” She husks out, eyes narrowing and flickering with every movement you make. Something of a smirk etches its way onto her face when your eyes keep glancing down at her pushed-up chest and, oh, she’s totally doing it on purpose.
“Alright, you caught me.” You chuckle nervously, hands up in the air, palms facing her before dropping down to your side. You’re hoping you communicated that you mean no harm and you have no weapons. Apart from yourself.
“In more ways than one.” She challenges you, keeping a stoic expression as she reaches for the gun in her holster. But she doesn't pull anything out just yet, still testing the waters, playing along with these mind games.
“Ah, I think just the one.” You challenge back and she lifts a perfectly shaped brow, finally pulling her gun out of her hostler. Automatically, your body turns to steel, narrowed eyes staring into hers. The two of you eye each other up for a moment as you attempt to read each other, observing with a mix of curiosity and caution. Her eyes are so green, and her hair reminds you of Bullet’s hair and you like Bullet. Bullet is a nice guy; he’s not an ass like Scorch or Genesis and he’s never really hurt anyone, no one that didn’t deserve it.
“You sure about that?” She smirks and you can’t help but roll your eyes, dramatically gesturing to your steel body as evidence for your point.
“Really? You forgot I’m bulletproof already? Wow! And here I was thinking we had something special.” You act, turning back to your human self. There’s something odd in her eyes that makes her hesitate as she watches you with a slightly tilted head. Her tight hold on the gun drops for a moment before she catches herself, clearing her throat and hardening her gaze.
“You’re under arr–” She starts but you interrupt her with a loud groan as you walk over to the corner of the room to the small table with an assortment of biscuits and an espresso machine. You munch on the first one you grab while she follows you carefully, hands steady as she keeps her weapon aimed at you. Your body automatically steels up at any weapon that attempts to penetrate, so you’re not worried about turning your back to her.
“Give it a rest. Come, sit! Have an espresso. You look like you like it bitter.” You tease, biting into a chocolate biscuit as you turn around to face her. Leaning on the edge of the table, you cheesily grin as she rolls her eyes, quickly coming up with a comeback.
“You look like a pain in my ass.”
“Is that an invitation?” You waggle your brows with a smirk that widens when you notice the light pink tint colouring her cheeks. Now, you know you only have a couple of seconds for this, so you can’t let yourself get distracted by her. She drops her steady hold for just a moment, flustered, a little nervous, kind of…really cute.
“Go away.” She mutters bashfully and you quickly lean off the table, taking your opportunity while she’s flustered.
“My pleasure. See you next time, darlin’.” You sprint to the side, breaking through the window as you shift to steel. With a loud – and embarrassingly high-pitched – scream as you fly through the air, you land on the ground with a thud, groaning as you stumble to your feet holding your lower back. “Agh. My back.” You wheeze as you make a run for it, the redhead’s bullets bouncing off your shoulders as you turn the corner away from her sight.
“Idiot.” Natasha mumbles before speaking into her comms with a sigh. “She got away.”
“Again? Romanoff, this is the 3rd time!” Steve yells into the comms, telling her off for letting you slip through her fingertips again.
“She’s made of steel. My bullets and tasers don’t work on her! What’d you want me to do next time? Shoot a missile?”
This is torture. You thought working for MI6 and being forced to keep it secret from your friends and family was torture. Or having to go undercover infiltrating a gang of mad scientists was torture. Or the mission going wrong, the explosion, the experimental gas formula forcing its way into your lungs just as a steel pipe penetrated your skin. You thought your life had been moderately torturous. But nothing, and you mean nothing, is worse than listening to Scorch the douche pretend he has any sort of authority over the gang.
“They’re really starting to become an issue. I think it’s time we go after them.” Scorch inputs, his tone demanding as he looks around the table with eyes that are practically begging someone to challenge him. The dude is on the verge of getting a hard-on just at the thought of himself yelling at his ‘inferiors’ for daring to argue against him. Deciding to poke the bear, you let out a laugh, near-hysterical, one that has his face turning red-hot (totally not a pun).
“You must be having a laugh.” You burst out, snorting at his suggestion. He’s really aiming high for this low-level villain group. Perhaps it’s his ego talking, fueling his need to be in the spotlight. You bet he’s one of those dudes that practices his speeches in the mirror the night before.
He clears his throat at the expected challenge, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Excuse me?” The table wobbles a little and he shifts uncomfortably, keeping the glare on his face trained on you. He can’t properly argue with you because you never back down, and he can’t overreact either or you’ll simply laugh and say you were just fucking about. Blackout snickers from the seat next to yours, already seeing how embarrassed Scorch looks.
“Who do you think we are? Loki? Fuckin’…I don’t know, who else have the Avengers fought?” You ramble with a hand on your forehead as you try and think.
