The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Nineteen

Steve POV

The image seems to enhance itself even more as Nyx focuses solely on the scientist, fighting to keep her mind away from the other scene.

Glancing sideways, I take in her bared teeth, droplets of sweat trailing down her cheeks. Her chest heaves with the effort she's putting into keeping the memory going, heart rate racing in our ears.

I look at Bruce, biting the inside of my cheek. He nods at me in reassurance, though he looks apprehensive himself.

I glance back at the screen as the scientist types frantically, trying to subtly lean away from the gun at his head. The computer itself is smudged, showing blurry lines and the man works.

I clench my jaw. Nyx can't remember what was on it, but it's out best shot at getting another lead.

Tony nudges Bruce, but he holds up a hand - "wait till the end." He mouths.

Stark steps back, conceding, but lets out an uneasy sigh. So far, we've got the faces of a few Hydra agents and that's it.

We need more.

Dr. Ferguson clicks a final button before slowly backing up away from the computer, hands back up in the air. Nyx motions another agent forward with a tilt of her head. The darkly dressed man moves past them, leaning over the keyboard to inspect the scientist's work.

The hostage in question stands facing the computer, back to Nyx, who still presses the barrel of her semi automatic into his skull.

After a long pause, the agent turns around and nods to Nyx.

"It's done." He announces curtly, before stepping to the side again.

She leans forward past the scientist then and grabs the memory stick, shoving it back into her pocket with one hand. She glances at the screen, but again it's like there's a grease stain over it, the writing unintelligible.

"So wh.."

Nyx pulls the trigger on the gun.

Dr. Ferguson is cut off mid word, his body lurching forwards with the impact of the bullet. Blood shoots backward, causing Nyx to blink rapidly, the spray splattering against her face. The scientist hits the ground with a dull thud, the back of his head blown away.

Nyx lets out a low whimper from next to me, her hands clenched so tightly the knuckles have turned white. I keep my eyes on her rigid form until the screen changes as her vision moves away, the gruesome sight bubbling acid in my stomach.

I might've lived through World War 2, but it doesn't change the effect things like that have on me.

The monitor is a blur of action again. The view stares at the dead man's body for a few seconds before spinning around and following men out of the door, leaving the ransacked room behind. They move back down the stairs from earlier, pace much quicker.

When they break out into the sunlight, more men are waiting.

"We've got the cargo."

The words come from the side, and Nyx spins round to eye six men, each carrying a silver metal chest between them. She gives a terse nod, before raising a hand up to her ear.