I'm lying to you // Natasha Romanoff x OC Odindottir

Chapter 11 - The Dorito-Shaped Man

Cyrus' pov

Pulling up to a tall, wired fence, I carefully nudge Natasha awake. She stirs and is almost instantly sat up, glancing around to assess her surroundings. However, despite this adverse reaction, she's very quick to relax when she sees my unstressed expression.

All three of us get out of the truck, Steve glancing down at a simple map on his phone, "This is it."

"The file came from these coordinates," Natasha says, peering through the fence.

"So did I," Steve states, adjusting his shield. Smashing the lock away with one downwards blow, we walk in cautiously, assuming a flanking formation.

"How long do you think it's been since someone's been here?" I ask, not sure of the ins and outs of that sort of thing.

"30, maybe 40, years or so," he responds, scanning the surroundings diligently, "after the Cold War, there was no need for rundown places like this."

The sun dips below the tree line, and night soon encompasses the abandoned camp. Rusted signs displaying messages like:

"Your country thanks you!"

And

"New Camp Lehigh recruits next left"

They hang loosely from the sides of long, metal-roofed barracks - which are bolted shut, and rusted closed from half a century of disuse.

"This camp is where I was trained," Steve comments, after we scan the camp for around half an hour.

"Change much?" Natasha calls over from a small distance away, the three of us less wary of the camp than when we first arrived.

"A little," he responds in a softer tone, stopping for a moment to gaze at the empty parade square.

"This is a dead end," Natasha finally says, with an annoyed huff, "zero heat signatures, zero waves; not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must've used a router to throw people off."

Her words are all but lost on me, but I notice Steve staring at a building in confusion. I'm quick to tag on, smiling a little at how the man still remembers his first, basic army training.

"What is it?" Natasha asks, noticing that the two of us aren't directly paying attention.

"Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of the barracks," he states, gesturing to the building, which looked as old and decrepit as the rest, "This buildings in the wrong place."

He jogs over, punching the bolts away with his shield and pushing the door open cautiously. Moving down a small flight of stairs, lights flicker on to reveal a large, open room with the original SHIELD logo on the far wall.

"This is SHIELD," Natasha states obviously, however she did seem a little surprised.

"Maybe where it started," Steve adds, walking in the direction of the emblem. But - as we reach the wall - the Captain veers right to a collection of photos.

"And there's Stark's father," Natasha explains, nodding to a photo of a young, handsome man with short, black hair and a well-kept moustache.