“Oh, that robot guy!” Blackout scrunches her face as she struggles to remember his name.
“Ultron!” Bullet screams out excitedly with a pleased smile when everyone around the table nods in agreement.
Scorch’s sharp jaw clenches as no one seems to be taking him seriously whatsoever. He was trusted to lead this meeting and, well, it’s not going well for him. And the only person he really wants to blame is you.
“Yes, that dude. Look, we have a good thing going.” You lean back, hands gesturing to bring your point together. “We always escape and they never send their full team of spandex heroes after us, so I just don’t think it’s necessary to waste our efforts on them.” You cross your arms to emphasise your nonchalance and it only fuels his anger more. He stands up in an attempt to show dominance over you, fingertips tight as they bend against the tabletop.
“You know, I think it’s kind of suspicious how you’re a criminal that’s against crime.” He counters with a raised brow and a cocky smirk as if he’s just caught you. But you roll your eyes at him, scoffing again and bumping your elbow against Blacklight to get her to laugh with you.
“Oh, look at you. Big, strong, Alpha Scorch wanting to murder defenceless old ladies in the bank.” You mock with a snort. His jaw clenches so hard you’re not sure how his teeth are still intact. “Even villains should have a moral code, douchebag.” You spit out this time, your playful grin dropping. There’s no reason to keep it up and you’ve always been the honest, kind of blunt at times, type. So why pretend when you really, really don’t like him?
An angry, throaty growl escapes Scorch’s throat as he bangs his fist against the table, his eyes turning to red flames glaring into your soul. “I could incinerate you with one glare, you fucking bitch.” He almost shoots flames towards you at your next words.
“That won’t make your cock any bigger, lad.” Your words drip with feigned sympathy. His hair turns to waves of fire, mouth wide open and ready to burst.
“Enough.” Genesis whispers.
The whole team turns silent. No one dares utter a single word or cause a single sound; even the goons and workers around the warehouse are frozen in their movements. Genesis rarely talks but observes, so when he does utter a word or two, it holds a certain power. Fear. Weidling fear is power in itself.
He lets out a heavy sigh before turning around from his position at the crooked whiteboard in front of the table. Genesis stands tall, skinny, almost scrawny. But with wide blue eyes accompanied by black bags, long and dirty blonde locks tied into a loose bun at the back of his head, and a badly kept but short beard, he holds a silent power. Almost demanding respect. His strength is shown in the heavy bags that prove his mind is always at work, or the hair and beard he doesn’t have the time to cut. He has more important things to do, like create, and plot, and lead.
“Scorch is right. They are becoming a problem. It will not be long before they uncover our entire operation.”
Demolition is the poor, brave soul who decides to speak up in protest. “Seriously? Going after them will only draw attention to us. If anything, that’s what will uncover our operation.”
The pin drops. Demolition has always had a bad temper, but this? This is basically suicide. In a desperate attempt to save her life, you clear your throat and nervously chuckle, trying to communicate to her with terror flashing in your eyes.
“I wouldn’t go there if I were you, mate.” You whisper desperately but she simply tilts her head in confusion and ignorance. She is new, to be fair. So she doesn’t know. Not really.
Her deep voice echoes in the warehouse as she stretches her muscled arms out as if she’s done nothing wrong. And truthfully, she hasn’t done anything necessarily wrong, but Genesis will not tolerate somebody talking back to him. He will not tolerate his inferiors observing somebody talk back to him and getting away with it.
“What? Come on, this is a stupid idea. I mean they’re barely a problem and–” Demolition chokes for a moment, light brown eyes almost bugging out of their sockets. She holds onto her chest, looking around the room frantically, begging for help. But nobody’s eyes meet hers. They can’t show sympathy. You can’t show sympathy.
Genesis’s typically piercing blue eyes shine neon green with dark magic as he looks at her, observing, tilting his head as he tests his power. There’s no anger or glare or resentment towards her. Hell, there’s no emotion ; this is a simple and logical step to him, a chore, something he has to do to maintain his power. She’s nothing to him. You’re all nothing to him and he wants you to know it.
Demolition can’t do a thing but choke and choke and choke with her big hand over her heart clawing desperately until the organ rips through her chest. Her heavy body slumps onto the ground as crimson blood splatters across the table and floor, her now enlarged heart glowing green, sitting on the chair in her place. It beats for a couple of seconds before sliding onto the ground heavily with a loud splosh. No one dares to speak or react, knowing a sign of weakness will result in the same fatality.
“Any other objections?” Genesis breaks the eerie silence, nodding after everyone around him quickly shake their heads ‘no’ – you’re pretty sure you saw Bullet do it with super-speed from the corner of your eye but you hold in a laugh at that. “Good. Scorch, you’re leading the heist next week. Get to work.”